by Eve Gaddy
Casey leaned back and moaned as his tongue traced slow circles on her shoulder and down to the swell of her breasts. “Nick, take me to bed.” Another thirty seconds and she’d be begging.
“I will,” he murmured. “I want to kiss you all night. Right here,” he said, and placed his lips between her breasts. “You smell like flowers. Like roses.”
“Perfume. Passion rose,” she managed to say, her fingers clutching his head.
She felt him chuckle, then his hands slipped beneath the fabric of her dress to her bare flesh. Her fingers tightened on his shirt. “Take this off.”
He shed his cummerbund and tugged his shirttail out of his pants, but then he stopped. “Unbutton it,” he said softly.
Casey did, before spreading the shirt wide and placing her hand over his heart. It beat strong, steady. He pulled the shirt off the rest of the way, letting it drop to the floor. She slid her hand across his chest, tangling her fingers in the sprinkling of dark hair, then moving down to the tight muscles of his stomach. He sucked in a breath when she paused, let out a groan when she dipped farther down and covered his erection.
“Casey,” he said, his voice a warning growl.
She met his eyes but continued stroking him, reveling in the feeling of power it gave her. “What?”
“My turn.”
Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand. She turned around, drawing her hair over her shoulder, out of his way. The zipper glided down, then he pushed the dress down her body until it pooled at her feet. She stood with her back to him, wearing a red strapless bra, tiny panties and thigh-high hose. She started to step out of her dress and heels, but he stopped her.
“Wait.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Nick, what are you doing?”
His eyes were intense when he raised them to hers. “Admiring perfection.”
“Can you do it a little faster?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I can do that.” He swung her up in his arms and started toward the bedroom.
Casey kicked her shoes off, dropping one in the hallway, one in the bedroom doorway. With one hand, he pulled the covers back, then placed her on the bed with a hastily uttered, “Don’t move.”
He pulled a handful of Mylar packets from his pocket and tossed them on the bedside table, then started to strip off the rest of his clothes. She rose on her elbows and watched every move, how his chest and arm muscles rippled, how his erection jutted out defiantly. Her only thought was having him inside her.
Then he was on the bed, kissing his way down each leg as he peeled off her panties and hose. He removed her bra and caressed her breasts, sucking them until he had her panting.
“Nick, now,” she said, gasping.
He reached for a packet, ripped it open and covered himself. Then he kissed her mouth and entered her, thrusting deeply. He pulled back and with a slow revolution of his hips, moved inside her again. Casey bit her lip, nearly screaming at the intense pleasure. He pulled out and entered her again and again. This time she did scream, but it was lost as his mouth came down on hers.
He lifted his head and their eyes met. He gave a final push, and his body stiffened as he emptied himself with a guttural cry before collapsing on top of her.
He should have been too heavy, but she liked the weight. Her mind drifted as she felt him press kisses into her neck. Her body felt boneless, and she was so satisfied she could have purred.
Nick looked down at her as he propped himself on his arms. He didn’t speak, he just searched her eyes. What he expected to find, she couldn’t imagine.
“Nick? Is something wrong?”
He shook his head slowly, then smiled, bent his head and touched his lips to hers. “No, nothing. In fact—” he kissed her again “—everything is very, very good.”
SOME TIME LATER, Nick went into the living room to get the champagne and strawberries. He glanced around, enjoying the scene—the food, the wine, the candles burning. Not eager to burn the house down, he snuffed them out, one by one. A scene of seduction, but had he been the seducer or the seduced? He sat on the couch, needing a moment alone, a moment to think without Casey bombarding his senses.
Troubled, he shook his head to clear his mind. What had nearly happened in there? He’d come within a breath of telling Casey he loved her. Which couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be falling in love with her. He didn’t do love, didn’t know anything about it. Casey was beautiful and sexy, and he enjoyed being with her. But love her? He’d been feeling the aftereffects of great sex, that was all.
And she was waiting for him. Naked and beautiful, so why was he wasting time alone? He stacked the bowl of chocolate sauce on top of the strawberries, and picked up the bottle of champagne.
When he returned to the bedroom, Casey had pulled the sheet over her breasts and was lying on her side. Her hair spilled over the white sheets in a riotous mass, her eyes were deep green pools, still slumberous. And her mouth, Lord, her mouth was still swollen from their lovemaking, full and pouty and luscious. He wanted to sink into her, all over again. It had been a long time since he’d seen quite so tempting a sight. If ever.
They fed each other the strawberries dipped in chocolate, laughing and exchanging kisses as the juice dribbled down their chins.
“I have a confession to make,” she said. “I’ve never done this before.”
He knew she didn’t mean making love.
“You know, eat strawberries and drink champagne in bed,” she said when he didn’t respond.
“We haven’t had any champagne yet,” he reminded her. “Not in bed, anyway.”
“Have you?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Are you sure you want the answer to that?”
She gazed into his eyes, hers crowded with conflicting emotions. “Yes.”
“The truth is,” he said slowly, choosing a piece of fruit and handing it to her. “I don’t remember.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice husky.
