She was about to take some leftover lasagna out of the freezer when she heard the phone ring. She decided to let the answering machine pick it up just in case it was Evelyn or one of her stepsisters. There was no way she could deal with any of them right now.
She had just closed her freezer door when the deep, husky timbre of a male's voice floated across the living room and reached her alert ears all the way in the kitchen.
"Good evening, Ms. Carmody, this is Wesley Brooks. I believe I have something of yours and if you're interested in getting it back, I suggest that you meet me tonight at seven o'clock at the original D&D Coffeehouse. The decision to show up is strictly up to you." The phone clicked loudly when he abruptly ended the call.
Jasmine stood shell-shocked, rooted in place. She could hear the sound of blood rushing fast and furious to her brain. Wesley Brooks knew who she was and had found her locket. And from the sound of it, although his voice had remained rather calm, she had picked up on more than a tinge of anger in his tone. The man was definitely not a happy camper.
A shiver lapped at her nerve endings as she glanced down at her watch. He wanted them to meet tonight at seven and it was almost six now. The first thought that came to her mind was not to go, but then she knew if she didn't show up she might as well kiss her locket goodbye and she couldn't do that. Right now he was holding the ace and evidently he knew how to play it.
She sighed deeply, wondering what sort of explanation she could give him that would sound plausible as to why she had been on his property that night, then quickly decided there wasn't one. The bottom line was that she had trespassed and had been going through his garbage. Hell, he had caught her red-handed and she'd been careless enough to leave evidence behind.
She wondered how on earth he had traced the locket back to her and decided it really didn't matter. Besides, she didn't have time to ponder the question of how she had gotten caught, not if she wanted to meet him at the time he had mandated in his phone call.
As she put the lasagna back in the freezer, she headed toward her bedroom. She would take a shower, get dressed and leave to meet the one man she had hoped to never see again.
* * *
Wesley checked his watch. Jasmine Carmody had less than five minutes to show her face. He hoped she would be on time because the last thing he felt toward her was tolerance. She had already pushed the wrong buttons with him and he wouldn't suggest that she tried pushing any more.
Although he hadn't seen her again since that night, he had a feeling that she had shown up on his property sometime today, right before he had come home for lunch. When he had rolled down the window to punch in the numbers to open his security gate, he had noticed the footprints in his flower bed.
Evidently she'd come looking for the locket and had been highly disappointed to discover his gate locked. He was glad he had thought to secure it that morning before he'd left. Otherwise Ms. Carmody would have taken the liberty to snoop again. Well, she was going to find out tonight that she had sniffed around one time too many. He was intent on teaching her a lesson that she would never forget.
He glanced toward the entrance of the coffeehouse the moment she walked in. Even minus the scarf that she'd worn on her head that night, he would have recognized that face anywhere. If he'd thought she was attractive in the moonlight, here in the glow of lanterns that hung on the walls and illuminated her features, she was strikingly beautiful.
His gaze did a slow study that started at the mass of braids that covered her head and ended at the polished toes of her feet. She was impeccably dressed in a blue blouse and a pair of black tailored slacks that gave her a cool sophisticated look. It was a look that was wreaking havoc on his male hormones. Even the anger he felt toward her couldn't diminish that fact, which was something that didn't sit too well with him at the moment. Nor did he appreciate the way his skin had tightened or the sudden feeling of raw, hungry desire that swept through his entire body.
Damn!
The last thing he needed was to be lusting after a woman whom he considered the enemy. But still, enemy or not, he couldn't stop the way his body responded when he watched her push her long braids back over her shoulders. And when she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue while glancing around, he thought he would literally go up in smoke. He definitely felt more than a slow burn coming on. It felt like someone had lit him with a blazing torch.
Heaven help him. A groan slipped past his throat the exact moment his senses took over, making him acutely aware of her. He tried to remember the last time he'd been with a woman, and then quickly decided it had been way too long. Several business deals had forced him to put his sex life on hold for a while, but seeing Jasmine Carmody made him remember just what he'd been missing.
He noted the exact moment her gaze found his and watched her breathing change, becoming as irregular as his own. Something, he wasn't sure exactly what, hung in the air between them. Electrifying heat washed over him and he would swear she felt it, too, although a distance of about ten feet separated them. There were just some things that a man who'd been around as much as he had, knew. And the one thing that was clearly obvious was that he'd made a big mistake in asking her to meet him at the coffeehouse.
He should have confronted her where she worked. Once there, inside the walls of the newspaper office—a place he detested—he would not have cared if she were naked.
That was a lie and he knew it. He would have cared if she was naked—a lot.
She wavered before moving toward him and he hesitated before standing to make sure his knees wouldn't go weak on him. As usual, the coffeehouse was crowded and the last thing he wanted was to make a spectacle of himself. He tried to clear his head, but when the same luscious scent he now associated with Jasmine wafted into his nostrils, the idea was useless.
"Mr. Brooks," she said curtly, before taking a seat. She didn't offer him her hand, which was just as well since he probably would not have taken it anyway. They weren't friends and there was no need to pretend otherwise. Besides, he didn't want to touch her. Touching could lead to things he'd rather not think about.
