Midnight Jewels

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Mercy, honey, calm down,” he urged softly, realizing at last what was happening. She didn’t know what she was doing. He tried to clasp her wrists but she ignored him, yanked her hands free and went back to unbuttoning his shirt.

  “I’m not going to calm down, so you might as well save your breath. I figure I can either use you for a punching bag or a stud. Take your pick, but you’d better choose fast.”

  “If you won’t calm down, then slow down,” he ordered gently. “Mercy, I need a shower.” She was squirming on him as she worked her way down his chest. She got the shirt unbuttoned and began plucking furiously at his belt buckle. He could feel her heat as she slid down over his lower body.

  “I don’t want to slow down and you can take your shower later. For once we’re going to do something my way.”

  She unzipped his jeans so quickly Croft sucked in his breath. “Mercy, be careful.”

  “Why should I start being careful now? I haven’t been careful since I met you.” She wriggled further down his legs, tugging furiously at the jeans. She got them past his hips and then lifted her head, her eyes challenging him. “Well? Do you want me to use you for a punching bag or a stud?”

  “For crying out loud, Mercy, this is ridiculous.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or shake her until she gained a semblance of normal behavior.

  “Forget I gave you a choice. I’ve decided I’ll get more use out of you as a stud than a punching bag. Sex is what I want, not a gym workout.” She grabbed the waistband of his briefs and stripped them down to where his jeans were caught just above his knees.

  He felt his stiffening manhood fall into her waiting hands.

  “Hang on a second, honey. If you want me to make love to you, just give me a minute and I’ll do it right.”

  “You don’t have to worry about doing it right. We’re not doing this your way. We’re doing it the way I want it done. You don’t have to say or do anything except perform on command. Close your mouth and concentrate on being useful. You might try meditation. Here, I’ll give you something a little different in the way of mantras.”

  Croft didn’t realize what she intended until he felt her hair flowing around his thighs. Then her soft mouth found him in an overwhelmingly intimate caress. Α shudder went through him.

  “Oh, Christ.”

  Mercy didn’t respond. She was too busy exploring him with her tongue.

  Croft realized she had never done anything like this before in her life, but that didn’t seem to be slowing her down.

  She was cautious at first, tentative, but eager, and what she lacked in skill she was more than compensating for with sheer determination. She didn’t seem at all interested in advice or suggestions from her victim. Her fingers cradled the heavy globes at the base of his throbbing shaft while she learned the taste of him.

  Croft felt the edge of her teeth skim lightly over the most vulnerable place on his body and he nearly exploded in her mouth.

  He had told her once that there was a fine line between pleasure and pain. Mercy had found it.

  She had claimed she was doing this for her own pleasure. It was her own release she sought, a way to relieve the nervous tension and anxiety that was driving her. But Croft found himself enthralled by the sensual assault. He had never experienced anything like it in his life.

  He had spent years learning to master himself. Self-mastery made it easy to master others. He was always the one in control, even in the rare moments of sexual climax.

  Except when he was with Mercy.

  She had already demonstrated that she could provoke him into sharing a wild, shimmering release with her. Now she was teaching him that she had the power to overwhelm him completely. She had the power to force his surrender. No woman had ever treated him like this.

  No woman had ever wanted him this much.

  Croft groaned as the tip of Mercy’s tongue circled him. He was torn between grabbing her and pinning her beneath him and a surprisingly strong impulse to simply lie back and enjoy the unfamiliar excitement of surrender. It was his nature to dominate, yet with Mercy he was learning that there were other ways to find pleasure.

  Mercy had said she was going to use him to achieve her own gratification, but surely no woman could make such intoxicating love to a man unless she felt something more than lust.

  Croft closed his eyes, twining his fingers into Mercy’s tousled hair. Driven by the spiraling desire that was rapidly threatening to overtake his senses, he lifted his hips, wanting more of her sweet, hot kisses. Mercy answered the silent plea for more with a final butterfly caress, and then she was pulling away from him.

  “No,” Croft murmured, opening his eyes to discover her kneeling between his spread legs. “Don’t stop. Not now.” His momentary fascination with finding himself a victim of Mercy’s assertiveness faded quickly. She had aroused him too fully. He couldn’t let her quit now. Croft started to reach for her.

  “Don’t you dare move,” Mercy ordered. “I’ve got you exactly as I want you. Stay put.” She grabbed the hem of her pullover and yanked it over her head, heedlessly tossing it aside.

  Croft breathed deeply when he realized she was wearing nothing underneath. The taut peaks of her high breasts were dark against her pale skin. He ached to take a gemlike nipple into his mouth. He lifted a hand, letting his fingers brush lightly across the tip of one soft white breast.

  But Mercy ignored him. She was too busy shimmying out of her jeans. When she shoved the denim down over her hips, she removed her panties at the same time. The tawny triangle of hair glistened in the morning sun.

  Croft caught his breath, his whole body tight and heavy with his need. All his instincts urged him to pull her down beneath him so he could drive himself into her. He had had enough of this passive surrender bit. It was an interesting novelty, but now impatience was consuming him. His hand closed around Mercy’s thigh, his fingers sinking into her resilient, warm flesh.

