by Helen Conrad
Janet watched as he rubbed himself all over with the yellow towel. “If you’re not a con artist, why are you so concerned with keeping her happy and unquestioning?”
“Maybe it’s because I like her. Maybe it’s for her own good.”
“Or maybe it’s for some other reason. Like finding out something about her that you can use for blackmail.” That came off the top of her head, but once she’d said it, she rather liked it.
He laughed aloud. “Is that your theory? What a larcenous mind you have, kiddo. Why did you agree to go along with this little masquerade if you thought I was such a crook?”
“Because you were blackmailing me. So I figure it might be your go-to con system.” She lifted her chin and challenged him in the dark. “The more I can learn about how you do it, the better prepared I’ll be.”
He hitched the towel around his hips and stepped close to the side of the bed. “Not a bad idea, sweetheart. And it turned out you were pretty good at it, didn’t it?” His voice was soft with teasing. “We’re both good at it. Hey, what do you say we team up, travel all across the country . . . Make a fortune.” Without waiting to be invited, he sat down on the edge of her bed.
She glared at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to move away. She liked having him close like this. “Deceiving people?” she accused.
His eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Sure. We’d be great.”
“Like Bonnie and Clyde?”
“Much classier than that. Matt and Vanessa. And no bloodshed.” He pretended to shudder. “Nothing so messy and common.”
He was much too close. The way he was sitting beside her was much too intimate. Moonlight gleamed in silver across the rounded plains of his chest and moonbeams caught in the tangles of his hair and the depths of his eyes.
“Janet,” he said softly, leaning down, his face close enough so that she could feel his warm breath. “Despite what you think I’m not really a crook, you know.”
She wanted to pull him down, to touch him. His breath made her skin tingle. Holding herself very still, she said, “Then tell me why you’re doing this.”
“No. I can’t tell you that. Not yet.”
But she wasn’t really listening to him any longer. She lay very still, looking up at him. Her dark hair was spread out across the white pillowcase like an ebony wing. He reached out to touch it and she tensed, wanting him, yet frightened.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, looking down at her. His fingers took a strand of hair and curled it into a ringlet, but his gaze was on her mouth, so soft and sweet and delicious-looking.
All she had to do was ask him, show him somehow, with a look, a touch, a glance, that she was his, and he would slide right into the bed with her and stay there for the night. But when he searched her eyes, all he saw was the question there—a question he couldn’t answer.
“Is that one of the new things Mavis bought you?” he asked, indicating what he could glimpse of her teddy.
She nodded.
“Let me see.”
Moonlight now filled the room and there wasn’t much protective darkness left. Janet knew what she was doing when she inched herself up to half sit against the big pillows and she slowly drew back the covers for him to see. She watched his eyes. He looked down, his gaze drifting over the pretty edging, the tiny satin roses—and then focusing on the way her dark nipples stood out hard and high against the lace.
Janet saw his reaction. Excitement spilled through her. She’d wanted him to react. She wanted him to see her breasts, to touch them. It thrilled her to see the tense twitch of a muscle at his temple as he held himself back.
All he had to do was touch her and she would explode into a million pieces. She wouldn’t be able to say no. She wouldn’t want to say no.
“It’s . . .” He swallowed hard. “It’s pretty.”
“Thank you.”
She didn’t pull back the covers and he couldn’t take his eyes off how she looked beneath the shimmering fabric and see-through lace, her breasts so full and firm, her hips so round, her thighs so silky-smooth. His hands clenched convulsively and he jerked back away from her, holding them in his lap to keep from grabbing her.
“How are those scratches?” he asked, his voice sounding high and strained in his own ears.
To her, he sounded low and sensual, his voice just one more tantalizing detail. She tried to answer, but her heart was beating loud, thundering in her ears. Instead, she did something so daring, when she thought about it later, she cringed with embarrassment over it.
“Here,” she whispered. Slowly, she raised her hands and touched the slender bow that held the front of her teddy together. One quick tug and the two ribbons fell apart, letting the closure fall open to reveal most of each of her breasts, scratches and all. Her nipples, full and hard with longing, caught on the lace, not letting it fall open all the way. But he could see her scratches now. He could see just about everything now.
“Janet.” Her name was a groan that ripped free from his soul and filled his mouth. His hands moved of their own volition, pushing back what was left of her teddy, flattening over her breasts, palms rubbing softly, and at the same time he bent forward, his mouth taking hers as though he’d been starving for her for much too long.
She opened her mouth and filled herself with him, hot and hungry, and her hands roamed eagerly over his naked chest, fingernails digging in slightly whenever a shudder of ecstasy passed through her.
All her suspicions were forgotten. They hardly mattered here. Janet was throwing herself into something she’d never experienced before. It was all feeling, all emotion, all pure sensation. No thinking at all. She didn’t want thinking. She’d spent too many years doing too much thinking.
His mouth felt like hot butter, his skin like velvet. How could he feel so good and be so bad? So good ... so good . . . She’d never felt so good before.
“This has got to be heaven,” he murmured against her mouth. “Oh God, lady, you feel like paradise.”
