In the Enemy's Arms

by Marilyn Pappano

  “A basement. And I can’t see a damn thing.”

  Cate handed the binoculars to him, and he took a look. Six windows along the foundation, no more than a few inches above the ground, small, screened. “Maybe doing laundry is part of her chores.”

  Then the lights went off in the center windows, and a moment later the third window turned dark, too. Except for what appeared to be the master bedroom, the house was pitch-black.

  “Do you think she sleeps in the basement?” Cate’s voice quavered. “She’s eight years old living in a four-thousand-square-foot house with two adults, and she sleeps in the basement?”

  “It could be worse, doc.”

  She could be sleeping upstairs with the perv while his wife was gone.

  A hell of a lot worse.

  * * *

  “There are no guarantees in life.” Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, Cate softly repeated the response her grandfather had always given her and her sisters when they complained. You work hard, you do your best, you take the chances the good Lord gives you.

  She’d worked hard and done her best at everything else, but not in her love life. Instead of trying to resolve issues with Trent, she’d grown resentful. Instead of holding out for real true love and happily ever after, she’d settled for good enough with AJ. Instead of taking chances, she’d wanted the sure thing.

  On the surface, Justin was not a sure thing. But the surface was just that. Deep inside… He wanted her. He wasn’t promising forever; it would be nice, but no one could do that with certainty. Life got in the way. People changed. Hearts broke. But he was offering the next best thing: an opportunity. A commitment. In the end, it could come to nothing, or it could be—he could be—the best thing that ever happened to her. He could break her heart, or he could be the one she was meant to spend the rest of her life with.

  Wasn’t one worth the risk of the other?

  Steam fogged over the bit of mirror she’d cleared, making her image ghostly before obscuring it completely. She didn’t need to see to comb her hair, to brush her teeth or to add her damp towels to the pile left from Justin’s shower. She gathered her dirty clothes, opened the door to a blast of cold from the room and stepped out, leaving the light on, the door mostly closed.

  He was lying on his stomach in bed, wearing nothing but boxers, studying a sheaf of the printouts Amy had sent. He glanced her way, then grinned. “Another niece?”

  The pajama pants she wore were white with brightly colored owls, topped by a blue T-shirt embroidered with a trio of the birds. “We always have pajama parties when I visit. They take the pajama part of that very seriously.”

  “You remind me of an owl sometimes when you look at me.”

  “You think I’m wise?”

  “I think you’ve got big pretty eyes.”

  Hands unsteady, she put the bundle of clothes in the laundry bag, then lifted her suitcase to the floor. She was in sad shape when having her eyes compared to an owl’s made her hands shake. Primly she sat on the bed. “I’ve been thinking.”

  He rolled onto one side, his body distracting her—all bronzed skin, defined muscle, ripped abs, gorgeous legs. “Aw, darlin’, didn’t we decide you think too much?”

  “Do you have any condoms?”

  Now it was his turn to do the owl look. She kept her gaze locked on his, refusing, however tempted, to check out any physical response he might have to the question. “I…uh…condoms…”

  His cheeks turned deep bronze beneath his tan, and she marveled. Not only had she left him at a loss for words, she’d made him blush.

  He cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “You never leave home without them. Is that it?”

  “No. I mean, no, I don’t always have them. I don’t just assume that there’s always going to be some woman who can’t resist me.” He shuffled the papers together and put them on the night table, then rolled to sit up. “I have them now because, uh, Alex always, uh, keeps them on the plane, and I took a couple, uh, just in case…”

  She found comfort in his discomfort. He was as vulnerable about this sex business as she was, and that bolstered her confidence. “Because you figured eventually I wouldn’t be able to resist you?”

  The unease disappeared from his eyes, his expression turning serious and intense. “No, doc. I knew I couldn’t resist you. As for you, I was…hopeful.”

  Hopeful. Just the word gave her a lovely tingle deep inside. To think that a man like Justin—obscenely wealthy, sinfully handsome and wickedly sexy—would hope for her… There were a million women prettier than her at home in his social world, better suited to him in every way, and he’d picked her.

