by Rita Herron
“Are you okay?” he asked.
His husky voice sent another thrill through her. “Yes. That was wonderful, Jake. I…never imagined.”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. She felt her face turning a thousand shades of red. “What’s so funny?”
“The virgin tigress. Who would have known?”
“That I was a virgin or a tigress?”
“Either one.”
She swatted his chest playfully, and he rolled her to her back and climbed on top of her again, cupping her face in his hands. “Why me, doc?”
The gruff tenderness in his voice sent a rush of emotions to the surface, the first of which she recognized as love. But a drifter man certainly didn’t want to hear claims of love, did he? Would he think her foolish and naive if she admitted how she felt?
“You’re irresistible,” she said instead, earning her a sexy grin. And I’m finally allowing myself to take a chance on love.
“Well, that’s true.” His smile faded to seriousness. “But why not that shrink guy you were engaged to?”
Hannah stared at his chest, uncomfortable.
He tipped her chin up with his thumb. “I’m not trying to make you feel awkward. It’s just…I’m surprised, that’s all. And touched.”
She licked her lips and traced a line across his chest with her finger, aware that he watched the movement and that his sex swelled again against her thigh.
“Hannah?”
“Destiny,” she finally said, for lack of a better explanation. “You were meant to be my first.” And if the folk legend comes true, my last.
SUNLIGHT STREAMED through the window, dappling the room in gold, waking Jake to the reality of the day. And to the reality of what had happened the night before.
He’d made love to Hannah Hartwell with an intensity that had shaken his inner core. A part of him didn’t want their union to end.
But today he planned to get the evidence to indict DeLito and to find out the truth about Hannah’s father.
A fierce sense of protectiveness surged inside him. She couldn’t be involved. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it, not after the way she’d given herself to him the night before. Not after she’d offered him the gift of her innocence.
So why had she lied about the files? About helping Wiley? There had to be some logical reason.
The unanswered question nagged at him. He glanced at her sleeping body, fighting arousal at the sight of her beautiful naked form cuddled beside him, sleeping so trustingly. Would he have to arrest Wiley today? Have to betray the trust she’d put in him by bringing him to her bed?
Aching with confusion, he glanced across the room, found her desk and decided he could slip from bed, catch a peek at the files and have some of his questions answered without Hannah ever knowing he’d suspected her of abetting a crime.
Unable to resist, he leaned over and planted a tender kiss on her cheek, savoring the scent of her sweet body as he climbed from bed and tiptoed to her desk.
HANNAH ROLLED OVER and stretched, feeling content and sated and unbelievably sore. The heady memory of the night before rushed back, sending a delicious rush of pleasure through her. She had made love with Jake Tippins. The man who, according to the legend of her grandmother’s heirloom pearl ring, was her destiny. She could think of worse fates, she thought with a smile, remembering all the ways he’d loved her during the night. The real thing had been far better than the dreams she’d had.
She’d promised to save herself for her wedding night, but maybe she’d simply wanted to save herself for the man she loved. And she did love Jake, with or without promises.
Opening one eye, she peeked beside her to see if her lover had awakened, hoping to slip into the bathroom and freshen up before he awoke. But the space beside her was empty.
Cold and empty.
Fighting panic that he’d climbed from her bed and already skipped town, she rolled to her knees and opened both eyes, searching the room. Sunlight lit the hope chest, falling in golden rays across the chaise lounge in the corner, rippled into lines on the wall beside her desk. Her desk—where Jake sat.
He was leaning back in her padded chair, with his back to her, his feet crossed at the ankles on top of her antique stool, his face drawn in concentration. What the heck was he doing? Thinking about what to say? How to handle the awkward morning after?
How to dump her without a scene?
Not wanting to startle him, she slowly slipped from the bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. She was naked also, she realized as chills raced up her body. Why was the room suddenly so cold? Had her furnace gone out overnight?
Slipping into a silk robe, she tied it at the waist, tiptoed over to Jake and slid her arms around his neck, then kissed his cheek. “Good morning.”
He stiffened in her arms, his hands reaching up to clutch her hands. “Morning.”
His voice sounded clipped.
“What are you doing?” She leaned over him and noticed the files she’d brought home from Wiley spread in his lap. “Jake?”
He released her hands and stood, his broad shoulders drawing back as the mouth she’d kissed and loved so wantonly only hours before now pulled into a fierce frown. “I might ask you the same thing. And this time I want the truth, Hannah. Not more of your lies.”
Chapter Eighteen
Anger rippled through Jake. To think he’d thought she was an innocent. Had hoped she was innocent. But the files in his hands confirmed the cover-up, so Hannah had to have been helping Wiley. At least protecting him. God, what was he going to do?
He didn’t want her to be implicated at all. Didn’t want her to have to be questioned, to know he’d ever mistrusted her. Because he cared about her.
Maybe even loved her.
What a mess.
“What lies? What are you talking about?” All evidence of the emotions she’d shared with him the night before vanished. Still, his whisker burns marred her neck and face, reminding him that he’d been in her bed only hours before, touching her, wanting her, needing her.
He still wanted her, dammit. But Jake Tippins wouldn’t allow himself to need anyone.