She nodded groggily, already drugged by his love-making. “You too,” she whispered. And her hand slid down his back to the towel at his waist. She pulled at it, but at that angle, she couldn’t budge it. “Take it off,” she whispered, her eyes wide and dark in the shadows.
Matt slowly straightened, pulling away from her, and he made no move to remove the towel. He took another long, lingering look at her, the kiss-swollen lips, the satin hair flying in disarray about her shoulders, her creamy white breasts peeking out from the lace, and he drew a shuddering breath deep into his lungs.
“Wait a minute,” he said, his voice hoarse, as though he’d been shouting. “We’re going a little fast here.”
Confusion flooded Janet’s face. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. She’d let him know what she wanted, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that what he was waiting for? Or had he changed his mind?
He backed away, not touching her at all. “Listen, Janet,” he said huskily. “I know you’re not real experienced at this.”
For some reason it stung to be considered innocent at that moment. Was he going to turn her down because she wouldn’t know what to do? Because she wouldn’t be skilled enough for his gourmet tastes?
“I have known a few other men in my life, you know,” she said defensively. “I’m not—“
His forefinger covered her mouth, quieting her. “I don’t want to hear about any other men.” Suddenly he realized how fiercely he didn’t want to hear. He had a primitive urge to hunt down and kill any man who might have touched her before him. He forced back the surge of possessiveness and his hand softened, cupping her cheek.
“Janet, you’re driving me crazy,” he said evenly. “If we keep this up, I’m either going to make love to you now, or I’m going to jump off the balcony. I sure can’t go on like this.”
She lay back against the pillows and stared up into his dark gaze. “Make love to me,” she whispered.
He winced as though she’d slap
ped him. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, her eyes huge.
“All right,” he murmured, easing closer. “There’s nothing in this world I’d rather do.”
He completely uncovered her breasts again, leaning down to kiss each dark peak, using his tongue, his teeth, his lips, until she began to writhe in an agony of hot, sweet need, her hands moving on his smooth skin in rhythmic urgency.
She knew no hesitation. As far as she was concerned, the rest of the world—her fern digest and Howie and Baxter and even Alexander—had evaporated into the mist that surrounded her existence. Her world was Matt, Matt’s arms, Matt’s mouth, Matt’s hot, tantalizing breath on her neck. That was all she needed right now. All she wanted. All she knew.
Her teddy inched up around her hips and when Matt’s hand began to explore, there was nothing but moist tenderness to welcome him. She quivered as he touched her, quivered and moaned, arching into his stroke, gasping at what he could do.
The slow temptation was passing. Urgency took over. She felt a burning need down deep and nothing . . . nothing was going to keep her from him now.
“Matt,” she said roughly, moving her hips. “Oh, please . . .”
His penetration sent her reeling. She’d never dreamed it could be like this, this soaring, pulsing, raging delight, this mindless plunge through a star-filled sky. She cried out, digging her nails into him and not knowing she was doing it. He answered with an animal growl that would have frightened her if she’d been sane. Together they turned and twisted and flew to that paradise Matt had conjured up. And when it was over, they lay, still entangled, and Janet tried to catch her breath.
Crazy. That was what she was. Absolutely crazy. How could she have done this thing? With a stranger —a crook!
She turned her head and gazed into his face. His eyes were closed. Looking at him lying there, she found it hard to believe that he could be involved in anything dishonest.
Her heart felt full, bursting. She wanted to hold on to him forever. God help her. Was she in love?
His hand reached out and cupped her breast. “Hi,” he mumbled, opening one eye to look at her. “You okay?”
She smiled. “Of course,” she said softly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He closed his eye again and shook his head. “Things got a little wild there toward the end,” he said. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
They were silent. Neither moved, but neither fell asleep.
“I’m going to sleep here with you tonight,” he said softly. “Leaving you alone is not an option.”
She twisted to smile at him. “So that’s it,” she said lightly. “This was all a ploy to get back into this bed.”
“What can I say?” He brushed her hair back off her cheek. “I’m a cad. You’ve seen the proof before.”
She raised herself up on one elbow so she could see him better. “That I have. It’s too bad your mother never taught you better manners.”
“My mother never taught me much of anything,” he returned drowsily. “She wasn’t around while I was growing up.”
“Oh.” Janet bit her lip. “She died?”
His laugh was harsh. “Hardly. She was too busy launching charity drives and setting up beautification committees. My brothers and I were sent off to boarding schools and summer camps—anything to get us out of her hair. She had important things to do.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t really surprised. He had a cynical frame of reference that made her suspect he’d grown up without much of a woman’s input. “I lost my mother when I was young. She died, though.”
“I knew we had something in common.” He tugged at a lock of her hair. “Besides lust, I mean.”
“Lust!” The word offended her. “That wasn’t lust.”
“Oh, no?” He laughed softly. “Then what would you call it?”
She thought for a moment. “Interested intimacy,” she came up with at last.
