by Anita Meyer
Jeff pushed himself away from the kiosk and jogged back toward the beach. Hot sand burned the soles of his feet as he stopped dead in his tracks.
Caroline was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 8
“Caroline!” The door bounced off the wall behind it, as Jeff burst into the room.
“I’m right here,” she said, coming out of the bathroom and closing the door firmly but quietly—in stark contrast to his blustering. “You don’t have to shout.”
Jeff raked an angry hand through his hair. His relief at seeing her alive and in one piece was so great, he didn’t know whether to hug her or throttle her. “You’re lucky I don’t skin you alive,” he all but snarled. “I’ve been all over creation looking for you. Where the hell have you been? And what were you thinking, running off like that? We went through this before and you gave me your word—”
“Whoa, buster. Hold it right there.” She charged forward until the tips of her sandals bumped against his tennis shoes. Refusing to be intimidated, she jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “You have a lot of nerve lecturing me about my promises when you simply up and disappear without so much as a ‘See you later.’ What was I supposed to do, sit around with sand in my shorts until you decided to grace me with your presence?”
He bent forward until their noses almost touched. “It would have been a damn sight better than taking off the way you did. Scaring me half to death—again.”
“Listen here, McKensie. For weeks, I’ve kept you apprised of every move I made. I told you when I was getting up and when I was going to bed, when I was going out and when I was coming in, when I was going to eat or go swimming or take a shower.” She lifted her chin. “And for your information, I looked for you this afternoon. I wanted to tell you where I was going, but you weren’t around. So, don’t go blaming your problems on me.”
He’d been so overwhelmed by the mixture of relief and anger surging through his body, that he hadn’t realized how close they were standing. So close, he could see the thick fringe of dark lashes framing her remarkable eyes. So close, he could smell her natural scent, clean and fresh and captivating. So close, he could see a light sheen of moisture pearlizing the tiny hollow at the base of her throat.
In the ensuing silence, his heart pounded loudly enough to wake the dead, but if she heard it, she gave no indication. She stood very still. There were no gestures, no shrugs, not even a blink to put an inch or two of welcome space between them. Her eyes stayed level with his, communicating vibrant passion without movement. The same kind of passion he’d seen in her eyes that afternoon on the beach when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her—fierce and ragged and on the edge of control.
He flicked a finger down her hair, then reached up and slowly stroked her cheek. She didn’t flinch or pull away and the fire in her eyes was staggering. He bent his head and brushed his lips lightly across hers—a gesture that was more caress than kiss. She tasted sweet, so he sampled her againdrugging, potent, like honeyed whiskey.
And then he heard it—a faint scratching sound on the door, like a lock being picked. Reflexes took over and he pushed her behind him, keeping his body between her and the door.
“What—” Caroline’s words died in midair as Jeff’s hand clamped across her mouth.
“Shh,” he cautioned. His breath fanned the ultrasensitive skin around her ear and her stomach looped into a tight knot. Did the man have any clue what his nearness did to her? Her heart thumped against her ribs as his scent surrounded her. She struggled to concentrate, to block out any sensations that were “him,” and focus on what was really happening.
But it was a losing battle. Because what was really happening had nothing to do with external threats and everything to do with internal warnings. Teetering on the edge of an emotional precipice, she knew she would willingly step off—if he was there to catch her.
There was a noise—a rasping against the door—or was it her imagination conjuring up illusory dangers to keep him close?
“I think we’ve got company,” he whispered, his lips tickling her ear. He adjusted his position and his forearm brushed against her breast, sending an erotic shiver down her spine.
Her moan was stifled by the hand across her mouth, and her lips moved wordlessly against the soft underside of his palm. She felt him stiffen, and knew she was the cause. Knew, in that moment, that she affected him as deeply as he affected her.
He backed her up to the far side of the bed and pushed her to the floor. “Stay down,” he hissed.
She drew a ragged breath and felt a sudden emptiness as he moved away. Before she could find her voice, he slid open the drawer of the nightstand and slipped out the gun. He moved like liquid mercury toward the door, releasing the safety as he went.
“Jeff, no,” she rasped, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. “You don’t understand—” she started again, but his eyebrows drew together in a heavy frown, his eyes narrowed, and his lips formed a thin line as he scowled her into silence.
Fine, she thought. Be that way. Kneeling on the floor, with her elbows resting on the bed and her head propped in the heels of her hands, she watched nonchalantly as Jeff slid along the wall to the bathroom.
She’d give him that much—he sure knew what he was doing. He held the cocked revolver high in the air with both hands in classic police fashion. Every inch of his body was braced for combat, from the well-defined muscles of his heavy thighs to the corded biceps straining against his snug-fitting T-shirt. And she was perfectly content to continue the ridiculous charade for the sheer pleasure of admiring his perfect and powerful body.
With his back braced against the wall, Jeff leaned to the side and slowly reached for the doorknob. He threw open the bathroom door and assumed a fighting stance.
“Freeze,” he barked…and then froze himself as a four-legged ball of fur barked right back.