“Why are you looking through my stuff?” she whispered.
“I thought you said you didn’t help your father?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. There went those fingers again. Tap, tap, tap along her arms. “I don’t.”
He arched a brow, his temper rising as he shoved the files toward her. “Don’t lie, Hannah. I have the proof right here.”
“Proof? Proof of what?” She hugged her arms around her middle, looking lost and small. He steeled himself against her act, knowing good and well he’d fallen for the same performance before.
“Proof that your father is running a car-theft ring. And you’re an accessory.”
She staggered backwards, her eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He waved the file for emphasis. “It’s all here. Doctored numbers. Notes on Buffy. Sure, some of the deals are in code, but the evidence is there. What were you doing, trying to protect your father?” He ran a hand through his hair, furious and hurt at the same time.
“You’re crazy!” Hannah shouted. “I don’t know anything about any stolen cars. And I’d never heard of Buffy until I saw that file.”
His gaze swung back to her and he saw fury. But something else—hurt, confusion. And her fingers were perfectly still this time, sinking into her arms.
She ran a shaky hand over her face as if to wipe away his touch. “I do look over my dad’s records sometimes, but only because he’s dyslexic and too embarrassed to tell his bookkeeper.”
Jake narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Wiley’s dyslexic?”
“Yes, but no one knows. He reverses his numbers so I check them before he gives them to Erma Jean.”
“What about DeLito? Does he know your father’s dyslexic?”
“I don’t know. He could have figured it out, I suppose.”
“And so could the bookkeeper.” He slapped his hand on the desk. The bookkeeper could have been helping DeLito all along, not Hannah. “Joey is involved in the car ring,” he said matter-of-factly. “He has a prior record, Hannah, an alias. I saw the warehouse where he’s been storing the stolen vehicles. And if what you’re saying is true, I suspect Erma Jean has been helping him.”
“If what I’m saying is true?” She sliced her hand through the air angrily. “My father may be a lot of things, Jake Tippins. He may be flamboyant and a little showy in his commercials, but he is not a crook. Besides, if Joey was a thief, how would you know? Did you see him doing something at the dealership?”
“He’s involved. I just need to know if your dad or Mimi are in on the deal.”
“Mimi a party to a crime? My God, she’s as innocent as they come….” Her voice trailed off as if realization was dawning. He saw the moment she put two and two together. She staggered backward, her knees hitting that gold chest at the foot of her bed.
“You’re not a car salesman, are you?”
He saw the anger rising in her blue eyes and shook his head.
“And that day you caught that thief, you…” She backed around the chest, almost falling onto the bed. But her eyes darkened when she saw the rumpled covers, his jeans lying on the foot of the bed. A look of pure horror darkened her eyes as if she was sickened by the thought of returning to the place they’d warmed with their bodies only hours earlier. Helpless, he watched her stumble toward the chaise on shaky legs, then sink against the pillow, hugging herself. “You’re some kind of cop, aren’t you?”
He cleared his throat, striving for calm. “A detective. I’ve been working undercover trying to stop this theft ring. It’s major and it’s been spreading, right along with your dad’s businesses. That’s too big a coincidence to ignore.”
Her face paled. “My father asked me to check the books this week. He said he thought something was fishy, that maybe Joey had been messing with the numbers.” Her hands clenched the side of the chaise, her knuckles white.
“So Joey and Erma conspired without Wiley knowing?”
“My father is not a crook, he’s a wonderful man, a good father, a…” Her voice broke, clogged with tears. “You have to believe me, Jake.”
A sharp pain tightened his chest. He did believe her, although trust had never come easily to him. Still, he had to ask, “Why should I believe you, Hannah? You lied to me before.”
“About the files?”
He nodded.
“But I explained that.”
“What about Thanksgiving morning? You said you were at the hospital all morning, but you weren’t. You were at home.”
“How do you know?” Her eyes widened again, stark shock setting in. “You spied on me?”
“I—I just drove by.”
“You’re lying now, Jake,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “I wondered why someone like you would be interested in me—”
“What do you mean, someone like me?” he asked angrily.
She ignored his anger. “You were watching me, using me to find out about Wiley, weren’t you?”
He let the silence be his answer. Guilt warred with the truth, all jumbled together in his head. “I was just doing my job.”
“And you use anyone you have to to get the job done, right? Including my family?”
He nodded curtly, hating the anguish settling in her face. “I’m sorry, doc.”
Her gaze darted to the bed, her voice low, “You…you could have simply asked. You didn’t have to sleep with me to get information.”
He had to defend his actions. “Maybe I wouldn’t have been suspicious if you hadn’t lied.”
“My dad is innocent,” Hannah said, her chin rising a notch. Still, she bit down on her lip, a gesture he’d learned to recognize, as unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “I lied because I tried all morning to make those stupid homemade rolls and I kept messing them up. I felt like a failure.”
He frowned, searching her face. “Why would you lie about something so insignificant as rolls?”
She stood and folded her arms across her chest, her voice a soft whisper. Her voice took on a self-deprecating tone, “Because I can’t cook.”
“But Wiley said—”
“Wiley likes to exaggerate. We grew up on Mimi’s Easy Bake oven recipes.”
