Full Circle

by Carol Caiton

  "You counted my furniture?"

  "Five of your cabinets are bare," he went on. "Nothing in them at all. And you've only got eight."

  A small chill chased down her spine. "You've searched my home?"

  "What's going on that I don't know about, Jess? You're not planning to hang around for long, are you?"

  "I— Hannah—"

  "I'm not talking about Hannah. I'm talking about us. You and me." He flashed a finger back and forth between them. "What are you running from? Are you planning to take off without telling me? What happens when we get serious about each other?"

  "That's not going to happen."

  "What's not going to happen?"

  "We're not going to be serious."

  "The hell we're not."

  His eyes radiated with sudden anger. She had no time to guess what he was about before his hands shot out, jerking her against the length of his body.

  "We're already serious," he growled. Then his mouth came down on hers, rough and punishing. His hands swept down to her hips and he lifted her, crushing the soft part of her to his hardness and thrusting between her legs.

  She struggled. Then, just as quickly she stopped, confused. Because the anger in his kiss changed, the thrust between her legs a sensuous allure.

  He didn't release her, his arms still held her locked against him. But the drive that urged him on wasn't anger, it was need, a powerful need that urged her to respond in kind, to need him back with the same desperation.

  "Wrap your legs around me, Jess. Let me feel you."

  Without thinking about it, she did as he told her and the hard length of him pushed fully against her.

  "Kyle!"

  She scarcely noticed the hand that slid under her top until its heat reached her breast.

  "No!" She tried to pull away. "Stop now!"

  He heard her and froze. The rhythm between her legs stilled, and the hand at her breast eased.

  "Jess?"

  "You said I wouldn't be a used bride."

  His breath was a harsh beside her ear. He dropped his head until she felt his mouth at her neck. "You won't be, Jess. You won't be. There are other ways to find satisfaction—"

  "I don't want satisfaction. Don't you understand? I've done things with you, learned things I shouldn't know. These should be things my husband teaches me, experiences I should be having with him."

  He drew back slowly and his eyes were hard. "What the fuck do you want? A marriage proposal? You're nineteen frigging years old. We hardly know each other."

  She gasped. She hadn't been asking for his marriage proposal, but he thought she was and his conclusion flooded her with embarrassment. Did he think she was so forward?

  "No, Kyle, I don't want your marriage proposal. I want you to put me down."

  Immediately he did as she asked, his hand sliding out from under her top with a swiftness that left her suddenly chilled.

  "I'd like you to leave. Please."

  His eyes glittered. Frustration seemed to vibrate the air around him.

  Grabbing both her arms, he gave her a small shake. "I may not be ready to ask right now, but that doesn't mean I won't. You'll sing a different song then, won't you?"

  She stiffened. "You are so filled with yourself!"

  "No, honey, I'm sure of myself. There's a difference. And when I do ask you to marry me, you'll want my proposal. I guarantee it."

  "You're a puffed up peacock who doesn't know half his feathers are missing!"

  He grinned at her! How dare he grin at her!

  The fingers around her arms eased and he lowered his head until his mouth brushed hers. Once, twice. Softly. Warmly.

  She refused to respond.

  "Think about it," he said. Then he walked to the door and opened it. "Don't forget to lock this behind me."

  She blinked.

  He was gone before she comprehended that he'd done as she asked. Inside, she felt deflated, as though she'd lost an argument when in fact she'd been the one to tell him to go.

  CHAPTER 18

  Jessica tried not to let it bother her as the Urns & Leaves hostess led a stream of customers into the dining room and the tables began to fill. Some of those who sat down she recognized as regular morning customers. But most, she knew, had come because word traveled with the speed of a long-tongued woman when there was gossip and scandal afoot.

  They were waiting for Simon. And because he was one of the owners of RUSH, the long-tongued woman had been very busy. Except that Simon was late today, and she didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Would the curious wait, or would they leave, disgruntled for having caught nothing new to talk about? Even now, whispered words and quiet murmurs followed her as she moved about the dining room, taking care of her section. No one spoke within range of her hearing, but she felt many eyes as she passed and knew it would only become worse when Simon arrived.

  One would think she'd wish him away today for the sake of her own privacy as well as his. But on this of all days she needed to speak with him. She glanced several times toward the vestibule of newspaper machines, hoping to see his stern unsmiling face. And now that his preferred table was once again free, she quickly prepared a cup of black coffee, standard brew, for a nonexistent customer and carried it over. After that, she walked to the newspaper machines as casually as though it was a practiced routine, purchased the one she'd seen him read each morning, and carried that over as well. Now the table looked as though its occupant had merely stepped away for a moment.

  Fortunately, when he appeared at the entrance fifteen minutes later, she happened to be passing the vestibule and stopped him from purchasing a second paper. Resting a hand on his arm, she caught his attention as he reached into his pocket.

  "I've bought one for you today, and served your table as well."

  Both dark brows rose. "When did we start reserving tables at Urns & Leaves?"

  "We didn't. But it's crowded today." She removed her hand. "Come, I'll bring a fresh coffee to you."