  For the time being, the insecurity in her reminded her.

  At the moment, that was enough. Spending time with him, learning to like him and to trust him, maybe even falling in love with him—this was one of those opportunities Granddad had talked about, and she intended to make the best of it. If it didn’t last, if the future she hoped for didn’t come to pass, at least she would have the comfort of knowing she’d given it her best shot.

  And if the Wallace brothers killed them in thirty-six hours, what did the future matter?

  He was staring at her, his hands resting on his thighs, his bare feet almost toe to toe with her slippers. She wished she’d taken time to dry her hair. That she’d spritzed on a bit of perfume. That she’d packed something silky and sheer and incredibly sexy to put on so he could take it off.

  As if she even owned anything silky, sheer and sexy. That wasn’t who she was. This—damp hair, pajamas dotted with owls or kissing lips or flamingos, fuzzy pink slippers—this was who she was. Who he wanted.

  A quick glance lower left no doubt of that.

  Still, she hesitated. “Do you think it’s terribly unromantic, talking this way?”

  His mouth quirked. “Logic and reason can be romantic in their own way. I’d rather know you’d considered all the possible results and decided you wanted to do it anyway than that you got swept away by my boyish charm and regretted it tomorrow morning.”

  She sniffed. “Sometimes your charm is about on a par with a snake.”

  He took no offense but smiled the way a snake might in baring its fangs. That ability to shrug off her comments was one of the things she liked about him.

  One of many.

  Uncertainty claimed her again. She slipped off the fuzzy pinks, then dug her toes into the soles as she stood. Now what? Her first time with Trent had started with a kiss and ended on the floor in a jumble of clothes just short of her bed. Her first time with AJ and pretty much everyone in between had happened the same way. Now that she’d talked the spontaneity right out of the situation…

  Justin shut off the bedside lamp, then reached unerringly for her. His hands settled at her waist and drew her closer, tugging her down onto the mattress beside him. “Come here,” he murmured, his mouth brushing hers. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

  The sheets were warm where he’d lain, and more heat radiated from his body. She had a moment to think how good he smelled, wickedly expensive and sexy and masculine, then his mouth covered hers and all she could think was good. He loomed over her, his knees settling outside hers, and she slid her hands to his shoulders, then glided one hand into his hair while the other grazed his neck and the stubble of his jaw.

  His skin was smooth, silken, hot, and it warmed her skin while his tongue heated her from the inside out. He was amazing to the touch, cervical vertebra one, two, three, trapezius muscle, scapula, thoracic one, two, three. She knew the parts of the body intimately, having studied, touched, repaired, dissected, but knowing the body had nothing on learning Justin’s body. His was perfection. And for tonight, it was hers.

  His kiss went on forever, slow, simmering, and she realized the spontaneity might be gone, but the anticipation was double. With each stroke of his tongue, each soft sound, each touch of her hands on him, the heat inside her flare
d higher, like a fire finding fresh bursts of oxygen everywhere it flickered. It licked along her skin, heated her blood, sucked the breath from her lungs and left her damp, aching, needing.

  When his hands slid beneath her pajama top, cupping her breasts, his fingers finding her sensitive nipples, she gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth. When her own greedy hands began shoving at his boxers, he did the same. He braced on trembling arms, never leaving her mouth, so she could push the fabric out of the way, then he kicked free and she wrapped her fingers around his erection. Swollen, straining, skin so soft and hot…

  His hips arched away from her caresses, and finally he tore his mouth from hers. “Let me get…” His voice was barely recognizable: husky, thick, words brutally formed.

  He shifted to the foot of the bed, where a zipper rasped loudly, followed by the crinkle of plastic. When he returned, he sat back on his heels, and in the dim light that came from the bathroom, his grin was satisfied and cocky and tender. For her. His fingers curled around the waistband of her pajamas, and she automatically lifted her hips to let him slide them and the thin cotton panties underneath down her legs. They landed somewhere behind him. While he watched, she curled her own fingers around the hem of the top and reversed the action.

