by Debra Webb
“We’ll have coffee later,” she’d said simply, then she’d taken him by the hand and led him to the cabin’s spacious bedroom.
Now he stood waiting for her to make the first move as she’d known he would. Lucas had spent half a lifetime being patient…waiting for her to come to terms with the tragedies fate had dropped like bombs into her life.
But that was all behind her. She would not look back. Lucas had highly skilled people who would take care of Leberman and his hired killer. Her own people would see to the agency. This—here and now—was going to be their time. She didn’t want anything else to get in the way of this precious moment. Here they were safe.
She stepped out of her shoes and scooted them aside. Next she removed her sweater. She loved the feel of it, so soft and warm. She’d known when she packed it that she wanted to be wearing it at this moment. The pastel-yellow color looked good against her skin, and the fit was flattering.
For just one moment as the exquisite fabric drifted to the floor, she suffered a pang of panic. What if her body failed to please Lucas? She was not so young anymore. Almost fifty.
She forced the thought away. She’d been down that road, had considered what he might think, and she knew there was only one way to find out. Youthful beauty only went skin-deep. What she and Lucas shared went far deeper than that.
Far, far deeper.
She reached behind her and unzipped her slacks, then slid them down and off in one, smooth motion. She stepped forward, out of the confines of the garment puddled around her ankles.
His cane propped against the night table, Lucas watched her intently, his breathing visibly more ragged. Was he half as worried about pleasing her as she was about pleasing him? She smiled, realizing that he likely was. Even men suffered that plight…to some degree.
As she tugged at the pins restraining her hair, he shouldered out of his jacket. Anticipation soared through her. He wasn’t going to keep her waiting.
She watched his capable movements as he tossed the jacket into the nearby chair. While he removed his tie she freed the length of her hair, allowing it to fall down and sway around her shoulders, the feel of it against her bare skin making her shiver. She blinked, nearly certain she’d seen him shiver, as well. Could he have waited for this…allowed himself no other as she had? The mere idea made her tremble again.
Moving closer to him, she watched as he slowly released one button after the other along the front of his shirt. She moved more quickly now, wanting—needing—to be close enough to touch him. The final button was scarcely freed before she boldly pushed the starched cotton from his broad shoulders. Her heart pounded hard at the sight of his well-defined chest. A twinge of trepidation plagued her at the thought that her body was not nearly so nicely toned.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, as if reading her mind.
She took a deep breath and met that hungry gray gaze. Though she’d carefully selected delicate, feminine undergarments, she still felt like an old woman dressed in pastel-yellow designer lace and satin.
“So are you,” she whispered back, unable to resist touching him a moment longer. Her palms smoothed over the masculine contours, tingled at the raspy feel of his chest hair. She traced every line and ridge, reveled in the powerful muscles that felt so hard and smooth. He had such an amazing torso. She wanted to see more.
She reached for his belt and he stayed her hands. “There are some things that you might not find so appealing,” he reminded gently.
Her heart thumped hard. The prosthesis. All those years ago as a prisoner of war, he’d saved her husband’s life, but he’d lost his right leg from the knee down while doing so. She’d forgotten all about that. Lucas Camp was the kind of man who exuded power and strength, obliterating any doubt in his physical prowess. She’d completely forgotten the matter of his prosthesis.
She looked up into his eyes and said the words she knew he needed to hear. “I love you, Lucas. I can’t imagine a man more appealing in every way.”
He removed his shoes, then unfastened his belt and his trousers. He sat down on the side of the bed and removed the trousers as well as the prosthesis. He sat there a few moments, wearing nothing but his boxers, before meeting her eyes.
“You sure about that?” he asked, looking more vulnerable than she could ever have anticipated. Lucas Camp was not a man one associated with any sort of vulnerability.
She sat down beside him and took his hand, his unguarded fragility leveling the playing ground more than he could possibly know. “Positive.”
He touched her hair, his expression reverent. “I’ve wanted to touch you this way for so very long.”
Her pulse leaped at his words. “I know. I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting.”
His fingers trailed down her back and she turned to give him better access to the closure of her bra. He released the hooks and she shed the bra without hesitation, allowing him to see her slightly less-than-firm breasts.
His deep, satisfied sigh made her head spin just a little. “If you were any more beautiful I’m not sure my heart could take it.” Moving slowly, giving her ample time to stop him, he reached up and cupped one breast.
A surge of longing made her gasp. The feel of his palm against her nipple, his strong fingers around her made her inner muscles quake with renewed anticipation. No one had touched her like this in more than fifteen years. How she had missed knowing a man this way.
She reached for him, taking her time, exploring his body more fully, careful of the bandages, while he acquainted himself with hers. He leaned closer and kissed her, his mouth hungry, his desperation undeniable. She drew away from him, scooted back onto the bed and lay down in invitation.
He slid off his boxers, revealing well-formed buttocks and muscled thighs. He eased down next to her and gently tugged her panties down her legs and off. He tossed the lacy scrap of fabric across the bed.