  “Take your hand off me,” she hissed as she finished kicking off the denims.

  “Mercy, what’s the matter with you? You want me. You’ve said it yourself.”

  “I’ve had it with you taking control. I’m in charge here. Lie down and shut up.”

  She moved on top of him and Croft allowed himself to be pushed back into the pillows once more. She was all over him with a vengeance. Her fingers pushed through the hair on his chest, her lips were buried against his throat, her soft inner thighs clasped him tightly.

  He stirred and groaned thickly when she lowered herself over his rigid shaft. He felt the heat of her femininity seconds before he felt the dampness. Croft thought he would go out of his mind.

  She levered herself up, her small hands planted solidly on his chest as if to pin him down while she took him. Then she slowly began to ease him into her velvety sheath. Croft heard her draw a deep, impatient breath at her body’s initial resistance.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, wriggling in an effort to accommodate his size.

  She was small and sensitive and delicate. Didn’t she realize she couldn’t rush this part of things? Croft wanted to laugh, but the sexy wriggling as she forced herself down onto his shaft was nearly his undoing. The amusement he had felt briefly because of her impatience faded beneath the much stronger desire to grab her hips and pull her down until he was completely inside her. He clamped his hands on her thighs, unable to resist the need to take charge of the lovemaking. He was wild for her now.

  She pushed his hands away at once. Croft swore softly, but he found himself letting her get away with the action. She didn’t seem to realize just how vulnerable she was, he thought, his mind clouded with a savage desire. He could pick her up with one hand, toss her down on the bed beneath him and cover her body with his own. He could put an end to this act of feminine aggression in two seconds flat. She must know that if he chose to take control she couldn’t possib
ly stop him.

  But she seemed to have no fear of him, Croft realized dazedly, no sense of being the smaller and more helpless one in this assault, no fear that he would override her commands and become the aggressor.

  In some perverse manner, it was a measure of her trust in him.

  Then his frustration and exultant anticipation reached new heights as, with a small cry, Mercy took him inside her.

  “Sweet Mercy.” It was an exclamation of wonder, an impatient curse against the gentle, feminine domination and a muffled shout of pleasure. “Mercy.”

  Her nails were digging into his shoulders as she established a slow, surging rhythm that left her and Croft both shuddering. Croft opened his mouth when she leaned over him and sought his lips with her own. Her tongue slipped inside in an aggressive penetration that was an exciting reversal of the penetration lower down.

  Croft tightened his arms around her, glorying in the soft, hot feel of her. He sensed she was losing her own self-control now, becoming swamped by the sizzling sensations she had sought to command. He knew how it felt. On the occasions when he had made love to her, it had always ended like that for him. In the final analysis there was no winner or loser, only a passionate bonding and shimmering climax that had to be shared together.

  Mercy cried out and her teeth sank into his earlobe when the coiled spring inside her finally released. The small convulsions squeezed him demandingly and Croft dimly heard his own muffled, exultant shout. His body surged deeply into hers one last time and then he was erupting inside her.

  Mercy clung to him as tightly as he clung to her and together they rode out the fabulous storm that tore through their bodies.

  Together they slowly returned to the here and now.

  Together they sank back into the rumpled sheets, their legs entwined, their perspiration-slick bodies gliding against each other.

  Together.

  Croft lay still for a long time, enjoying the feel of Mercy in his arms. It was a while before she stirred, slithered off and curled up beside him. He turned his head to look at her and found her watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. She blinked sleepily and yawned like a cat.

  “It’s okay, honey,” he said gently. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

  “Mean what?” Her eyes were closing as she nestled her head more comfortably into the pillow.

  “What you said earlier about being in love with me. It was the tension and your nerves talking. And you have a tendency to say rash things before you’ve thought them through.”

  “I really wish you’d stop putting your foot in your mouth, Croft.” She turned over on her side, presenting her back to him. “It’s going to be hard enough as it is to respect you in the morning.”

  She was asleep before he could even begin to formulate a response to that one. Croft gazed at the curve of her bare shoulder for a long while before he finally got up, pulled on his jeans and sought solace in his meditation.

  Mercy awoke to find herself alone in the motel room. Judging from the position of the sun, she guessed it was early afternoon. She probably hadn’t had more than four hours of sleep, but it seemed to be sufficient. She felt rested and the frazzled feeling was definitely gone.

  She stretched luxuriously, letting her mind drift back. The events in Drifter’s Creek seemed very distant in the light of day. Ghosts always faded in the sun.

  Except for Croft. He seemed as real and substantial as ever, even in full daylight.

  Mercy tossed the covers aside and padded into the bathroom for a shower. While she stood under the driving water she wondered if Croft had done his civic duty and telephoned the authorities.

  I don’t deal well with authorities. Mercy recalled his words and wondered what they meant.

  Mercy finished her shower and put on her jeans and a fresh shirt. She was busy securing her hair into a no-nonsense twist that would keep the tawny mass out of her eyes when Croft materialized in the doorway.