“Because right now, the only woman I see is you.” He leaned over and kissed her, tasting the fruity sweetness and her own unique taste beneath it. Spicy. Exotic. Casey. “The only woman I want is you.”
Their gazes locked, she sucked in a breath. Then she smiled, a flash of daybreak. “Maybe I’m a fool, but—” she fed him a strawberry “—I believe you.”
“You’re not a fool, Casey.” He twined his hand in her hair, pulled her forward to meet his mouth. “How about that champagne?” he asked, long moments later.
“You didn’t bring any glasses.”
He smiled. “I know.” He pulled the sheet off her and reached for the bottle. He poured champagne directly into her mouth until she sputtered and laughed, then he tilted the bottle again and watched a thin stream trickle over her breast. “This is the best way to drink champagne,” he said, and traced the path of the liquid with his tongue.
Casey gasped and arched her back. “That feels good. Wickedly good.”
“That’s the point,” he murmured, and lost himself in her.
CHAPTER TEN
THE PHONE RANG, shrill and insistent. Casey cracked open an eye. The clock read 6:24 a.m. Since she’d had only three hours sleep, she closed her eye and rolled over, ignoring the sound. After a while it stopped, but then started again minutes later.
She snatched up the phone. “What? And this better be good.”
“Casey, it’s Len.”
“Len?” She sank back on the pillows. Len, her foreman. Her sleep-deprived brain finally made the connection. “What’s wrong? I told you I’d be in late today, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he said grimly.
Casey glanced at Nick, saw his eyes were open and watching her. He looked so good, with stubble shading his jaw and his black hair tumbled from both sleep and her fingers. Then he smiled at her and her synapses misfired.
“Casey, did you hear me?”
She dragged her gaze away from Nick and tried to focus on Len. He wouldn’t have called if it
wasn’t important. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if you sent the harvester in for repairs and forgot to tell me.”
Nick’s hand covered her knee. She ignored it, or tried. “The harvester? Why, is it broken?” How could it be broken? They’d bought it earlier this season.
He swore, which told her how serious this situation was. Len never cursed in front of her, though when he didn’t realize she was around, she’d heard him blister the ears of others unlucky enough to incur his wrath.
“It’s gone,” he said.
“Gone?” she repeated blankly. She sat up abruptly and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her back to Nick. “The harvester is gone?”
“I went to the field where I left it yesterday and it wasn’t there. I figured maybe you’d moved it into the barn. Casey, I’ve looked in every field and building it could fit in. It’s not here. It’s not on Fontaine land at all.”
She sprang up and began to pace. “You’re telling me a machine the size of a small house vanished? Overnight? Without a trace? That’s impossible.”
“Tell me about it. Do you want to call the police or do you want me to?”
She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to think. “You do it. You know more than me at this point, anyway. I’ll get dressed and be in the office in twenty minutes. I’ll start the calls to borrow a harvester, too. We can’t afford to let that crop sit. My hybrids—” She dashed a hand across her eyes. Len knew as well as she did that if they bungled the hybrid crop, their credibility with the LSU research center went out the window. LSU wouldn’t give a damn why it happened, just that it had.
After she’d said goodbye to Len, she looked at Nick, who’d gotten out of bed and pulled on his pants. For a moment, she couldn’t think what to say. What to do. It was an odd feeling for someone accustomed to taking action, a helpless feeling she didn’t like at all. “Our harvester is missing,” she finally managed to say.
“I heard.” He crossed the room, pulled her into his arms. “Do you think it was stolen?” His hand rubbed her back, offering comfort.
She nodded against his shoulder. “Although I can’t imagine how they did it. Stealing a harvester isn’t exactly as easy as stealing a car. You can’t just hot-wire it and drive off. Not without someone noticing.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry, Nick. This wasn’t how I’d planned to spend the morning.” She stepped out of his arms, even though what she wanted to do was stand there forever. “I’m going to take a quick shower. My brain’s too fuzzy to function. Maybe that will help.”
“I’ll make coffee.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, and headed for the bathroom.
A short time later, she entered the kitchen and Nick handed her a mug. She sniffed the steaming coffee appreciatively, then sipped. “Oh God, this tastes wonderful. You can actually cook.”
“I can make coffee,” he said, amused. “And a few other things, but I’m no gourmet cook.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. Jackson and I can’t even boil water,” she said, and took another drink. It was hot, strong and heavenly. Exactly what she needed. And so was Nick, she thought, looking at him.
“How sure are you that the harvester is gone?” Nick asked. He’d put his shirt back on, but he was still barefoot, making her think about crawling back in bed with him. But that wasn’t going to happen now.
“It’s hard to miss. If it were on our property, Len would have found it.”
“What will you do if the police don’t have any luck turning it up?”
“Try to borrow one. We can do without for a week or so, but much longer and we could be in real trouble. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Right now, we run the harvester from daylight to dark.”
“How easy are they to borrow?”
“Let’s put it this way, most people don’t have an extra one just sitting around.”
“Can you buy a new one?” He took a sip of his own coffee, then pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat.
“Sure.” She leaned back against the cabinets and looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “For $250,000.”
