An ache she’d never experienced for any other man settled between her thighs. Someday she’d like to see his beautiful chest—and the rest of him—sluiced with water.
Still, she’d settle for the joy of waking up beside him and a glimpse of watching him sleep.
Twenty minutes later, her muscles blessedly free of tension and her toes wrinkled into prunes, she entered Hunter’s bedroom. The lights were dimmed and he was gently laying Cort in the crib. A fierce longing gripped Juliana as she stared at them from across the room.
Hunter looked up and Juliana’s breath evaporated from her lungs at the sudden flare of hunger in his eyes.
Her nipples beaded with primitive awareness. Her satin nightgown and robe felt too thin. Too revealing. The thought that Hunter found her attractive, desired her, was both alarming and thrilling.
But in the blink of an eye, the hunger she’d seen was gone and his face grew tight. Masklike. He didn’t glance at her as he drew the moss-green velvet draperies along the wooden rod that offered the sitting room privacy from the sleeping area.
Juliana’s heart slammed like a fist against the vulnerable wall of her feelings. She didn’t need a translator to interpret his behavior.
It was as plain as the granite set to his jaw that he didn’t want to desire her. The stripped walls of her dressing room were evidence that Hunter didn’t want any woman to make a lasting mark on his life.
She turned her back on him and fumbled with the thin satin ties of her robe. She wanted to climb into bed, close her eyes and put an end to this horrible day before she made a fool of herself. All the wishful thinking in the world wouldn’t turn their marriage into the passionate relationship Ross and Lexi had shared.
ANY THOUGHTS HUNTER’D had that he could make it through this night unscathed fled when he looked across the room and saw Juliana standing near his bed in a midnight-blue nightgown that made her skin glow like cultured pearls. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders like spun gold.
He’d never broken a contract in his life. An honorable man would turn away, leave the room.
He’d buried his best friend today. He wanted solace with the one person who would weep with him.
Juliana’s robe slipped off her shoulders. The skimpy satin nightgown she wore beneath it was little more than two tiny straps of satin over her shoulders and a meager amount of fabric that dipped low down her back and barely covered the lush curve of her bottom.
God, she was so beautiful. So graceful. He’d never been so fascinated, so spellbound by a woman’s back—the line of her neck, the angles of her shoulder blades, the hollow of her spine and the twin dimples just above her buttocks. He wanted to chart those dips and angles with his fingers and his lips and claim them as his own.
She climbed into his bed, on his side, no less. Without giving him a second glance, she pulled the covers up over her shoulder and lay silently.
In the hush that fell over the room, Hunter heard the sound of his heart pounding and cold reason gradually returning. They had an agreement with each other. No matter how much the idea of peeling off that nightgown and making love to her appealed to him, he respected her too much to risk their arrangement.
With a conflicted heart, he tucked the covers more securely around her and bent to kiss her head. Her hair smelled like a summer garden. Not apple blossoms.
Another unexpected change to add to his growing confusion over what to make of his wife.
“Good night, Cinderella. Sleep well.”
She didn’t answer. Her breathing was slow and even. She’d fallen asleep.
Thank God for small favors. Hunter made his escape.
JULIANA WAS DREAMING….
She knew she was being a bad girl, disobeying Papa’s rules. But Papa had so many rules—“must nots” she and Michael called them.
No one would know if they each sneaked a ride down the smooth polished banister in the big house. Just for a treat. Oh, it was such fun—similar to going backward on a swing, only higher. And when you reached the bottom you were propelled through the air like an acrobat for just the tiniest bit. Juliana would land with her knees bent and her arms out, wanting to do it all over again.
Michael was already scampering up the knobby spindles to the banister with eager hands. “Me first, Juli. Me first!”
“Wait! Let me help you.” Before she could steady him, he was zipping down the railing like a wet bar of soap on porcelain.
Her smile of delight froze in terror as he slipped off his perch and fell. Surprise widened in his dark eyes as his head struck the nose of a stair with a sickening thud. She cried out Michael’s name, her hands rising to cover her ears to block the horrible thunking sounds her brother made as he tumbled helter-skelter down the stairs to the marble floor below.
From out of nowhere Juliana heard her Papa’s condemning voice muffled by an ear-piercing roar. Then the pop and hiss of flames. Her father wouldn’t speak to her.
Her pleas and apologies fell on deaf ears.
Papa had turned his back to her, was leaving her. Walking into the fire. Anger and frustration surged through her, made her reckless. She grabbed the tail of his jacket to stop him from leaving, to force him to acknowledge her. “If you die, I’ll never forgive you! Do you hear me? I’m your daughter. Your only daughter. I need a father!”
Gradually Juliana became aware of strong arms securing her to a bare oak-hard chest. Of warm hands stroking her back, comforting her, not condemning her.
“Shh! It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re having a bad dream.”
She felt the tender brush of a kiss on her forehead. A kiss that acted as a balm, leaving her feeling cherished. Wanted.
“Hunter? Thank God!” Her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders. Her lips pressed against his chest as if seeking assurance from the taste and texture of his skin that he was there in the flesh and this was not part of her dream.
