by Jianne Carlo
“He’s crazy about you, Su-Lin. And was probably devastated that night. Terry’s never really forgiven himself for what happened between him and Carol-Ann when he was a teenager.” Sarita’s light brown eyes glistened with sincerity. She gave Su-Lin’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Give him the benefit of the doubt. Harry talked to the girl. Nothing happened. And she is providing a solid alibi for Terry. That was her intention the whole while.”
“According to Harry, her exact words were, ‘With that old man?’” Rolan said, his lips curving into a wide grin. “Then she added, ‘He’s even older than you.’ Harry’s mortified.”
She couldn’t help but return Rolan’s infectious grin and concentrated on forcing the niggle of remaining doubt out of her mind. “It all seems so surreal. I mean, this kind of thing happens to other people, not to me. What happens next?”
“The inquest, or whatever the French version is, will last the rest of today and part of tomorrow. Thomas will call us with an update,” Rolan replied.
“I see.” She fiddled with the green top sheet. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a shower.”
“Of course we don’t mind. We’ll leave you now.”
An hour later, Su-Lin set out to find the swimming pool.
The house proved a formidable adversary in that task, but she found the basement and an exit. Walking the perimeter, she discovered the familiar French doors standing open and heard splashing. Tony waved.
“Hey, Su-Lin. Coming for a swim? It’s great, and it’s heated. See the steam?” He pointed at the far end of the pool where wisps of steam curled and floated above the still aquamarine water.
“I don’t have a suit,” she answered and made her way to the tiled pool edge.
“They’ve tons in the changing room over there.”
Her thoughts tangential, careening from Terry to her uncle and aunt to the bonds, she entered the changing room and picked up the first one-piece, which looked to be about her size. This didn’t happen to people like her, an insignificant girl from Mayo, Ohio. Half the time certain she had dreamed everything thus far, the other half afraid she had descended into madness.
“Come on in,” Tony called, his green eyes glinting. “Wanna race?”
“Let me warm up first,” she answered, his boyish grin and exuberance infectious, and her lips crooked.
She swam thirty laps to warm up.
Tony joined her until he tired, chattering nonstop between strokes.
“You’re good. I can only do twenty. But I’ll practice. Bet after a week I’ll be able to do forty.”
Her mouth curved as she recognized a competitive spirit that matched hers.
His green eyes narrowed when she won their race, and he suggested an underwater challenge.
“Not today, Tony. Maybe another time.” She stood in the shallow end of the pool and squeezed the water out of her long hair.
“I’m going to the Gypsy village. The fire-eater’s teaching me how to do it. Wanna come?” Tony asked as they toweled off.
“Yes,” she replied, her heart skipping a few beats.
Glad for the distraction, Su-Lin followed Tony’s lead through the rambling grounds. The heavy scent of pine filled her nose and lungs, and she inhaled, eyes closed, head tilted to let the sun warm her cheeks. Tony prattled the entire walk, jumping from one unrelated topic to another until her mind reeled. The boy’s determined optimistic view of the world, his unshaken doubt he could overcome any obstacle, buoyed her spirits.
Possessed of a mischievous incorrigible wit, Tony had her laughing aloud in no time. She surrendered to the sheer joy of simply being alive and vitality thronged through her. She did a cartwheel. Tony did two. A front somersault. He fell on his backside attempting to imitate her actions. They progressed forward at a slow pace and entered the Gypsy village walking on their hands.
When she saw the burns and blisters on the fire-eater’s mouth, Su-Lin refused to let Tony even contemplate imitating the man or learning the skill, and demanded the boy obtain his mother’s permission. Bickering about safety versus skill, they trudged back to the mansion. She managed to appease the insult to his masculinity by teaching him how to do a forward somersault.
“Good to see you feeling better, sugar.”
At the sound of Harry’s deep drawl, Su-Lin raised her eyes and shouted, “Harry, woo hoo!”
Hooking a finger at his chest, Tony boasted, “I taught her that.”
