Mysterious

by Fayrene Preston

  Jerome reached to catch a strand of her shining brown hair and push it away from her face. The wind had colored her cheeks to a rose, and her eyes were sparkling with enjoyment of the story she was enthusiastically making up. Watching her, Jerome decided he had never seen anyone quite as beautiful as Jennifer Prescott.

  She paused and took a deep breath. "Well, what do you think happened next? Her father’s shaman turned the handsome young brave into a monster! And the beautiful young girl spent her days sitting on the banks of the lake weeping. She wept and she wept, and deep down on the bottom of the lake her lover heard her and cried with her. She came every day, until finally one day, after years had passed, she came no more. And now, whenever the monster comes to the surface of the lake, the people who live here know that he won’t hurt them. They know he’s only looking for his true love."

  Jerome stared at her for a minute. "Jennifer, that’s the stupidest story I’ve ever heard."

  Her husky laugh carried out over the blue-gray lake. "It is not! So okay, counselor, can you think of something better?"

  "I sure can," he muttered, and brought his mouth down on hers.

  Her fingers pressed into the sleek, hard muscles of his back, and she yielded to him immediately, pushing closer, wanting but knowing that she couldn’t ask for what she wanted. Jerome had private barriers to overcome, and he had to do that by himself. She couldn’t press him into loving her before he was ready, but she could tell him of her love, she decided, and she would. She felt the pressure on her lips lessen, then cease, and had to fight not to cry out her need for more.

  Gazing down at her, Jerome saw the warm brown eyes whose depth could easily drive a man mad and the lips that with a touch could make him want to throw away all caution. He battled against the surge of heat that threatened to overtake him again.

  "Are you warm now?" he asked softly.

  "Yes."

  It seemed to him as if she were barely breathing, when his heart felt as if it were thudding out of control. "Why don’t we walk up to the lodge, then?"

  The lodge was rustic, with heavy oak beams across the ceiling and highly polished wood floors. Heavy area rugs separated the seating groups, and the chairs and couches were upholstered in muted tones of browns and blues and oranges. In the restaurant they ate at a table by a wide window overlooking the lake.

  Succulent fish, crisp salad, and a spirited wine. Heaven, thought Jerome. Or as near to heaven as life got. With his eyes resting contentedly on Jennifer, he took another drink of his wine.

  Sitting at a right angle to him at the small table, she toyed with the stem of her wineglass. "Jerome, there’s something I need to say."

  "Then say it."

  "It’s not that easy." Her dark lashes swept low over her cheeks. "I want to thank you for standing by me . . . for having faith in me when I’ve really not given you any cause. We came together under extraordinarily difficult circumstances. Yet I don’t think there was ever any question in your mind about helping me, was there?"

  "No."

  "Thank you, Jerome. For your faith ... for your trust... for your help."

  He smiled at her. "You’re welcome."

  "There’s something else."

  She ran a tapered nail around the rim of her glass. It was painted with the same shade that she wore on her lips, he noted absently.

  "I’ve fallen in love with you, Jerome."

  He was a highly respected, successful lawyer. He was as sharp as they came. Some people went so far as to call him brilliant. Nothing got by him. But she had done it to him more than once, and now she had done it again. Jennifer had a way of throwing him curves that he was totally unprepared for. He couldn’t have been more stunned than if she had suddenly produced a baseball bat from beneath the long white tablecloth that covered their table and hit him in the stomach.

  She was continuing. "I know that you can’t say the same, but ..." She looked helplessly around the room, seeming not to know what to say next.

  "Does wanting count?" he questioned huskily.

  She brought her eyes back to his, and they shimmered with an emotion that fanned the fire inside him. "Yes. It’s got to count, because I’ve wanted you since that first night."

