The realization almost sent him into a full-scale panic because regardless of the depth of his feelings for her, he knew there was no future for them. She was a Rutherford—that should have been more than enough incentive to keep him the hell away from her. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t Rutherford blood running through her veins, but she’d grown up in their world, with all the attendant rights and privileges. He was a Logan—paternity unknown. There was no way her parents would ever approve of him.
Not that he wanted their approval. He’d be damned before he’d try to fit in with the Rutherford-Quinlans of this world. He’d tried to be what Jocelyn wanted, and his failure had hurt them both. He wouldn’t do that to Riane. He wouldn’t make her promises he couldn’t keep. He wouldn’t ask for anything she didn’t want to give. Which meant that he couldn’t hope for anything more with Riane than what they had now.
Despite the warm presence of her sleeping beside him, he suddenly felt alone. Having experienced the joy and fulfillment of making love with Riane, how could he live the rest of his life without her?
There was no easy answer to the question, but he knew that it was what he’d have to do. But not yet. For now she was here. And he intended to enjoy every single minute they had together.
He skimmed a hand over her torso, his fingertips trailing over the silky softness of her skin. Riane murmured in her sleep and snuggled closer, one of her legs sliding between his, her breasts pressing against his chest. He touched his lips to her throat, nibbled gently. Her eyes opened; her lips curved.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi.” He cupped the fullness of her breast in his hand, stroked his thumb over the pebbled nipple. Her breath caught, her eyes darkened. “Any regrets?”
“Only that I wasted so much time sleeping.”
He kissed her, a tender soul-stirring kiss to express the feelings he couldn’t put into words. Despite his intention to take things slowly, to spend hours cherishing every inch of her body, their passion escalated quickly.
Her hands roamed over him, boldly, freely. Whatever inhibitions Riane might have had before they’d made love last night had been quickly shed. She was eager and curious and—his eyes crossed when she wrapped her fingers around him—a very fast learner.
She stroked him slowly, teasingly, until his breath grew ragged and he had to remove her hand or risk disappointing both of them. But Riane wasn’t deterred. She continued her leisurely exploration of his body, halting only when her fingers found the scar low on his abdomen.
He wondered if it would bother her, this tangible evidence of his failed career. She traced the puckered flesh slowly, her touch gentle. “Is this where you were shot?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Does it hurt?”
“Most of the time I don’t even remember it’s there.”
Her eyes were dark with concern. “Can you tell me what happened?”
He shrugged, as if every second of the incident wasn’t permanently etched in his memory. “I got an anonymous tip that there were videotapes in the building. The police had gone over every square inch of the warehouse looking for evidence, but they’d missed the tapes because they were hidden inside a hollow door. On those tapes was evidence of executions that Conroy had ordered. Evidence he kept to ensure the continued loyalty of his executioners and—some members of his inner circle believed—for his own viewing pleasure.”
“That’s sick.”
Joel didn’t disagree. “I knew the tip might be nothing more than a trap, an attempt to get rid of me because I’d come too close to exposing the truth about Conroy. But I wanted so badly to make the case against him, and I needed those tapes to do it.”
“Did you find them?”
“I found them,” he admitted. “They were in my hand when I was shot. But when I came to, hours later in the hospital, no one seemed to know anything about the videotapes.”
She rubbed her fingertips gently over the scar again. “I read the newspaper account of your injury. And even though I was furious with you at the time, it terrified me to think how close you’d come to being killed.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Thank God for that.” She looked up at him and smiled.
“If I’d never met you, I’d still be a virgin.”
Joel chuckled, surprised that he could find humor in anything when his body was wound up so tightly with wanting her. But Riane was constantly surprising him, as she did when she slid down his body and touched her lips to the scar. Then she moved lower.
He sucked in a breath and hauled her back up, flipping her onto her back and pinning her to the mattress with his own body.
He paused only long enough to protect her, then slipped into the welcoming wet heat of her body. They moved together, falling into a comfortable rhythm as if they’d been making love for years. He’d never felt as complete as he felt when his body was joined with Riane’s, and he never wanted to let her go.
Later that morning Joel convinced Riane to check out of the hotel and go back to his house. Not that it had taken much convincing. It was as if they both knew their time together was limited and didn’t want to spend a single minute apart unless it was absolutely necessary. Not that she’d made any mention of leaving, but he knew it was inevitable.
He’d never managed to keep a woman in his life for very long. Not even his mother had stuck around. He and Jocelyn had maintained the illusion of their marriage for almost four years, but the relationship had deteriorated long before their vows were dissolved. So he resolved to enjoy the time he had with Riane and treasure the memories when she was gone.
They spent the day together, wandering through the market and the shops of downtown. They had lunch at a little café overlooking the water, then walked through the botanical gardens and bought ice cream from a street vendor. They held hands and shared kisses on the sidewalk, oblivious to the passersby, oblivious to everyone but each other. Joel couldn’t remember the last day he’d spent like this—doing nothing and having the time of his life.
