evacuation. The guests who had been inconvenienced were being comped with a free night's stay.
"Accident?" Lucas touched a blackened two-by-four and came away with soot on his fingers.
"Doubtful." Ray knelt beside Lucas. "From what we can see, and from talking to everyone in the kitchen, rags and cleaners were never kept in here. We'll be more certain after we run an investigation."
Lucas didn't need an investigation to know that the fire was started intentionally. He might not be able to prove it, but he knew. And he also knew who started it.
He glanced over at Julianna. She stood several feet away with Claudio, the head chef, watching the fire fighters sweep up the excess water. She'd insisted on coming back here with him, and he'd been in too much of a hurry to argue.
"We'll be questioning everyone who worked last night." Ray stood, then waved at one of his men to set up the fans by the back door. "I've already asked the manager for a list, plus any other people who might have been around here that didn't belong."
"Thanks, anyway." Lucas brushed off his hands as he straightened. "But I'll take care of everything in-house."
Ray tipped his head back and frowned. "Well, I don't know, Lucas. Your insurance will want—"
"The damage was minimal. We'll have everything cleaned up and be back to normal in a couple of hours." Lucas held out his hand. "Tell your men they've all got a night's stay on the house, dinner included."
Ray brightened at the offer, then took Lucas's hand. "That ought to make you a popular guy. I hear your restaurant is just about the best food south of Dallas."
"Don't let Claudio hear you say that," Lucas whispered with a smile. "He thinks we're the best, period."
"Oh. Right." Ray glanced at the chef, whose hands were waving frantically while he rattled something in Italian to one of the workers. "Sorry. We'll be out of your way in two shakes. If we can help in any way, just give a call."
Ray called out to one of his men to get a move on, then touched the brim of his hat to Julianna as he moved past her. Arms folded, she smiled tentatively at the man, then picked her way across the wet floor and stood in front of Lucas. "Do you know what happened?"
"Not yet." He took her arm and led her out of the kitchen. "Right now I need to concentrate on getting this place operational again. Take my car back to the house, and I'll have Nick drop me off later."
"But I can't just—"
He pressed the keys into her hand. "You're a distraction, Julianna. Go back to the house. I'll call you later."
He didn't give her a chance to argue, just turned and headed back into the kitchen, determined not to let her see his anger.
It was nearly midnight when Lucas pulled up in front of the house. He hadn't been able to get ahold of Nick all day, so he'd borrowed a hotel delivery van and driven home. He'd meant to call Julianna, but between the cleanup from the fire, doubling the kitchen staff to make up for lost time and settling down a few nervous guests, the time had simply got away from him.
He shut off the motor and sat staring at the dark house. He assumed she'd already gone to bed, but the porch light was on, and he wondered if she'd left it on intentionally for him.
Surprised that he would even consider the idea, he shook his head and let himself into the house, torn between making enough racket to wake her up or tiptoeing and letting her sleep.
Either way he was going to have to confront the fact that there was one bed and two of them.
He'd been unsettled all day, short-tempered with the staff at the hotel and even the extra clean-up crew he'd hired. But his irritability wasn't just because of the fire. He'd been thinking about Julianna. What she'd felt like underneath him this morning in bed, what she'd tasted like. There'd never been another woman he'd given such thought to, who had him turned inside out and tied up in knots.
He didn't like it one little bit.
And then he'd think about the look on her face when she'd found out they were going to live here, in this house. It was the first time he'd really seen a smile reach her blue eyes, the first time those stiff shoulders of hers had loosened.
He shut the door behind him with a soft click. He wouldn't wake her, he decided. He was too keyed up right now to face her. It would be easier in the morning, he wouldn't be so uptight. He'd be in control.
A beer would help him unwind, he thought, and made his way toward the kitchen, wishing there was something stronger in the house to cut the edge.
"Lucas?"
He slammed face first into the kitchen doorjamb at her soft call, then swore heatedly.
