"Yeah?" He hitched his thumbs in his belt loops. "Was it enough for you?"
Her pretty mouth hung open. He wanted to kiss her.
"I…"
He smiled wryly. "I didn't think so."
She flushed. "Uncle Jed," she said suddenly.
"What?"
"Uncle Jed. He hung around the summer after Daddy died. I didn't want to like him. I wasn't liking anybody much that year. But when he and Mama were sitting on the porch, he used to get up and throw a softball with me. I only went along because I figured if he was busy with me he couldn't make eyes at Mama. But I made the softball team my freshman year because of Uncle Jed." Rachel smiled at him then, with her lips and her eyes, and her warmth stole his breath.
"Thank you," she said simply. "I'd forgotten that. So you see—" she caught his big hand, and cradled it in her slim, fine ones, and kissed his scarred knuckle "—temporary relationships can have their own advantages."
He couldn't concentrate with her mouth warm against his fingers. He turned his hand, cupping her jaw. "You think?" he asked hoarsely.
She smiled against his thumb. "I'm almost sure of it."
He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her soft bottom lip. Her eyes were wide. Her lip was slick. Her breath hitched. He leaned in slowly, enjoying the signs of her arousal, following the path of his thumb with his tongue before dipping inside. She was so damn fine: earnest, stubborn, loyal, real. All day long, watching her with her kids, his family, he'd admired and wanted her. He wanted her again. He wanted her now.
He wanted her for always.
He pushed the thought away as her hands, soft and urgent, skid up his back and closed on his shoulders. He didn't want to think. They were alone, and she was willing. They'd wasted enough time dissecting the past. Analyzing his feelings, for crying out loud. And tomorrow… No, he definitely didn't want to think about what she faced tomorrow.
He kissed her again, deeper, longer. Beguiled by each part of her, he kissed the curve of her jaw and the fragrant hollow below her ear and the slope of her breast through her sensible cotton shirt.
She gasped and wriggled against him. "I just want you to know that I'll understand when it's time for you to move on."
He pulled at the hem of her shirt. She was talking crazy talk. "I'm not going anywhere."
Beneath her cotton bra, her dark nipples were plainly visible. Expertly, he dispensed with hooks and slid the bra straps down her shoulders.
The doorbell rang. Rachel stiffened.
Sean swore. "Don't answer it."
She looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "What if it's—?"
"Bilotti? You think he's going to ring the doorbell before he torches the place?"
But she was already fumbling with the straps of her bra, grabbing for her shirt. Frustrated, Sean tucked his hands into his jeans' pockets and stood back while she opened the door.
Gowan. It figured.
The blond agent stood at attention in the circle of yellow porch light, a wide flat box in one hand.
"Anyone order a pizza?"
"Agent Gowan!" Rachel's hands went to her waist as if to make sure she was all tucked in. "Won't you come in?"
His poster-boy smile flickered. Phony. "Lee. Thanks. I tried calling earlier, but no one was home. So I thought I'd come over, make sure you were all right."
"Thank you. I—"
"We're fine," Sean said.
Gowan acknowledged him with a curt nod. "MacNeill." He turned back to Rachel. "Kids get off okay?"
"Yes. They're staying with my mother at Sean's brother's." Like a good hostess, she stepped back to admit him farther into the house. "Can I get you something? Coffee? Did you really bring a pizza?"
He lifted the box in his hands. "This? No. This is just a blind, in case Bilotti's watching the house. I wouldn't say no to coffee, though."
"Of course. Sean?"
At least she hadn't told him to get lost. "I'll have a cup. Thanks."
With quick, firm steps, she headed for the kitchen, leaving the two men facing off in the living room like gunslingers in a disputed town.
"What exactly are you doing here, MacNeill?" Sean bared his teeth in a smile that didn't fool either of them. "Moral support."
"You know she's vulnerable right now."
"That's why I'm here." To protect her, he meant, but he didn't say so. He wasn't explaining himself or his motives to this stuffed shirt.