"Ms. Carmody," he acknowledged, reclaiming his own seat. She was mad, he could tell. Evidently, she was used to having the upper hand, but tonight things would be different.
He watched her, saying nothing, as she skimmed her index finger across the tablecloth and met his gaze, showing him she wasn't easily intimidated. Her eyes were the color of chocolate chips, and staring into them was effortless.
When moments passed and neither of them made conversation, she finally said, "You indicated you had something of mine, Mr. Brooks."
The corner of Wesley's mouth curved into an amused smile when he heard the impatient edge in her tone. Did she actually think he would return her locket without first letting her know what he thought of her for invading his privacy? He didn't appreciate her using the Danforths as her ticket to fame. They were good people. He could attest to that. For the past fourteen years, they had been the only real family he'd ever known, and he didn't take kindly to anyone trying to dirty their good name.
He leaned back in his chair. "Yes, I did indicate that, didn't I? But first I want to know what you were doing going through my garbage that night."
Her tongue did a nervous sweep of her bottom lip and he wished she hadn't done that. He found himself shifting in his chair to relieve the pressure of a sudden ache in his lower body. And her scent wasn't helping matters. He would be in serious trouble if he didn't get a grip and push aside the sensual effects Jasmine Carmody was having on him.
"What makes you think I was going through your garbage?"
He lifted a brow at her question. Did she intend to play dumb? Then he would educate her quickly. "Because I saw you, Ms. Carmody, How would you like to be the one to make the front page for once? I can just see the headlines now and wonder what your boss at the Savannah Morning News would say if I told him what you did. There's a law against harassment and invasion of privacy
, not to mention trespassing." From her expression he could tell that she didn't want to think what her boss would say, or the charges Wesley could possibly bring against her.
She sat up straight in her chair. "I was just doing my job."
He gave her a considering glance. "Since when did your job include breaking the law? If that's the case then maybe you should switch professions."
Jasmine breathed deeply, knowing he had a right to be upset and she would give him that right … to a point. "Look, I admit I went too far that night. I've never gone through anyone's garbage before. I was desperate."
Wesley narrowed his eyes at her. If she thought he would accept that as a good excuse then she had another thought coming. Caroline Perry had been desperate, too, and he had learned the hard way that desperate women, especially in her profession, couldn't be trusted. They didn't care who they hurt as long as they got their story.
"I'm glad you can easily admit to your desperation, Ms. Carmody, and I for one know that a desperate person will do just about anything. But I can't let you do that since you're so hell-bent on ruining the Danforths' good name. So I've decided to give you a taste of your own medicine. I want you to know how it feels to be followed and spied on every single day."
She contemplated him for a long moment, as if trying to figure out what he was saying. "What are you talking about?" she finally asked.
He smiled, but the smile didn't quite touch his eyes. "What I'm talking about is you not respecting the privacy of others. I will become your shadow."
He watched as she comprehended what he'd said. Her eyes widened then flashed with anger. "You're going to stalk me?"
Wesley rolled his eyes upward. "Call it whatever you like, however, I think stalking is too strong a word. I see it merely as a way to keep you in line and out of trouble, especially until Abraham Danforth's senate race is over." It was easy to see that she was livid. Hellfire mad was a definite. Pretty damn pissed wasn't far behind.
"I have a job to do, Mr. Brooks," she stated in a clearly agitated voice like that was all the reason she needed.
Their gazes met, held, clashed for several seconds before he said, "Then do it, Ms. Carmody, but not at the expense of hurting innocent people. I know your kind. You're a reporter who will do anything for a story. I suggest you ask your boss to transfer you to the life style section of the paper or the fashion column, something that suits you better."
"Now you look here—" she began, looking both hostile and beautiful at the same time.
"No, you look here," he said, his tone brittle. "I will follow you around whether you like it or not. And if you complain to the police with some foolishness about me stalking you, then I will gladly file charges and have my attorney hit your newspaper with a gigantic lawsuit. And as far as your locket, I will keep it until I feel you deserve to have it back."
"That's blackmail!"
Wesley smiled. "I want to think of it as an investment of my time in your rehabilitation. It will be my guarantee that you'll leave the Danforths alone."
She glared at him. "That won't happen."
"Then I'll continue to be your shadow and I'll keep your locket."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "You can't keep it. That locket belongs to me and I can prove it."
"Prove anything you want, but you'll have a hard time explaining to a court of law how you lost it on my property."
Angrily, Jasmine stood. "As far as I'm concerned, this conversation is over."
Wesley shrugged. "Fine. You and I don't ever have to speak again, Ms. Carmody, just as long as you know I will be there watching your every move."
She frowned. "And I'm supposed to just accept that?"
He smiled at her. "At the moment, you don't have a choice."
Apparently she heard the deep finality in his voice and decided against further argument.
Without having anything else to say, she turned and walked out of the coffeehouse.
* * *
The man was a regular pain in the rear end, Jasmine thought, glancing in her rearview mirror. Wesley Brooks must have left the coffeehouse the minute she did in order for him to be following her. He was making sure she knew he intended to do just what he had said, starting tonight.
