He’d never brought a woman to the cabin and he wondered if Flayme was awake, what she’d think about the smooth spiral staircase he’d built from the red, wine-colored cherry wood. The look, definitely rustic, but the wood glowed from years of polishing. The kitchen cabinets matched, as did the round table in the breakfast nook. It sat in front of a bay window that looked out over the incredible sight of the valley below.
The lower half of the cabin contained a great room, kitchen and dining area, breakfast nook, a hall and a second bathroom. A cathedral ceiling rose above the lower floor. A wide fireplace took up the center wall of the east side of the great room. The cabin was spacious, utterly masculine, and decorated with two oversized leather recliners, a matching tan leather sofa and occasional tables scattered about the room.
The upper floor consisted of the master bedroom, a bathroom with a whirlpool tub and a sauna. Someday, he planned to install an Olympic sized heated pool outside and enclose it, then fill the interior with tropical plants of all sizes and shapes.
Designing and building the cabin, then furnishing it had been his escape valve, a safety net, whatever one wanted to label it, but it’d kept him sane when his job closed in and his dreams were filled with the faces of men who’d died beside him. Plus, it had helped him not think about things at the ranch and the way their lives had been truly fucked up by Jillian.
Looking back, he knew he’d suspected things were bad between Jace and their stepmother, but he’d chosen to ignore it, leaving his elder brother to handle things on his own. It wasn’t until recently he’d learned just how dreadful Jillian had sexually abused Jace.
But Duel didn’t want to think about those things now. Jillian was dead. It hadn’t been intentional on his part, but Smitt Davis had done them a favor by murdering her.
Duel stopped in front of the door, juggled Flayme, shifting most of her weight to his uninjured side and struggled to get the key inside the door lock. How pathetic if he ended up dropping the woman in his arms. She’d swear he did it on purpose. He thought she might hate him and it sent a ripple of pain through his chest.
It wasn’t often women disliked him. He rarely gave a flip if one liked him or not. Instead, he chose to move to sweeter hunting grounds. This woman was different.
Duel frowned. He didn’t know why, but he wanted her respect, her trust—her love? Shit! He wanted her. Lord help him, he was a fucking idiot! Why did every thought lead right back to him wanting Flayme for himself? Mac was his friend. God knew he didn’t want to betray the man or cause him pain in any way, but he didn’t think the choice was any longer just his to make. He wasn’t the only one emotionally involved.
Flayme might not love him, but she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He didn’t know how emotionally deep that made her feelings for him, but when it came right down to it, the truth was, it was her choice. Someone had to lose. He preferred it to be Mac.
She groaned and nestled closer against his chest. Duel smiled. She didn’t even open her eyes. She might not like him, but she cuddled real nice. His little wild cat was exhausted. Hell, a lot had happened to her in a short span of time, but he still couldn’t figure out how she managed to sleep with the icy wind blowing around them. She hadn’t even stirred when he lifted her off the front seat of the SUV.
Duel didn’t know why he’d thought to do it, but before he ever left for D.C., he’d stopped by here on a whim on his way to the airport in Denver, and turned on the heat. He owned the gas and mineral rights on the ten acres his cabin set on, so he received free gas.
One year he’d been away and not turned on the heat. The water pipes froze and ruptured. It’d been hell digging them all up and replacing them. Ever since, he’d always tried to make certain the three fireplaces were lit.
When he stepped past the door and inside the cabin, the welcoming warmth from the gas logs surrounded them. Resetting the alarm behind him, he turned to the narrow staircase and carried Flayme up to his bedroom. They’d have to share. He grinned.
Most likely, when she awoke in the morning, she’d have a fit because she didn’t have a bed to herself. Hell, he liked the feel of her body next to his. He’d grown accustomed to the way she fit against him—he liked that, too.
It took some effort to hold on to her and flip back the thick comforter. Once she was down, he stripped her of her coat, shoes, socks and jeans. The seductive piece of peach lace covering the fiery nest of soft curls did little to conceal anything from his eyes.
