Even her sister had settled into marriage and motherhood with the ease of a duckling taking to water. Alexandra had thrown all of her energies into caring for her daughter and son, decorating her home, while waiting for Merrick to come home where they’d share dinner as a family unit. Her brother and sister had what she wanted: to fall in love, marry, have children, while living her own happily ever after.
Meanwhile Diego had forced her into a marriage of convenience with a man who’d admitted he hadn’t married because he hadn’t met the woman with whom he wanted to share his life. When Henri had given him the envelope with their license Jacob had shown no visible reaction, leading her to believe he probably had known about the subterfuge.
It had taken an attempt on her life and exile for her to reassess her priorities. In less than two years she would celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday, putting her into the high-risk pregnancy category. And she wanted at least one child before forty, but that wasn’t going to happen, unless she opted for adoption, if she continued to eschew a relationship and commitment. Ana knew her reluctance was based on the two men with whom she’d loved unconditionally.
There were things she was willing to ignore or dismiss but infidelity was not one of them. Perhaps it had something to do with her grandfather cheating on her grandmother. The one time she’d asked her grandfather why her father’s brother’s surname wasn’t Cole, Samuel Cole had been forthcoming when he told her that sleeping with his secretary had been his greatest indiscretion because it had almost destroyed his marriage. It had also caused a rift between his children for three decades. In a moment of humility Samuel admitted he had grown to love Joshua Kirkland as much as he had his other two sons and daughters.
“Men hit on you because they want something from you.” Jacob’s words came back in vivid clarity. Why, she’d asked him. Was there something about her that made her a target for cheaters and users? Why, she mused, couldn’t they be like Jacob? He claimed he didn’t want anything from her except her heart. Had it been that way with him and other women? Could she offer him her heart and in return learn to trust again?
Trust. The five-letter word that was the foundation of any marriage or relationship. Her mother had told her without trust there couldn’t be love.
She trusted Jacob when he’d said he would protect her, but could she trust him with her heart? Ana wasn’t blind to his attraction for her, nor could she deny her growing feelings for him. She wasn’t certain when her feelings had changed but she was tired of denying the sexual tension that was so apparent whenever they occupied the same space.
She hadn’t meant to tease him when walking around in her underwear. After all, had they not beforehand established there would be no intimacy between them? That they would live together as friends or roommates until it was safe for her to return home?
But along the way something had changed. The occasional caresses and kisses had become more frequent, the stares between them longer and more longing. Now that they were a married couple, in name only, it made Ana wonder what it would be like if she were truly Mrs. Jacob Jones. Would she relocate from Boca Raton to Miami, or would Jacob be willing to move to Boca Raton? Would he want to start a family right away or defer to her decision to wait a couple of years? “Would he” and “what ifs” rushed over themselves in her head until she wanted to cry aloud, telling them to go away and leave her alone.
To even think about a real marriage meant she not only had to trust the man, but also be in love with him. Jacob had garnered her trust, but she doubted whether she would or could fall in love with him.
Ana was uncertain how long Diego wanted them to remain at Cannamore to measure quality review, but she intended to take full advantage of the island’s natural beauty. She saw a shadow, and turning, she saw Jacob coming in her direction with a bottle of champagne in one hand and two flutes in the other. Shifting on the bench she gave him enough space to sit beside her. Her gaze was fixed on Jacob’s hands when he removed the cork with a minimum of effort, half filled both glasses with the chilled pale bubbly wine, and handed her a flute.
“What are we toasting?” Ana asked when Jacob held his flute aloft.
“Me and Mrs. Jones. We got a thing going on,” he sang in his rich baritone.
Ana’s laughter was like the tingling of a delicate bell. “We both know it’s wrong,” she continued, singing the classic Billy Paul hit. They touched flutes, staring at each other over the rim in the silvered moonlight as they took a deep swallow of the premium wine. “You know that’s a song about an extramarital affair.”
Reaching for the bottle, Jacob refilled their glasses. “It doesn’t apply to us because I will never cheat on you. However, for the present time we are Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” His teeth shone whitely in his bearded face when he flashed a Cheshire cat grin.
“You’re enjoying this faux marriage, aren’t you?”
“I’d be a fool not to, m’ija. Where else would I get the opportunity to flaunt my beautiful wife? We’re on a private island that is as close to paradise as we’ll ever get with nothing more to do than have fun while we rate the quality of services.”
Folding her legs under her body, Ana leaned against Jacob. “How long do you think that’s going to take?”
“Probably a couple of weeks. You do your evaluation and I’ll do mine, and then we’ll compare notes.”
“When do you want to make the comparisons?”
“Just before we’re ready to leave.”
Jacob couldn’t tell Ana that if it took two weeks or two months to draw Basil Irvine out into the net the investigators had cast for him she would have to remain in the Bahamas; when it came time for him to return to his job he would be forced to leave her.
