STEAMY SAVANNAH NIGHTS

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "Tell me about being Seminole," she said. "You haven't taught me about your heritage yet."

  He considered what to say. He wanted to tell her something pretty, something that made the pain from his childhood more bearable. "According to Seminole legend, the Creator, the grandfather of all things, created the Earth and everything on it. He made sure that certain animals and plants possessed healing powers. But he chose Panther to walk the Earth first."

  "Really? Why?"

  "Panther was his favorite. He said Panther was majestic and beautiful, with patience and strength." Michael paused, his memories drifting back to his youth. "My mother told me about that because we're from the Panther clan."

  Lea seemed intrigued. "I always thought of panthers as fierce."

  "My mom was fierce when she got angry at my father." He sighed. "Infidelity isn't common among the Seminole. She never even considered that her husband would cheat on her."

  She adjusted the sheet draped around their hips. "I feel sad for her."

  He shrugged, even though his emotions had turned tight. "It's over. She's gone now."

  "But she's still part of who you are, Michael."

  That much he couldn't deny. He was his mother's son, but he hadn't been able to save her, to shake his two-timing father from her blood.

  When he fell silent, Lea snuggled closer to him. "Did your mother ever cook Seminole meals for you?"

  "Sometimes she made pumpkin soup. It was my favorite."

  She snuggled closer. "Do you think you could duplicate the recipe? Maybe teach me how to make it?"

  Could he? He used to sit at the kitchen table and watch while it was being prepared. "I can try. From what I recall, my mother used to add extra nutmeg and sugar to it."

  She smiled. "No wonder it was your favorite."

  He linked his fingers through hers and brought their joined hands to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a soft kiss. "I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

  She shifted in his arms, and when she put her head against his chest, he knew she was listening to the rhythm of his heart. Like rain falling on a metal roof, he thought. "I've never been to the reservation where my mom grew up. That's crazy, isn't it? I've never seen my mother's homeland."

  "Then you should go there someday."

  "I should. But my mom had a falling out with her family. It would probably be awkward." He glanced up at the ceiling and saw shadows above his head. "The Seminole are a matriarchal society, but my father didn't respect that."

  "Yet your mother married him."

  "I think she wanted him because he was forbidden to her. Her parents didn't want their daughter to make eye contact with Stan Whittaker, let alone marry him."

  "Stan? That was his name?"

  He nodded. "My mom's name was Peggy Ann Tiger."

  "Is Tiger a common family name?"

  "You mean among my mother's people? It seems to be."

  "In Vietnam, her name would be Tiger Ann Peggy," Lea said. "A family name comes first, then a middle name, then the first. But that doesn't mean you refer to someone by his or her last name. You use their given name."

  He pondered their conversation for a moment. "Do given names have special meaning?"

  "Most do. Lan means orchid. Sometimes I buy orchids at the flower shop to remember my mother."

  "Do you have a picture of her?" he asked.

  "Just one. Taken with my father. Nearly everything in her village was destroyed, but she found that picture among the rubble." Lea's voice turned sad. "It was all she had left."

  He stroked the length of her hair, comforting her, comforting himself. "I have a few pictures of my parents. But I don't know why I saved the ones of my dad."

  "For the same reason I saved the photo my father is in. You knew it would've mattered to your mother."

  He wanted to point out that Abraham Danforth was a better man than Stan Whittaker, but he doubted Lea would agree. She'd threatened her father, something Michael would have never done.

  Then again, maybe he…

  He what? Should have stalked his old man? Made the bastard fear for his life? He blew out a rough breath, knowing his mind was taking him down a dangerous path, trying to find ways to condone Lea's crime.

  "Are you all right?" She reached up to skim his cheek, and suddenly the room turned dark, moonlight fading from the bed.

  Emotional déjà vu, he thought, as his heart thundered in his chest. "I'm fine," he managed. "Just fine," he added, as she rolled over to kiss him, making everything but the sweet, warm taste of her disappear.