Rachel came back with a steaming mug in each hand. She was too pale, Sean thought angrily, and the skin under her eyes looked bruised. "Coffee?"
"Thanks." Gowan took it and set it down, untasted, on Myra's walnut-veneer coffee table. "I have something for you, too."
He shifted a pile of ladies' magazines to accommodate the pizza box and then lifted the top.
Rachel covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, my goodness."
"That's a lot of money," Sean said.
The agent took out a folded brown Food Lion bag and snapped it open. The pop made her jump. He started to load the bills inside.
"It's all fake. Sixty-four thousand, you said?"
Rachel nodded. It looked real to her. Except that she'd never seen so much money in her life, not even in a Monopoly set. Fake. Funny money. Like in the movies, when the bad guys blew open the bank vault or handed over a suitcase of drug money. She shivered. Only for her, the amount was smaller and the danger was real.
Gowan held up a stack of twenties, indistinguishable from all the others, before placing it in the bag. "This is your transmitter. It will signal your location, but it can't give us your voice. Your radio will be over the driver's side. Turn it on when you start the car."
"How?" Rachel asked.
He palmed a small device, square and black, like a cheap calculator. "Press this round button. It will look like you're adjusting the sun visor. Speak in a normal voice, and we'll hear you."
"When do you make the arrest?" Sean wanted to know.
"We'll have three agents at the high school. Eight on the surrounding roads. If Bilotti is there, we'll get him. If he isn't—say, he's watching from a distance, or he's paid some kid to make the pickup—then we'll wait till he shows. Or we'll follow his delivery boy."
"What about Rachel?"
"We'll be in radio contact." The agent spoke directly to her. "You'll look like you're on your own. You'll feel like you're on your own, but you won't be. It's safer if nobody follows you." He narrowed his eyes at Sean. "Nobody," he emphasized.
Screw you, buddy, Sean thought.
Gowan stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Will you be all right tonight?" he asked Rachel.
She smiled at him and lied. The girl had guts. "I'm fine."
But after Gowan had drunk his coffee and planted his bug and left, Sean said, "I don't like you going alone."
Rachel picked up both coffee cups. "You heard Lee Gowan. They'll be in radio contact."
"It's still a risk."
"It's one I'm willing to take. You were right. I couldn't go on paying forever."
He paced the living room, unable to hold still. "Yeah, well, all of a sudden I get why you did it. I'd pay Bilotti myself, if it would keep that son of a bitch away from you."
She walked into the kitchen. "What did you tell me? I was so afraid of losing, I couldn't win? This way is better."
He followed her. "I don't like thinking I'm responsible for putting you in danger."
She rinsed the cups in the sink. Her sensible summer top revealed her strong shoulders and silky skin. With her head bent, he could see the vulnerable nape of her neck.
"You're not responsible," she said. "I am. But for what it's worth, I have faith in your judgment."
He wasn't sure he did. Not when the stakes were so high. "I don't want to let you down."
She dried her hands on a towel and turned. She was still too pale, but her eyes, on a level with his chin, were warm and direct. "I'll take the chance. Just don't you die on me."
He didn't get it.
He was too busy trying to figure if it made him some kind of bastard if he took her to bed now. He was already imagining how she would feel and taste on his tongue. Her words made no sense. She was the one being threatened.
"I won't," he promised, and moved in close.
Her lips were moist and ready. Her hands were damp and soft. His control slipped as he kissed her, as he pushed her back against the sink and felt her thighs part to take him. It was the back of his truck all over again.
He tugged her shirt clear of her waistband and found her sweetness with his mouth. She sighed and cradled his head, holding him to her breast. Need clawed him. He yanked her closer, bending, kneeling, pulling at clothes, seeking more skin, more sweetness, more Rachel. He popped the button of her shorts, jerked on her zipper and … froze.
Strung across the creamy curve of her hip like a faint blue tattoo was a line of tiny bruises.
"Did I do this?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded harsh.
Above him, Rachel opened her eyes. "Do what?"
"The bruises. Did I mark you?"