When he’d stretched out beside her once more she felt complete just feeling his warm body along the length of hers. “It feels so good just lying next to you,” she admitted.
He played with her hair, allowing it to slip through his fingers and feather down against her skin. “You truly are beautiful, Victoria,” he told her. He caressed her cheek. “Right now, before we take the next step, I want you to know that I love you and I will never allow anything to hurt you again. No matter what it takes.”
His eyes were far too solemn…that worried her. “Lucas, is something wrong?” Was he having second thoughts? Had he learned news that he hesitated to share with her?
He shook his head. “Everything is perfect.” With that he kissed her. Kissed her softly at first. His firm lips moving skillfully over hers, the taste of wine making her want to drink him in. His hand moved down her abdomen, and her entire body quivered with need. He tangled his fingers in the curls between her thighs and her breath caught harshly.
“It’s been a long time,” he whispered between kisses. “We need to take this slowly.”
His touch was as skilled as his kisses. His fingers magical. He knew just how to touch her…how to draw out the desire. And then his mouth moved downward until those masterful lips had latched on to her breast.
Her fingers plunged into his silky hair, urging him on as her body built toward an almost forgotten crescendo. Every draw of his mouth, every dip of his fingers and she edged closer and closer to release. The heel of his hand rubbed firmly against her clitoris, making her writhe with longing. How much longer could she stand this building tension? It coiled harder, deeper until…her senses erupted. Her feminine muscles throbbed with climax…her whole body shuddered with it.
He parted her thighs and nestled himself there. The feel of his hardened length made her whimper his name. Her arms went around his waist as he slowly, carefully nudged inside. They both cried out as he sank deeply inside her. And for one l
ong beat neither of them moved. They could only lie there, gasping for breath, caught in the sweet, sensual trap of pure desire.
He started to rock, gently at first, allowing her body to adjust. Eventually the pace and depth increased and then all else was forgotten.
He took her back to that place of sensual bliss before he plunged over the edge himself.
But Lucas Camp had never been a selfish man. He pleasured her well before taking his own and that only made her love him more.
When they lay side by side, still panting, and utterly sated, she hugged him tight to her side. “Lucas,” she whispered.
“Hmmm,” he murmured, his voice still rough with desire.
“I’ve made a decision.”
“That we should have an encore?” he teased, then kissed her forehead.
“Well, that, too,” she agreed. “But no, I was just thinking. I believe it’s time you made an honest woman out of me.”
CHAPTER 36
The gun dangled from his fingers as Leberman stared down at the hole in his chest. Blood spread quickly across the front of his shirt, like the center of an ever-expanding bull’s-eye.
He lifted that beady gaze and stared at the man who’d shot him. “Why?” The single word came out more a hiss of disbelief than pain.
Seth took aim again. “I told you if you came near me again I’d kill you.”
“You swore you would fulfill this promise to me. You owe it to me,” Leberman snarled with more strength than a man already dead should possess.
Seth made that sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You’re right. I do owe it to you and I won’t fail to deliver.”
“I was supposed…to see it…for myself,” Leberman shouted the words between frantic gasps for breath.
“Use your imagination.” The next shot split Leberman’s skull right between the eyes. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the wall behind him like a bad Impressionist painting. He crumpled to the floor, and the girl he’d kidnapped screamed hysterically.
Tasha looked from Leberman’s body to Seth. He stood in the doorway, his weapon still leveled, ready to fire, his face a blank canvas, devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
He had shoved her to the floor and fired a fatal shot in Leberman’s direction before she could depress her own trigger. As she stared at the aftermath, she felt frozen by emotion. Not quite fear…not quite relief and confusion. Something in between.
Before she could gather her wits, Seth had snatched her weapon from her hand and stalked over to the girl cowering in the corner. She shook uncontrollably as he jerked her to her feet and pulled her arms away from her face. He surveyed her wound, which, to the best Tasha could tell, was superficial.
He pushed the girl toward the back door. “Get out.”
The girl didn’t hesitate, nor did she look back.
Tasha dove for the gun Leberman had dropped a split second before Seth’s attention swung back to her.
She grabbed the weapon and lunged to her feet, shoving the barrel into Seth’s face when he took a step in her direction. “Stop right there,” she ordered.
He tucked the weapon he’d taken from her into the waistband of his jeans. As he did so she noticed the blood streaking his hands. She blinked, uncertain where it had come from. Then she knew. He’d ripped open his flesh while freeing himself.
Maybe she tied a better knot that she’d realized.
“Give me the weapons,” she demanded. She tried to calm her racing heart and her whirling thoughts, but she kept seeing Leberman’s head explode and wondering what had made Seth decide to kill him. And the girl…? He’d looked to see that she wasn’t hurt that badly before he sent her scurrying away. Where had this sudden burst of compassion come from? It was like that first day when he’d taken her home and told her to warn her roommate that she’d better not hurt her again. How could this killer care what happened to anyone?