  * * *

  Seven

  « ^ »

  Whittaker and Associates was encased in a single-level, freestanding structure, with parking lot access and double-glass doors.

  Lea told herself to relax, but her guilt kept getting in the way. She should be arriving at Michael's office to turn herself in instead of bringing him a sugary snack.

  She let out the breath she was holding and entered the building. The lobby was vast, with a black-and-white tiled floor and a marble reception desk. Leather couches and brass accent tables offered a modern seating arrangement, and original works of art added splashes of bold, bright color.

  Anxious, Lea approached the reception desk, but the middle-aged woman manning the attractive workstation was already aware of her.

  "Good afternoon." The woman gave her a pleasant smile. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and her ash-brown hair was cut in a sleek, professional style. "May I help you?"

  "I'm looking for Michael Whittaker."

  "Mr. Whittaker isn't in. Would you like to schedule an appointment to see him for another time?"

  Lea hadn't considered the possibly that Michael wouldn't be in his office at this hour. "No, thank you."

  Just then, the door beside the reception desk opened and Cindy emerged, wearing a stunning black suit, her golden-blond hair coiled into a soft chignon. Her skirt rode above her knees, showcasing long, shapely legs. When she moved forward, her shoes hit the floor like a round of well-aimed bullets, ringing in Lea's ears.

  Cindy answered that ring with a wide-eyed expression. "Well, hello, Lea. How nice to see you."

  "It's nice to see you, too." She noticed the receptionist had gone back to work, giving them the illusion of a private conversation. "I stopped by to visit Michael, but he isn't in." She shifted the pastry box in her hand. "I'll catch him later."

  "No, no. Don't rush off. He should be back shortly." Cindy gestured to the door from which she'd emerged. "Have some coffee with me. I'm due for a break."

  Lea thought it would be rude to refuse, so she followed the blonde to her office, which was just as chic as the lobby, with the same leather-and-chrome decor.

  "How about decaffeinated cappuccino?" Cindy asked, without bothering to wait for an answer. She went about making the gourmet brew, filling the room with the hiss of frothing milk.

  Lea took a chair, unable to admit that she rarely drank coffee.

  "There. Now isn't this divine?" Cindy placed an oversize mug in front of her. "Don't you just love cappuccino? It's too late in the day for caffeine, though. Don't you agree?"

  "Yes, I suppose it is." She lifted the pastry box from her lap. "I brought a snack for Michael, but there's plenty if you'd like one."

  "Oh, let's see." The blonde peered inside. "That's quite a selection."

  "Michael told me he had a sweet tooth."

  Cindy looked up with a slow, Southern smile. "I'll just bet he does." She declined a pastry and drank her coffee instead.

  Lea wasn't sure what to make of the sexual innuendo. She was still getting accustomed to women like Cindy. There weren't any brazen blondes in Vietnam, at least not within the sphere of her my lai existence.

  "I know who you are," Cindy said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "I know you're Abraham Danforth's daughter. But I'm the only person at Whittaker and Associates who knows. Besides Michael, of course."

  "He must trust you."

&n
bsp; "I'm in charge of making sure your story doesn't hit the tabloids." Cindy sat back in her chair. "What puzzles me is why you won't allow Mr. Danforth to call a press conference. If it's handled correctly, it won't end up on the front page of some tacky gossip rag."

  "I'm not ready to face the media. And I'm not sure I ever will be."

  "Your father is a fascinating man. Wildly handsome, too. I can't imagine turning away from him. I think you're a fortunate young woman."

  Lea didn't know what to say, so she drank her cappuccino and kept quiet.

  "Have you ever seen Crofthaven?" the blonde asked. "Who wouldn't want to be associated with a seaside mansion like that? I simply love old money." She laughed a little. "I love new money, too."

  "That doesn't matter to me." Lea supposed she couldn't fault Cindy for being honest, but she still wasn't comfortable around Michael's gorgeous assistant.

  "Are you familiar with The Landings?" the other woman asked.

  "The gated community on Skidaway Island?"