Jake gritted his teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because…I hate to admit failure. I wanted to impress you.” Hannah’s voice broke. “Which proves that I am guilty of one thing—being a fool.”
With a sweep of her hand, she indicated the door. “Now, I want you to get out of here, Jake Tippins. And I don’t want you ever to come back.”
HE HAD SCREWED UP big time.
Jake drove toward the warehouse to meet his partner, his heart pumping, his mind a mess. He’d tried to locate Wiley first, knowing Hannah might try to warn him about the investigation, but he couldn’t find the man. Hopefully, Hannah couldn’t either. The devastated look on her face when she’d realized his identity, that he had used her, would be imprinted on his brain forever.
She hated him.
And he didn’t blame her.
He’d be a bigger fool than he’d already been if he continued to doubt her innocence. Jesus, she’d been helping Wiley because he was dyslexic. She’d tried to impress him by making homemade rolls, something his own mother hadn’t ever bothered to do. She’d given him a damn rose and made him a homemade Christmas star out of art paper and glitter. She’d even signed the freaking thing.
Worse, she had given him a part of herself, her virginity, and if he didn’t know better, a little bit of her heart. And what had he done? Thrown it in her face by treating her like a criminal. Deep in his heart, he had known that Hannah took care of everyone else. And now, too late, he realized he wanted to take care of her. Shoulder some of her responsibilities and burdens so she could relax and smile—that heart-stopping, dazzling smile that drove him crazy.
Guilt, deeper and colder than anything he’d ever felt, settled in his stomach like a rock. People like Hannah Hartwell didn’t lie.
Hell, he hadn’t believed they even existed.
He had to tie this case up today and get the hell out of Sugar Hill. Even if Hannah would forgive him, which he doubted because even good people couldn’t forgive such deceit, he wasn’t a man who deserved her. She deserved fine things and fancy trips and a man who’d know how to romance her in style. Not some broken-down cop who was as scarred on the inside as he was on the outside.
She deserved someone like her old boyfriend.
Pain cut through him, sharp and relentless, but he pushed it away. The dirt road leading to the warehouse loomed in front of him, gloomy and run-down, flanked by scraggly overgrown weeds and bushes. Snowflakes had begun to fall, a flurry of white that fogged his vision. He steered his SUV down the graveled road, adrenaline starting to churn in his veins as the minutes ticked by, signaling the end of the investigation. And his time in Sugar Hill.
By this time tomorrow, he’d be out of the Hartwell family’s life for good.
Chapter Nineteen
The hope chest had started it all, the death of her happy, stable future, Hannah thought miserably as she climbed from the shower and wrapped herself in her big terry cloth robe. She’d furiously scrubbed her body and hair, wanting to wash away the memories, but even the thirty-minute shower hadn’t completely cleansed Jake’s scent from her skin. The man had deceived her, taken her virginity and stolen her heart. Darn him.
She should never have paid any attention to that stupid legend.
And she should never have let Jake touch her.
She stared at the rumpled sheets, remembering every touch, the way she’d come apart in his arms, his husky whispers, and suddenly she felt ill. Furious, she jerked off the sheets and threw them into a pile in the floor. But would she ever rid herself of the image of him in her bed?
Her gaze fell on the l
ighted curio cabinet and she laughed, a sarcastic bitter noise that didn’t sound as if it came from her own throat. She’d actually started dreaming about all that silly, childish stuff again—comparing herself to Sleeping Beauty. How could she have not seen the signs? No wonder he’d been such a clumsy salesman; tackled that thief like a pro; asked all those questions on Thanksgiving. God, he must have laughed himself silly when she’d given him that sappy homemade Christmas star.
What a naive idiot she’d been.
The tears she’d fought since Jake had walked out spilled over and she finally let them fall.
Angry with herself, she raced to the curio cabinet, yanking out the dolls one by one and placing them in a box. She’d take them to the hospital, let the nurses wrap them up as gifts for the sick children. Maybe they would make some of the little girls as happy as they had her—once upon a time.
Now they only reminded her of her own foolishness.
She paced across the floor, her movements jerky. She should have stuck by her convictions, played it safe, done her job and taken care of her sisters.
Mimi.
Good grief, what would poor Mimi do if Joey wound up in jail? The newspaper would cover it all, another Hartwell happening. She could see the headline—The Legacy of the Hartwell Clan Continues.
A sigh of despair escaped her and she ran to the closet and dragged out some clothes. She didn’t have time to nurse her own broken heart. She had to talk to Mimi and warn her father before Jake showed up and threw them all in jail. Of course, he probably expected her to try to warn her father. She had to hurry. Wiley might be an oddball, but he was her oddball dad, and he’d done everything in the world to take care of her. It was her turn to stand up for him.
But what about Mimi? She had been acting so strangely lately, worried about Joey two-timing her and all. What if she fell apart?
Time was of the essence here—she couldn’t let either of them find out about Jake’s investigation before she had a chance to talk to them. She phoned Alison, hoping she’d sit with Mimi while Hannah went to see her father, but no one answered. She left a hurried message, gripping the phone in a panic. Who else could she call?