“Shit,” he muttered, catching his breath on a sharp hitch. This was cruel and unjust punishment. Duel reached for the tail of her T-shirt, thought better of it, and decided he’d removed enough of her clothes. Standing up, he stretched, yawned and tore off his coat and shirt. He dropped his jeans on the floor and started to remove his briefs, paused and eyed her delicious body. “Best not get naked next to that.”
No use fanning the flames when he couldn’t put out the fire.
Sliding under the covers, Duel spooned his body around Flayme’s, slid his arm around her slender waist and sighed. This felt right. This woman belonged right here, cradled against his body. “Sorry, Mac, you lose.” No way in hell was he giving her back to the older man. Yep, no doubt about it, this was going to get complicated.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Murder is always a mistake—one should never do anything one cannot talk about after dinner.
~Oscar Wilde
Annandale, Virginia
February 18, Wednesday
Forty-eight hours after the assassination…
Neil had been dead for over eighteen hours when Sam and Travis literally tripped over his body in Flayme’s kitchen. With the freezing cold outside, and a complete reverse of temperature on the inside, the medical examiner refused to estimate time of death on the scene.
At the moment, it was utterly impossible to state for certain if Neil had been killed and brought here or murdered here and left behind, if he’d been in the snow and ice or in the warm house the entire time. Not knowing where his body had been, time of death couldn’t be determined by checking the temperature of his liver.
“Hours,” was the M.E.’s best guess. “He’s been dead for hours.”
Sam was pretty sure they weren’t looking at where the crime took place, another deciding factor for T.O.D. There was no blood inside the house, except for what had already been in the kitchen. They still didn’t know who that belonged to.
Phillips, the medical examiner, would give them an exact or nearly exact time and cause of death once Neil’s body was on the slab and a more thorough exam completed.
She rubbed her face and tried to figure out what it was she was missing. Something niggled at her mind about Neil’s time of death, something she should be on top of, but damn if she could think what it was.
She was too tired to try and stimulate her brain into thinking clearly. Eventually, she’d remember. She hoped. In the meantime, Sam prayed her lack of recall didn’t cost someone their life. What she needed was a very icy Sex on the Beach, followed with hot food and—well, hotter sex. Some good old boinking would work wonders, she thought.
Glancing across the room, she caught Travis’ eye. His dark brows rose and she wondered if the hunger she felt for him showed on her face. She quickly looked away, just in case. Yep, sex would be hot with him. That’s one thing she already knew. Did she wanna go there? Again?
Yes! Her body screamed the silent reply. Her inner heat revved up another notch. No! Her common sense put in, slamming the brakes on her lusty thoughts.
Then he was beside her, taking her by the elbow. “We’ve done everything we can do here tonight.” His body heat surrounded her. His manly aftershave flooded her senses. “Let’s get outta here,” he said.
Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound husky? Needy?
Tight-lipped, he guided her past the weary-faced detectives, past the fresh-faced officers stationed at the front door and to the car. Travis bundled her inside and took
the wheel.
Sam laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. It was several minutes before she ventured to open them and look around. It was only then she realized they were headed in the wrong direction. “This isn’t the way to my house.”
“We’re going to mine. It’s closer.” He slanted a wary glance her way. “Before you say anything, I have a spare toothbrush.”
“I don’t have clean clothes for morning or anything to sleep in. I need a shower.”
Travis took a left turn and headed down a one-way street. “I have sweats you can sleep in, and we’ll go by your house in the morning. You can dress for work.”
“My mother—”
“I already called her, Sam. She knows it’s been a hell of a day.”
“I can’t sleep with you, Travis.”
He turned the car in the drive of a single story brick home and killed the engine. Shifting to face her, he sighed. “I didn’t ask you to sleep with me,” he said sharply.