  “Aw, doc… You are beautiful.”

  “So are you.” Tentatively she touched his hip, his rock-hard abdominal rectus muscle.

  “Mark this day on the calendar. Dr. Cate Calloway gave me a compliment.”

  She took the condoms from his grip, tossed all but one on the nightstand, then ripped the package open. “She’s going to do a whole lot more than just compliment you,” she murmured. “Now.”

  With a laugh, he took the condom she offered and rolled it in place, his hands unsteady, then he pushed her back on the bed, leaning over her, making her feel warm and secure and safe and wanted. When he kissed her again, she thought she might have swooned, and when he entered her, stretching, filling her, everything inside her gave a great, satisfying sigh.

  It felt so good. So perfect. So right.

  Chapter 10

  The insistent beeping of the alarm woke Justin before dawn the next morning, pinging louder and louder into his dream until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to give up the sweet heat of the body curled next to his, the sweet scent of the hair tangled beneath his chin, the incredibly sweet ease brought about by incredibly sweet sex. When he opened his eyes, the dream would disappear, so he kept them shut while swinging one hand out to find the offending clock and silence it.

  Then the dream sighed softly and snuggled closer and, poof, he had the champion of morning erections, and the night before came flooding back to him. Cate. Underneath him, on top of him, cuddled against him. Shared kisses and caresses and orgasms and whispers.

  He’d thought his entire life had been one of luck, but now he knew for real what getting lucky meant.

  She stretched, touching every sensitive part he owned, which appeared to be everything, then sleepily slurred, “It’s still dark. Do we have to get up?”

  Get up? Let go of her, get out of bed, put on clothing? No. Hell, no. He’d waited too long for this moment—forever, he was pretty sure—to end it prematurely for… For what? Why had he set the damned alarm?

  His brain was foggy. He hadn’t slept enough, and those hours before sleep had been sensory overload. Not enough thinking and more feeling than he’d experienced in a lifetime. But before then, before Cate had come out of the shower looking adorably sexy and serious, when he’d set the alarm…

  It came back to him with enough emotional punch to shrivel the most determined erection. Luisa. The pervert doctor. Keeping the Wallaces from killing Susanna and Trent.

  He pressed a kiss to Cate’s hair, then, when she stretched again, her cheek, her throat, her shoulder. She purred—Cate, whose only kittenish behavior toward him in the past had consisted of hissing and the baring of claws—and rolled to face him, sliding one arm around him.

  “We’ve got to see what we can find about Luisa,” he said, and instantly her eyes came open. He studied them for any hint of surprise that it was him she curved so intimately against, or regret that she’d given in to him in a weak moment.

  But there was no oh-God-what-have-I-done in her blue eyes, just a sudden alertness that chased away the sleepiness, the dreaminess, but not the intimacy. She raised her hand, rubbing her fingers lightly over the day-old beard there. “I don’t suppose we could be hiding when Dr. Sutton comes out to his car and pepper spray the truth out of him.”

  He twisted his head to kiss her knuckles. “I’d rather just beat it out of him with my fists.”

  “Are you much of a fighter?”

  “What I lack in skill, I make up for with enthusiasm.” Then he grinned. “I’ve won my share of fights. I’ve also had my ass kicked a few times.”

  “I never imagined Justin Seavers knew how to lose.”

  “I don’t when it’s important.” And she was important.

  Just like Luisa, Trent and Susanna, the renewed beeping reminded him. He must have hit Snooze instead of the Off button.

  Cate sat up, as reluctant to move as he was to let her, then shut off the alarm. Her spine was straight, the skin soft and golden all the way down to the flare of her hips. He expected her to be shy, despite the fact he’d seen every bit of her last night, but she stood, shoved her feet into her slippers, grabbed a neatly folded set of clothes from her suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom.

  He enjoyed every step of her journey.