Caroline laughed so hard her sides ached and tears ran down her cheeks. Jeff slumped against the wall, the gun limp in his hand, adrenaline pumping through his system. “You think this is funny?” he shouted.
“No, I think it’s hysterical. You and that…that cannon against one poor defenseless little puppy.” She collapsed on the bed as another fit of laughter overtook her. “Actually, I think every lady should have a champion—Don Quixote tilting at puppy dogs, St. George the Puppy Slayer…” She tapped a finger to her lips. “Or how about—”
“Sir Bozo, knight ridiculaire. I get the general idea.” Jeff pushed away from the wall, put the safety on the revolver, and returned it to the drawer. “You might have said something.”
“I tried,” Caroline said. “Twice. And think about it. There’s no window in that bathroom large enough for someone to enter, and you saw me come out of the bathroom when you came barging through the front door. It stands to reason there was nothing in there that could hurt us.”
“And what the hell is a dog doing in our room, anyway?”
“You’re changing the subject,” she admonished.
“You’re avoiding the question,” he charged.
She scooped up the puppy who was pulling a sock out from under the bed. “I’m doing Alex a favor.”
Confusion was written all over Jeff’s face. “Say what?”
Caroline shook her head. “Alex befriended a hotel employee who was giving away a litter of puppies. This was the last one. Alex desperately wants it, but he hasn’t asked his mom yet. So, I agreed to keep the puppy overnight. Okay?”
Jeff scratched the puppy behind his ears. “Fine with me-as long as you’re the one who gets up and takes him out in the middle of the night.” He scrubbed a hand over his face as another thought occurred to him. “Oh, crud. You can’t take him out in the middle of the night and neither can I.”
“Why not?”
Jeff struggled to keep his voice quiet and even. “Because one of the housekeepers just called in sick and a so-called ‘replacement’ is on the way. Until they check her out, Arthur wants us
to lie low.”
Caroline swallowed the cold knot of fear that suddenly stuck in her throat. “That’s why you were so edgy when you came in here…and why you freaked when you heard the scratching on the door. Jeff, I’m sorry. If I had known—”
“I didn’t ‘freak.’ I was being cautious. And you had no way of knowing what was going on. In fact, the only reason I even told you is because we have to go back to the old rules—we’re back under house arrest.”
“What! Come on, Jeff, you can’t do that. We had a deal.”
“You broke that deal this afternoon—or have you conveniently forgotten your little disappearing act? The one, I might add, that has probably taken another year off my life.”
“I explained all that. I would have told you where I was going, if I could have found you. And did it ever occur to you that your disappearance may have taken a year off my life?”
Jeff arched a brow as his eyes locked on to hers. “You were worried about me?”
“No, I wasn’t—but I could have been.” She pushed past him, the puppy still in her arms, and sat down on the floor near the window. She took the sock and tied a knot in one end, then swung it back and forth in front of the curious pup.
“You were worried about me.” This time it. was a statement rather than a question and a smug look crossed his face. He liked that idea—a lot. “Admit it,” he challenged.
“I was not worried,” Caroline said flatly.
Jeff settled in a chair and began leafing through the latest copy of the resort newsletter. “I say you were.”
“And I say you’re crazy.” She jumped up and snatched the newsletter out of his hands.
“Hey, I was reading that paper.”
“Sorry,” she replied lightly, “but the puppy needs it more than you do.”
A scream tore from her throat as Caroline fought the tangled bedclothes. Blood. She was drowning in a sea of blood. Red and sticky and terrifying. She sucked in air to scream again, but instead a single word emerged—”Brian.” His limp body oozing life lay before her while maniacal laughter crackled in her ears. She tried to reach him, to stem the awful flow of blood, but strong arms wound around her, holding her back. They were going to lock her up and she couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t live through that again. She fought wildly but viselike hands clamped on to her arms and wouldn’t let go.
“Caroline.” Jeff shook her, hard. Her scream had stopped his heart and now it hammered painfully against his rib cage. “Caroline, wake up. You’re dreaming. Come on, snap out of it.”
Fighting him every step of the way, she tried to claw from the murky depths of the dream. Slowly the nightmare faded, and in a final burst of lucidity, she broke through.
“Brian…” Deep sobs racked her body as she fought the anguish that followed her into the present. She pummeled Jeff’s chest with her fists, but she hadn’t the strength to effect even one glancing blow. “Please,” she cried, “not Brian.”
Jeff pulled her into his arms and cradled her close. Her body was soaked with sweat and her nightshirt clung to her skin. “It’s all right. It was just a dream.”
But it wasn’t just a dream. It was a flashback that she would probably relive again and again.
“Oh, God.” She could feel the walls closing in, trapping her, cutting off her air supply. Her hands tore at the thinribbed collar of her nightshirt in a futile attempt to remove the invisible fingers constricting her throat. “I have to get out of here,” she gasped. “Please.”