But somehow he did. On some level, anyway.
“Hand over the weapons,” she repeated, her aim steady.
He looked at her with that impassive face and those ice-cold eyes. “You decide I wasn’t worth saving after all.”
If he’d uttered the words with any emotion whatsoever she might have felt a pang of regret. “I just don’t want to end up dead like your friend over there.” She jerked her head in Leberman’s direction. “Why did you do that?” She had to know. The analytical part of her screamed for answers.
“Why I didn’t let him kill you or why I killed him?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the inhumanity of his own words.
“Why you…both,” she demanded, annoyed at her inability to keep perspective here.
He glanced at the weapon in her hand then settled that arctic gaze on hers. “I warned him. He just kept coming back.”
She swallowed, moistened her lips. “And what about me? Why am I still breathing?” As if to emphasize her words, a little soblike mewl escaped her lungs. She steeled herself, tightened her grip on her weapon. She might have to kill him yet. He didn’t need to know how his actions had affected her.
But God, he was Victoria Colby’s son.
Did Lucas know by now? Had the DNA test told him that?
And could she…could she actually do it if necessary?
He didn’t answer her question, just turned his back on her. The move startled her from her worrisome quandary.
“Where are you going?” she demanded, altering the aim of her weapon to keep a bead on him.
He hesitated at the door just long enough to glance back at her. “I have a job to finish.”
She followed him onto the rear deck of the house. “Wait,” she shouted. “He’s dead. What does it matter now? Don’t you understand what this all means? Victoria Colby is your mother.”
Even in the moonlight she could plainly see his savage glare when he spun around to face her. “She’s nothing to me,” he ground out. “I hate her more than I hated Leberman.”
She had to stop him—distract him—and she wasn’t sure, knowing what she knew, that shooting him was actually an option. “Because you think she abandoned you,” she called out after him, “left you to be rescued by the likes of Leberman. She loved you, Seth. He stole you away from her. This isn’t her fault. They both loved you.”
He turned around again but this time instead of just glowering at her he strode straight toward her. The murderous look on his face had her backing toward the house. He pinned her to the wall with his free hand. The light from inside the house cut across his face highlighting the fury contorting his features.
“If she loved me so damned much then why didn’t she stop him?”
And there it was…the tiniest, almost imperceptible crack in his impervious armor. The little boy who’d been praying for a savior all these years peeked out.
“Because she couldn’t find you,” Tasha said softly. “She tried…but Leberman kept you hidden from her.”
“I was right here,” Seth snarled. “Right here in Chicago all that time. She didn’t want me. Neither of them did. He told me that every day of my life. Every time he punished me, he reminded me that I would be nothing without him. So you tell me, Tasha, why the hell didn’t she stop him?”
Pain flickered in his eyes for just one second before he banished it, but he couldn’t erase the memory of what she’d seen. The emotion had been so achingly profound that her lips trembled with the empathy welling in her chest.
“You can’t believe anything Leberman told you,” she urged. “He did this to you to get back at the Colbys. He—”
“Just shut up!” Seth roared. “I know what I lived through. What she let me live through. And now she’s going to pay for that. I’ve waited a long time to have her look me in the eye and know.” A muscle jumped in his tightly clenched jaw as he struggled to restrain the emot
ions she sensed were raging inside him. “I want her to know what he did to me and then I want to watch her die.”
Tasha blinked back the tears that brimmed behind her lashes and glared right back at him. A part of her wanted desperately to hold him and make him see that it would be all right now, but part of her just wanted to kick the shit out of him and tell him what a jerk he was. “Then I guess you’d better go ahead and kill me now because I’m not going to let you do this.” She was betting that he wouldn’t kill her. That he couldn’t. She hoped like hell her instincts were on the money this time.
He pressed the muzzle of his weapon beneath her chin. She tensed. “Do you really want to die? Is Lucas paying you enough to die for him?”
“This isn’t about Lucas,” she said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “This is about you and your mother.”
The weapon bored painfully into the soft flesh. She winced. “I don’t have a mother,” he said softly, lethally. “I have a target.”
The sound of sirens in the distance snagged his attention. He swore. The girl had probably made it to the closest neighbor, which was quite a distance, and called the cops. A smidgen of Tasha’s tension eddied away.
He snatched Leberman’s weapon from her hand and tossed it into the grass. “I guess you got yourself another reprieve. Just remember that you might not be so lucky next time.” He released her and bounded across the deck and down the steps.
“You’re not leaving me here to straighten out your mess,” she yelled at his back as he headed toward the woods. She followed. If she planned to keep him in sight, she didn’t have time to search for the weapon he’d tossed.
As hard as it was she managed to stay within a few meters of him. Thank God she’d kept in shape. At one point he tried to lose her, but she didn’t take the bait. She just kept dogging his steps. When they reached the clearing where he’d originally brought her, to kill her she imagined, he stopped abruptly and turned around.