Once they’d arrived in Miami Ana had waited in the car with Henri while he’d entered his apartment to lock up his firearm, retrieve his passport and netbook. Instead of his cell phone, he intended to use email to communicate with Diego. He also packed another bag with the computer and several more changes of clothes that included dress slacks, shirts, a couple of lightweight jackets and dress shoes. Having two residences meant storing clothes in both places.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Jacob asked Ana when she smothered a yawn behind her hand.
“I don’t want to do anything for a couple of days but lie on the beach.” She yawned again. “Excuse me for yawning. Champagne always makes me drowsy.”
He ruffled her hair. “That’s all right.” Jacob took a quick glance at the glowing numbers on his watch. It was after two in the morning. He took the flute from her hand. “Go on, m’ija. I’m going to sit out here for a while.”
Ana lowered her legs, leaned over and touched her mouth to his. “Bueñas noches.”
He smiled. “Bueñas noches, mi amor.”
Jacob’s “good night, my love” lingered with Ana long after she’d brushed her teeth, pulled a nightgown over her head and slipped into the four-poster California king-bed swathed in mosquito netting.
Her eyes had closed and her breathing deepened by the time her husband had gotten into bed with her. Unconsciously, she moved closer to him, sharing his body heat, pressing her hips to his groin. She moaned once when Jacob’s arm rested on her waist, then Morpheus claimed her mind and body.
Streaks of light had pierced the night sky, heralding the beginning of a new day when Ana woke to find Jacob’s erection against her hips. She knew he was asleep because of the soft snoring. Her heart stopped, then started up again when the area between her legs became moist, throbbing with a rising desire that eddied throughout her body. It was impossible to slow down the runaway beating of her heart, and she loathed moving only because she didn’t want to wake him.
Each time he touched her, a delicious shudder had rippled throughout her body, bringing with it a welling desire to surrender to his subtle seduction. It had taken strengt
h Ana hadn’t known she had to demonstrate how much his presence hadn’t affected her. This sexy, virile man, her so-called husband had her trembling like a frightened virgin about to embark on her first sexual encounter.
“Are you cold?” Jacob’s voice sounded disembodied, as if it had come a long way off instead of a hair’s breath away.
“No.”
“Why then are you shaking?”
Ana swallowed to relieve the lump in her throat. What did he expect her to say? That she was so aroused that she feared climaxing? That she wanted him to make love to her and assuage the desire sweeping over her like a wildfire? The questions bombarded her as she tried forming a response, one that wouldn’t embarrass her even further.
“I’m having a moment,” she whispered.
Jacob rested an arm over Ana’s waist, pulling her even closer. “What kind of moment?”
“The same moment you’re experiencing right now.”
A pregnant pause filled the room. “Oh, no,” he crooned.
Ana smiled. “Sí, m’ijo.” Without warning, she found herself on her back and Jacob looming over her. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he covered her body with his.
“Don’t move, baby.”
She wanted to tell Jacob it was impossible not to move—especially with his hardness on her belly. “Why are you torturing me?”
“And you don’t torture me?” he countered.
“Not deliberately.”
“Deliberate or not, you do. If it’s not in revealing underwear, then it’s a pair of shorts that show more than they cover.”
“I promise not to walk around in my underwear again if you promise not to barge into my shower.”
Jacob buried his face between her chin and shoulder. “I can’t promise you that.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because one of these days before we leave here I am going to make love to you in this bed, on the beach, in the ocean and in the shower. And that’s a promise.”
There came another moment of silence. “You sound very confident.”
“That’s because I am, m’ija.” He rolled off her body and lay beside Ana. Reaching for her hand, Jacob held it gently, protectively.
They lay together, only the sound of their measured breathing punctuating the peaceful silence. The day of reckoning had come. Ana knew she and Jacob would make love. When, was the question. What she didn’t delude herself into believing was their lovemaking would have anything to do with love. It was about sex.
Chapter 11
Los Angeles
Basil cradled his head in his hands. He’d taken enough painkillers to stop his heart, yet the vise around his temples persisted. It had been years since his last migraine, and this time it was back with a vengeance. He knew the blinding headache was the combination of a mother of a hangover and stress.
First it was Justin and now Camille. Not only had he become a loser. He was now a sucker. He’d allowed himself get pulled in by a woman with a pretty face and perfect body; a woman who’d gotten him to forget any woman he’d ever slept with.
He raised his head, staring at the police detective who wanted answers—answers he was unable to give him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
The veteran homicide detective stared at the music executive, seeing grief etched into the man’s features. He’d had enough experience and had interrogated countless people, studying and reading their expressions and body language. And after more than twenty-five years of law enforcement know-how he realized Basil Irvine was in pain. However, he wasn’t certain whether the pain was physical or emotional.
“How close were you to Miss Nelson?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Basil snapped.
Detective Harrison did not drop his eyes. “I just need to know if your relationship with Miss Nelson went beyond the boardroom.”