They stopped at a Chinese takeout place on the way home and forgot about the food the minute they stepped through the door. It was a long time later before they bothered to reheat their dinner, and much later still when they finally fell asleep, their bodies tangled together.
When Joel finished his shower Monday morning and stepped back into the bedroom to get dressed, he was disappointed to find that Riane was already out of bed. Not that he had time to slide between the covers with her again, but simply because he liked to see her there.
He found her in the kitchen sipping from a mug of coffee. She was wearing one of his T-shirts and, he could tell by the way the soft cotton molded to her curves, absolutely nothing else. He felt his system snap to attention without the necessity of caffeine.
“I have a meeting this morning,” Joel said, after a long, lingering kiss. “But I’m hoping it won’t take too long.”
“I’ll be here whenever you get back,” she assured him.
He kissed her again, more tempted than ever to blow off his scheduled appointment. The whole meeting would probably be an exercise in futility, anyway. He couldn’t imagine anything that Gavin Elliott might tell him that was more important than taking Riane back upstairs and making love with her again.
He slid his hands beneath the hem of the T-shirt, confirming his earlier supposition that she was naked beneath the garment. She sighed as his fingers skimmed over her skin, pressed herself closer to him, and he completely forgot that he even had an appointment.
It was Riane who finally pulled away. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath came in shallow gasps, but she put her hands on his chest and pushed him toward the door. “You have a meeting.”
He glanced at his watch and swore. He was already late. Still, he brushed one last kiss on her lips. “I’ll be back soon.”
It would be soon, he promised.
He held the society page closer. Studied the picture. It was a poor quality photog
raph, but it was her. The last piece of the puzzle.
This meeting would confirm it. Eliminate any residual doubt. As soon as he was certain, he could set his plan in motion.
The door of the diner opened.
He tucked the paper out of sight.
Joel pushed aside his lingering apprehension as he pushed open the glass door. He wasn’t convinced that Gavin Elliott had anything of interest to tell him, but he couldn’t forget about the phone call. He couldn’t stop wondering about the information Elliott claimed Joel would want.
The only thing Joel wanted right now was to go home—to Riane. But he knew that she wouldn’t be able to move ahead with her life until she’d dealt with all the ghosts of her past. Unfortunately, Gavin Elliott was one of those ghosts.
The breakfast crowd had long since gone, and only a couple of tables were occupied when Joel stepped into the diner. The scents of burned grease and stale smoke permeated the air. A female voice crooned from the ancient jukebox in the corner about love gone bad.
Joel spotted Elliott immediately. He was seated at one of the green vinyl booths near the back of the restaurant. He looked better than he had in prison. He was clean shaven and dressed in a suit. His hair was neatly combed, his eyes clear, purposeful, the hint of a smile on his lips.
His demeanor unnerved Joel. What did a man recently released from prison have to look so damn pleased about?
He slid into the seat across from Elliott.
“Coffee?” Elliott asked, as pleasantly as if he was entertaining in his own home.
Joel wanted to refuse, but Elliott was already waving the waitress over to their table.
She was young, probably not much more than twenty, Joel guessed, and her faded pink uniform stretched tightly across her very pregnant belly. She flipped over the cup in front of Joel and filled it from the carafe she carried in her hand.
“Can I get you a menu?” she asked, offering a tired but pleasant smile.
“No, thanks.” Joel wanted to get this meeting over as quickly as possible.
“I’ll have the special,” Elliott said. “Eggs scrambled with sausage.”
The waitress nodded and retreated to the kitchen to place his order.
“Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Elliott commented, watching the woman’s retreating form.
Joel sipped at his coffee.
“She’d be about my daughter’s age, wouldn’t she?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Joel said.
“You’ve found her though.” It was more a statement than a question, as if Elliott already knew the answer.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of my investigation with you.”
“‘Not at liberty,’” Elliott mocked, then smiled. “I gave you useful information, didn’t I?”
“You gave me the name of a lawyer who passed away several years ago,” Joel told him.
“Lawyers keep files,” Elliott said.
“Usually they do,” Joel agreed, wondering if Elliott had brought him here to seek rather than impart information.
Elliott shook his head. “I thought there was something unusual about the way things were handled.”
“What do you mean?”
Elliott turned to the waitress as she set his plate in front of him. “Thank you, darling.”
She offered another tired smile. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
“I’m sure I will,” Elliott responded pleasantly, and proceeded to dig his fork into the mound of eggs.
“Why did you think there was something unusual about the adoption?” Joel demanded.
Elliott sprinkled pepper onto his eggs, slathered grape jelly onto a triangle of toast.
Joel sat back, his fingers clamped tightly around the ceramic mug in his hand. The man was playing him. He knew it. He just didn’t know how to end the game. He could walk away, of course, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Elliott was holding back some crucial piece of evidence. And that this meeting was his only chance to get it.
“They took good care of her, didn’t they?” Elliott asked, slicing through a sausage link.
Joel was surprised by the question. The last time he’d spoken to Elliott, the other man had shown no interest in the daughter he’d given up more than twenty years earlier.
