Midnight Betrayal

by Leigh, Melinda

  “All of my fortune comes from my mother’s family.” She studied their joined hands for a few seconds, breathing, seemingly gathering strength. “My mother loved my father very much, but she had no illusions about him. He is and has always been a pure academic. He comes from an old blue-blooded family with more pedigree than money. He has no interest in being rich. He makes enough lecturing and guest teaching in Europe to fund his travels. That’s all he cares about. My mother died of cancer. She knew she was dying for several years, so she put the bulk of her estate in a trust. My father receives a generous annual allowance. He is more than happy about the arrangement. He has no desire to do any of the work involved with managing the funds, but his sister is a different story. When she agreed to move in with us and take charge of me, she assumed she’d have access to the money. She was furious with my mother for cutting Dad off. She carried that grudge over to me. Dad gives his sister most of his allowance. He doesn’t need it, and he feels like he owes her for giving up her life to raise me.” Louisa nestled closer. “She never married or had children of her own.”

  “Well, thank God for that.” Conor hugged her tighter. “I’m sorry.”

  Louisa brushed a tear off her cheek. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

  Conor sat up and faced her. “Don’t apologize for being sad or angry or try to cover it up with a fake smile. I don’t want an act. I want you, however you’re feeling. If your family makes you depressed, that’s OK. Please don’t ever pretend to be in a pleasant mood for me.”

  Though Conor couldn’t help but wonder if she was truly capable of not covering up her emotions.

  “Is there any way Blaine could benefit from your death?”

  “Financially? I don’t think so.” Louisa shrugged. “If Blaine tried to kill me, it would have been pure anger. He doesn’t like to take no for an answer, and he usually gets what he wants.”

  “You don’t think he could have killed those two girls to emotionally destabilize you, to get you fired, and ultimately to force you to go back to Maine?” Conor asked.

  “That would take a great deal of planning, and it’d be . . .”

  “Evil?” Conor filled in.

  “Yes. Killing two girls to force me back to Maine would be the ultimate self-centered act of evil.” She straightened. “Blaine is both selfish and deviously intelligent, so yes, it’s far-fetched but possible. But it is far more likely that he had a burst of temper over my rejection.”

  “If I can’t have her, no one can?”

  “Yes.” Louisa nodded. “That I could believe.” She took a long breath. “When we were children, Blaine had a small sailboat. As a punishment for some misdeed, his father took it away and gave it to Blaine’s younger brother. Blaine sank it out of pure spite.”

  The fact that Blaine could be crazy jealous, emphasis on the crazy, scared Conor even more. “So you’ll talk to the police again?”

  “If you think Blaine could have killed Riki and Zoe, then I’ll have to.” But her discomfort was clear on her face. “They know who Blaine is because he showed up at the ER that night, but even though it’s impossible to prove, they should hear what he did.”

  Probably not a good time to go to sleep. Conor located the remote and found the movie they’d been watching in the other room. But no amount of clever cinematography could possibly make an old ghost story as frightening as real-life murder.

  His mind reeled with all of Louisa’s revelations about her father, her aunt, and Blaine. Their relationship seemed to have turned a corner tonight, but how could he be sure she wouldn’t hold back on him again? Was she even capable of being in a long-term relationship? And if she wasn’t, what would it do to him?

  27

  Louisa awoke in a cold, empty bed. Her hand automatically swept the sheets next to her, seeking him.

  Where was Conor? She got up, picking up her robe from the floor and putting it on. She tied the sash, remembering the look of raw hunger on Conor’s face when he viewed her naked body. Then his resignation when he refused to have sex with her a second time.

  She remembered every moment of the previous night.

  He’d been right. Blaine must have put something in her drink at the party. Why did that make her feel better? If anything, the truth made her more of a victim. But it also verified what she’d always known inside and never admitted, not even to herself. Blaine had done more than capitalize on her vulnerability and take advantage of her sadness at her father’s absence, and he’d been lying about that night ever since.

  But did Blaine’s actions mean he could kill two young girls? The police hadn’t said whether or not the girls were sexually assaulted. Blaine clearly didn’t have a conscience, but was he a murderer? The theory felt like a huge stretch.

  By the time she’d turned sixteen, she’d already fielded his advances numerous times. So Blaine obviously did whatever it took to get what he wanted. Was he doing that now?

  Later this morning, she would call Detective Jackson and tell him everything. Perhaps the information, even unsubstantiated, might make the detective look at Blaine more closely.

  Fortified by her resolve, she went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Today was Monday. She had work, she had purpose, and she felt a lot less helpless than she had the night before.

  The door opened, and Conor walked in with Kirra. He had a grocery bag in one hand. He unsnapped her leash, and the dog trotted to Louisa for a head rub.

  “Has she eaten?” Louisa asked.

  “No.” Conor walked into the kitchen and kissed her. “We’re going to have scrambled eggs.” He unloaded eggs, milk, and bread onto the counter. Then he took out a frying pan and went to work on breakfast with the efficiency of a short-order cook. Ten minutes later they were eating eggs and toast at the island.