She ran forward and hugged him around the waist. “Are you okay? How’s Terry? What’s happening?”
“Slow down, sugar. Everything’s fine. Terry’s tied up until tomorrow. Things don’t look good for his father, but Terry’s been cleared. He has a solid alibi for that night. Adria and Gitana are tight, and she stayed with Terry the whole night. Even made a show of getting the motel’s owner up to the room, so he’s a witness too.”
“Thank goodness,” she said and breathed a little easier. “Who shot Carol-Ann then?”
Chapter Eighteen
“I reckon James or Emma.” Harry dropped a kiss on her hair and let his arms fall away. “Although at the moment, Terry’s old man is the one the authorities suspect.”
“You grown-ups always get so mushy,” Tony huffed. “I wish Mom had named me Indiana. I’m gonna find Adria and shoot some pool.”
Su-Lin and Harry watched him sprint in the direction of the manor.
“That boy is all energy,” he drawled and tipped his Stetson a tad lower.
“Do you ever take off that thing?” she asked, pointing at his brown leather hat.
“Showers, that’s it. Might be I don’t fool around with my boots on, but sure as a hen dips snuff, I do the dirty with my hat on my head.”
“Was that English?”
“No, sugar, that was Texan,” he replied, his mouth curving into a wide grin. “It translates to I even make love with it on.”
“Sure, I believe you.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He had that familiar aw-shucks expression on his face.
“Is the earl going to be arrested?”
“Thomas is doing his damnedest to make sure he’s not. Geoff’s helping from the UK. He’s trying to get temporary diplomatic status for him.” A strong breeze ruffled his shirt collar, and he added, “Chances are Terry won’t be back tonight, sugar.”
“I won’t fall apart without him, Harry. I’ll be okay. What about you and your daddy’s will? Any progress?”
“Looks like I’ll go the classified-ad way using high-end society magazines. Geoff’s going to look after the legalities.”
“A classified ad,” she said, scrunching her nose. “I can’t imagine what kind of female you’ll end up with.” Tiptoeing, she kissed his cheek. “You have everyone fooled, don’t you? With this big bad-boy facade? You’re a sensitive softie deep inside. You know the one thing I like the most about you? You’re kind to a fault.”
She couldn’t help laughing out loud at the deep blush staining his face. “And that aw-shucks look is pure seduction. I’ll help you choose her, Harry. I have good instincts about people.”
“Terry’s one lucky SOB,” he murmured and kissed her forehead.
“Come on,” she said and captured his hand. “Race you back to the villa.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Terry didn’t call, but Jean-Michel returned to the château before they sat down to dinner, and he joined them, taking the chair next to Su-Lin’s.
“How do things stand?”
“The coroner’s report came in before I left,” he answered. “Carol-Ann didn’t die from the bullet wound, Su-Lin. She died from an overdose of sleeping pills. There was no water in her lungs.”
“I don’t understand,” she muttered. “She was found in the water, right?”
“Oui, but she was dead before she fell or was thrown overboard.”
“But the gunshot?”
“The bullet’s definitely from Terry’s gun, but he has a solid alibi, and he wasn’t on board
the Glory.”
“And his father? Is he under arrest?”
“No, chérie,” he replied, caging her hand with both of his. “I arranged for a hotel suite, ordered room service for Terry, Thom, and their papa, including cigars and scotch, and then I left. I did not want to be the fifth wheel tonight. The brothers and their papa need to come to some sort of understanding. I doubt we’ll see them before noon tomorrow. I predict aching heads and guilty consciences.”
“I guess so. Do you think it’ll work out?”
“It’s a start, n’est-ce pas? After all these years, they’re talking.”
“And Carol-Ann’s not standing between them anymore. What she did was evil, Jean-Michel, not just to Terry, but to Thomas, to his father, even to you and me. She made all of them feel like lesser men. Now they can start to heal.”