“Oh.” She blinked. “Of course you didn’t. I shouldn’t assume—”
“Yes, you should assume. God knows I want you in my bed, but there are three friggin’ bedrooms, not including mine, and a guest bathroom. Take your choice of the bedrooms. I’m all in. Hungry. And I wanna shower same as you. It’s not like we haven’t shared quarters before.”
“It’s been awhile.”
“Too damn long,” he muttered and shoved open the car door.
“What?” Sam fell into step beside him, but he didn’t say another word. Travis apparently wasn’t in the frame of mind to carry on a chatty conversation. She felt too bushed to soothe his bruised ego. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“This is as good as it gets,” he snapped. “I’m not getting back inside that car until morning. I know it’s tough for you, but let’s just get through this.” He unlocked the door and stepped aside so she could go in ahead of him. “And Sam, don’t make me go over your head for the transfer. I’m leaving your division, one way or the other.”
She nodded and turned her head so he wouldn’t see the tears blurring her vision. Sam cleared her throat. “I’ll sign it when you put the transfer request on my desk.”
* * * *
Travis picked up his watch and sighed. One minute past two. Shit! One minute ago when he looked, it’d been two. Yeah. And how many times before that had he eyed the minute hands? Hell, he hadn’t stopped checking the time because he hadn’t fallen asleep yet. There was no way in hell he could sleep with her down the hall, so close, and yet so far away.
The cold shower he’d taken hadn’t done a thing to ease the need. His body burned. His cock hurt. Damn it! His balls were squeezed so damn tight, he thought they’d explode any minute. Enough! Travis flung back the covers and dragged on a pair of navy blue silk boxers. Maybe a glass of warm milk would do the trick. Yeah. One couldn’t get anything much more boring than a glass of warm milk.
He pulled his bedroom door behind him, but instead of turning down the hall in the direction of the kitchen, he headed straight toward the room Sam had selected. He started to knock, but hesitated outside her door.
Crap! What was he doing?
She didn’t want him. Didn’t need him. Yet here he stood like a little lost puppy dog waiting for a scrap to be tossed his way. He rocked back on his heels. “Go back to bed, Trav, and watch the minute hands on your watch.”
But he couldn’t make that turn, couldn’t leave.
She was definitely awake. Light filtered beneath her door with the occasional flickering shadow as if she was pacing back and forth. Suddenly the door swung open and she stood there staring at him, a hand pressed to her throat.
“Travis!” she choked.
Christ Almighty! She stood there wrapped in nothing but a plush red towel. Ribbons of water sluiced off her smooth shoulders. Her skin looked flushed. She looked oh, so edible. Her shoulder-length dark hair fell around her shoulders, clean and shiny. Ah, God, he remembered how her hair closed around them when she’d been on top of him—so long ago.
His groin tightened. Pain stabbed the tip of his hard cock. His breath locked in his chest and his heart—his heart belonged to her. Standing there, he knew this was his last chance with her. Everything inside him tensed. Hell, he was a grown man. He felt like bawling. “Sam,” he whispered. “I…” He licked his lips and tried to swallow, but his throat was dry as sawdust. “Sam,” he repeated. “Don’t send me away. I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. Please?”
She searched his face, for what, he had no clear idea. Jesus, he had no clear idea of anything at the moment because she loosened the towel and let it drop at her feet in a crimson puddle.
Slowly, she reached for his hand and locked her trembling fingers with his. “Come in,” she quietly invited, and turned in the direction of the bed.
She hadn’t said she loved him back, but he wasn’t going to be picky at a moment like this. She’d let him in part way. He’d take what he could get.
“I need you,” she said, almost defiantly.
“Thank God,” he whispered, and closed the door with a soft snick behind him.
They’d work out details about their relationship later…
* * * *
Blackstone Ranch
February 19, Thursday
Fifty-five hours after the assassination…
Danger emptied the dregs of his coffee mug and set it in the sink. He glanced at the turquoise banded watch on his left wrist and frowned. At least another hour before he could reasonably take off to Rimrock. If he left too early, Karen would have one of her bawling fits.