  They lingered over their early dinner, consciously drawing the string of anticipation tighter and tighter. Once, just once, in an act of compulsion, Jerome slipped his hand under the tablecloth to her knee, then up along the sleek stockings that she wore, until he encountered the tender warm flesh of her upper thigh. Briefly he closed his eyes, luxuriating in the silkiness of the soft skin. "Do you mind?" he questioned in a voice choked with huskiness. "I just had to."

  The look she gave him in response to his action answered his question and spoke of a hot need that matched his completely. With a trembling hand he smoothed her skirt back in place and took another drink of wine, intoxicated, and no longer certain of what he was doing.

  By the time they left, snow had begun to fall. They made their way down the steps of the lodge and out into the dwindling light of the afternoon. The cotton softness of the snow swirled about them. Putting his arm around Jennifer’s shoulder, Jerome drew her close against him.

  Behind them the lights of the lodge faded as they found the path that would take them back to their cabin. Even through their coats he could feel the heat from her body attempting to reach out and draw him closer to her. For so long he had denied himself. Now he felt as if all his nerves had been exposed to fire. They were screaming with pain and he knew only one way to make them stop.

  Jerome halted and looked at Jennifer, unable to walk another foot. Since she had come into his life he had waited, restrained himself to the point where he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. Lace prisms of snow began to collect and cling to her hair. Jerome pulled the hood of the cape over her head. The taupe-colored fabric framed her face, enhancing her air of being utterly romantic and totally enchanting.

  Gently he pushed her back against the trunk of a tree, following with his body. Slipping open the fastening of her cape, he dipped his hand inside the cowl neckline of her sweater, pushed the cashmere aside, and placed his mouth against the soft pulsing beat of her throat.

  "Oh, Jerome," she murmured.

  "Shhhh," he whispered shakily. "I need to kiss you." His lips roamed up her neck. "To kiss you properly. I’ve needed to for so long." He opened her cape and, holding out the edges of his coat, wrapped it around her.

  Touching his lips to hers, he came undone. All control was gone. Lowering himself on her, he pressed her against the tree. Her lips felt cool from the snow, but his tongue slipped inside and found warmth, then deeper and discovered fire. She clung to him, moving against him. Her high firm breasts flattened against his chest, burning him, and his hands closed over the soft cashmere.

  Time flowed by unnoticed, night crept in, the snow became heavier, and still the fire blazing inside of them would not be put out. Finally, though, reality infringed and they drew apart, but only enough so that they could continue their walk back to the cabin. They stopped frequently to kiss and touch. It wasn’t enough.

  When the door to the cabin was at last locked behind them, there was no waiting. They both knew what was going to happen next. What had to happen.

  Taking her hand, he led her into the bedroom she had chosen as hers, where the big four-poster waited. There, with a control that was tenuous, he dropped the cape from her shoulders. Kneeling before her, he took off first one boot and then the other. Unfastening her skirt, he let it fall to the floor. He rose and the sweater slid like a whisper over her head. Then she was standing before him in nothing but a lace bra and panties, and a garter belt and stockings.

  He stopped his undressing of her in order to feast his eyes. He had imagined this moment so often, but reality turned his dreams into pale images. With her hair tumbling brown and shining about her shoulders, and her skin gleaming with the sheen of apricot satin, she was at once earthily sexy and radiantly luminescent—a flame waitin
g to be put out.

  She came to him and stripped him of his sweater. Entangling her fingers in the thick sandy hair on his chest, she bent to run her tongue around the hard buds of his nipples.

  His hands gripped her arms tightly and pushed her back onto the wide bed. He was already erect and throbbing, completely ready. Hurriedly he undid his pants while she discarded her undergarments. Without speaking, they both knew that there was no need for anything more to be done.

  The torturous time that had preceded this moment had been their foreplay.

  Almost immediately he entered her, sliding deeper and deeper until he filled her up entirely and she cried out in sheer ecstasy. From the first, it was magnificent. Their bodies were made for each other, and they moved together in savage, perfectly matched rhythm, her hips rotating with a fierce energy, meeting his mighty thrusts without qualm.