  "Exactly. Golf courses, tennis courts, a fitness club. I used to live there with my boyfriend until he kicked me out." Cindy tossed her head and sent the diamond-studded hoops in her ears dancing. "But it doesn't matter because I'm interested in someone else now."

  Who? Lea wondered. Abraham Danforth? Was it possible that Cindy had set her sights on Lea's father?

  "Speaking of someone else…" The blonde released a sensual sigh. "That boss of mine is certainly a working girl's dream." She leaned in close. "How lucky are you?"

  The coffee burned Lea's stomach like acid. "Michael told you about us?"

  "That you're sharing his bed?" The earrings spun again. "He didn't have to. I saw you two at the gallery, remember? And I've been around him long enough to sense these things."

  Lea fought the urge to frown, to make her displeasure known. Why should Cindy care whom her boss was sleeping with? And why did she feel compelled to mention it?

  "My, my." The other woman glanced at the door and smiled. "Speak of the devil. Look who just popped his head in."

  Lea spun around to see Michael. He met her gaze, and her coffee-riddled stomach unleashed a horde of decaffeinated butterflies.

  "Speak of the devil," he mimicked. "Were you ladies talking about me?"

  Cindy rose from her chair and made an elegant sweep across the room. "You mean you didn't hear us?"

  "No, I can't say that I did."

  "Well, then, we're not going to tell you what we said. Are we, Lea?"

  Instead of indulging Cindy's game, Lea walked toward Michael, offering him a lover's smile. "I got off work early, so I stopped by to see you. To bring you some pastries."

  He smiled at her. "That sounds good. I'm about ready to call it a day."

  Lea turned to Cindy. "Thank you for the cappuccino."

  "Don't mention it." The blonde watched them depart without another word.

  Lea and Michael left in separate cars and by the time they arrived at his house, he was just curious enough to question her. But she expected as much.

  "So what were you and Cindy talking about?"

  "This and that." She went into the kitchen and removed two dessert plates from the cupboard. "Which one would you like?" She opened the pastry box and extended it to him.

  He chose a chocolate éclair. "Come on. What'd you talk about?"

  She handed him a fork. "Cindy told me that she knew I was Abraham's daughter. But I guess you had to tell her."

  "That's right, I did. Cindy always handles media control."

  Lea reached for an apple fritter, wishing she trusted Michael's administrative assistant as much as he did. "Is she working on the stalking investigation, too?"

  "No." A frown furrowed his brow. "That's my area of expertise."

  "So you haven't discussed Lady Savannah with her?"

  "No," he said again. "I haven't."

  Silence stretched between them, a reminder that their relationship was based on a lie. But even so, Lea knew Michael didn't have any evidence on her. If he did, he would have confronted her by now.

  She glanced at her plate, knowing she owed him the truth. But in this case, the truth wouldn't set her free. She would lose the man she loved.

  "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

  You, she wanted to say. And how sorry she was to keep deceiving him. But how could she look him in the eye and admit that she was a stalker? Just the term alone shamed her.

  "Lea?" he pressed.

  "I'm not thinking about anything."

  "Then tell me what else you and Cindy discussed."

  She wasn't about to repeat the blonde's flattering remarks about him. The other woman's flamboyant manner was already rubbing her the wrong way. "I think Cindy's interested in my father."

  He started. "You mean romantically?"

  "It fits, doesn't it? He's rich and powerful and handsome. And you said you thought her mystery man might be one of your colleagues. So why not a client?"

  "I suppose it's possible." He finally cut into the éclair. "But I doubt it will do her any good. I think Danforth has feelings for his campaign manager."

  This time Lea started. She hadn't expected her father to have a woman in his life. "What's her name?"

  "Nicola Granville. But I'm not positive about this. I just get a vibe whenever I see them together." He stopped eating to look at her. "But some people have that tangible kind of chemistry."

  "Almost as if you can touch it?"

  He moved closer. "Yes."

  "Like us?"

  "Yes," he said again, leaning in to kiss her, to slide his hands through her hair.