A few miles to the west, Lacey was likely snuggled in Rafe’s arms or under him. The picture of the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms, hell, of Rafe kissing her made him crazy. He couldn’t get the images of the two of them in bed together out of his head. It ate at him night and day. God, he wanted her back. He’d give anything to be able to turn back time—hold her against his chest, kiss her, and make love to her—appreciate what he had when he had it.
Danger jerked when Karen came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. Her rounded belly pressed against his spine and for a second, he wanted to gag or heave up his insides. What was it about her and the baby that turned his stomach?
It wasn’t normal for him to feel such repulsion.
Maybe he was the kind of man who simply couldn’t love well, or tolerate pregnant women, but he didn’t remember feeling this way when Lacey was pregnant with Joseph. Granted, Karen was always creeping around, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to detest her and the child.
The strange thing was he felt as if he needed to be on guard against her twenty-four hours a day and he didn’t know why. She was his wife, for heaven’s sake. She was pregnant with his baby. But he didn’t love her. God knew he didn’t love or want the baby. There was something not quite right about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it yet.
He frowned. Or maybe it was him. Maybe there was something not quite right about him. The thought scared him, because that meant he might never be happy. He might never win Lacey’s love again.
Danger moved out of Karen’s grasp and turned to face her. He didn’t like having his back to her. He always felt as if he was about to be knifed. She made a face and took a cup down from the cabinet. “I’ve been thinking…” Her words trailed to an end, leaving him to guess what she’d been thinking about.
“Oh yeah?” He tried to work up some enthusiasm, but thinking wasn’t one of her better abilities, and he really didn’t give a shit what her rat-sized brain dwelled on.
She smiled, but he thought it looked forced and more like a grimace. Hell, maybe she felt the same distaste for him he felt for her.
“Yeah. I know how much Lacey loves Calla,” she said, “and well…I thought it might be a nice gesture to invite her here to visit the mare.”
“Karen, no, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
She pouted and walked her f
ingertips up his chest. “But I want her to come here so we can bury the past…so to speak. Her son is buried here. She’d probably like to go see his grave…again.”
“Huh.” Danger hated to think it, but she sounded almost as if she was gloating or had some ulterior motive for wanting Lacey here. He sure as hell didn’t believe it was out of the mercy of her heart. She’d always resented Lacey. “Rafe is with her. There’s no way he’ll let her out of his sight. I don’t blame him.”
For a moment, she narrowed her icy blue eyes and tightened her lips, then she forced a bright smile to her lips. “That’s even better. Killing three birds with one stone…sort of makes it…ideal.” She batted her lashes in feigned innocence.
“What?” Danger scowled. She sounded too damn cheerful, looked too damn—too damn innocuous. Why was she acting so guileless? Why the fuck was she so chipper?
She smiled and pressed a moist kiss to his mouth. “Maybe you and he can get together and compare notes on how good Lacey fucks, while she and I go to the barn and compare a few notes ourselves.”
Danger gripped her by her upper arms and pushed her away. “For God’s sake, Karen, the last thing I want to do is discuss anything about Lacey with Rafe. Why do you always turn everything concerning her into something disgusting?”
Karen batted her eyes and sniffed. “I was only trying to be nice and invite her here. I have something I want to talk to her about.”
“What?” He knew damn well Lacey had no desire to talk to Karen.
“Women things,” she popped off. “She’s had a baby and this is my first. I thought we could talk about how it feels to be pregnant…compare notes.”
Danger clenched his fists. “What the hell is wrong with you? You like rubbing salt in a wound? In view of the fact that Lacey most likely will never conceive again, I hardly think discussing your pregnancy is something she’s dying to do. Try to remember, Karen, I made you pregnant while Lacey was still my wife.”
Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) Page 33