  In the far distance of his mind he heard her shouting at the same time as he felt her fingernails rake down his back. He clutched her buttocks and drove powerfully into her, over and over, until the red-hot haze of feeling dispersed in a brilliant sweetness and left them gasping in each other’s arms.

  Timeless moments, lovers in a universe that was theirs alone, lovers unmindful of the state of the real world around them—the snow that continued to fall, veiling everything in a coat of white, the midnight that passed as the earth rotated slowly toward dawn. That was the condition in which Jennifer and Jerome passed through the hours of the night, forgetting everything except each other—even the danger outside that awaited them.

  Jennifer opened her eyes and saw Jerome. He lay on his back, his eyes shut. Even in sleep his face showed the great strength and integrity she had been drawn to that first night. She could have wept with joy over the miracle of her relationship with this incredible man.

  "What time is it?" the deep husky voice beside her asked.

  "I don’t know and I don’t care."

  "Shameless," he pronounced lazily, "that’s what you are."

  "Only with you." She tucked herself into his side, her head resting in the crook of his arm and her leg thrown over his.

  "Is that so?" He tried to infuse a teasing doubt into his voice, but failed. He just felt plain too good, too contented.

  "That’s so." As if he were a pillow, she snuggled deeper into him, pressing against him until she was cushioned exactly right.

  Rotating his head toward the bedside table where his watch lay, he gave it a cursory glance, then noticed her charm bracelet lying nearby.

  Rolling over abruptly, he scooped it into his hands. "Tell me about this bracelet."

  "I already have. I told you that my mother and dad gave it to me and I told you about the key."

  "I know, but tell me what these other charms are for. This one, for instance." He held up a tiny golden football.

  "When I was a junior in high school, I went steady with one of the captains of our football team."

  "Steady! I’m impressed."

  She giggled happily and pointed to one that had the number sixteen engraved on it. "That was for my sweet sixteen birthday."

  "I bet you were really something when you were sixteen," he mused.

  "And this"—she pointed to another—"is my zodiac sign."

  "Aquarian, an ever-changing personality. I can certainly vouch for that. Along with an ever-changing name."

  She put her mouth against his ear and whispered, "Shut up."

  "Nice," he murmured, and held up a tiny pennant. "What’s this?"

  "My school emblem."

  "Where? Where did you grow up and go to school?"

  "Virginia. And that’s enough about me. I want to know more about you."

  "Uh-uh." His hand delved under the sheet, to the flat silkiness of her stomach. Gently kneading the flesh, he worked his way down until his fingers hovered at the sensitive hollow between her legs. "I can think of a lot better ways to spend our time than talking about myself."

  "No," she protested weakly. She pushed his hand away and raised up on one elbow. "I really want to know."

  "What?"

  "What kind of jobs did you have when you were young? For instance, did you deliver newspapers?"

  He reached for her. "I sold maps to the homes of the stars."

  "Stars? But there aren’t any movie star homes in St. Paul."

  "Exactly." Pulling her halfway under him, he leaned down to her mouth. She made a small sound deep in her throat, and excitement quickened in him as he tasted the instant hunger for him he found there.

  He took one richly erotic breast and squeezed it, loving the way it filled his hand and felt so soft and round beneath his fingers. The nipple beckoned, and his mouth closed over the enticing bud and began a hard sucking pressure, then harder until he heard her moan with wild pleasure.

  She burned for him. Grasping his hair with her hands, she pulled his head against her. "That feels so good," she whispered. She felt him laugh, his hot breath blowing against her delicate skin.

  It was fantasy. It was reality. Hot pulsing magic and hard shuddering need. Sweet soaring senses and wanton quivering flesh.

  Sensing the beginning of her climb, Jerome raised up and plunged roughly into her. He felt her close tightly around him and the hot velvet orifice begin its contractions. Underneath him she turned into a clawing, biting wildcat. Her cries bathed him in heat and he went out of control. Thick and swollen, he pounded into her, knowing that never had he fit so well into a woman before.