  Kirra sniffed the eggs with little interest, went to the corner, and curled up in the dog bed.

  “Her appetite doesn’t seem to be improving.” Louisa pushed her own breakfast away half-eaten, but she doubted the dog’s appetite was affected by worry.

  “I’m going to take her back to the vet today. She doesn’t act sick, but she isn’t behaving normally either.” Conor frowned from the dog’s nearly full plate to Louisa’s. “You’re not hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “How do you feel?” He turned her head to examine her jaw. “Your bruise is turning a nice shade of green.”

  “Terrific. I’m definitely less stiff today, and I think I can do without the Band-Aids on my hands.” She paused. “I remember everything about last night.”

  “I knew you would.” His eyes sparked with fierce possessiveness that heated her blood. “I want to track Blaine down and pummel his face.”

  “But you don’t think less of me?”

  “God, no. Why would I? What I feel for you has nothing to do with anything that happened to you in the past.” He locked gazes with her. His was unyielding. “But I wish you would have told me earlier. I would have been more careful with you.”

  Frustration bubbled into Louisa’s throat. “I don’t want more care. I want normal. I want you to treat me like a normal, whole person. If you want to take me standing up against the elevator wall, then I want you to do that without worrying about hurting me.”

  “I wasn’t talking about sex. I meant I would have understood why you find it hard to trust. But you are a normal, whole person.” He swiveled his stool to face her squarely.

  She didn’t break eye contact. “I’m broken inside. I can’t connect with people.”

  “Really?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Then what’s happening between us? Is this all in my head?” He motioned between them.

  Her heart skipped. “No.”

  “OK then. What Blaine did to you is in the past. It isn’t a reflection on you, but I will keep it in the back of my head. I can’t help that.” He brushed a piec
e of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I care about you.” He kissed her, sliding off his stool to stand in front of her. “You need to send your brain on vacation. You’re overanalyzing everything. Just relax and let it happen.”

  “Let what happen?” She shifted, leaning back. Her robe gaped. Cool air washed over hot skin.

  His gaze dropped to the opening. “I don’t know. I can’t predict the future.” He splayed his hand on the center of her chest. Her heart thumped against his palm. “I feel things for you I’ve never felt before.”

  “I’ve never let anyone get this close. I’ve always kept relationships casual. Nothing about our lovemaking yesterday was casual.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

  “Yes. Sometimes it’s downright scary,” he admitted. “But I’m brave. If we need to make love over and over until we get used to it, I’m willing to suffer through it.”

  “You’ll take one for the team?”

  He grinned. “Dozens if necessary.”

  She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “This is serious.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” His hand moved, brushing aside the fabric of her robe to reveal her breast. “Sex can be fun and intense at the same time.”

  His thumb teased her nipple. A yearning flared deep in her belly.

  “Tell me. What set your hormones off in a sprint last night?” He moved closer, nudging her legs apart with his knee. Her robe fell fully open, her nudity exposed to him. His lips brushed her collarbone. “What turns you on?”

  She tilted her head back to give him more room. “It was the guitar.”

  “It worked well for me in high school.” He laughed. “But I never thought it would attract a genius and a scholar.”

  “Yes, the guitar is hot.” Her brain synapses weren’t firing well enough for long sentences.

  “Does that make you my groupie?” He kissed her ear and sang softly. “I want you to want me.”

  His breath caressed her neck. Her hands burrowed into his thick hair. Her head fell back, wanting his mouth on the rest of her skin. “No matter what you sing, I’m not throwing my panties at you in public.”

  He chuckled. “Clearly, you’ve been talking to my siblings.”

  “Um. Yes.” Louisa tilted her head.

  “How about in private?” He nuzzled her neck, finding the sweet spot at the base of her throat. Where were his hands, and why weren’t they on her skin?

  Her legs parted, her bare core pressing against his hard, denim-clad thigh. How could her body respond to him again? “Maybe. I’m not wearing any now.”

  “I noticed,” he moaned. “Next time you wear one of those fancy, uptight suits, I’m going to be thinking about you without panties.”

  “Maybe I won’t wear any,” she teased, shocked at the easy way the banter rolled between them. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps a relationship could be fun. With him she could imagine that possibility.

  He froze and pulled his lips off her neck to stare down into her eyes. His pupils were large and dark, hunger eclipsing the bright color. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking now? Want to know my ultimate fantasy, what I’ve been thinking about doing since the first day I met you in that museum in Maine?”

  She shivered. She couldn’t look away from his eyes. His gaze raked over her. She followed its slow progress over her breasts and belly down to her spread thighs and back up again. He licked his lips.

  “Here’s my fantasy.” His voice deepened. “You’re wearing that gray suit, the super conservative one. And those black framed glasses that make you look smart.” His hand snaked out and picked up her reading glasses from the counter. He set them on her nose. “You’re at work, sitting in that executive chair, looking all smart and prissy and untouchable. Until I come in. I lock the door behind me. I kneel in front of you and unbutton your blouse. It’s white and crisp and nerdy. You’re wearing a white lace bra, which I open so I can tongue your nipples.” His voice grew huskier, and his breath stroked over her ear like a caress, but he didn’t touch her. She could see the scene playing out in her head. She went damp all over again just from the mental image. “Would you like me to do that?”