His fingers splayed over her back, cupping her bottom and pulling her into the notch of his thighs.
Juliana gasped as the steely evidence of his maleness fit intimately against her belly. Desire and the need to be close to this man, to have no barriers between them, swelled inexorably in her, drawing her to his heat and his hardness and toward whatever the future may bring.
Hunter said her name on a ragged cry, his lips grazing her temple, her cheeks. The rasp of his beard and the warmth of his breath on her skin was a sweet torture. Juliana responded, running her hands over the ridges of muscle and bone, gripping his hips and pulling him closer still. His mouth claimed hers fiercely, his kiss so hot and demanding it left no room for doubts.
All she knew was that he was kissing her as she wanted to be kissed, holding her as she wanted to be held. Not as a servant or his wife in name only. But as a true wife. His lover.
He pushed a strap off her shoulder and Juliana felt the scrape of stubble on her tender skin as he broke their kiss and sampled the sensitive skin beneath her jaw, then the curve of her shoulder and, finally, her breast.
She bucked against him as a fire bolt of pleasure shot through her. Sweet heaven, nothing had ever felt so incredibly wonderful in her life as he suckled her breast, his tongue laving her nipple, coaxing it into a tight nub.
Generously he laved attention on her other breast, kneading her soft flesh, nipping and suckling until her legs were moving restlessly and her hips were lifting off the Egyptian cotton sheets.
“Soon, my Cinderella, soon,” he whispered, his lips tilting into a smile against the fullness of her breast.
She threaded trembling fingers through his hair and silently urged him to continue the sweet torture. Slowly, deliberately, he changed the pace, nibbling her neck, her ears, kissing the corners of her mouth, touching the tip of his tongue to hers, then deepening the kiss as his hands descended down her ribs to her belly and slid her legs apart.
Juliana nearly cried out when his hand molded over her damp panties, then moved slowly back and forth creating a fricti
on that mounted in her like a secret aching to be told. He captured her mouth in another deep kiss that took her to another realm as his fingers slid inside her panties and created a new ultrasensitive friction that had her keening in the back of her throat.
She’d made love before, but not like this.
Instead of hiding her feelings and wanting to please, this time she yearned to open herself to Hunter, to soar wherever he took her. Forever.
HUNTER DESPERATELY tried to hold on. The frenzy that had gripped him when he’d tried to comfort Juliana was building to a shattering point. He couldn’t remember ever desiring a woman this badly and was almost grateful for the darkness that prevented her from seeing the depth of his need.
She was so hot and tight all he could think about was the satiny texture of her skin and burying himself into that creamy sweetness. Blessedly, he felt the beginning quiver of her climax caress his finger. Her name shuddered through him to the tip of his tongue.
She was so sweet. So hot. He almost lost it right there like an inexperienced frat boy.
He remembered his manners. Sinclairs always remembered their manners. “Are you ready for me, Cinderella?” he demanded hoarsely, his thumb expertly finding the tiny pulsating pleasure point in her hot silky folds.
Her back arched off the bed, rocking with tremors. “Yes. Oh, yes!”
He raked her panties off her with one tug. Then shucked his boxers and moved between her parted legs.
Slowly, slowly, grasping the last vestiges of his control, he slid into her.
And found heaven.
Sweat popped on his brow. The muscles corded in his neck as he braced his arms on the bed as if sheltering and protecting the vulnerability of this act between them. The fluttering contractions of her orgasm brought him perilously close to the edge of release. His forearms and triceps shuddered as he withdrew, then plunged into her again. Deeper, this time.
Her body tightened around him, welcoming him. Offering him a harbor from old hurts and fears.
“Oh, Hunter, I need you so much.”
Her words unleashed a part of him he’d kept protected and hidden for so long. Her fingers feverishly feathered over her chest and abdomen as her legs locked solidly around his hips.
He needed no further encouragement.
He thrust into her, mindless of rhythm or anything else but the unstoppable need to be joined with this amazing woman. To surrender his senses to total awareness of her. Her scent. Her feel. Her taste. And the cries of her passion. All that mattered was sustaining this union at whatever cost—emotional, physical, spiritual.
With one last thrust his release came, wondrous and sacred as an ethereal mist rising from the river on a winter’s morning. Hunter collapsed beside her, pulling her against him.
Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he kissed the back of her shoulder and drifted into the most contented sleep he’d ever known.
WHAT HAD HE DONE?
Hunter took a sip of black coffee and grimaced as he watched the sun’s first rays streak out from a ball of pink fire and light the sky. The river and the dozens of darkened islands in his field of vision slumbered on, ignorant of the crisis of conscience he’d woken up to.
Last night had been… Well, he still hadn’t decided on the right words to describe exactly had happened between them. Memories of the taste and feel of Juliana in his arms twisted his gut into knots…right down to the realization that he’d had unprotected sex with her.
He set his coffee cup down on his desk too hard, the hot liquid splashing over the rim. What had he been thinking?
He obviously hadn’t been thinking, damn it.
He’d foolishly, irresponsibly broken his contract with her. Crossed every boundary of honor and decency in their marriage that shouldn’t have been crossed. Now she could very well be pregnant with his child.
