Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  “Smells delicious. I’m starving.”

  “Everything is ready; it only needs putting on the table.”

  “Is there enough for three?” he asked, sending her a quick look.

  “More than enough. Were you thinking of inviting your friend in the guest cottage?”

  “That’s right.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, he’s welcome,” she said, her gray gaze clear. The senator would be alone since George, so far as she knew, had not returned.

  “I had in mind something more on the order of a tray for him.”

  “All right.” She turned to the cabinet to take down an extra plate.

  When the tray had been arranged, Charles picked it up, and threading his way around the dining-room table, started down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” She smiled a little as she waved a hand toward the front door. “If you will remember, the cottage is that way?”

  He stopped and turned back. “I know,” he said, his voice quiet, so soft she could barely hear it. “But our friend isn’t.”

  The truth dawned on Kelly as she watched his broad back disappear down the hallway. Under the cover of darkness, while she was busy in the kitchen, Charles had spirited the man he called the senator into the house, establishing him in one of the back bedrooms. Why? Did it have anything to do with the fact that George was not there to guard him? Or was the connection with the boat with the spotlight the night before? The questions were bothersome, but she left them unasked, knowing she was unlikely to receive direct answers.

  They ate in silence. Once Charles, in an odd reversal of his usual habit, rose from the table and opened the drapes at the windows across the front of the house before returning to his chair. Despite the fact that the house was too high above the water level to permit anyone on the lake to see inside, and the unlikelihood of anyone else being in a position to look in, it made Kelly uncomfortable. She did not like knowing that they were illuminated under the light above the table as surely as actors under a spotlight on the stage.

  Once she met Charles’s gaze across the width of the table, puzzlement in the depths of her eyes. The smile he gave her was warm with reassurance. There was also a caressing quality about it, as if he enjoyed the picture she presented with her scooped-neck tank top over her jeans, her cheeks flushed from the heat of cooking, and the soft waves of her freshly shampooed hair drawn back from her face with a blue ribbon.

  She lowered her lashes, staring at the food on her plate, pushing it this way and that. Swallowing hard on the tightness in her throat, she looked up again. “Charles —”

  “Not now, Kelly. Someday I will answer anything you care to ask, but not now.”

  The quiet tone of his voice sent a flutter of alarm along her nerves. The muscles of her stomach tightened, and she knew a prickling sensation at the base of her neck, as though she were being watched. The stillness in the dark regard of the man across the table seemed to form a pact between them, one completed as she nodded in acceptance of his terms. And yet, his concession did nothing to ease the edginess that held her in its grip.

  Kelly got up from the table at last, and taking her plate and utensils, carried them to the sink. She rinsed them under running water, then put the stopper in the sink to catch hot water for the dishes. Charles crossed the room behind her, bringing his own plate and glass, as well as the bowl of rice.

  Kelly gave him a quick glance, “I can manage alone. You don’t have to help.”

  “If you do it by yourself, that means it will be twice as long before you can join me.” As she started to protest, he added, “And I prefer to have you with me as much as possible.”

  There was something different about him tonight. He was controlled as always, but still there was a suppressed recklessness in his eyes, as if he chafed under the bonds of civilized behavior. As he stood close to her, she could sense the emanation of vibrant life electrifying in its strength. She had the feeling that if she made the slightest move toward him, or even if she stood still so near him, he would take her in his arms without regard for the consequences. It was with a great effort that she forced her stiff body to turn away, to reach for the dishwashing liquid and turn off the still-running water.

  The moment passed, but it could not quite be put behind them. When they had finished in the kitchen and retired to the living room, he poured glasses of white wine for them both, then put a stack of records on the stereo, most of them Mrs. Kavanaugh’s instrumentals from the forties. Smiling blandly, though with a devilish glint in his eyes, he drew her to her feet and out into the clear center of the floor. They danced to the slow and sentimental music as in a trance, moving in perfect unison. His hold was light and yet firm, his lead without hesitation. As one, they let the music guide them, relinquishing cerebral control for the ancient pleasure and grace of body rhythm.

  His arms were a haven, immensely comforting, affecting her with a feeling of belonging that disturbed her. She drew back once to stare at him, a half-smile without coquetry curving the pure lines of her mouth. On a harsh, indrawn breath, he drew her back against him.

  Still, even in their self-absorption, they were neither of them quite oblivious of the still darkness of the night beyond the uncovered windows.

  The record changed. The soft melodies to which they had been moving were replaced by the faster tempo of a disco album, one Mary must have left behind. The sound was louder and more frantic. It seemed to vibrate through the house with a self-perpetuating tension. Keeping up with it, and with Charles, was an exciting challenge. It was also tiring and thirsty work. Kelly was glad when the last pulsing beat died away and she could catch her breath while they sipped their wine.

  Charles drained his glass, then stood turning it in his hand. “Kelly,” he began.

  She flicked a quick glance from the windows to the hallway that led to the back bedrooms. Suddenly, she could not stand to be where she was another minute. She set her wine glass down with a sharp click. “Shall we go outside for a little air?” she interrupted.