  She melted against him, and he unbuttoned the front of her blouse. His hands were warm and strong and possessive. When he unzipped her skirt, she wondered if he could sense that she loved him, if he had any idea that he'd captured her soul.

  He ended the kiss, and they stared at each other. She was partially undressed, and his breathing was hard and labored.

  "You taste like chocolate," she said.

  "And you taste like everything I shouldn't have." He pushed her skirt down. "Everything I want." He snapped the elastic on her panty hose. "Take those damn things off."

  She leveled her gaze. "You're demanding."

  "And you're messing with my brain." He pinned her against the counter. "Just take them off."

  "Why should I?" she challenged, even though her knees had gone as weak as her heart.

  "Because it's what I want."

  She tilted her chin. "Then do it yourself."

  That was all it took. He grabbed her nylons and literally tore them from her body, but Lea didn't care. She needed to feel his passion, the desperation that drew him to her.

  Struggling for balance, she closed her eyes, and he dropped to the floor, kneeling in front of her. When he yanked her panties down, her pulse pounded like a rawhide drum.

  "Do you know where it is, Lea?"

  She opened her eyes. "What?"

  "The hidden camera."

  Properly stunned, she froze. "Michael—"

  He seized her hips and pulled her against his mouth.

  Heat slammed through her system and she pitched forward, gasping for her next breath. Was the camera running? Was he filming her surrender? The idea shocked her. But it aroused her, too.

  He tasted her, deep and slow, and she couldn't stop the pleasure—the forbidden wetness, the sweet, spiraling sensation.

  Lea moved against his mouth, wanting to remember this feeling forever. She'd never imagined that being in love could be so erotic. He did wicked things to her, and she traced his features, memorizing him in her mind, using the tips of her fingers.

  "Do you want more?" he asked.

  "Yes." So much more. Need rushed through her veins, spilling like a luminous fountain. Colors blurred, then separated, streaking across her heart.

  Giving her what she wanted, he heightened each kiss. She lost the battle and shuddered against him, yielding to her emotions, to an orgasm as s
lick and moist as the pressure between her legs.

  He came to his feet and she fell into his arms, her body still quaking, colors still spinning.

  "Lea?"

  "Hmm?"

  "The camera isn't on."

  She blinked through the kaleidoscope behind her eyes. "I wouldn't have cared if it was."

  He gave her a masculine smile. "I know."

  She held on to his shoulders, regaining her senses. "You're cocky, Michael."

  "Am I?" He took her hand and rubbed it against his fly.

  "Yes, you most certainly are." She unzipped his trousers and suddenly their flirtation turned to frustration, to something neither of them could deny.

  He was angry at himself for needing her so badly, she thought, as he pushed his tongue into her mouth, devouring her in one fell swoop, making her head spin.

  He removed a condom from his wallet and fought to open the package, anxious to thrust into her, to take what he wished he didn't want. Lea had no intention of stopping him. She let him curse in her ear, knowing it wouldn't change the passion that was about to erupt.

  He bit the side of her neck, becoming her vampire once again. She yanked off his clothes, and they made love like maniacal bloodsuckers, until they ended up on the kitchen floor, nearly bruising each other's skin.

  She wrapped her legs and around him and he braced his arms above her, kissing her hard and fast. She could taste herself on his lips, a flavor that only added to the frenzy.

  Their worlds were colliding, crashing like shattered glass. But that didn't seem to matter. Not now, not while they were naked, not while he was moving inside her.

  "This is going to happen fast," he said.

  "I don't care." She scraped her nails down his back and felt his spine shiver.

  "Neither do I." He pumped even harder, filling her as deeply and desperately as he could.

  They climaxed at the same time, at the very same instant, gasping into each other mouths, their hearts beating wildly.

  When it was over, when Lea could see through the blinding haze, she knew their words were a lie. They both cared, far too much.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning, Michael paced Clay's office. The other man sat on the edge of his desk in a T-shirt, frayed jeans and sleep-tousled hair. Michael had awakened him with a cell phone call, and the club owner was still feeling the effects of his late-night work hours.