by Linda Howard
The image haunted him. He turned restlessly on his stomach, bitter resentment rising in him again. He didn’t like this compulsive need for her. He liked being in control, and with her he wasn’t even in control of his own body, because he couldn’t make himself stay away from her. He didn’t like the power she had over him. He couldn’t get her out of his mind! Even now, when he needed so badly to sleep, he remembered the feel of her silky body beneath him, the clasp of her legs around his hips, the deep, inner heat of her. His flesh stirred, and he swore between his teeth. Even in bed, she’d flirted and teased, laughing at him and moving elusively away from him. He’d been too sexually preoccupied to mention getting married, but soon he’d have to put an end to this damnable situation. When they were married, when he had her in his bed every night, she’d be his for good, and he’d be in control once more. With that on his mind, he went to sleep, but even in his sleep it seemed that he was tortured by the power she had over him, and fought with her for control of their relationship. He’d never felt so strongly about a woman before, and his feelings were both unexpected and unwelcome. In his life, he’d trusted only Tom, but now he had Tessa to deal with, and in her own way she was an enigma to him. She was both delicate and strong, elusive but his for the taking, yet even when he took her, he felt that there was a part of her that escaped him, and she was driving him crazy, even in his dreams.
When he woke, it was late in the afternoon; the first thing he thought was that Tessa must be wondering where the hell he was. He’d already picked up the receiver to call her before resentment rose in him. Damn it, he didn’t have to check in with her like some grade-schooler! He dropped the receiver back into its cradle; then frustration with himself got the upper hand and he picked it up again, punching out Evan’s room number. Evan answered on the third ring, his voice thick and still sleepy, and Brett knew that, like himself, Evan was catching up on his sleep. “I’m going over to Tessa’s,” he said brusquely. “You can get in touch with me there if you need me.”
“Sure,” Evan agreed sleepily, then laughed. “I don’t blame you. If I could be with her, I wouldn’t be wasting time in a hotel room, either!”
Brett showered and shaved, his lowered eyebrows testimony to his black mood. He was getting damned tired of every man in the country slavering over Tessa like dogs over a juicy bone. She was his. No other man had ever held her naked in his arms as he had done. With his hands and mouth and possessive lovemaking he’d branded her as his, every lovely, silky inch of her. He burned to have her again, to bury himself in her and hold her so close that nothing could get between them, to protect her from the undefined threat that was hanging over her head. He hoped that no one ever told her that she’d been used as a cover to hide an embezzler. She liked Sammy Wallace. She’d be distressed enough when he was arrested without knowing that he’d used her.
Half an hour later he rang her doorbell. Then impatience made him abandon the bell and bang on the door with his fist.
“Hold your horses!” he heard her mutter irritably on the other side of the door, and surprise at her bad mood made his eyebrows lift. “Who is it?”
“Me,” he answered shortly.
The door didn’t open, and she said just as shortly, “What do you want?”
The surge of anger that shook him was so strong that he ground his teeth in an effort to control it. What sort of game was she playing now? He wasn’t going to argue with her through a door. “Tessa, open this door,” he said in a controlled voice, then barked, “Now!”
She opened it, but blocked his entrance. Her face was cool and blank, but her eyes were spitting green fire. She didn’t have any prior experience with love affairs, but she’d known immediately that she didn’t like going to bed with her lover, the man she loved, and waking to an empty bed and an empty apartment, with no note to tell her where he was or when he would be back, with no phone call all day long. Brett Rutland was so arrogant that he probably expected her still to be waiting for him in bed where he’d left her.
He took a step forward, towering over her, but she didn’t step back to let him in the door. His navy eyes narrowed. Did she expect to block him with her body? The idea was almost laughable, if he’d been in the mood to laugh. She barely reached his shoulder, and he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds; he was roped with powerful muscles, while she was all soft silk and satin, yet she stood there glaring stubbornly up at him. Why had he never noticed the proud willfulness in her expression? She had a flashfire temper, he suddenly realized, a temper that was usually hidden behind lazy laughter, because she protected herself with indifference and humor. She became angry only when she cared about something.