“Healing will take some time, I think,” Miche said, and his sea-storm eyes took on a faraway film. “I remember the first time I told Thom I loved him. He said, ‘No you don’t, you can’t, no one could love a man like me. Find someone who’s good inside and love them.’” His gaze averted from hers; she saw him swallow a couple of times, and then he turned to her. “It broke my heart to see the pain in his eyes. He really believed what he’d said. But I agree with you, chérie. In time, they will both heal.”
“I hope so.”
Some unspoken agreement made them both turn to lighter topics for the rest of the meal. Of course, Tony’s boisterous attempts to be the center of attention also alleviated the slight tension in the air. A natural ham, the boy had the most astonishing repertoire of knock-knock jokes, and he soon had everyone holding their sides.
Brushing her teeth later, she did a little happy twirl and prayed for similar dinners from now on. An unending supply of happy meals with loads of conversation and unexpected but welcome visitors.
She fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow.
Sunlight warmed her cheeks, and a cool breeze nipped at one exposed shoulder. Su-Lin squeezed her eyes together and snuggled lower under the covers, curling her toes into the soft cotton oversheet. Something blew on the tip of her nose, tickling the spot. She twisted her nose left to right, sighed, and burrowed further under the warm down comforter.
A lock of hair feathered her earlobe, and she rubbed it on her collarbone, frowning a little as the movement chased away the image of stroking Terrence’s groin, teasing him so he angled his wondrous weapon to her palms, but she kept them out of his reach. A soft brush on her nape made her eyelids flicker open, and her lips curved, because she caught a hint of cinnamon and orange.
“Terrence,” she said, as strong arms encircled her waist and dragged her close. She wriggled her backside into his groin.
“You’re a hard woman to wake, darlin’,” he whispered, and his soft breath fluttered up her neck. “I’ve been tickling your nose and cheeks for at least ten minutes.”
Turning a little, she met his gray gaze and sighed. “I don’t believe that for a second, Terrence O’Connor. I happen to be a very light sleeper.”
“Hah! How many mornings have I left you sleeping like a log without even stirring while I showered and dressed?” He nuzzled her neck and slipped her borrowed nightgown off one shoulder.
“Miche thought you guys wouldn’t make it here before noon,” she said and tried to turn to face him. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Uh-uh,” he growled. “This is my show.”
“How did it go with your father last night?”
His busy hand, which had slipped under the open scoop of her gown and found her breast, hesitated. He sighed, nipped and licked across her shoulder blade, and rose on one elbow.
Rolling onto her back, she studied his face, the somber turn of his mouth. “Not good?”
“Uncomfortable, awkward, very strange.” Three words, three buttons undone, as his fingers shifted the old-fashioned nightie so the white material framed her breasts. “So pretty,” he said and drew the tip of one into his mouth, tonguing it taut and stiff.
Moaning, she arched closer, tangling her hand in his hair and closing her eyes as his teeth grazed her flesh, the sharp bite reflected in the sudden burning between her thighs. Her other hand met bare flesh, and her lids flew up. “You’re naked,” she said, smiling her approval. “This is what I was dreaming about while you were tickling my nose.”
“Rubbing my chest?” he asked, his hot mouth covering her right breast while his left hand kneaded and caressed the other. “You were dreaming about rubbing my chest, darlin’?” He peeked up at her, and the wicked playfulness in his charcoal irises made her heart stammer.
“No,” she retorted, squirming and tugging until the nightgown slipped past her thighs. “Rubbing this.” Her hand closed around the rigid length of him, and he thrust into her firm grip and groaned.
Seeking fingers crept across her folds, and he muttered, “Perfect, creamy. See how easily I can do this?” Two fingers slid into her warmth, and her hold on his cock loosened, slithering up to the head.
“You’re creamy too,” she whispered, feathering kisses on his shoulder, unable to gain access to more of him as his mouth and hand were still locked on to her breasts. “I…can’t…reach…you…anymore.” The words came out as a stuttered wail because another finger joined the happy two inside her. He began a slow, insistent plunge, withdraw, plunder, retreat that had her whimpering in Mandarin and English and some combination of both languages. Thrusting hips forward, she ground onto his thick, impaling digits.