“Bet she grew up in a big house, with lots of fancy clothes and expensive toys.” Elliott continued to eat, not bothered by Joel’s lack of response. “The atmosphere in this place leaves a lot to be desired, but the food is phenomenal.”
Joel accepted a refill on his coffee. It was strong and a little stale, but he imagined it was better than whatever they served in prison.
“Was there a reason you requested this meeting, Mr. Elliott, or did you just want company over breakfast?”
“Of course there was a reason,” Elliott assured him. “I don’t believe in wasting time—mine or anyone else’s.”
“Are you going to share that reason with me?” Joel asked, his patience rapidly dissipating.
“It’s about my daughter,” he said. “Rheanne.”
Joel waited while Elliott dabbed his mouth with his napkin and pushed his empty plate aside.
“I thought you might want to know that they paid us to give up our baby.”
Chapter 14
A fter his meeting with Gavin Elliott, Joel’s urgency to return to Riane was superseded by a combination of guilt and confusion. He didn’t want any more lies between them, so how could he not tell her what he’d learned? And yet sharing the information without verifying it first would only hurt her more. Intentionally or not, he’d already caused her enough pain.
He couldn’t tell her. Not until he knew for certain whether or not what Gavin Elliott had told him was true. There had been a time when he’d wanted, more than anything, to dig up some kind of dirt on the Rutherfords. Riane had changed things for him. But if Ellen and Ryan had paid to adopt her, their actions were very definitely illegal, and Joel would have all the ammunition he needed. He just wasn’t sure that he wanted it anymore.
He stopped by the office, hoping to discuss the latest revelation with his partner. Mike was waiting for him, with a copy of the Fairweather Tribune in hand.
Wordlessly he passed the paper across the desk. Joel recognized the picture immediately—it was the same one that had been printed in the Mapleview Mirror after the charity ball. The caption, however, was new:
Professional Acquaintance or Personal Vendetta?
No one knows why local P.I. Joel Logan has been spending so much time with West Virginia Senator Ellen Rutherford-Quinlan’s daughter recently, but speculation is that Logan has finally found a way to avenge his dismissal from the Philadelphia PD. Marcus Rutherford—yes, a relative of the lovely Ms. Riane Quinlan—was the presiding judge in a case that ended Logan’s career in Philadelphia. Logan was charged with, although never convicted of, leaking investigative information to the Conroy crime syndicate.
Joel didn’t read any further.
“Is this today’s paper?” he asked.
Mike nodded. “We could sue for libel. The reporter whose name is on the article obviously didn’t even check his facts.”
“They’ll print a retraction tomorrow,” Joel guessed. “A tiny little ‘oops’ buried somewhere on the back of the last page.” He didn’t care, really. He didn’t believe the article could hurt the business, but he was concerned that it might hurt Riane.
“Does she know about the Rutherford connection in the Conroy case?” Mike asked, somehow following Joel’s train of thought.
“Not from me.”
“Then maybe you should tell her,” Mike advised. “Before she sees it in print.”
Joel was surprised by his friend’s advice, especially since Mike had made no secret of the fact he disapproved of Joel’s personal involvement with Riane. He nodded. “I’ll be at home if you need me.”
He was almost out the door before his partner spoke again. “I’ll cover for you tomorrow,” Mike said, then grinne
d. “In case you have some extra groveling to do.”
“I hope she gives me the chance.”
Joel made several stops on the way home, arming himself with the groveling essentials: a bottle of Riane’s favorite merlot, a large pizza with extra cheese, pepperoni and hot peppers, and a huge bouquet of fresh spring flowers. Still, as he turned on to his street, he breathed an audible sigh of relief when he found her car still parked in the driveway.
And then he found Riane—in the bathtub. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, her body hidden beneath a thick layer of scented bubbles. She had a glass of white wine in her hand, a second glass and the bottle were on the apron of the tub along with about half a dozen flickering candles.
Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that she must have taken a trip into town, because he was sure she wouldn’t have found those romantic trappings around his house. Thankfully, she hadn’t picked up a newspaper.
He cleared his throat and she opened her eyes, her lips curving in a slow sensual smile.
“I was hoping you’d be home before the water got cold,” she told him.
“I was hoping you’d be naked when I got home.”
“I’m not naked.”
He took a few steps into the bathroom. “What are you wearing?”
She stood up, her body rosy and glistening from the heat of the water, ribbons of foam adorning her satiny skin. “Bubbles.”
All the blood in his head quickly migrated south. “I must be dreaming.”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken the words aloud until Riane’s tentative smile widened.
“I wanted to seduce you this time,” she admitted shyly.
“You’ve succeeded.” He dropped the pizza box on the counter, the flowers and wine beside it.
“I haven’t even started.” She picked up a glass of wine and offered it to him.
Joel stepped forward to take the glass from her fingers and set it back down. Then he lifted Riane out of the tub and into his arms, mindless of the water soaking through his clothes and dripping on the floor as he moved purposefully to the bedroom.
Some Kind of Hero Page 19
