Heart vs. Humbug

by MJ Rodgers

  But she hadn’t seen it. She had only sensed it on some primitive, intuitive level that was only now making itself clear. This was the true risk that Brett Merlin represented.

  His mouth and hands had already hypnotized her body to his will. Even if she had been able to stop him, it was way too late to stop herself.

  Desire, hotter than she had ever known, flared through her as he devoured her lips and then her neck, the heat of his tongue a lash that whipped her skin, his every breath and touch spinning a spell of possession. A shooting ache of need erupted between her thighs as his strong fingers snapped her nylons out of her garter belt and slid them down her legs.

  And suddenly she knew that anything this man wanted with her he could have—would have. Her will, once so strong, now trickled away, weak as water.

  The rain rapped hard on the roof above them, matching the beat of her blood. The smoky incense of his skin and hair mesmerized her like a drug. She was blind to all but the feel of his hands and mouth.

  Octavia dropped her head back with a sigh of surrender as his tongue licked a hot trail down her throat and his fingers spread open her robe.

  The cool brush of his hair on her bared chest tickled tantalizingly as his mouth seared the top of her breasts swelling out of her bra. She arched her back to greet his touch, wanting more, so much more.

  He pulled her bra straps down and his tongue licked her swelling nipples. She cried out as shimmers of sweet aching heat spread into her deepest core.

  His hand returned to her leg to make its way up her thigh.

  Deliberately, torturously, slow it slid across her flesh as he licked and sucked, and her body throbbed with pleasure and growing need. She wanted him to touch her everywhere; she ached for him to touch her everywhere.

  She could feel the heaviness of her breaths as she dragged air through her lungs. She couldn’t seem to move, not while he touched her like this, not while he commanded her body like this.

  He anchored her body with his. His palm pressed lightly between her thighs and her body quaked anew with need. And then, as he took her nipple deep into his mouth to suckle, he slipped his fingers under her silk panties to stroke her wet heat.

  A bolt of intense pleasure broke through her. She cried out.

  She pressed against him, wantonly, eagerly, knowing that she would give this magician anything—everything—if he would just continue to work his magic on her.

  He took her other nipple into his mouth to suckle as the pressure and pace of his fingers increased. She moaned and arched against him, again and again. Then suddenly he had her shouting and soaring toward the ceiling as the power of the bursting climax broke through her.

  She floated there light and free, suspended by the magic of his ministrations, weightless and totally empty.

  Then she felt the feather-light feel of his lips against her cheek. She sighed in contentment as she drifted down, back onto the bed, at this soft summons.

  Dazed, she opened her eyes to see him above her. His chest was bare, full of powerful, rippling layers of corded muscle. He looked magnificent, the quicksilver in his eyes alive with the knowledge of the pleasure his possession had brought her body. And full of the promise of more pleasure yet to come.

  She tried to shake her head to tell him that for her it was over, but she didn’t have the energy.

  He took her hands in his and drew her slowly into a sitting position. Gently, so very gently, he removed her bra. Then he planted firm, sweet kisses across her shoulders that sent new tingles down the nerve endings of her spine.

  He laid her back on the bed and slipped off her panties.

  As he stood over her, consuming her naked body with his eyes, he stripped off his slacks and shorts. Chills began to break out all over Octavia’s skin as he stood before her naked, aroused, magnificent in the power of raw, elemental masculinity.

  He continued to mesmerize her with those silver-black eyes as he grasped her feet.

  His hands were firm; his mouth was hot. She had never had her toes licked and sucked before. The total eroticism of it shivered up her legs. A mere moment before she had been achy with contentment. Now she was once again quivering with need, like a leaf in the wind torn from its supporting branch.

  He nibbled at her ankles next, then her calves, then munched on her knees. He was conquering her all over again, bottom to top this time. By the time he had reached her thighs she was spreading them once again for him, hot and wet and eager.

  He teased her swollen folds with his tongue and then made his way to her belly and then her breasts. She withered and moaned impatiently beneath his magical ministrations, wanting more, so much more. He took her hands in his and stretched her arms over her head and held them there. For an instant, he locked eyes with hers, breast to breast, breath to breath.

  Then his mouth claimed hers with a fierce possession as he buried himself deep inside her heat.

  She wrapped herself around him as he filled her, all of her with all of him. She cried out with the intensity of the contractions leaping within her, tightening her womb as she met every one of his thrusts into her giving, enveloping heat.

  He erupted inside her with a final powerful plunge that seemed to pierce her heart as the force of her name exploded from his lips to sear her soul.

  She was captured. Claimed. Possessed by the spell of the magician who held her in his arms.

  * * *

  BRETT WOKE TO A FAINT light filtering in through the portholes, a shade darker than the pure white veil of snowflakes that now replaced the rain. “Winter Wonderland” played softly through the stereo speakers hidden somewhere in the room.

  He was caught in a winter wonderland, all right, the stuff of storybooks and dreams and fairy-tale fantasies.

  He turned to look at her—the biggest fantasy of all—asleep on this soft white bed surrounded by strings of twinkling lights, the beautiful sparkling present that he had never found beneath his Christmas tree.