  “I don’t think —” he began, but she had already surged to her feet. Moving to the door, she pulled it open and stepped out into the deep-shadowed stillness of the veranda.

  The moon was rising, a sickle moon that seemed to have its lower horn caught on the trees. It shed its pale radiance over the water, turning it into a silver mirror framed by the spiky black forms of the trees. She turned her footsteps in the direction of the porch swing. By the time she had reached it, Charles had closed the front door she had left standing open and moved to where she was, standing ready to take a seat beside her.

  Kelly moved over to give him room. He stopped her with a touch on her shoulder, dropping down close beside her. In an effort to dispel her tenseness, she inhaled, filling her lungs before she let the air out slowly. There seemed to be a freshness in the night breeze that had been missing before, an intimation of fall.

  “Does it seem cooler to you tonight?” she asked.

  “A little,” he agreed. He stretched his long legs out, setting the swing into motion, while at the same time he extended one arm along the seat at her back.

  “In less than two weeks the summer will be officially over.”

  “So it will.”

  “Four more days, and I am supposed to be back at work.”

  “You would like to know if there is any chance you will be there?” he queried, his voice coming low beside her.

  “Something like that.” She kept her tone quiet and reasonable with an effort.

  “You can leave here tomorrow, if you like.”

  She turned to look at him in the dimness lit only by the glow from the windows. “Do you mean it?”

  “I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.”

  The payoff must have come then, or else he was expecting George to bring it with him when he returned. “I suppose you will be leaving too?”

  “Yes.”

  It was over. She wanted to feel relief
, the relaxing of her tightly guarded defenses. She could not. She was aware of the slow seep of tiredness through her muscles, along with a niggling feeling that it was too easy, there was something more involved, something she had overlooked.

  “Before you go, I would like to tell you once more how much I regret what happened here.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” The conventional words rose to her tongue of their own accord. Once spoken, she found they were true.

  “It does matter,” he said, swinging toward her. “It matters because what happened affects the way you feel. It matters because everything started out wrong, because I want desperately to set things right and there is no other way I can convince you to let me try. Dear God —”

  There was the raw note of a prayer in his last words, and then he reached to pull her to him. His lips burned on hers with the fever of his longing. They tasted of wine and remorse and the sweetness of leashed desire. His arms around her were steely in their strength. Kelly felt the leap of the blood in her veins, felt her senses reel. She knew herself to be slipping into a sensuous lassitude where time and place and purpose ceased to exist, and did nothing to stop it. There was no resistance in her hands as she lifted them to his shoulders. As his loss deepened, her soft lips parted. She felt his hands smoothing over her back, drawing her closer. His fingers touched the nape of her neck, tangling in the soft mass of her hair before they trailed along the angle of her jaw and downward over her shoulder to the curve of her breast. His mouth brushed fire over the gentle plane of her cheek to the sensitive lobes of her ears. He explored the tender and vulnerable curve of her neck, descending with searing suddenness to the pulse that throbbed in the hollow of her throat. His fingers slid beneath the narrow strap of her tank top, slipping it from her shoulder.

  “Charles,” she breathed, a soft sound not of protest, but of wonder. She pressed closer to him and was still not close enough.

  “Kelly, chérie, I love you. Je t’aime,” he whispered, his breath warm against the honeyed sweetness of her lips. “Tell me you feel the same.”

  Love. The word sent a shaft of cold horror through her, banishing her languor. She couldn’t love a man like Charles Duralde. She couldn’t. And even if she did, he must not know.

  “Charles, no!”

  “It may be too much to ask, so soon, but if you will see me later, when we leave here, I will make you care.”

  There was such agony in his voice it brought an ache to her chest. “I can’t,” she said wildly. “I — I hate you.”

  “You don’t mean that. Sometimes when you look at me, when I hold you, I think you care more than you know.”

  He was a criminal, without ethics or morals, one who had no concept of the rights of others, but who could imprison them, speak of their deaths without the least sign of compunction. He had said once that he had plans for her. Were they any different now that he claimed to love her, would they change since she had resisted him?

  “No, you’re wrong!” she cried, breathless with the pain the words gave her.

  His hands moved to her arms and he gave her a small shake. “Then why do you smile at me so, why do you come close to me?”

  “Because I had to,” she cried. “I was pretending, hoping you wouldn’t watch me so closely, or at least that you would let me live, set me free when you leave here!”

  He flinched as if he had been struck. “I suspected, once, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it!”

  “You had better believe it because it’s the truth!”

  “You win, Kelly,” he said, his tone strained. “Tomorrow you’ll be free, but there’s still tonight.”

  He crushed her to him, his mouth coming down on hers with bruising force. Her lips burned. Dread and anguish beat up into her mind. She spread her hands against his chest, pushing with all her strength, but could not break his merciless grasp. A shudder ran over her, and hard upon it another and then another until she was trembling uncontrollably. A low sob caught in her throat, and on her lips was the taste of salt tears.