"I … don't remember."
Right. He spanned her hip with one hand, until every finger matched and covered a small dark circle. He swore.
She touched his hair. "It doesn't matter."
It mattered to him. She mattered to him, and he'd taken her with the care of a bulldozer let loose on a stand of prime wood, once in the back of his truck and once—almost—standing up in her mother's kitchen. Way to go, lover boy, he thought derisively.
He lifted his hand and, with his lips, soothed each tiny bruise.
She shivered. "What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to kiss it and make it better," he explained solemnly.
Her laugh was shaky. Raw sex didn't embarrass her, he thought with a twist of heart. But a little consideration left her pink-cheeked and uncertain.
She tried to cover the marks with her hand. "I don't think that works."
"Then we'll have to find something that does," he said, and stood and lifted her in his arms.
"Put me down," she said as he carried her through the living room.
He started up the stairs. "In a minute."
"I'm too heavy."
She wasn't light. "I can't," he said. "It's a macho thing. I don't make it to the bed with you, I won't feel manly."
Would she buy that? Her smile bloomed. God, he loved her smile. "Then by all means, let's make it to the bed."
He pushed open the door to her room. The blue-flowered wallpaper and limp white curtains hadn't changed since he'd slept there alone. The room still smelled like flowers. Rachel's worn running shoes, peeking out from under the bed, and her lesson plans, spread across the doily-clad dresser, should have looked out of place in this ultra-feminine setting. But she'd grown up in this room, dreamed in that bed.
The thought pinched. Their last bout of sex hadn't been the stuff that dreams were made of.
Well, his dreams, absolutely. But she deserved better. She deserved more than wild sex in a pickup truck. She deserved someone to make love to her, gentle and careful and tender.
She threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. "The bed?"
"Ssh. In a minute."
He could do tender, he told himself firmly. For Rachel. Maybe he couldn't protect her tomorrow, but he could damn well comfort her tonight.
Gently he set her on her feet and kissed the space between her eyebrows.
They twitched together. "You don't have to baby me."
"Okay," he said agreeably. "How about I make love to you instead?" He feathered a kiss against her hair.
She shook her head. "I don't want you doing this just to be kind."
Exasperated, he reached for her hand and placed it over the bulge behind his button fly. "Does this feel like 'kind' to you?"
She stroked him. He bit back a groan. "N-no," she said. "But—"
"Responsible Rachel," he mocked gently. "Why don't you let me take care of things for once?"
She wavered. He could see it in her eyes. It was oddly arousing, that uncertainty in determined, decisive Rachel. He kissed her, using his mouth to seduce, his hands to persuade.
When he lifted his head, her lips were soft and her eyes were cloudy. "I really should—"
"In a minute," he murmured. "Give me one minute." He spun the time out, second by second, in soft caresses and slow, deep kisses. Her breath sighed against his mouth. Her hands fluttered at his waist before settling on his shoulders. She trembled, and that betraying quiver just about did him in.
He slid off the rest of her clothes and laid her down on the bed. He intended for her to enjoy this. But he was shaken by his own satisfaction in seeing her strong body against the white spread, clean-limbed as a beech tree and warm as cedar. Stripping off his shorts and shirt, he gathered her to him, body to body, heart to heart. She reached for him.
"Ssh," he whispered. "Let me."
Let me take you.
And she did, her eyes drifting shut, as he savored and soothed and aroused. Her skin warmed under his touch. Her muscles flexed and relaxed. And every tiny movement and each indrawn breath that signaled her pleasure doubled his.
He lingered and she yielded like a willow bending to the persuasion of the wind. Until the rhythm took him, too, until he was drawn along on her rising pleasure, immersed in every ripple, every quiver of her body. He worked his way back up her damp torso. She danced under him. Swayed around him. He wanted her. He needed her. In one smooth rush, he entered her. And she received him so deeply and completely, he was rooted in the same earth, shaken by the same storm.
He'd never said the three words that would bind a woman to him. He didn't say them now. But he showed her the best way he knew how, each joining a commitment, each stroke a pledge. Their hands met, their fingers twined on the pillow by her head.