Switching breasts and hands, he suckled her, his tongue and teeth greedy to constrict the tip to exploding, while rolling the other nipple between his fingers, drawing rigid with small pinches. Tiny spasms hit her sheath; he drove in deeper, the calluses on the pad of his thumb igniting her hooded nubbin. Breathing fractured, she cried out and clenched and tightened around his fingers, hips arching off the bed, heels digging into the mattress.
One knee nudged her thighs apart; the nightgown bunched at her ankles, and she kicked it off, desperate to have him inside her. The sheets tangled one calf, and she growled, “Damn it, get off.”
Chuckling, he reached down and flicked the sheet off them, spread her legs wide, and positioned himself at folds so needy they wept for him. Leaning on one elbow, he met her eyes and ordered, “Tell me if it hurts.”
That first feel of the head of his cock, thick and stretching, sent her wild. “All at once, please, please, it’s so delicious,” she babbled, trying to remember English, not Mandarin.
“Are you sure, darlin’?”
In answer, she grabbed the back of his head, slanted her mouth over his, and plunged her tongue into his mouth. The angle drove him a bit deeper, and she locked her legs around his waist and drove off the mattress to take all of him, grinding until they were skin to skin and he filled her, filled her.
He grasped her hip and pounded into her over and over; her climax started and went on and on, a series of convulsions and explosions. Her mind went into suspense, body reacting and relishing, and every time she thought she couldn’t, she orgasmed yet again.
His cadence increased, his grip on her pelvis almost painful, and he roared, his shouts echoing the succession of fierce, deep thrusts, which sent her internal muscles into cataclysmic contractions.
Tiny snatches of reality intruded on her catlike torpor: birds whistling in the distance, the smell of bread, no, chocolate cookies baking, and her stomach growled. Terry started to rise, and she tightened her leg over his hip. Skin met and slid over the thin sheen of moisture coating both their bodies. She licked his shoulder. “I like the way you taste and smell after.”
“I’m too heavy for you,” he said, stopped nuzzling her neck, and raised his head to meet her gaze.
“Never.”
“Trust me,” he ordered. “This will be better.” He rolled over and arranged her on top of him, legs straddling his hips. Reaching down, he toed the sheet up to one hand and covered her shoulders, tucking the ends under.
One arm held her waist firmly; the other stroked her back.
“Are you hurting?”
“Silly man. I’m in ecstasy, not pain.” She kissed the center of his chest. “Terry?” Tracing a figure eight around his nipple, she met his gaze. “Do you think everyone will be nice enough to pretend they didn’t hear you just now?”
He laughed so hard he slipped out of her, and she cuffed his right biceps. “That’s not funny.”
“Considering you were almost as vocal as I was.”
She clamped a hand over his mouth. “Was not.”
He nodded, his eyes glistening, mouth twitching against her palm.
“You don’t understand. I wasn’t, or else we won’t ever do it again unless I know the room’s soundproof.”
Gray eyes shifted left to right; he licked the center of her hand, and she heard a muffled, “done.”
When she removed her hand, the mirth left his storm-cloud eyes, the pupils dilating until she became convinced light couldn’t penetrate their darkness.
“What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk.”
She could have sworn the ceiling lowered by five feet, bearing down on her chest. Chewing the inside of her mouth, Su-Lin squared her shoulders and said, “I know.”
“Not here. You’re hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.”
“If it’s bad news, I want to know now.” She stared at an irregular whorl in the paisley wallpaper.
“We need to talk about what happened between Carol-Ann and me, Su-Lin. And I don’t want the magic of what just happened between us to be tainted by discussing it here.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs in…” He checked his watch and added, “Fifteen minutes?”
“You’re not staying with me?” she blurted, knowing a horrified expression had crossed her face.
“Not from not wanting to, darlin’,” he replied, knuckling the side of her face. “You need to know everything first, and then you can decide if you still want to be with me.”
“Terrence --”
“Shh,” he whispered, placing a finger over her lips. “We do this my way. You have to hear everything first.”