  Ignoring the stares now focused on them, she quietly told the hostess that she'd held the window table for him. Then she turned to prepare the promised coffee, served it, and went about her business.

  No scandalous event disturbed their orderly routine, no unseemly behavior fed the long-tongued woman. She gave him time to read his paper, hoping the dining room would clear when it became obvious there would be nothing to gossip about, and a few did push away from their tables and leave. But most remained where they sat, and when she carried the second cup of coffee to his table and placed the salver of shortbread beside it, she again ignored the stares and slid onto the chair across from him.

  Immediately he set his newspaper aside. "Okay, Jessica, what's going on?"

  "In what way?"

  "You held a table for me," he pointed out, "you bought my newspaper . . . and I didn't have to twist your arm to get you to sit with me."

  "Simon, you've never twisted my arm. Not once."

  "It's a turn of phrase. Now tell me what's going on."

  She lowered her voice. "Doesn't it bother you to feel so many eyes watching?"

  "Yes, it bothers me. I ignore it. Is that why you're so agreeable today?"

  "I'm always agreeable, Simon. It's rude of you to imply otherwise."

  "Like hell." But he smiled and it softened the intensity of his eyes. "Now tell me what's so important."

  She squirmed a little in her chair, wondering how he would receive her request. "I wondered if you could recommend someone—a private investigator—who can perform a background check for me."

  She'd surprised him. "A background check," he repeated.

  "Yes."

  "Let me guess." He leaned back in his chair with a very smug expression. "Kyle Falkner."

  She took exception to his pleasure. "I require a background check on everyone with whom I engage in business," she told him. "Kyle is not a business contact."

  There. Let him make of that what he would. Both statements were tr
ue, but together they would stop him from thinking she distrusted Kyle.

  * * *

  Simon studied her through narrowed eyes. Kyle Falkner had told Hannah that Jessica, a nineteen-year-old girl, could probably double RUSH's profits in six months. He doubted that, but the comment was far-fetched enough that he'd had Michael run a background on her. Prior to that, he'd been under the impression that she'd worked as an interpreter before coming to RUSH. But a very interesting report had been forthcoming. Very interesting. It seemed little Miss Jessica Breckenridge was not only a master of fourteen languages, she was quite the savvy businesswoman. Still, international investment had nothing in common with running a corporation.

  Recalling that comment, however, he realized it was long past time to run a check on her friend Kyle Falkner. The guy may have been ousted from RUSH, which gave Simon immense satisfaction whenever he thought about it, but the man was very much a part of Jessica's life. And that, he didn't like at all.

  "Yes, I know someone," he told her. "His name is Michael Vassek. He's one of the owners of RUSH, but he's married now and works out of his home. I'll give him a call and see if he can fit us in after work today."

  "Us?"

  "I have something I'd like checked out as well. You can either follow me in your car, or I'll drive."

  "Oh."

  "Something wrong with that?"

  "No. No," she said again. "I just don't want to impose on your time."

  "It's not an imposition. Michael's a good friend and this gives me an excuse to visit."

  She frowned. "You need an excuse to visit a friend?"

  She was growing on him. Falling in love with her was still something he couldn't see happening, but he'd developed quite an affection for her, so much so that his protective instincts were roused when he thought about Michael's report and a bastard named Qasim Zafir.

  "No," he told her, "I don't need an excuse to visit. That was another turn of phrase."

  "I see."

  "I'll stop by before you leave for the day and let you know if he's available to see us."

  "All right." She rose from her chair. "Thank you, Simon."

  "My pleasure."

  * * *

  Kyle couldn't find the directions Michael had given him. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Michael's number and waited while it rang on the other end.

  "Yo, Kyle, what's up?"

  "How you doing, Michael?"

  "Good. Always. What's going on?"

  "Do you mind if I follow you and Rachel to the track?"

  "No, that's okay. You're bringing Jessica, right?"

  "Uh, no. Not this time. Tell Rachel I'll make it up to her."

  "Nope. You can make it up to me and I'll make it up to Rachel."

  "You're a possessive sonofabitch, you know that?"

  "You got that right. So what happened to Jessica?"

  "Nosy, too."

  "Yeah, how 'bout that."

  "Let's just say she's not too happy with me right now."

  "Geez, Kyle, she wasn't happy with you the last time I saw you. Haven't you learned how to treat a woman yet?"

  "I know how to treat a woman just fine, Michael. Don't be trying to hand out any of that happy-ever-after shit. What do you know anyway? You're still a newlywed."

  "Yeah, and I wake up every morning to a wife who thinks I'm the best thing to come along since the microchip. What do you wake up to?"

  Kyle grunted. "Just keep your advice to yourself."

  "Your loss, man."

  "Maybe. But I'll work it out. So I'll see you in about half an hour. That good with you?"

  "Yeah, sure. I've got a client stopping by, but we should be finishing up by then. In fact, you can drive Rachel's Bugatti to the track so she can ride with me."

  "Sounds good."

  * * *

  Riding in Simon's car with him had been a good idea, Jessica decided. She'd thought it would give her a chance to appreciate the scenery and expand her knowledge of the area. So she'd driven back to RUSH to meet with him when his workday ended. But she and Simon had become so involved in conversation, she barely paid attention until they passed the section of highway where she'd seen Kyle walking.

