Committed

by Velvet Vaughn

  He slugged his friend in the gut. "What the hell is so funny?"

  Jake clutched his stomach and choked, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "You like her."

  "I do not," he retorted sharply.

  "Okay, you lust her. Let me guess, five eight-ish, long blonde hair, green eyes, a rack to rival Pamela Anderson?" Jake extended his cupped hands out in front of his own chest at the last guess and flicked his eyebrows.

  Ben scowled. "No, no, no and no."

  Jake scratched his head. "Really?"

  "For your information, she is five seven, curly black hair, brown eyes and an okay chest." He averted his eyes, knowing Jake would easily read the lies.

  "Seriously?"

  "Sure, why not."

  He looked at the faces in the crowd, the players on the field, the way-too-young-for-him cheerleaders, everywhere but at the all-knowing man sitting beside him.

  Finally the silence was too much.

  "Okay. Fine," he gritted out. "The black hair is dyed and the brown eyes are contacts and the chest, though not as…abundant as Pam’s, is damn impressive and she might tend towards five seven instead of eight, but otherwise, you pretty much hit the nail on the head."

  Jake’s eyes widened as if he suddenly understood. "Ah, shit."

  The words were uttered so softly and with such force, he couldn’t help but meet the serious gray gaze of his best friend. "What?"

  "You really are falling for her."

  He didn’t deny it. It would be pointless.

  "Please don’t tell me her name is Rachel."

  His eyes snapped to his friend. "How did you know?"

  Jake sighed deeply and ran a hand from the back of his head down his face. "I wondered why," he muttered.

  "Wondered why what?"

  "Hell." Jake reached into a briefcase next to his feet and pulled out a fat file. "In depth background checks on every person you requested."

  Ben breached the seal and withdrew a stack of papers.

  "I believe the one you want is the last page with a photo attached."

  He didn’t bother asking Jake how he knew what he was looking for. He flipped through the sheets, ignoring the names of his current co-workers. He would read the files thoroughly in his room and then destroy the evidence.

  Jake was right. There was only one name he was interested in, and it stood out from the last page as if lit by neon. His eyes flew over the page, noting a few key words, wealthy, clean as a whistle, investment broker, yada, yada, yada. He flipped the page to the photo, hoping to see a short, balding middle age man and instead felt like someone punched him square in the gut.

  It wasn’t the picture that caused the reaction, it was the caption in bold black lettering below it.

  J. Edwin Farnsworth the third, announces his engagement to Rachel Kellie Mead Bancroft.

  #

  "I’m going to do some investigating."

  April whipped back her covers. "I’m coming with you."

  "No," Rachel insisted adamantly.

  "But we’re partners…you said so," April said, hurt evident in her voice.

  "We are definitely partners," she hurried to assure her. "But I don’t want you getting in trouble. Besides, if I get caught, I can claim a simple case of sleepwalking. But both of us out sneaking around would definitely arouse suspicion and we don’t want them to know we are on to them."

  April considered her argument and relented. "I guess you are right, but I still think I should come along. Two sets of eyes are better than one and all that."

  "I’ll be careful, I promise."

  "Hurry back."

  Rachel hugged her and peeled open the door to check the hallway. Clear.

  "I’ll be back soon," she whispered before slipping out the door.

  "I was wondering when you would put in your appearance."

  Rachel gasped and spun to the deep voice.

  Ben.

  He stood deceptively casual, arms and feet crossed, one shoulder propped against the wall. He had not been there when she looked just two seconds ago.

  "Where the heck did you come from?"

  Pushing away from the wall, he sauntered closer. "Indiana originally," he answered.

  She rolled her eyes. "I mean just now," she hissed.

  "Here and there."

  She tamped down the urge to scream. He brought that out in her.

  "Fine. I really don’t care." She waved a dismissive hand and spun on her heel. A quick jerk yanked her back around, flush against his solid body.

  "Mind telling me where you are going?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do."

  So there. She could be just as truculent. She felt a small spurt of satisfaction when his eyes narrowed menacingly.

  "Well you best be un-minding or you will find yourself back in your room and the door locked faster than you can say ‘spy’."

  Her jaw dropped. "You wouldn’t dare."

  "Try me." He smirked.

  She met his glare head-on. He knew how much finding Molly meant to her. How dare he threaten to lock her away in her room. Oh, she had no doubt he would follow through with his threat.

  The question was, why?

  They got along so well yesterday, came to an understanding. She confessed everything to him. If he was going to turn her in for being a fraud, he would have done so already.

  And what about that kiss? She couldn’t concentrate on anything else all day. She could barely focus right now. If she pushed to her tiptoes, she could taste those luscious lips again.

  His narrowed glower worked like a bucket of ice water. What brought on the resentment that rolled off him in waves?

  #

  Ben had to give Rachel credit. She did not back down from him. He knew he was being unreasonable. Confusion swirled in her beautiful features. Hell, he didn’t understand his reaction himself. He just knew it had something to do with J. Edwin Farnsworth. The third.

  His blood pressure spiked again. The picture Jake included with the background check would be forever burned into his retinas.