She cared. Before she realized what he was about, he put his hand on her waist and gently lifted her to eye level with him, holding her suspended in the air. “I worked all night,” he explained in a quiet, level tone. “Evan and I went to bed about dawn. When I woke up, I showered and shaved and came straight over here. I’m not used to anyone having the right to expect an explanation of my whereabouts.”
Tessa still glowered at him. If that was supposed to be an apology, he needed a lot of work in that area; but then, it was really only an explanation, and a reluctantly given one at that. Still, in a back-ended way he’d admitted that she had the right to an explanation. The hard edge of her anger evaporated, but she wasn’t able to forgive him completely yet.
“Put me down,” she finally said, her voice as level as his.
“Kiss me, first.”
She stared at him, then blushed. “No. If I do, you’ll…we’ll…”
A tiny smile of amusement curled his hard mouth. “Baby, I already am, and we will anyway.”
She wanted to hit him. “You’re not short in the ego department, are you?”
“Or any other department,” he whispered, and eased her against him. “Put your legs around me.”
Furiously she pushed against him. “Brett, we’re standing in an open door! Put me down!”
He took another step forward and kicked the door shut behind him. “Tessa,” he growled, and fastened his mouth to hers. Her hands were braced against his heavy shoulders, and she tried again to push herself away from him, again without result. His mouth was hot, moving on hers, opening her lips for the entry of his tongue, and she shuddered at the electric pleasure that jolted her body. With a whispery moan she stopped trying to hold on to her anger. Despite wanting to box his ears, she loved him, and loving him was so much better than fighting with him. He hadn’t declared undying love and devotion, but still he’d given her more than any other woman had ever had from him. He’d given her the right to question him. She hadn’t chosen a comfortable man to love, but he was all man, and she was going to make him all hers.
His breathing was heavy, his mouth hungry as he moved it down to her throat. Arching her against him with one hard arm clamped around her waist, he closed his other hand over her breast. Her legs parted automatically for him; she lifted them to clamp her thighs on either side of his lean waist, with her ankles locked behind him. “That’s right,” he rasped against her throat as he pushed himself against the cradle of her body. He kneaded her breast, wringing little cries of pleasure from her and making her writhe against him until he couldn’t stand the sweet torment any longer and began walking toward the bedroom, still holding her wrapped tightly around him.
“Tell me that you love me,” he demanded in a low, harsh whisper as he placed her on the bed and swiftly stripped away her clothes.
“I love you.” She saw the flare of satisfaction in his eyes, satisfaction and something else, something cool and unreadable, and she was suddenly frightened. But then he was naked and he came down on the bed with her, covering her with his hard, heated flesh. He entered her at once, so powerfully that her nails sank into his shoulders. He made love to her with a passion that was almost violent, but always controlled, and he controlled her, too, setting their rhythm and pace, wringing sensations from her. He gave her exqui
site pleasure, but even at the peak of her ecstasy, she wondered at the bitter look of resentment he’d given her.
CHAPTER SIX
BRETT STARED AT the microfilm of the checks written on the account of the bogus Conway, Inc. and sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought the urge to vomit. Nothing in his life had ever made him any sicker than he felt at the moment, and he closed his eyes, slumping weakly against the back of his chair. He couldn’t take it in; he simply couldn’t believe it, couldn’t grasp the implications of it. The signature on the bottom of those checks was a very feminine one. An attempt had been made to disguise the handwriting by using a script that was a mixture of printing and writing, but that didn’t matter. What mattered, what had hit him with such force that he felt as if he’d been pole-axed, was the name: Tessa Conway. Tessa! God in heaven, how could it be her? How could she cling to him as she had, give herself so fiercely, whisper that she loved him, when all the time she was stealing from the company that it was his job to protect?