Jeff nodded. Wordlessly, he removed the pistol from the nightstand. He ripped the top sheet from the bed and tossed it over his arm, then took her hand and led her to the door.
Whistling for the puppy to follow, Jeff led her around to the back of the bungalow, to the spot where it looked out on the ocean. With his back against the building, he sat down on a stone step, pulling her with him.
In spite of the warm night air, he could feel the chill on her skin. He wrapped the sheet around her shoulders, then pulled her close, trying to comfort her. She had stopped the frantic clawing at her throat, but her breathing still came in long, shaky sobs.
“It’s okay,” he murmured against her hair. “Let it out.”
She collapsed against him then, quivering like a small, frail bird that had fallen from a tree. He rocked her, his hands moving in slow repetitive circles over her back and down her arms. She buried her head against his shoulder, and when he brushed the hair from her face, he found it wet with her silent tears.
It was then that he felt the need. Not desire, or lust, or sexual passion, but real need. The need to hold her and offer her his strength and warmth. The need to give—and receive—comfort and compassion.
A need, like he had never known before.
Gently, he stroked her neck and shoulders and back until her trembling stopped and her breathing became more slow and even.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, her throat and mouth as dry as the sand beneath the palms.
“For what?”
“For messing up your plans.” She brought her knees up close to her chest and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “The house arrest and all.”
“Oh, that.” The smile he offered was warm and friendly. “Well, frankly, Caroline, you’ve been messing up my plans since the first day I saw your photo, so one more time isn’t going to matter.” He paused a fraction of a second. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, deeper. “Besides, this was different.”
“This was a nightmare.” She lifted a limp hand and dragged it through her tangled hair. “People have them all the time. It’s no big deal.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head, then dropped her chin to her knees. “There’s nothing to say.”
“I think there is.” He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him, gently cupping her cheek so she was forced to look at him. His eyes were dark and intense but contained no pity, just concern. “Tell me what happened to you.”
“Why?” She eyed him warily. “Why would you want to know that? What possible difference could it make?” Why would you care?
“It can’t hurt you, and it might just help. You’ve been so busy trying to stay alive, I doubt you’ve had time to grieve, to work through the process.” She tried to turn her head away, but he held fast. “Am I right?”
Unblinking, she met his steady gaze. “A lawyer, a bodyguard, and an amateur shrink. Will the real Jefferson McKensie please stand up?”
His smile was as soft as the night air drifting out to sea. “I’d really like to help.”
She looked toward the bushes where the puppy sniffed at the ever-blooming hibiscus and ixora. A warm night breeze floated off the waves, ruffling his fur and stirring the flowers so they bobbed and weaved in front of his curious nose.
“What do you want to know?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the inquisitive puppy.
Everything. All of it. Your favorite color and your favorite food. Your earliest memory and your dreams for the future. I want to know about your parents and your brothers and how you came to be in the middle of this sordid mess. I want to know you.
“Whatever you want to tell me,” he answered quietly.
“It’s a long story,” she warned.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“And neither am I, right?”
He smiled, but said nothing.
Caroline took a deep breath and held it as she listened to the incessant whisper of the palm trees. The long fronds brushed against one another as if trading secrets back and forth.
Maybe it was time to let a few of the secrets out. Jeff deserved the truth—to know who he was really getting involved with. Maybe it was time to trust him, just a little, and hope that he and the ageless trees would keep her secrets safe.
“For most of his life,” she began slowly, “my father was a bookkeeper, and not a very successful one. He had a few steady clients and he did their books once a month. But it wasn’t mu
ch, and financially, it wasn’t enough. My brothers and I grew up on the streets, learning all sorts of interesting ‘survival skills.’“
“Like picking locks?”
Caroline nodded. “Among others. Including some that were a lot more…criminal.” She glanced at Jeff from the corner of her eye, not quite knowing what to expect, but steeling herself just in case disgust and repulsion looked back at her. But if her other-side-of-the-tracks upbringing bothered him, he didn’t show it. For a split second their eyes met and held. His moonlit face reflected only compassion, encouraging her to continue.
“When I was about eight or nine, my mother became ill,” she said. “My father didn’t have any medical insurance and it wasn’t long before he was heavily in debt. He picked up a second job working in a warehouse, and then a third job as a janitor—but it still wasn’t enough. Then one night, he came home with a car filled with groceries and clothes and medicine. It was like Christmas and Thanksgiving and birthdays all rolled into one. He said our troubles were over, thanks to his brand-new ‘client.’“
“Augie Davis,” Jeff interjected.
She looked away. “Yes. But we didn’t know it at the time. Ironically, my mother never had a chance to enjoy my father’s newfound success. She died less than six months later. And two weeks after the funeral, my father shipped the three of us off to Europe. Alden and Brian went to a boys’ school in England, and I was sent to a school for young ladies in France.”
“How old were you?” Jeff asked.
“Ten.” Through years of practice, she had mastered the self-control needed to keep her voice flat and even, as though she were reciting historical facts instead of revealing deep personal pain. “Brian was fourteen, Alden sixteen.”