"Now," he commanded.
Again. Forever.
Rachel felt him, deep and deeper, pressing into her body, piercing her heart. Always before, in her self-denying generosity, she'd been able to keep back a little piece of herself. She had no defense against Sean's giving. He lavished her with sensation. Destroyed her with tenderness.
Last night, she'd taken her freedom. Tonight, she gave him her heart.
She shattered around him, and he poured himself into her.
* * *
Chapter 14
«^»
"You sound stuffy," Rachel said, worried. She tucked the phone against her ear. "Are you coming down with a cold?"
"M'mouth full." Chris gulped. "Jack's dad made pancakes."
Rachel glanced at the kitchen clock. Nine-twenty. Forty minutes until she needed to be at the high school to deliver sixty-four-thousand counterfeit dollars to a smalltime crook. And while she didn't think her nervous stomach could handle a single pancake, she wanted more than anything to be with her children right now. "Am I interrupting breakfast?"
"'S'okay," Chris said cheerfully. "Mr. MacNeill said he'd make me some more. He's really cool, Mom."
So her son was happy with the self-sufficient, magnificent MacNeills. He didn't need her. "That's wonderful, honey."
"I like it here at lot."
"I'm glad."
And she tried to be glad as Chris rattled on about the games he'd played and the video he'd watched and the MacNeills' trampoline. At least, she was grateful. Her children were safe and happy. And her mother was with them, so if anything happened today… Don't go there, she ordered herself.
"My pancakes are ready," Chris announced. "You want to talk to Lindsey?"
"Yes, please. I love you," she said.
The phone crashed. She could hear Chris shouting, and Kate MacNeill's assured voice.
She wrapped her hand in the phone cord until it dug into her skin. As her fingers turned blue, Sean strolled into the kitchen, all lean male grace and pirate stubble, and her stomach went ka-whump.
"Mom? You there?" Lindsey asked.
Rachel yanked her ha
nd free from the coils. "I'm here."
"When are you coming to get us?"
She jerked her attention from Sean's torso—this morning his T-shirt read Carpenters Swing Big Tools—and focused on her daughter's question.
"Not until this afternoon, honey."
"But I want to come home now."
Anxiety spiked Rachel's voice. "Is everything all right?"
"I guess. There's nothing to do."
"Did you like the movie?"
"It was gross. They cut open this alien and all this stuff gushed out. Can't I come home now? I miss you."
Even knowing her daughter was pushing her buttons didn't stop the guilt. "I miss you, too. But I have things to do this morning."
"I won't get in the way."
Rachel was shaken. "Sweetheart, I know. But—"
Sean came close and plucked the receiver from her. "Hey, dollface. You check on Hairball for me this morning?"
Rachel, in the act of grabbing back the phone, stopped when he smiled and shook his head.
"Fuzzball, then. But I draw the line at Puffy. Talk to Kate about what supplies we need, okay?"
He listened. Laughed. "Fine. Now tell your mom you love her, and we'll see you after lunch."
Lindsey's voice floated from the receiver, sounding quite cheerful again. "Love you, Mom."
Rachel swallowed the ache in her throat. "I love you." Sean hung up, and the connection with her children was lost.
"All right?" he asked quietly, watching her face. She would not cry, Rachel vowed. "Fine."
"That wasn't goodbye," Sean said, surprising her by his perception. "You'll see them in a couple of hours."
She smiled weakly. "I know."
He cupped her shoulders and drew her to him. She let her forehead drop against his chest, let him knead the tension in her neck.
"Rachel … let me come with you."
She fought the terrible temptation to say yes. "He said to come alone."
"I'm not police. I'm no threat I'm a known quantity—the live-in boyfriend. He won't care if I'm there."
"Lee Gowan said it was safer if no one went with me."
"Safer for Gowan, maybe." His gaze was dark and intense. "Rachel, let me come."
THE TEMPTATION OF SEAN MCNEILL Page 17