He raised a shaking hand to his eyes, as if to shield them from the damning evidence before him, but he couldn’t shield himself from his own thoughts, and they grew more bitter as the moments passed. He’d been used, for a motive as old as time. Had she thought that if she forged a relationship with him, he wouldn’t be able to prosecute her if her little get-rich-the-easy-way scheme was uncovered? Had she thought that he might even protect her? Damn her, she’d even given him her virginity! She was a smart woman, all right. Few men could cast off the entwined chains of guilt, responsibility and passion.
He’d made a fool of himself with her, he thought bitterly. But at least he hadn’t gotten around to asking her to marry him. At least she didn’t know just how big a fool he was. That was the only consolation his pride could find: She didn’t know. Black rage boiled up in him at the thought that she must be smugly congratulating herself for luring him into her net so easily. It was barely a week since he’d seen her for the first time, and she’d had him tied in knots, ready to quit his job and take her away with him to the ranch, full of stupid dreams about the future with her as his wife, even planning for the children they’d have.
The hell of it was, the signs had been there for him to read, if he hadn’t been blinded by his own lust. She had both the skill and the opportunity. Her apartment, though not luxurious, certainly wasn’t cheap. She drove a new car; she dressed well. She’d grown up in poverty, so much so that her aunt had had to take them in. Had she seen her thievery merely as insurance against a return to poverty?
The lying little bitch!
He shoved himself out of his chair and stood up, running his hand through his hair. He was shaking with the force of his fury, an anger so powerful that he could feel it burning inside him. No matter what her motive, she was a thief, and he was a fool. He’d been so hot for her that he’d neglected his job, something he’d never done before. It would be a long time before he allowed himself to forget that.
A knock on the door made him jerk around. He knew it would be Evan, so he said, “Come on in,” and was amazed at the cool control in his voice.
“I couldn’t get away from Ralph,” Evan said as he entered and closed the door behind him. Ralph Little was head of data processing. “Did you get the microfilm of the checks?”
Brett indicated his desk. “Take a look.”
Evan went over to the desk and looked at the copies of the checks. He was silent a moment, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, hell,” he said quietly.
Brett was silent.
Evan began to swear under his breath, a string of oaths that would have done credit to a sailor. He looked up at Brett, his eyes a little stunned. “This makes me sick.”
His mouth twisting bitterly, Brett moved over to the window and looked out. “I know the feeling.”
“Damn it, I never thought—not even when we caught on to that bogus account. I wrote it off as just a coincidence, or thought that the name had been picked because it was so similiar to Conmay.”
“Yeah, so did I.” He’d gotten control of himself, now that he was over the first brutal shock.
After a moment, Evan said, “What are you going to do?”
“Get a warrant for her arrest. Prosecute. Do the job I was sent down here to do.”
The cold steel of Brett’s voice made Evan wince. “Let’s hold off for a few days; maybe if we talk to Mr. Carter—”
“His instructions are to prosecute to the full extent of the law. I intend to do just that.”
“Brett, damn it, this is Tessa we’re talking about!”
“I know exactly who we’re talking about: a thief.”
“I can’t do it,” Evan whispered.
There was nothing any colder than Brett’s eyes. The expression in them was an arctic wasteland. “I can,” he said.
He had to; he didn’t have any choice about it. Nothing would ease the crippling sense of betrayal, the feeling that something vital had been torn out of his insides, but he could at least do the job he’d been sent to Los Angeles to do. He could refuse to make any more of a fool out of himself than he’d already done. In time, he might even be able to feel a little grateful to Tessa. After all, she’d shown him irrefutably that the best course was the one he’d always followed before her: Enjoy a woman, but don’t allow her under your guard. He wouldn’t make this mistake again. All he had to do now was his job…that, and get through the nights without her, when his body ached for her, when his mind was filled with the burning, erotic memories of making love to her.
Already he felt haunted. He pushed the thoughts of her away and strode to the desk to flick on the intercom. “Helen, get the D.A.’s office for me, please.”
“The district attorney?” Helen asked in confirmation, her tone a little puzzled.
“That’s right.”
He turned the intercom off and met Evan’s grim look.