  “Yes,” she groaned, leaning back and straining her chest toward him.

  He crouched lower. She watched, fascinated, as his tongue laved warm and wet over her nipple until it peaked into a stiff bud. Then he turned his mouth to the other breast. He looked up at her, his eyes totally wicked. “Wanna know what’s next?”

  “Yes.” Which seemed to be the only word her brain could generate.

  “I push your skirt up to your waist.” His big hands curled around her thighs. He lifted one leg to rest her foot on the stool next to her. The other he put over his shoulder. “I spread your legs and put my mouth to you, and you lose it.”

  He slid down her body, his mouth cruising lower and lower. His tongue flicked in her belly button, then traced the contour of her hip, his eyes brightening with feral male interest. He pressed a tender kiss below the bandage on her knee. “This is what I’m going to do.” His mouth was hot against her cool, swollen flesh. His tongue probing, testing, tasting. His fingers splayed on the insides of her thighs, pushing them wide open. With the slow, torturous onslaught of his lips and tongue, what else could she do but lose it? Pleasure coiled deep in her center and radiated through her pelvis. She rocked her hips toward him.

  He lifted his head. “Anyway, that’s what I’m going to do. So next time I call you and tell you I’ll pick you up for lunch, I want you to be thinking of what I really want. And if you should be taking off those panties.” He got to his feet.

  She blinked at him.

  He grinned. “Did you want something else?”

  “Oh my God. Don’t you dare stop.”

  “You’re hot when you’re bossy.” He reached into the grocery bag still on the counter and withdrew a whole box of condoms. “But you have to keep the glasses on.”

  She reached forward, grabbing him by the waistband of his jeans and pulling him back to her. Her fingers worked the zipper, and she freed him. His erection pulsed in her hand. A groan slid out of his lips. His head fell back as she closed her hand around him. Then he had the condom open and was pushing her hands aside to sheath himself. His T-shirt fell in the way. He tugged it over his head and tossed it over his shoulder.

  “Now who’s in a rush,” she said.

  He shoved his jeans down a few inches. “This is how I want you, all naked skin. Eager. Hot.” His eyes flicked to hers again. “Wet.”

  He cupped her buttocks with both hands and slid inside her. Pleasure pierced her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

  He stopped moving. “Does this work for you, or do we need to go out into the elevator?”

  “Will. You. Please. Stop. Talking.” She panted. Almost there.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took her hard and fast, rocketing her to a climax. His body shuddered to a halt as she pulsed around him.

  He brushed a quick kiss across her temple. “You’re going to be thinking about that all day at work.”

  Work! She glanced at the clock. “I’m going to be late for work.”

  She ran for the bedroom, robe flapping around her bare legs. She showered in record time, then, because he’d tortured her into being his sex slave when she should have been getting ready, she put on her ultra conservative gray suit and pumps. Payback.

  He was tugging his shirt on when she returned to the kitchen. His eyes brightened as he looked her up and down. “Tell me you’re not wearing panties.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She gave him a sensual look she didn’t know she possessed. “You’re going to be thinking about that all day while I’m at work.”

  “That’s mean
.”

  “I know.” She smiled.

  He followed her to the hall. “How about Kirra and I walk you to work?”

  “That would be nice.” She slid her purse strap over her shoulder.

  “We can talk about the merits of fresh air on hot skin.” Bending down, he snapped the leash onto the dog’s collar.

  “Are you working tonight?”

  “I’m supposed to.” He leaned close to her ear. “We can sext.”

  She laughed. “You may as well stay here, since your apartment is trashed. I’ll let the hotel staff know. You might want to leave your cell number in case there’s a problem with Kirra and they can’t get in touch with me.” She dropped her spare key into his open palm.

  “OK. Thanks. Gerome seems protective.”

  “He’s been very helpful with the dog.” Louisa gathered her keys and purse from the hall table. Turning toward the door, she stopped.

  Conor was staring at the key in his hand, an unusual furrow above the bridge of his nose.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His mouth opened and closed. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the key. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  “Don’t.” Her muscles, loose from sex and laughter, contracted, bracing for bad news.

  “Don’t what?” He smoothed the tension from between his brows, but his eyes held on to their reservations.

  “Don’t pretend.” She pulled her purse to her body and clutched it against her chest, but it wasn’t enough to shield herself from the doubt in Conor’s eyes. “No holding back, remember? You made me promise to talk to you when something is upsetting me. Don’t you think I deserve the same consideration?”

  Conor gripped the key, its small, insignificant weight heavy with implication. She’d given him the key to her apartment. He opened his fingers and stared at it. How could something so small come with such huge responsibility? Her decision was likely more practical than emotional, but the symbolism glared at him. He’d never gotten this far with Barbara. In one week, he and Louisa had already surpassed anything he’d experienced over an entire summer with Barbara. He’d started out determined to take this relationship slowly. What the hell happened?