“If you’re asking if I saw Camille outside the office, then the answer is yes. We went out to dinner and I’d occasionally stop by her apartment to discuss work. If you’re going to ask if she ever came to my house, then the answer is no.”
“Were you intimate with Miss Nelson?”
A feral smile parted Basil’s full lips. “No,” he lied smoothly. “I got involved with one of my employees years ago and it cost me my marriage. I swore I’d never do that again, and I haven’t.”
“We were told that you visited Miss Nelson’s apartment on the day she went missing?”
“Who told you?”
“Just answer the question, Mr. Irvine.”
There came a swollen pause as Basil continued to massage his temples. “When she didn’t come to work I called her cell and then her home, but both calls went directly to voice mail. I waited until late afternoon, and when I still hadn’t heard from her I went to her apartment, thinking maybe she’d taken ill or she’d had an accident. I rang her bell, knocked on her door and when I didn’t get an answer I left.”
“Did you ask the building superintendent if he’d seen her?” Danny Harrison knew the answer to his question, yet he wanted to see if Basil was going to lie. One lie meant he would have to cover that one up with another lie. And when he did he would spring the trap, ensnaring the music mogul. Instinct told him not only did Irvine know about Camille Nelson’s murder but he was also behind the attempt on Ana Cole’s life.
Irvine’s rise in the music industry hadn’t been without controversy. There were rumblings about breach of contracts, artists not receiving their royalty payments, and there was still talk that it had been Basil and not his brother, Webb, who’d stomped a man to death in retaliation for the attack on Webb. The CEO of Slow Wyne was delusional if he believed himself untouchable.
“Yes, I did. He told me he hadn’t seen her in several days. When I asked him if he would check on her he told me the only time he was authorized to enter a tenant’s apartment was in an emergency. He told me just because she hadn’t come to work he didn’t believe that was an emergency.”
Danny glanced over Basil’s shoulder at the wall of glass behind the large, imposing man. “What did you do after that?”
“I gave the man my card and told him to call me if he’d heard from Camille.”
His gaze shifted back to Basil. “Did you think something had happened to Miss Nelson?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking at that time, Detective Harrison. All I knew was that an employee hadn’t come to work. She hadn’t given any indication she was sick, and she hadn’t put in for vacation or a personal day.”
“Are you always this involved with your employees? You visit their homes when they don’t call or come into work?”
A rush of color darkened Basil’s face. He’d had enough. “This interrogation is over, Detective. Now, I want you to get the hell out of my office and go and find who murdered my executive assistant.”
The detective pushed to his feet. “I’ll be back, Mr. Irvine.”
Basil didn’t bother to stand. “If or when you are it better be with a warrant for my arrest, because I’m not going to answer any more questions without my lawyer present. I’m certain you can find your way out.”
“If I have to come back, then it’ll be with a search warrant.” Resting his hands on the marble-topped desk, Danny gave Basil a sly wink. “I know you’re not telling me everything and that you know more about this than you’re letting on. Have a good day, Mr. Irvine.”
Basil’s eyes darkened until there were no visible traces of gray. “I hope you’re not threatening me, Detective Harrison. All I have to do is make one phone call and you’ll find yourself back on the street directing traffic at a school crossing.”
Danny stood up straight, sniffing. “I smell something. And it’s fear. Make all the calls you want, but rest assured that if it’s not me then it’s g
oing to be another cop that will bring you down. Good day, Mr. Irvine.”
Basil was still sitting in the same position staring at the space where the detective had been when Webb entered his office. He flopped down on the chair the cop had vacated minutes before. Webb tented his fingers. When the detective had called, asking to speak to Basil, he’d retreated into an adjoining office, activating an audio and video feed.
“He’s just blowing smoke.”
Basil closed his eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“I can’t believe you let him get to you.”
“He was insinuating I knew who murdered Camille.”
“He wasn’t insinuating anything, brother. He suspects you and Camille had more than a boss-employee relationship and maybe the two of you had a falling out and either you killed her or had someone kill her.”
Basil opened his eyes, glaring at Webb. “I didn’t kill her.”
“I know that and you know that. I know you’re broken up over the girl, but you have to let it go.”
“I can’t let it go, Webb.”
“Why not? She’s no different from the others.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Camille was different.”
Webb slowly shook his head. “She was a hooker and a hustler,” he said, enunciating each word. “And don’t ever forget that, brother. Who knows who she crossed in her past, and she paid for it with her life. Why don’t you take a couple of weeks off, go somewhere and kick back. Call up some of your well-heeled friends who own places in the Caribbean and ask if you can chill out there until you’re feeling better.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think, Basil. Do it!”
Training his cold stare on the scars along the left side of Webb’s face, Basil wondered when his younger brother had become the more dominant of the two. Had it come during Webb’s incarceration when he’d had to develop his survival skills? However, with the blinding pain in his head and behind his eyes he wasn’t equipped to verbally spar with Webb.
Summer Vows (Arabesque) Page 19