  As usual there had been no sound of the door opening, no footsteps to warn her, no knock. The door was simply closed one instant and the next he was in the room with her. Croft was obviously back to normal. He was carrying a paper sack that had come from a restaurant.

  Mercy met his eyes in the dressing table mirror and her hands stilled on top of her head. As memories of her early morning aggression returned she determinedly fought down the blush that threatened to turn her face a vivid pink.

  “Is that coffee? Good. I could use a cup. Did you call the sheriff about Dallas and Lance?” She kept her voice bright and chatty and hurried to finish pinning her hair in place.

  “Coffee for you, tea for me. Yes, I called the sheriff. About two hours ago. Anonymously from a pay phone.” He walked over to stand behind her, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror.

  It was Mercy who looked away first, pretending to be searching for a hairpin. “So they’ll pick up Dallas and Lance.”

  “If Gladstone hasn’t found them first.”

  “Do you think he’ll have gone looking for them?” Mercy demanded.

  Croft set the cup of coffee down on the table, leaned over and dropped a lingering kiss on the exposed nape of her neck. Mercy shivered and her eyes flew back to meet his in the mirror.

  “No.” Croft straightened, apparently satisfied with the telltale shiver he had induced in her. “I don’t think Gladstone will have found them. I doubt he even looked for them. When Lance and Dallas failed to return last night, he probably assumed they were dead.”

  “Dead!”

  “It’s how he would have left them if he’d been in my place.” Croft shrugged. “By now he’ll have something more important on his mind.”

  Mercy chewed her lower lip. “Escaping?”

  Croft shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll run very far. Not yet. There are too many loose ends. But that helicopter makes him too damn mobile. With any luck he’ll decide he’s safe enough where he is for the time being. Even if Dallas and Lance turn up in the hands of the sheriff, Gladstone isn’t in danger of anything more than having to answer a few polite questions.”

  “Won’t he be afraid we’ll lodge a complaint against him?”

  “I don’t think so,” Croft said. “He’ll probably assume we’re operating on our own. That’s what I want him to think. That means we aren’t likely to complain to the cops. Even if we did, all Gladstone has to do is deny any knowledge of Dallas and Lance’s activities.”

  “You really do believe he’s Egan Graves, don’t you, Croft?”

  “I’m almost sure of it now. But I can’t move until I know where he’s going to go to ground. As soon as I find out…” Croft let the sentence trail off as he paced to the window and stood looking out. He sipped his tea. “That book is still the key to this mess.” He looked at Mercy over his shoulder. “And we’ve got it because you had the guts to go back into the vault and get it last night. Thanks, Mercy.”

  “Don’t thank me,” she told him waspishly. “I didn’t have any choice. You refused to leave the pool room without it, remember?”

  His smile was rueful. “Vaguely.”

  Mercy’s brows came together. “How are you feeling? Any sign of a hangover?”

  “No. Whatever it was seems to be gone from my system.”

  “It’s amazing you could function at all last night, let alone handle Dallas and Lance. You were on the point of collapse.”

  “You were the one who got me out of the pool and got us out of the house.”

  Mercy set her back teeth. “So you owe me, right?”

  He nodded seriously. “Right.”

  “Oh, goody. I can’t wait to collect.”

  He surprised her with a fleeting expression of mischief. “I thought you already did. Bright and early this morning.”

  Mercy lost control over the blush that had been threatening her since he had walked into
the room. She tried to brazen her way through the embarrassing little scene with a deliberately lofty smile. “I’ll admit you make a very interesting sex slave.”

  “Thank you. My only goal is to please. Tell me the truth. Do you still respect me?”

  She wasn’t sure what to make of his provoking banter, but her pride wouldn’t let her back down. She felt obliged to hold her own. “There are certain aspects of you that definitely command respect.” She let her eyes drop to a point below his waist.

  “So help me, Mercy, one of these days—”

  She didn’t see him move, but suddenly he was across the room. His hands closed around her shoulders and he hauled her lightly to her feet. When she jerked her startled gaze up to meet his she found herself staring into hazel depths filled with a combination of laughter and exasperation.

  There was no sign of the too-familiar remoteness in Croft’s eyes, no evidence of detachment. Mercy was entranced.

  “About this little matter of respect,” Croft began warningly.

  Mercy smiled, her eyes brilliant. “I want to assure you, Croft, that you have my sincerest respect.”

  The laughter faded from his gaze to be replaced by an unreadable expression. The look he gave her wasn’t remote or distant this time, just enigmatic. He leaned down to kiss her slowly and possessively.

  “I guess that’s a start,” he said.

  “Croft?”

  He released her and went back to the window. “We have to talk, Mercy.”

  “I know.”

  He threw her a narrow glance. “About Gladstone. Or Graves, or whoever he is.”

  She sighed. “I know. What happens now?”

  “You’re going to phone your bookshop and alert the woman who’s covering for you that someone will be trying to reach you through that number. She’s to take the caller’s number and then give it to you when you check in with her. Keep it casual. No need to alarm her. But make sure she knows she’s not to give the number here to the person who calls her looking for you.”