His child.
A brother or sister for Cort.
He ran his fingers through his hair, petrified by the possibility of being the parent of yet another child. And taunted by images of how this child was conceived. For a fantasy-filled moment he pictured himself still in bed with Juliana this morning. Imagined her sleek satiny flanks snuggled against his thighs and the softness of her breasts filling his palms. Imagined making love to her again, more slowly this time without any barriers of darkness to hide behind.
Imagined her stomach rounded with his baby.
Panic scattered through him like a flock of birds startled into flight.
He shook his head, steeling his heart.
It was one thing to enter into a marriage of convenience to ensure his godson was well cared for, but quite another to commit himself to a relationship that was governed by emotion and lust. He was already susceptible to Juliana—last night had clearly demonstrated that. He didn’t want love to enter into the equation. To ruin their clear-cut arrangement.
Love had only made his father and his sister miserable. Gave them impossible expectations. He respected Juliana. Admired her. He needed her to steer him through raising Cort.
He’d apologize for what happened last night. Assure her it would never happen again. He’d sleep on the floor if need be.
And if she was pregnant he’d deal with it—if and when the time came.
He took another fortifying sip of coffee and reached for a fax that had come in overnight, determined to tear his mind away from what had happened between him and Juliana and concentrate on the Collingwood investigation. There was still no word yet from Investigator Bradshaw about Robert Lance, the man who’d purchased the pager used to detonate the bomb. The fact that eight hours had passed since they’d gone to pick him up for questioning suggested they’d had trouble locating him. Was Robert Lance involved in the bombing?
Hunter scanned the fax. It was from an operative assigned to do a thorough background check on the Collingwood’s missing cook, Nonnie Wilson.
He nearly choked on his coffee as he read through the report. Had Goodhew known any of this when he’d hired the cook? She threw parties where she cooked in the nude for her guests. She’d been arrested twice for trespassing on private property—allegedly picking wild mushrooms and herbs. Her bedroom was decorated like the sleeping quarters of an officer in the Star Trek: Voyager series. And her sister claimed she liked to visit New Age retreats when her aura was dull and needed recharging. She also entertained the Collingwood staff by reading their tarot cards.
Hunter punched in the operative’s cell phone number. It was an ungodly hour, but they had a murderer to catch. “Edwards, I just read your fax. Get on the Internet and see if there are any Star Trek conventions taking place this week. While you’re at it, get a list of New Age retreats within a day’s drive of New York City. Then get on the phone. I’ve got a feeling Nonnie has a dull aura.”
He looked at the list of possible leads he’d scratched onto a legal pad after he’d crept out of bed this morning. There were far too many suspects and no concrete evidence. The information about the senior management and board of directors that his operatives had been filtering hadn’t indicated anything sinister. But the theft of Juliana’s purse yesterday indicated the killer still considered her a threat. Who knew what the killer had planned to do with Juliana’s cell phone?
There was some comfort in knowing Juliana and Cort were safe on the island, but he wouldn’t rest easy until the killer was apprehended. There was also the real possibility that Annette could be a target. From what Juliana had told him about her conversation with Annette yesterday, the woman was a loose cannon. He’d get working on the arrangements today to have her brought to the island ASAP.
He studied the next item on his leads list and called the operative assigned to doing a background check on David Younge, the controller. Juliana had told him that Younge’s wife, Sarah, had waylaid her in the ladies’ room at the estate just before Juliana discovered her purse was missing.
Sarah had brought up the subject of her husband’s recent private meetings with Ross. Hu
nter wasn’t accepting Sarah’s explanation at face value. He wanted verification that Ross had been advising David to take family leave and sort out his troubles with his teenage son. Ross might well have been informing David not to count on being promoted to senior vice president and chief financial officer on Kendrick Dwyer’s retirement or that his work was suffering and he’d soon be out of a job if he didn’t shape up.
He’d just completed the call when his sister opened the door to his study, a frown hovering over her blue eyes. “I thought I’d find you in here,” she said.
“What has you up at the crack of dawn?” he asked mildly, noting her rumpled hair and chenille bathrobe and slippers.
She closed the door and jammed her slender hands into the pockets of her robe. “You have to ask? You, my confirmed bachelor brother, waltz in here with a wife and a five-month-old baby without giving me any notice. What’s going on?”
He averted his gaze. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Liar.” She sat down in the chair opposite his desk. “Are you sure the baby is yours?”
Hunter’s gaze leaped sharply back to his sister’s “don’t try to pull one over on me” expression, the one she used with mediocre success on her ex-husbands and her hellion sons. It didn’t work any better on him. “I think you know me better than that.”
“I thought I did, but then I never anticipated you behaving this impetuously, either.” She cracked a self-deprecating smile. “That’s usually my department. Are you in love with her?”
Her question hovered in the air.
Was he?
Hunter shifted the papers on his desk to hide his irritation. He knew Brook would sit there doing her sisterly duty until he gave her an answer or his nephews brought the house crashing down around their ears. “Brook, let me assure you that my decision to marry was neither impetuous nor hasty.”
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