Flipping on the light in the entry, she came toward him, her brow furrowed. The robe she had on was long and floral. Pink roses, he noted, and even through the pain radiating up into his skull he couldn't help but wonder what she wore underneath.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
"Tell my nose that." He touched it carefully, wiggled it to see if anything was broken. "Do you always sneak up on people in the dark?"
"Not often. Are you all right?" She looked up at him, and the amusement in her eyes eclipsed her weak attempt at concern. "Would you like an ice pack?"
What I'd like is for you to get naked, he nearly said, then turned away from her. "I'll manage. Go back to bed."
"I want to talk to you, Lucas."
Talk? That was last thing he felt like doing. But the first thing was better left unsaid. Gritting his teeth, he opened the refrigerator, rooted for a beer and came up with a quart of chocolate milk.
"It's late." He lifted the carton to his mouth. "And it's been one hell of a long day."
"My father started the fire, didn't he?"
He drank deeply, then swiped at his mouth with the back of his fisted hand. "We don't know."
"But you think he did it, don't you?"
With a heavy sigh he slipped the milk back into the refrigerator and closed the door. "I have someone looking into it."
In fact, the man he'd had tailing Hadley had shown up this morning at the hotel, chagrined that the old man had given him the slip for a couple of hours the previous night, then reappeared again at the motel he'd been staying in.
The stiffness in her shoulders was back, he noted irritably. Her lips were pressed tightly together. "I knew nothing about it, Lucas. I swear I didn't."
"Who said you did?" he asked carefully.
"He came to the hotel last night."
Lucas struggled to keep his hands from tightening into fists. "Your father?"
"Somehow he found out that I was at the hotel, that I'd been working in the lounge."
There were several things on the tip of his tongue, not one of which she'd like or want to hear at the moment. "I had people watching for him. How did he get in without being seen?"
She shook her head. "I'm not sure. It's dark in there, we were very busy with a group of ranchers from Austin. He came and left so quickly even I wondered if I'd imagined it. You and Nick came in about thirty minutes after that."
But she'd said nothing to him. Not last night, not this morning or when she'd come back to the hotel with him. Not one word. His hands did tighten into fists now. "Are we playing guessing games, or are you going to tell me what he said?"
"He said that you'd never get away with any of this, that he had lawyers working on it and when he was done—"
She stopped abruptly, and he took hold of her shoulders. "When he was done, what?"
Drawing in a slow breath, she lifted her gaze to his. "That you'd wish you'd gotten off as easy as your father."
The raw, fierce anger that Julianna saw in Lucas's eyes made her go cold. This was why she hadn't told him, because she couldn't stand the thought of him looking at her like this.
"I know I should have told you right away," she said, afraid she might come apart. "But you were already so angry with me last night in the bar."
"Angry? You don't have a clue what that is if you thought I was angry last night." He let go of her, turned away. "Go to bed, Jul
ianna or you might find out."
He wouldn't hurt her, not physically, she was certain of that. But she could see the tension coiled in him, could feel it quake in the night air. A smart woman would walk away. Fast. But smart had nothing to do with matters of the heart.
"I don't want to go to bed, Lucas." Her heart slammed in her chest as she reached out and touched his back. "Not alone."
He brought his head up sharply. Though only for a second, she saw the surprise in his eyes. And then the anger was back, as black as ever.
"What makes you think I want you right now?" he said coldly. "Or do you think by inviting me to have sex with you, you can clear your conscience?"
She was wrong. He could hurt her physically, even if it was with words. She let her hand slip away, then stepped back. This morning she'd thought that there'd been something between herself and Lucas. Not when they'd almost made love at the hotel—that had been pure sex. But here, at the house, sitting on his mother's bed. Something had passed between them in that brief moment, something quieter, yet more profound than anything before.
Then the phone call had come, and he'd pushed her away again, been reminded of the past. What a fool she'd been to think that their situation could ever change.