Nick whistled. “Expensive suckers, aren’t they.”
Casey nodded. “Very, and this one is brand-new. It’s insured, of course, but I don’t know how long the money will take to come through.”
“If your insurance company runs true to form, a long time.”
He was right about that, she’d bet. Oh well, if necessary, she’d borrow from the bank. It wasn’t as if Bill Harmon, the bank president, didn’t know the Fontaines were good for the money. He’d been their banker for as long as Casey could remember. “I’d better go.” She topped off her coffee, then hunted for her keys to the truck.
Nick got up and filled his mug, watched as she sifted through the junk on her kitchen counter. “Casey.” He held up a set of keys. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
“Thanks.” She took them from him. “I have a bad habit of throwing them anywhere and then not being able to find them.”
He smiled. “I noticed that. I have to be at the casino today, and I don’t know when I can get away. It opens to the public tonight.”
“Oh.” She stifled a swift pang of disappointment, surprised at how badly she’d wanted to see him. “Good luck. Or should I say, break a leg?”
“Casey.” He set down his mug. “I want to see you tonight. Very much. But it might be late before I can leave.”
“That’s all right. I have no idea how late I’ll be, either. And Nick?” She waited until his eyes met hers and then kissed him. “I want to see you, too.”
Maybe the situation wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. The police could turn up the machine quickly, or someone might have one to lend them. Yes, she’d overreacted. Everything would turn out fine.
COULD IT BE ANY WORSE? Casey wondered, over an hour later. The police had given the case to Detective Remy Boucherand. Casey had gone to school with Remy and knew he’d do his best to solve the case, but he didn’t try to hide the fact that he didn’t hold out much hope for success.
They met in the office, where Casey had been going down her list of friends and neighbors to see who might have a harvester to loan her. She’d covered a third of the list so far, and no one could help. She planned on calling the insurance company as soon as she finished with the police. The company would require proof of her claim, so it had made no sense to notify them before a theft report was filed. After that, she would call Jackson in Mexico. But there was no reason to drag him home when she could handle things.
Remy moved papers off the only other chair in the office and pulled out his notebook. He had the dark, Creole looks so prevalent in the area, but he and Casey had never been more than friends. Last she’d heard, he’d been dating a succession of women, none of whom had managed to get him to the altar.
He took Len through his statement patiently, writing down what Casey already knew. Len had left the machine in the last field he’d harvested, and when he’d returned this morning it was gone. No sign of it anywhere. Not a lot to work with, Casey thought.
Shortly after that, Len and Remy left to look at the scene, and Casey made her calls. Including one to Aunt Esme to warn her what had happened and that Remy would be questioning her and Tanya. And Nick, she reflected, since he’d been on the property, as well. Of course, she and Nick had been a little too preoccupied to notice much of anything, but she didn’t plan to go into detail about that.
As soon as Remy returned, Casey took him up to the big house. “Did you see anything?” she asked as they walked up the dirt road.
Remy nodded. “Trailer tracks. Whoever took the harvester brought one of those big flatbed trailers, loaded it up with—I’d guess—a hydraulic winch and drove off with it. Tell me, Casey, did you hear anything unusual last night? Were you up at the big house?”
“No, I’m living in Wisteria Cottage. But I d
idn’t hear anything.” She’d been far too caught up in Nick. “But if you know, or have a good idea, how they stole it, that helps, doesn’t it? I mean, it can’t be that easy to hide a trailer with a cane harvester sitting on it.”
Remy glanced at her, frowning. “I doubt they hid it. If I had to guess, I’d say your harvester is on its way to Mexico by now.”
“Mexico? You’re kidding.”
“Oh, no, chère.” Remy shook his head. “Not at all. There’s a big demand for black-market farm machinery south of the border. We’ve had cases like yours in the past. Not a lot of harvesters, but it’s not unheard of. If it’s like our other cases, they took that trailer right down to the river, loaded the harvester on a barge and sailed it right on out of here. Whole operation took maybe an hour, max.”
Casey’s stomach hurt. If the harvester was in Mexico, it didn’t seem likely they’d get it back. Which meant she needed to get the insurance company to spring for a replacement. Now.
Esme received them on the back porch, apparently not wanting to taint the tour rooms with police presence. The sound of the workmen, the clattering and banging, could still be heard, though it was muffled. Since she’d moved, Casey had been up to the house often, both to see Megan and to discuss the renovations with Adam. Naturally, she’d seen her aunt, but they hadn’t really talked. In fact, Esme seemed determined to act as if her niece didn’t exist.
Having known Esme for years, Remy was an expert on handling her. With a wink at Casey, he let her spend a full five minutes inquiring about his family and grilling him on why he hadn’t announced his engagement yet. Then he got down to business. He sat at the makeshift breakfast table and pulled out the ubiquitous spiral notebook and pen.
“Has Casey told you about the missing harvester, Miss Esme?”
Esme darted a glance at Casey, then nodded. “She called a short while ago.”
“Did you hear anything unusual last night? Or see anything out of the ordinary? Len said he left the harvester around eight-thirty, so it would be sometime after that.”