  "We're in Clermont," she said.

  "Yes. The turnoff to Michael's house is just up ahead."

  Looking out the windshield, she paid closer attention now. Unlike downtown Orlando, there were many hills here and, as they turned off the highway, the landscape became surprisingly rural.

  Following several twists and turns, they eventually turned onto a street nearly hidden from view by a curve in the road. Tall shade trees bordered both sides as they traveled up yet another hill. Then, after it leveled off, Simon turned the car into the driveway of a house with many windows.

  A sharp sense of unease went through her when she spotted a deep blue all-terrain vehicle parked just ahead. Simon eased up beside it, stopped, and turned off the engine.

  "It's nice up here, isn't it?" he observed. "Quiet."

  "Yes. Yes, it is."

  But her answer was given automatically, without thought, because she couldn't draw her attention from the ATV. Then she realized how breathy her voice had sounded and turned to find Simon looking at her with an odd expression. Smiling, she added, "It's very peaceful. And rural. Yet so close to the city."

  It was extremely unlikely, she thought as Simon opened his door to exit the car. Many people probably owned that very same type of vehicle. Even the same color. And the likelihood of Simon and Kyle sharing a mutual friend was highly improbable. The two could barely tolerate one another, so what could they both have in common with a third person? Besides, if Kyle was a friend to this Michael Vassek person, Jeremiah Case wouldn't have been able to terminate his membership at RUSH. Kyle would only have had to mention his friendship with one of the owners and Mr. Case's covert tactics would have been for naught.

  With a mental nod, she eliminated that possibility. But then it occurred to her that Kyle might be a client, just as she and Simon were clients. A moment later, she discarded that idea as well. Kyle would have connections through law enforcement who could perform background checks on anyone at all, free of charge. He wouldn't need to pay someone for that service. The ATV probably belonged to the owner of the house.

  Still . . . the day she'd found Kyle walking along the highway, it had been here in Clermont.

  The passenger door opened, startling her, and she realized she hadn't yet unfastened her seatbelt. Swiftly disconnecting the latch, she accepted Simon's offer of assistance and climbed from his car.

  "Is everything all right?" he asked. "You seem distracted."

  "I'm sorry. I was lost in thought for a minute."

  She would think about Kyle at another time. And if Michael Vassek was as competent at his job as her European source, her most pressing questions would be answered.

  Simon rang the bell. A few seconds later a tall, very handsome man with blond hair opened the door. He wore blue jeans and a T-shirt that showed he supported Florida's wildlife, and he grinned. It was a genuinely cheerful grin that put her at ease right away. And oddly—perhaps it was the scruffy haircut—he reminded her of Kyle.

  "Yo, Simon, it's good to see you. How's it goin'?"

  "Good. How about with you?"

  "Same here."

  "Michael, this is Jessica Breckenridge. Jessica, Michael Vassek. He's the man who programmed our linking system at RUSH."

  Jessica extended her hand. "Then I'm impressed already. It's a pleasure to meet you, Michael."

  "You too." He shook her hand then released it. "Simon told me you were Hannah's sister. I can see the resemblance. C'mon in."

  He held the door for them to enter and she and Simon stepped into a spacious foyer. A slight echo sounded when he closed it again.

  "So," he said, turning to Jessica, "I understand you need some information. Can I get you something to drink before we get started? Coffee? Iced tea?"

  "No thank you, I'm fine."


  "Okay then. Simon, are you gonna need to talk to me too?"

  Simon removed a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his suit jacket. "No. This is everything you'll need." He passed the paper to Michael and said, "Get as much as you can and bill me."

  "Will do. If you want to wait in the living room, Rachel should be out in a minute. She's showing the house to a friend. Or," he added, "you know your way to the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever while I talk with Jessica."

  "I'll do that. Thanks."

  Oddly, Michael paused then and stared at her with a speculative frown. "Jessica," he said, as though her name held a particular interest. Then he shook his head, smiled again, and said, "Follow me."

  He led her through a large, minimally furnished living room. The long wall ahead held a row of sliding glass doors and above the doors, stretching up another story, was more glass. The room appeared bright and pleasantly comfortable which surprised her because there was so little furniture. But Simon had told her Michael had recently married his wife, so perhaps they hadn't yet finished decorating.

  He took her into a similarly bright room that had been made into an office. This room, however, was completely furnished with two desks, a large bookcase, filing cabinets, and several computers. On the wall facing one of the desks were many framed photographs of a remarkably pretty woman, some showing her pregnant, some not, with pale blonde curls that fell to her waist.

  "That's Rachel," Michael said. "My wife."

  Jessica focused one of the photos that showed his wife wearing a maternity top and wondered if she was still pregnant or if their baby had already been born.

  "She's lovely," she told Michael. And he obviously thought so as well since his wall showed evidence of it. Which caused her to feel that much more comfortable with him.

  * * *

  Michael tried hard not to stare.

  You're bringing Jessica, right?

  Uh, no. Not this time. . . . Let's just say she's not too happy with me right now.