She wouldn't cry. God help her, she wouldn't. Not here, in front of him. Very calmly, very carefully, she dove deep inside herself, found the last thread of dignity she possessed, then lifted her chin as she leveled her gaze with his.
"The plumber came by this afternoon and set the sink in the guest bathroom upstairs," she said evenly. "He said he'd call you tomorrow about replacing the pipes in the basement."
She turned smoothly, amazed that legs as weak as hers could actually move. "I left your car keys on the dining room table if you need them in the morning. Good night."
One deliberate step at a time she walked back upstairs, nearly made it to the top of the steps before he had hold of her arm and whipped her around to face him.
"Always the Ice Princess, aren't you? 'Take me to bed, Lucas,'" he mimicked her, forcing her back against the wall at the top of the stairs. " 'And by the way, the plumber came by.'"
"What do you want from me?" she choked out. "I don't know what you want."
"This, Julianna." He dragged her against him. "You know this is what I want. You've always known it."
He crushed his mouth savagely to hers, ravaging her. She gasped for breath and he took his advantage, parting her lips with his tongue, then plunging into her mouth. He was completely out of control, and a mixture of fear and excitement rocked her.
His body was so hard against hers, still coiled with his anger. Again and again he slanted his mouth to hers, plundered her body, her senses. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She'd wanted this, wanted him, but not with such fury, such rage. She could protest, was certain that he would stop this madness if she did, but she simply hadn't the strength to fight him anymore. She hadn't the will.
So she let him have his way, let him kiss her, devour her. She felt herself go limp in his arms, felt the excitement she'd experienced only a moment ago turn cold. Maybe he was right. Maybe everyone was right. Perhaps she was made of ice, after all.
He was only dimly aware that her hands had dropped from his chest and now hung loosely at her sides. The feel of her body pressed snugly against his, the taste of her sweet mouth, had overpowered every other thought, had made his head swim in a dark haze of need. He wanted as he'd never wanted before, with a desperation that shocked and infuriated him.
No woman had ever brought him to this. He felt weak, devastated. Out of control.
And when he touched her face, felt the dampness there, he felt ashamed.
Dropping his hands, he stepped back. The light was dim, but he could see that her hair lay tousled around her soft shoulders, that her lips were swollen and still moist from his kisses. His self-respect fought with that part of himself that didn't give a damn if she was willing or not, but in the end, as he stared at the tears on her cheeks, self-respect won.
He drew in a ragged breath, couldn't bring himself to say the words that she deserved. "I've got a sleeping bag in the living room," he said hoarsely, and started down the stairs. "I'll sleep down there." "I'm sorry, Lucas."
Her soft words stopped him, surprised him. He turned, watched, as her eyes opened slowly. At the sight of her trembling, he felt a hitch in his chest, a tug that he'd never felt before.
All the anger, all the dark fury of need, dissolved. In one swift move he reached for her, pulled her into his arms.
She shook her head, tried to move away, but he tugged her gently back. "I won't hurt you, Julianna. Just be still, let me hold you."
She did still, but her back was arrow straight, her fingers knotted into fists on his chest. "I should have told you about my father right away," she said shakily. "The fire is all my fault."
"No." He smoothed her hair back. "Even if you had told me, we wouldn't have guessed he would do something that foolish. It's not the fire I'm angry about."
"It's not?" She sniffed, then lifted her gaze to his.
He shook his head, wiped at a tear with the pad of his thumb. "I was upset that he got that close to you, that I wasn't able to keep him away."
"You were worried about me?"
At the astonishment in her voice, he couldn't help but smile. "That surprises you?"
She searched his face, then released a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. "I am cold," she whispered, and the anguish in her voice tapped at the armor shielding his heart. "Frigid. Just like everyone says."