  Even without the caption, there was no doubt the woman in the photo was Rachel in all her blonde, beautiful glory. She looked stunning in a sea-green gown that perfectly matched her eyes, diamonds glinting from her ears and neck, all that long platinum hair piled on her head, a few tendrils cascading down to caress her neck like a lover’s fingers.

  The pretty boy blonde next to her stood roughly the same height, dressed to the nines, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a dark suit and a look of ownership.

  A red haze swam in front of his eyes and his ears buzzed with the need to bash that cocky smile off the man’s face.

  But he had no right. J. Edwin Farnsworth was Rachel’s intended, the man she pledged to spend the rest of her life with, the man who would hold her at night and caress her smooth skin. The man who would unleash the well of passion that simmered just below her refined surface. The man who would sink into her welcoming flesh every night and give her babies and security and a name.

  He was none of those men.

  God, life sucked sometimes.

  He chided himself for being so stupid. Rachel encompassed everything he pledged to avoid: a beautiful, pampered, spoiled rich girl. He’d be a colossal fool to even think of getting involved with another one.

  The problem with that theory was the kiss they shared. He couldn’t think about anything else all day. She melted in his arms like warm molten honey. At that moment, all thoughts of missing mental patients and mayhem fled out the proverbial window. He had tunnel vision, a one track mind, and that track lead directly to her body. Or more precisely, how quickly he could bury himself deeply in that body.

  She stood only a few scant inches away right now, so close he could see the edges of the ugly fake brown contacts. All he had to do would be lean down the slightest bit and he could savor those sexy pink lips again. He could trace his tongue along the firm edges and then dip inside for a taste—

  "What is your problem?"
>
  He blinked to clear his wayward thoughts. "Huh?"

  She huffed and shoved at his chest. He released her and ran a hand down his face. He had to get a grip. He couldn’t show the slightest weakness. He couldn’t let her know how much she affected him.

  "Why the barely-leashed hostility?"

  He ignored the questions. "There are old records stored in the basement. I thought we could start there."

  Her eyes lit like he had just given her sparkly diamonds. No, scratch that. Diamonds were nothing to a rich girl. They sparkled like stars on a clear spring night. Or like fireworks exploding on…"Where are you going?"

  "To the basement," she announced over her shoulder. He reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around again.

  "You are going to have to stop doing that," she groused.

  He fought a smile. She really was adorable. He indicated the door at the end of the hall. "Stairs."

  "Oh right. I guess it would look funny if someone caught us using the elevator." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I really am the worst detective."

  She took off purposefully for the door. He still had hold of her arm so he had no choice but to follow.

  He had a sinking feeling he would follow her anywhere.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The basement turned out to be as dark and creepy as Rachel feared. She had nightmares about places like this. The hallway they navigated seemed especially gloomy. Bulbs were spaced too far apart to effectively light the entire corridor. She kept glancing down, fearful of four-legged critters.

  Her mind rewound backwards twenty years to when she was eight. She had begged her parents to let her attend a local summer day camp where the children played games like tug-of-war and relay races and they paddled canoes and climbed trees. Her private school didn’t allow those kinds of activities and Rachel longed to participate. Her father finally relented, talking her mother into the idea.

  She had been so excited, she didn’t even mind the chauffeur-driven limousine that dropped her off and picked her up each day.

  All of the other campers came from middle-class families and attended public schools. They made fun of her designer clothes and shoes. Determined to fit in, she threw herself into every activity, sometimes ripping and soiling her pretty shorts and tops. Gradually the other girls accepted her and by the end of the week, she made several new friends.

  On the last day of camp, for a special treat the girls spent the night in tents at a local park. Sad that she would have to leave her new friends, she sulked off to the restroom by herself. The moon slid behind a cloud when she exited and she got turned around in the dark.

  Fumbling her way around the park, she couldn’t locate her camp. Then the skies opened up.

  Rain poured down, drenching her. Her friends took refuge in a shelter house. She found an abandoned building. The door locked behind her, trapping her in the dark space. Her screams were drowned out by the fury of Mother Nature. Something small and furry crawled across her foot and she screamed until she lost her voice. If she hadn’t just used the bathroom, she would have wet her pants.

  Several other small creatures brushed up against her, immobilizing her in terror. She would be eaten by the ugly rodents and her parents would never find her body.

  Suddenly the door burst open and someone called her name. She rushed to the girl with a flashlight and extra parka.

  Molly Miller.

  Molly was one of the few girls she hadn’t gotten to know very well during the week. She had never accepted Rachel like the other campers. She still made fun of her fancy clothes and "haughty accent".

  Molly admitted she watched her wander away from camp and followed so she could scare the little rich girl. But then she heard her very real screams and knew she couldn’t go through with it. She ran to camp to find a flashlight and rain jackets and then returned to rescue her.

  Rachel forgave her instantly and when Molly reached out and plucked a stray mouse from her shoulder, she found a friend for life.

  It was the first and only time during their friendship that roles were reversed and Molly rescued her.