He laughed out loud. “Okay lovely lady, you can call it that if you want. But we both know better. What we just had was a severe case of good old lust.” He kissed her mouth short and hard. “And I’m afraid it’s a disease we’re going to have again real soon.”
It wasn’t until later that night, as she lay silently beside him and listened to his breathing, forcing herself to stay awake, that she remembered what Mavis had said about Matt’s mother bringing him to the States in his teens. Was that the same mother who supposedly packed him off to boarding school all his young life? Strange. The pieces didn’t quite fit.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
Back in Black
Janet hadn’t meant to sleep at all, but she did doze off for a little, and when she woke again, the digital clock by her bedside read 2 A.M. She listened very, very carefully. Matt’s breathing was slow and even. She was sure he was asleep.
Slipping out of bed quietly from between the covers, she got out of her silky teddy and reached for her jeans and dark sweater—her burglar clothes. She was going to try it again.
Dressed and ready to go, she went over to Matt’s clothes, rummaging in pockets until she came up with the car keys he’d taken from her earlier. Then she stopped to look down at Matt. His arm was flung back and his face was peaceful, serene, and young. Seeing him this way it seemed unthinkable that anything underhanded could ever have crossed his mind. If all went well, she would never see him again.
Unable to stop herself, she touched his cheek with her fingertips, then jerked back her hand, silently admonishing herself for jeopardizing her whole plan just to touch him one more time.
Put him out of your mind, she told herself fiercely. What had happened that night was over. And it was better that it be over. But she glanced around the room as she made her way to the balcony. She would never forget this place.
She pulled open the sliding glass door slowly, but it still gave a little squeal, and she winced, looking in anxiously. Matt hadn’t moved. And then she was out on the balcony and closing the sliding glass door. She was on her way.
She’d made a careful survey of the exterior of the house a couple of times during the day, once during the walk in the woods with Matt, and again later when she’d spent some time in the garden. As far as she could see, there was a ledge running around the house at this level. A ledge she could use to gain access to Mavis’s room.
Mavis’s room was a floor above this one and out around the other side of the house where it overlooked its side of the little lake. She had a balcony too. And a drainpipe that led up to it, a drainpipe she would use to go all the way to the bottom once she had Alexander in her arms. The ground fell away sharply below that balcony and the drop would be long and hard, should she fall. But she didn’t plan to fall. If she was careful, she could make it.
She took a deep breath, drawing in the cool mountain air, so crystal-clean, so pure. She looked out at her beloved lake and the mountains that rimmed it. If she fell she could very easily break her neck. But she wasn’t going to fall! Pushing away negative thinking, she set her mind on her goal and swung one leg up over the balcony railing, reaching for the ledge.
It was there. Slowly, she eased over the other leg and balanced, finding a handhold, settling her feet more solidly in place. The ledge was six inches wide and slanted. The seams between siding boards of redwood gaped perfectly for finger room.
“Piece of cake,” she muttered to herself encouragingly. And her voice didn’t even shake.
The secret, she told herself as she worked steadily onward, was not to look down. She edged along, her hands taking a grip wherever they could, her feet barely moving, just inching their way to the corner of the building, testing all new ground gained before putting her weight on it.
She wished with all her heart that she had a belay on, as she would have if she were mountain climbing. With a rope around her waist to break her fall, she would have been fine. But there was no one to hold the belay, she reminded herself. Something told her Matt wouldn’t have
been too enthusiastic about the job.
It was taking longer than she’d thought it would. She was being extra careful—stopping to rest after every few inches gained. She had to be careful. She couldn’t do anything to botch this because she was pretty sure it was her very last chance to get Alexander back.
The corner, at last. She’d made it at least twenty feet, and there would be another ten or so to go once she made it to the other side of the corner. And now the chore of getting around it.
Pulling herself slowly to the very edge, she reached around, searching with her hand for something hard and strong to cling to while she made the swing around the apex. Nothing. Nothing but smoothly finished wood met her fingertips. She felt again, making a wider span. Still nothing.
To think she’d come so far, only to fail! She couldn’t stand it. Edging just as far out as she dared, she stretched as far as she could and tried again. Suddenly, her hand made contact with a windowsill and she fought to control the surge of joy that came shooting through her. Wild swings in emotion wouldn’t help her at this point. Success demanded calm concentration.
The windowsill was exactly what she needed. Curling her fingers around the wood, she held on for dear life as she swung around the corner of the house, coming up hard against the wood on the other side, sighing with relief when the foothold was good and the handhold worked. Her arms were beginning to ache under the strain, but they would hold out.
“Don’t look down,” she reminded herself. “And don’t look up either.”
Mavis’s balcony was above her. She would have to climb to get to it. But first she would have to continue doing the same thing she’d done on the other side— slowly inch her way along.
Gritting her teeth, she did just that, steeling herself when it hurt, concentrating for all she was worth. When her fingers touched the cold metal of the drainpipe, she stopped, holding on to it gratefully, and then she bit down on her lip to keep from feeling too happy about it. A quick perusal brought good news. This drainpipe was built just like the other one, with joints that made perfect footholds.