She couldn't really label him a stalker since she knew he didn't mean her any physical harm; emotional harm was another story. He just intended to drive her nuts by constantly being her shadow and watching her every move. She hoped that he wore out sooner than she did and she had no intentions of letting him get next to her. If he didn't have anything better to do with his time, then that was his problem.
She exhaled a deep breath when she recalled just how good he had looked at the coffeehouse. It had taken all of her resolve to focus on what he'd been saying and not on the movement of his mouth. He had the most sensuous pair of lips that she had ever seen on any man. They were full and appeared soft, although the words pouring from them had been harsh. Then there was his voice. She had heard the subtle warning in the deep, rich timbre, and for a brief moment she'd begun to think she was listening to and looking at a Morris Chestnut clone. But she had to grudgingly admit that not even her favorite Hollywood actor had the ability to fill her with unrequited lust like Wesley.
A sharp awareness had cut through her body the moment she had joined Wesley at the table. Her senses had been teased, stretched, ignited, and every time she had met his gaze, her breasts had tingled against the material of her blouse.
She shook her head and couldn't help but smile. She was definitely pathetic. Here the man was out to get her and all she could think about was … making love with him—which was unusual since she was still a virgin and damn proud of it. In fact, her stepsisters enjoyed calling her "Proud Mary."
Jasmine knew her stepsisters had been sexually active for a long time—probably since their high-school days. But she'd had more things to do with her time than to become a notch on some man's bedpost. Besides, she had decided that her education meant more to her than some jock with a high testosterone level. And while in college, she had been too busy making the grades to get serious about anyone.
She was only twenty-six and figured she had plenty of time to have sex. Until then, she intended to keep her clothes on and concentrate on trying to get as far ahead in her career as she could.
She made a turn at the next traffic light and sure enough, Wesley Brooks's silver-gray Mercedes sports car turned right along with her. She frowned wondering just how many cars the man owned. Today at lunch he had been driving a late model Corvette. But then, when you had money you could do just about anything.
Moments later she pulled into her apartment complex and wasn't surprised when he pulled in right behind her. She parked her car and released her seat belt to get out. He parked next to her and was already out of his vehicle. He leaned against it and glared at her.
"You, Ms. Carmody, are a speeder."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "And you, Mr. Brooks, are a nuisance."
He shrugged. "I've been called worse."
She could just imagine some of the names he had been called. Deciding not to say anything else to him, she turned and walked toward her apartment. Unlocking her door, she glanced over her shoulder to take one last look at him. He was still leaning against his car glaring at her.
Without saying anything else to him, she quickly opened the door and went inside.
Wesley watched her close the door behind her and frowned. He experienced a moment of regret that he wasn't going inside her apartment with her. He didn't like the direction his thoughts were taking. He sighed, deciding that he would return to the coffeehouse and hang out there until it was time to show up at Ian's place to play cards.
Less than ten minutes later, he was parking his car back at the coffeehouse. The original coffeehouse was located in the historical district of Savannah and was a popular hangout with the young professional crowd and some older coffee lovers, as well. The coffeehouse made every kind of coffee imaginab
le and even had their own specialty blend, which was a real hit with customers, including him.
One of the most popular features of the coffeehouse was the bulletin board that was set up near the front of the shop. The board had taken on a life of its own and there was always a crowd of people surrounding it. Messages being sent back and forth by customers, particularly single customers, were taped on the board and Wesley had heard that several romances had been sparked because of the board.
He glanced around when he walked in. The coffeehouse was a real cozy affair but there hadn't been anything cozy about his meeting tonight with Jasmine Carmody. Even when backed against a wall the woman had come out scratching, which a part of him couldn't help but admire. A frown creased his brow. He didn't want to admire anything about Jasmine Carmody. He had only to think for a second to remember how he had walked up on her going through his trash, and how he had offered her five hundred dollars of his hard earned cash because he actually thought she was someone who needed it.
He found a table near the back and a waitress quickly came to take his order. After being served, he leaned back in his chair as a scowl touched his face. The woman was destined to drive him nuts.
"You okay, Wes?"
Wesley looked up and found his good friend Reid Danforth standing next to his table with a concerned look on his face. Reid was Abraham's second oldest son and the director of Danforth and Company's shipping operation.
"Yes, I'm fine," he replied as Reid slipped into the chair across from him. "Any word yet on the body that was found at Crofthaven?"
In the course of renovation on Crofthaven, Abraham Danforth's mansion, the body of a young woman had been found in the attic. The ensuing police investigation had threatened to engulf Abraham Danforth's senate campaign in a scandal before it could get off the ground. Everyone was wondering who the woman was. When dental records proved the body was not that of Victoria Danforth, Jake's sister who had vanished without a trace after attending a concert nearly five years ago. Speculation remained as to who was involved in her disappearance. Like everyone else, he had fond memories of Tori and thanked God it wasn't her body that had been found.
SCANDAL BETWEEN THE SHEETS Page 3