  Ben tugged her around a corner, bringing her back to the present. The basement reminded her of the old Halloween movies Molly used to drag her to against her will. Michael Myers would roam the halls of the seemingly deserted hospital and stalk his victims, his pace slow and sure. She could just picture him jumping out and—

  She froze as a menacing shape materialized in front of them. It wore some kind of mask and veil and it kept coming at them with a deliberate stride.

  She couldn’t help it…she opened wide to scream.

  A big hand clamped around her mouth just before she made a sound and jerked her forcefully into a dark room.

  "Shhh," Ben growled in her ear.

  Her heartbeat pounded, her eyes rounded with fear.

  "It’s just Peter, the janitor."

  Peter? Not Michael Myers. She sagged in relief.

  Ben dropped his hand and checked the hallway before turning to face her. "He can’t help it, Rachel," he said in a disappointed voice. "He’s a really great kid." Shaking his head, he said, "Come on, he’s gone."

  She stood there a moment processing his words. He thought she reacted to Peter’s scars. He thought she was a snob.

  She grabbed his arm this time. It was suddenly important that she make him understand.

  "It wasn’t his disfigurement," she insisted. "I couldn’t see him clearly. He had some kind of covering on his head."

  "It’s called a towel. What, do rich girls dry off with twenty-dollar bills?"

  "That was uncalled for…and how did you know I’m rich?"

  "You didn’t honestly think I’d just agree to help you without checking you out, did you? For all I know, you really are a mental patient."

  "You checked me out?"

  "Sure did, Ms. Bancroft."

  She was outraged. Incensed. Pissed that she didn’t think about doing the same thing before trusting him.

  Damn him. He was a much better detective.

  Fuming, she followed him to a door marked "Records" and watched with appreciation as he made quick work of picking the lock. Another skill that would have come in handy if she had thought of it ahead of time.

  He removed a penlight and scanned the room. Reaching for what looked like an old worn blanket, he stuffed it against the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor. Then he hung a discarded jacket over the knob.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Blocking the light," he replied just before he snapped on a desk lamp, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow.

  She would never have thought to do that. Thank goodness he agreed to help her. How did he know all those tricks?

  "Were you a cop before becoming a security guard?"

  He spun around and pinned her with a dark gaze. "What makes you think that?"

  She shrugged. "You seem to be very good at this espionage stuff." She moved to the filing cabinet next to the one he rifled through.

  He refocused on his task. "Nope. I was never a policeman."

  Well, if he had never been a cop, how did he know the small secrets of the trade? "Did they teach you to pick locks in security guard school?"

  He paused from flipping through a file and gawked at her. "My God, you really are quite the snob, aren’t you, Ms. Bancroft?"

  "Why is asking where you learned to pick locks snobby?"

  "Security guard school? Most of the men who work here are former law or military men, all highly decorated and well educated, from schools just as prestigious as your precious Sarah Lawrence."

  "I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t…oh forget it."

  Snatching a file from the drawer with more force than necessary, she flipped through it pretending to read. Instead she seethed. She certainly hadn’t meant any disrespect. True curiosity drove her to ask questions on how he acquired his skills.

  "For your information," she added, "I just pictured Mic
hael Myers from the movie Halloween in my mind when Peter appeared. That is what frightened me, not him or his disfigurement."

  "Whatever you say, princess," he drawled.

  Oohh, he was the most infuriating, insufferable, arrogant…gorgeous, mouthwateringly sexy man she had ever met. She snuck a peek at him. One stray lock of inky black hair draped roguishly across his forehead. Her fingers itched to reach up and brush it back. His hair would be silky, she just knew. She longed to trace the line of his darkening five-o’clock shadow. With her tongue.

  "Keep looking at me like that and I’ll take you up on your offer."

  He never even took his eyes off the file. How could he know she was checking him out?

  "And what, pray tell, would that offer be?"

  He slammed down the file, shoved her against the wall and captured her mouth before she realized his intent. Those talented lips of his drove all thought from her mind. Dropping the file, she gave into the urge and plowed her hands into his hair. She had guessed correctly. Silky. She sifted the short strands through her fingers and a groan rumbled deep in his throat.

  This man drove her wild, unleashed her inner sex fiend. She, the girl who never saw the big deal in sex, wanted to have it right here, right now with a virtual stranger.

  Her leg moved of her own volition and snaked around his hip. She could feel the impressive proof of his desire pulsing against her stomach. Moaning, she tried to shift closer and stumbled, grasping nothing but air. Sucking in much needed oxygen, she opened her eyes to find him ten feet away, breathing heavy and skewering her with a deadly look.

  Why did he stop? Did she do something wrong? He definitely wanted her. That much was obvious. She hadn’t stopped him. In fact, she did all she could to encourage him short of stripping him naked and having her wicked way with him.

  He was Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, all rolled into a six foot three inch package of raw masculinity.

  #

  Rachel stared at him with an equal mix of hunger and hurt, her mouth wet and swollen from his bruising kisses, her creamy skin splotchy and red from his beard stubble.

  With a harshly muttered curse, Ben whirled around, adjusted his aching erection and fought the almost overwhelming urge to throw her down on the dusty worn carpet and sink so deep into her body, she would never know where she ended and he began. He stalked to the filing cabinet and jerked open a drawer. How did she so easily distract him from his job?