  Abruptly he released her, lifting his head, removing his hands as if the touch of her seared him. In the quiet, their ragged breathing was the only sound.

  Kelly surged to her feet, flinging away from him toward the screen door. It flew open under her hand to crash against the wire of the veranda, setting it to humming.

  “No! Kelly, don’t go out there!”

  She paid no heed to his shout, but stumbled down the steps and ran headlong into the waiting darkness. She turned toward the lake with its encircling trees, her eyes blinded by the night and her tears. Behind her, she heard Charles’s soft curse, and his swift steps as he came after her.

  She reached up to clear her vision, wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand. Ahead of her she saw a movement, and she slowed with a gasp of pent-up breath that made her lungs ache. Then she saw him, the shape of a man silhouetted by the moon-silvered brightness of the lake. He was in a crouch, with a rifle slung from the fingers of one hand. As he realized she had stopped, he came an erect, tall, thin figure nestling the scoped rifle against his cheek, pointing it not at her but at the man on the walk behind her.

  “No!” she screamed, spinning around. “Charles, go back! Go back!”

  She careened into him and they went down as the lake echoed to a cracking explosion of sound. Clamped tightly together, they rolled down the slope and into the deep shade of the live oaks. Suddenly the world was filled with the bright glare of lights and the strident whine of sirens. Bull horns roared, followed by the bursting crackle of shots and the sound of gunned motors as cars raced from around the house.

  “This is the police! We have you surrounded. Lay down your weapons and come out with your hands up!”

  Kelly heard the words in despair. With her eyes tightly shut, she lay in Charles’s arms, feeling the firm and steady beat of his heart where her cheek rested against his chest. Her clothing was damp with dew from the wet grass. There was a small branch from one of the oaks overhead gouging into her side. Still, the warm shadows enclosed them, an ally hiding them in they comforting darkness. For this brief space of time they were safe. And then she heard the sound of running footsteps, coming toward them.

  “Mr. Duralde? Are you all right?”

  A flashlight played over them. Charles raised himself to one elbow. The voice, tight with anxiety, belonged to George.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I think we both are.”

  “Lord, but you gave us a scare. That dude nearly plugged you. I don’t know what the idea was, you two running out like that, but I’ll have to hand this to you. When you create a diversion, you do a bang-up job!”

  Without looking at the man who held her, Kelly pulled away from him, coming to her knees. The scene before her had changed with unbelievable swiftness. State troopers, men of the Louisiana State Police, were everywhere. Police cars with their lights flashing, headlights bright, and two-way radios issuing staccato announcements were parked at odd angles all around the house. One man, the tall, thin gunman she had seen, lay writhing on the ground while a trooper worked over him. Two others were being relieved of their rifles and taken into custody. On the veranda the senator had appeared, looking a little dazed as if awakened from sleep. No one was paying the least attention to him, or to Charles.

  Still, it was a moment before it struck her. There was a good reason why they were not interested in Charles Duralde. She did not know what he was, nor why he was at the lake house with the senator, but of one thing she was certain. He was not, nor had he ever been, a criminal.

  In an amazingly short time, the men had been rounded up and put into the patrol cars, the state police had climbed inside, and all except one of the vehicles were backed down the road and sent speeding out of sight.

  “Duralde, are you coming?” the highest-ranking officer called out to Charles as he prepared to step into the final car.

  Charles turned from where he stood with Kelly, George, and the senator in a group. “Can’t it
wait until morning?”

  “You know how it is. The sheriff’s office here in this parish will be swarming with high-powered lawyers in the next hour. Unless we move fast, they’ll have these guys out on bail before sunup

  “I’ll be right with you.”

  Charles turned to Kelly, scanning her pale face there in the headlights of the police car before he let his dark gaze run over her slim figure in stained jeans. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, not for the first time.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of here, not now.”

  “I know that,” she answered, her voice low.

  “George will be staying with you, and the senator.”

  “We sure will,” George chimed in, giving a vigorous nod.

  Kelly gave the man she had thought of all this time as the guard a slight smile, then with an effort lifted her gray eyes to meet Charles’s dark gaze. “I’ll be all right. You don’t have to worry.”

  He reached out, and with a gentle touch removed a leaf that was caught in her hair. “I won’t be long.”

  “There’s no hurry,” she said, lifting her chin.

  A muscle corded in his cheek and his eyes narrowed, then abruptly he turned away. He stepped into the waiting car, slamming the door. It reversed, swinging around Kelly’s small car before it shot down the drive and disappeared with a final wink of red taillights.

  “Well, now that the excitement is over, shall we go inside?” the senator said.

  George nodded, a faint movement in the moonlit dimness. “I could use a drink. This riding to the rescue is enough to give a man a thirst.”

  “It seems you brought back the cavalry, all right,” the other man said. “Though I don’t take it kindly that you and Charles didn’t see fit to tell me you expected the situation to heat up like this.”