  She was naked, the flame of her long thick hair spread like a deep fan behind the light gold of her skin. A matching flame triangle nestled between her satin thighs.

  He hadn’t realized until he had undressed her last night just how lovely she was. He had only a glimpse or two to guide him. Because despite the stylish and beautiful clothes she wore, her skirts and blouses had never been tight, and her hem always hung at the knee. Even her silk bra and panties, now lying on the floor where he had thrown them the night before, were white and modestly cut.

  Modestly cut. Dear God, she was modest. This newest revelation hit him on a whole new level. Deep down, this bold, brainy and beautiful woman, who lived inside a rainbow ferry and slept suspended in this white fantasy of a bedroom, was modest!

  Modesty didn’t fit her at all. The perfection of her form could put a Cellini statue to shame.

  And yet, when he thought about it again, he realized modesty fit her perfectly. It explained why she had never sought the notoriety of trials but preferred to arrange better settlements behind the scenes. She didn’t care at all about all the pomp and ceremony that went with celebrity status. He doubted status was even a word in her vocabulary.

  Because she was modest. Such an unexpectedly beautiful trait to add to her others. Smart. Fierce. Loyal. Loving. God, how she was loving!

  Not that the image reconciled with what Zane had told him. His P.I.’s report said Octavia dated lots of men very casually, and most of them thought her beautiful and fun, but distant.

  Distant? She had never been distant. Not with him. He smiled with the remembered pleasure of their night together. Each time he had awakened her, she had melted into his arms. Each time he had touched her, she had opened for him. He was very glad she was distant with other men. All other men.

  He wanted her to himself.

  He was in love with her.

  God help him.

  Now what?

  Now the fantasy would end. No man could serve two mistresses. And his first mistress—the law�
��was all-demanding and possessive and would allow no rivals.

  Brett gathered Octavia into his arms, craving the warmth of her body to hold back the chill that had suddenly begun to circle his heart.

  She stirred and deep blue eyes squinted sleepily into his. Her hands wound automatically around his neck.

  “Good morning,” she said, her voice a salient sigh, her body an armful of sultry silk.

  His heart stilled inside his chest at the sparkle in her eyes. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath at the beauty of her smile. He crushed her to him fiercely, possessively.

  He took her then, not like a magician at all but like a madman, and all the while cursing that other mistress’s prior claim.

  * * *

  “HOW DID THE ARRAIGNMENT go?” A.J. asked.

  “About as expected,” Octavia said into one of the Port Orchard Courthouse phones. “Because of the seriousness of the charge, bail’s been set at seventy-five thousand dollars.”

  “You able to raise it okay?”

  “Yes. Mab’ll be out soon, although she’s got another electronic ankle monitor and she’ll be restricted to Constance’s place. They’re not even going to let her do her broadcasts or help with the meals for seniors or with getting the community center ready.”

  “Scroogen’s widow was interviewed by a Seattle TV station this morning. She said she’s lost all respect for the seniors and their cause and is going ahead with the condominium complex in memory of her dead husband.”

  Octavia sighed. “Yes. The story is front-page news here. Support for the seniors and their cause has dried up over night. No one is buying their Scrooge dolls. They’re not going to be able to raise the money for their rent.”

  “How is she holding up?”

  In her mind’s eye, Octavia once again could see her grandmother as she had stood beside her at the arraignment. Mab’s once-bouncy curls had been matted, her normally erect shoulders slumping, her hands nervously fingering the edges of her suit jacket.

  Octavia’s heart swelled and ached at the memory.

  “She’s lost her home, half her radio station and all her hope for helping the nonambulatory seniors and keeping the community center going. Plus which, she’s being accused of a murder that all her friends believe she committed. She’s always been a strong woman, A.J., but it’s taking its toll.”

  “You know everyone here will do whatever they can.”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “What’s your next move?”

  Octavia’s eyes glanced over at Brett, looking so wonderfully calm and confident, as he spoke with Patterson. She fingered the velvety poinsettia she had pinned to her lapel. For the first time in hours, a smile found her lips.

  “Brett and I are going to Scroogen’s funeral soon. After that, we plan to pour over the evidence that Brett has obtained on a discovery motion to see what we can learn from it.”

  “Oh, I’m glad you mentioned Merlin. I have some news about his personal life, specifically his wife.”

  The smile slid off Octavia’s face. “His what?”

  “His wife, Danette Merlin. You must have seen her. She was an up-and-coming fashion model eight years ago—made the cover of Vogue, Mademoiselle, several of the big ones.”

  Octavia’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. She tried to swallow but couldn’t. “They’re still married?”

  “No. He dumped her after she was caught smuggling dope.”

  Octavia sighed in some relief as she absorbed the information, let it sift through her mind and heart. She remembered his words about being young, a fool, falling in love.

  “I have no respect for anyone who smuggles dope, A.J. I can’t say as I blame Brett for ending the relationship.”

  “Still, you have to admit, it was kind of cold, inasmuch as he dumped her right after they returned from their honeymoon.”

  Octavia frowned. “It happened right after their honeymoon?”