  While he waited, he dressed, located her pajamas and tossed them on her bed, threw away the empty condom wrappers and combed his fingers through his hair. He was antsy, wanting to get out to the Sutton place, to make sure the pervert doctor went to his office as usual and didn’t take Luisa with him.

  And if he didn’t? If they got the chance to talk to her?

  Cate returned, hair damp to tame the bedhead and wearing the jeans from last night with a long-sleeved T-shirt that clung in all the right places, along with the slippers. As she sat down on the bed to put on running shoes and socks, he asked, “What is it with you and the pink things? Do you have a phobia about walking barefooted on motel carpet?”

  Color tinged her cheeks. “It’s not a phobia. It’s just a personal preference.”

  “They’re feet,” he teased. “They’re meant to get dirty.”

  “I like mine clean,” she said primly.

  Laughing, he took his turn in the bathroom. By the time he came back, she was waiting, purse and Garcia’s files in one hand, their jackets in the other. Her pajamas were packed, the duffel holding her suitcase and his backpack on the floor at her feet. She followed his gaze to them and said, “Just in case.”

  In case they got lucky—or unlucky—and couldn’t return to the motel. He nodded and hefted the bag over his shoulder.

  The parking lot lights buzzed, auras forming around each lamp. If anyone was stirring in the other rooms, it was hard to tell. They put on their jackets to guard against the predawn chill, got into the car with its creaky, cold seats and made a stop at a fast-food drive-through before heading to the Sutton house.

  Nothing had changed. Lights still blazed at the back, providing security for the animals, the SUV was still parked in the driveway and the house sat in darkness. Settled in at the same vantage point as the night before, they ate sausage biscuits and greasy hash browns, washing them down with coffee that provided caffeine and warmth, if not much in the way of flavor.

  “Pediatricians don’t do much surgery, do they?” he asked, as Cate gathered the wrappers and napkins, wadding them together in the bag.

  “Generally not. That’s what referrals are for.”

  “Would Sutton have patients in the hospital he’d want to see before work?”

  She shrugged, hugging her arms across her middle. “It’s hard to say. So many facilities have gone to the hospitalist system—staff doctors whose job is t
o oversee inpatient care, regardless of who the patient’s primary doctor is. I’m guessing when he leaves here, he’ll go straight to his office.”

  Which opened at 7:30 a.m. Divers weren’t the only ones who had to get up and around early.

  She looked uncomfortable and cold on the ground, so he shifted position until one of the boulders was against his back. “Come here.”

  The look she gave him was both wary and tempted. He made his answering look as innocent as possible. “I’m just offering you a place to sit where your ass doesn’t freeze. Come on, Cate. We already played doctor half of last night. Surely you don’t think I’m going to get fresh with you here.”

  “‘Fresh’?” she mocked, but she moved across the stone to slide onto his lap. “That sounds like something my grandparents would say.”

  “It’s something my grandparents do say.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she settled against him. He’d offered to warm her, but just that contact sent heat blazing through him. “For filthy rich, they’re good people.”

  She slanted him a look before resting her head on his shoulder. He couldn’t blame her for having prejudices against people like his family. Trent had neglected her and been unfaithful. His parents hadn’t warmed to her, either—his mother hadn’t hidden her disappointment that her only son hadn’t picked someone more suitable—and neither had his friends, and now the Wallaces wanted to kill her. It could give a woman an inferiority complex.

  “What are we going to do after Sutton leaves?”

  “Try to talk to Luisa?” He shrugged. “We can’t call the police. We don’t have time.”

  “Do you think he’ll leave her here alone all day, as young as she is?”

  “Honey, they didn’t adopt her. They bought her. They’ve kept her existence a secret. Apparently, she sleeps in the basement. I don’t think he’s going to worry about her being home alone. She’s not going to call for help—she doesn’t know anyone to call—and she’s not going to run away because she doesn’t have anywhere to go. Whatever’s going on inside that house, at least she’s got food, shelter and a place to sleep.”