  It began again, the rippling squeezes and releases of the muscles inside her that surrounded him and drew him into a world where there was nothing but sensations of flowing hot honey and molten gold.

  #

  The next morning, in the vault area of the small bank Richard had chosen, Jennifer reached into the long rectangular safety deposit box and pulled out a standard-size manila envelope, eight-and-a-half by eleven, plain and unmarked. Instead of opening it herself, however, she handed it to Jerome.

  "Please," she whispered. "You look."

  Without preamble he ripped the end of the envelope off and upended the contents onto the table. A smaller envelope fell out, the kind one receives from the drugstore with developed pictures in it. He pushed back the flap and a pack of photographs slid into his hand.

  One after the other Jerome whisked through them, then he handed them to Jennifer. "What are they?"

  Sifting through them, she murmured, "These are the pictures that Richard and I took on our trip to Switzerland."

  Jerome shook his head. "It doesn’t make sense that Richard would rent a safe deposit box merely to store pictures of you and him. Look closely at them. There must be something special. Some clue in at least one of them."

  "You’re right. But at first glance there doesn’t seem to be anything at all in these pictures that’s out of the ordinary. I remember the circumstances under which every one of these pictures were taken, and there is nothing here that shouldn’t be." She smiled down at the images. "Richard and I had a good time on the trip. And I– "

  "You what?"

  "I miss him."

  "I know you do, honey. It’s only natural. From what you’ve told me about him, he sounds like a good man.

  "He was. And he was smart. Which is why I’m pretty sure that these pictures aren’t just a red herring, because I’m the only other person who knew about this box. Whatever Richard put here is valuable enough to kill for."

  "Perhaps the answer lies in the negatives or even in the envelope itself," Jerome said. "But my money says there’s a microdot someplace on either the pictures, the negatives, or the envelope. Maybe two. At any rate, I have a friend who works in a laboratory who will analyze this for us." His arms went around her and he pulled her close into him until he could feel every curve and bone in her body imprinted against him. "Don’t worry," he whispered. "We’re a long way from being licked."

  Chapter Seven

  It was a raw day. A cold north wind sliced between the buildings, piercing thro
ugh to Leo’s arthritic bones like a long gray needle. Still, it never occurred to her to turn the stand over to someone else. She needed to be here. And the electric heater behind the counter offered some relief, as did her layers of clothes and the gloves with the fingertips cut out of them so that she could count change.

  A dark blue car pulled to a stop in front of the newsstand and a man she had never seen before climbed out. He was not quite six feet, Leo judged, but he was big-boned and well-muscled, and instantly she knew this man wanted more than a newspaper. She was right.

  "Hello," he said, giving her what she concluded was his best ingratiating smile. "Nice day today, isn’t it? A little cold, of course, but still, it’s a nice day."

  She nodded solemnly.

  "You’ve got an excellent location here," he complimented her, and craned his neck so that his view encompassed one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, including the condominium across the street.

  Leo said nothing, waiting for him to realize that exchanging pleasantries with her was not going to make her chatty.

  "I bet you see a lot of life from here." He swiveled back around and fastened black eyes, the color of a storm cloud, on her. "Like the comings and goings across the street."

  She remained silent.

  "I’d like some information."

  "Who would?"

  "I’m with the St. Paul Police Department."

  "Then you’ve got some identification."

  The subtle expression that passed fleetingly across his face showed Leo that he was busy reevaluating her, but he flipped out a badge. It read CHARLES BREWSTER, LIEUTENANT, ST. PAUL POLICE DEPARTMENT. "Now, as I was saying, I need some information." He slipped the badge back into his coat pocket and brought something else out for her to see. It was a picture—a picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman. "Have you seen this person coming and going around here, perhaps into the building across the street?"