“We’ve got all the evidence we need, though I’m going to have the handwriting of that signature analyzed, anyway,” Evan said. “We can get a conviction, if that’s what you’re going after. But for God’s sake, don’t have her arrested here at work. Don’t do that to her.”
Brett’s eyes went black. “I wasn’t going to,” he snapped. “Do you think I’d humiliate her that way?” Suddenly pain sliced through him, and he closed his eyes for a moment. No, he didn’t want to publicly humiliate her. He wanted to beat the living daylights out of her to teach her not to steal; then he wanted to chain her to his wrist and drag her off to Wyoming and keep her there for the rest of her life. Even now, even knowing how she’d used him, he wanted her, and admitting that to himself hurt as much as the knowledge that she’d been playing with him.
The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Rutland, I have John Morrison, the district attorney, on line one.”
“Thank you, Helen.” Brett punched the appropriate line, not even wondering how Helen had gotten the district attorney himself. He didn’t care. All he could do now was concentrate on getting this done and over with, and living through it.
When he hung up the phone ten minutes later, he had a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. The wheels had been set in motion. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he wiped it away. “We have to take all of this to the D.A.’s office,” he said, indicating the damning copies of the checks, the piles of computer printouts, the lists of account numbers, all the methods they’d used to eliminate the legitimate withdrawals.
“Yeah. I’ll do it.” Evan’s voice was hollow, and his face was gray. Brett wondered briefly what in hell he looked like, if Evan looked that bad. Evan knew her only peripherally, while he…God, he’d had her beneath him in bed, writhing in mindless need, her body sweet and hot and clinging, accepting his powerful thrusts with joyous abandon. At least he’d kept his head enough not to risk making her pregnant…. As soon as he had the thought, he went cold. Yesterday afternoon. He remembered standing in the doorway, lifting her up and clasping her to him. He remembered her legs locking around his waist.
He’d carried her to bed, and in his urgency to possess her he hadn’t thought about protecting her. Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he’d even discounted the need to do so, since he’d planned on marrying her so soon that any pregnancy would have been only a little early. But now…
Was this part of her scheme, too? She’d never even mentioned birth control. Had she deliberately ignored it, hoping that the possibility of her having his baby would force him to protect her if she got caught?
What the hell difference did it make? he wondered, agonized. If she was pregnant, whether it was deliberate or an accident, he’d have to protect her. He couldn’t let his child be born in a prison hospital. He’d no longer have the option of quitting his job. He’d be fired for going behind Joshua Carter’s back and dropping the charges against her, but he had the legal authority to do it, and he’d use it, if he had to. A bitter smile curved his mouth. It was a measure of how far down the road to madness he was that he found himself actually hoping that she was pregnant, so he’d have an excuse to step in and jerk her out of the mess she’d gotten herself into.
“Brett? Are you all right?”
Evan’s reluctantly posed question brought him out of his black thoughts, and he realized that his fists were clenched. Slowly, he forced himself to relax. “I’m all right,” he said, but his throat burned on the words, as if he’d screamed them instead. “Get this stuff down to the D.A.’s office, and let’s get it over with.”
* * *
OVER LUNCH WITH Billie that day, Tessa couldn’t keep the smile from her lips or the glow from her eyes. She was in love, and after yesterday she was certain that Brett loved her, too, even though he hadn’t said it. She realized instinctively that the words would come hard to him; he’d be reluctant to admit his emotional vulnerability. His aloof, controlled character made it difficult for him to allow anyone to get close to him, but she no longer had any doubt that by some bright miracle she’d done exactly that. The thought of having that incredibly tough, sexy man love her made her feel oddly humble, for her life had been almost boringly mundane and normal, and she’d never done anything outstanding or exalted enough to earn his love. She wasn’t a high-powered executive or lawyer, or a passionately dedicated doctor, or a brilliantly talented artist. She was a bookkeeper, and content with her position in life, for she lacked intense ambition in her character makeup. Her only gifts were laughter and the ability to enjoy life. Why was that enough to attract a man like him? And did she really care, so long as he was attracted? Of course not!