  “They combined their honeymoon with one of her overseas fashion tours. She brought the stuff back in her luggage. When her case came to trial, she was convicted primarily because of Brett’s testimony.”

  Octavia shifted uneasily in front of the phone. “He testified against her, too?”

  “Not only did he testify against her, he was the one who turned her in.”

  Octavia’s heart skipped several beats as the breath stilled in her lungs.

  “Octavia, did you hear me? I said Brett Merlin turned in his own wife when he caught her smuggling dope. She was lucky she was a first offender. She served a minimal sentence. Still, her modeling career ended up in the Dumpster.”

  Octavia stared at Brett as A.J.’s words revolved around in her brain. She kept remembering how completely he had possessed her the night before, how fiercely he had claimed her that morning through a furious flurry of curses—like he would never, ever, let her go.

  But would he?

  If he had the proof that tied her to that stone carving, would he see that there was a difference between what she had done for her grandmother and what Danette had done?

  Or would he only see the law?

  “Don’t trust him, Octavia,” A.J. was saying in her ear. “This guy has ice water in his veins.”

  But Octavia could only remember the heat of his hands, his lips. He had captured her heart, claimed her soul.

  She swallowed, hard. “A.J., there’s something I want you to do for me.”

  After she told the private investigator what it was she wanted, A.J.’s voice exploded in her ear.

  “Octavia, you’ve got to be out of your mind! You can’t want me to do that.”

  “I do, A.J.”

  “No, Octavia. Get someone else to—”

  “No one else can do it. Not effectively. You know that. A.J., please, do this for me.”

  A.J. exhaled heavily in her ear. “All right. It’s your funeral. God, I hope to hell you know what kind of a risk you’re taking.”

  “I know,” Octavia said. “But when your heart whispers, you have to listen.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nancy leaned on Brett’s arm as they walked away from the burial site beneath the light snowfall.

  “Nancy, are you sure you understand the difficulties you’ll be facing by going ahead with the condominium complex?” he asked.

  “The complex was what Dole wanted.”

  “It’s a major project. How will you coordinate it?”

  “Ronald worked with his father. He knows the particulars.”

  Nancy paused to flash Ronald a smile as he took her other arm. “I’m sure the three of us can make Dole’s dream come true.”

  Making Dole’s dream come true was not top on Brett’s list of priorities. Besides, he knew Nancy had been a journalist, not a businesswoman. He doubted she had any idea how difficult the undertaking would be.

  “What about the seniors and their community center, Nancy? I thought the fact that Dole was pushing them out bothered you?”

  “They can keep their buildings if they move them elsewhere.”

  “They may not have the funds to do that, even if they could find a suitable place.”

  “You said the study of the ground beneath the stone carving will cause a few more weeks’ delay. That should give them time to get the funds and to find another place.”

  Nancy’s casual dismissal of the enormous difficulties of such an undertaking told Brett just how naive she was being.

  Ronald spoke up suddenly from Nancy’s other side.

  “We should keep the buildings. Serve them right for what they did. Merlin, how could you bring that Osborne woman to my father’s funeral, knowing her grandmother killed my father.”

  Brett turned his attention to the black limousines where Octavia waited.

  On the lapel of her deep blue cape, she wore the large poinsettia he had impulsively bought for her that morning when he swung by his place for a change of clothes.

  She had surprised him totally and pleased him enormously by pin
ning it on as though it were an orchid. Now he watched her full flame hair blowing lightly off her face, the snowflakes sparkling on its straying strands like diamond facets.

  “I don’t believe Mab Osborne did it, Ronald,” he said.

  “The police do,” Ronald said.

  “The police also once believed your eyewitness account of her attack on Dole. I will find out who really is responsible for your father’s death. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Ronald, I’d like to talk privately with Nancy.”

  Ronald looked ready to object until Nancy laid a hand on his arm. “Ronald, would you sit in the car with Katlyn? She shouldn’t be left alone. You know she doesn’t understand about Dole’s death, yet. She needs her big brother to comfort her.”

  Ronald looked from Nancy’s face to Brett’s and back to Nancy’s before nodding and leaving to do as she asked.

  “He’s really been a comfort these last few days, Brett,” Nancy said as she watched her stepson leave. “And so good with Katlyn. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

  “I’m glad, Nancy.”

  “Oh, I know he still gets a bit belligerent. But his father’s death has changed him. Really. Strange how tragedy can bring out the best in some people.”

  “Nancy, I need to ask you something and I need you to be completely truthful in your answer.”

  She stopped and turned to face him, alarm sifting in her eyes and voice. “Brett, what’s wrong?”

  “When I hugged Katlyn today, she said I hurt her. I took off her coat and rolled up her sleeves. She has the remnants of nasty bruises on her upper arms. How did they get there?”

  Nancy’s face turned quickly away. She dropped her hand from where it had rested in the crook of Brett’s arm.

  “Kids are always bumping into—”

  “The truth, Nancy,” Brett said, deliberately firm.

  Nancy exhaled into a heavy sigh. “It was an accident.”

  “Tell me about this accident.”

  Nancy said nothing for a moment, just stood with head averted, biting her lower lip. She did not meet his eyes. When she began to speak, her tone sounded strained.