He might have laughed if he hadn't realized that she was serious. Julianna frigid? More than she would ever know, he understood that the facade of indifference was nothing more than protection, a defense against a world that could sometimes be unfair and even cruel.
"No," he said quietly, soothing her stiff back with his hands. "Of all the things you are, it's not frigid."
Unknotting her fists, she leaned into him with a sigh. He felt the beat of her heart, the brush of her fingertips against his chest. "I don't blame you, Lucas. For not wanting me. I understand. I'm Mason Hadley's daughter, I can't change that. Every time you look at me, I can only imagine what you think, what you feel."
Obviously she couldn't imagine, he thought. The passion he'd tamped down only moments before began to flare again under her restless fingers. Her touch burned him, right through the cotton shirt he wore, right through his skin. He felt the blood pound in his temples, felt his heart slam against his chest.
"What I think, Julianna, and what I feel about you, has nothing to do with your father." He cupped her chin in his palm and lifted her face to his. "I want you. I've wanted you for as long as I can remember. Before I left Wolf River and now. I didn't choose to feel this way, and I might not like it, but it's the truth."
Confusion clouded her eyes. "I don't understand what you're saying."
He sighed, skimmed his fingers over her jaw, then down her throat. "Then maybe you'll understand this."
He lowered his mouth to hers, gently this time, brushed her lips with his, then her cheeks, her eyes.
She was so soft, her skin silky smooth. He murmured her name, then tugged at the loose knot of her robe. It spilled open, and he slipped his hands inside, circled her small waist with his hands. Her cotton gown was modest, the same rose design as the robe, with a high, lace-edged neckline. So feminine, so soft, he thought, and brought his mouth back to hers.
She parted her lips on a sigh, opened to him as she never had before. Willingly, knowingly, and that knowledge alone nearly sent him over the edge. She made a soft sound in her throat, almost a purr, and curled her fingers up his neck and through his hair, raising on her tiptoes while she pressed her body to his.
Her tongue moved with his—an instinctive, rhythmic mating that made his blood pound in his head. Her taste was mint, his chocolate, and the mix was erotically pleasing. He deepened the kiss, wanting more of her, all of her, and she responded ea
gerly, molding her lips to his while tightening her arms around his neck.
He cupped her buttocks in his hands, pressed her back against the wall. "Do you know what I want to do to you?" he asked raggedly.
Her eyes, heavy with desire, opened slowly. Her lips parted in invitation.
"Everything," he murmured, and unable to resist, he caught her mouth with his, kissed her thoroughly, until she moaned against his lips. He lifted her, pressed his arousal between her legs.
"I want to take you right here. Lift that pretty gown of yours and bury myself inside you." He tightened his hold on her, moved against her until she moaned again. "I want you to feel me inside you. Feel how hard I am for you, how much I want you. I want to feel you tighten around me, go wild for me. Just for me."
She shuddered at his words, then reached for him, twisted against him in a frantic attempt to ease the frustration building between them. Gritting his teeth, and with a will of iron, he stilled her rocking hips.
"But I'm not going to do that, Julianna," he whispered, and bent down to brush his lips against the wild pulse at the base of her throat. "Not right here, not now."
A sob tore from her throat. "Lucas, please don't do this to me again. Don't leave me."
He laughed softly, nibbled his way up her neck to her earlobe. "Not a chance, sweetheart. In spite of what you might think, I am human and there is blood in my veins. But I'm also a man of honor, and I made a promise to you that I intend to keep."
"Promise?" Her eyes were open now, though still dazed.
"That when we made love it would be slow and long. Remember?"
She nodded. "And no one would interrupt us."
"Not unless they want to die," he said roughly, then gathered her to him.
Chapter Eight
Heat coursed through Julianna's veins. Her pulse raced wildly as Lucas lifted her easily and carried her into the bedroom. She'd always known that Lucas was a large man, of course, but suddenly she felt dwarfed by his broad chest and muscular shoulders. Light from the three-quarter moon streamed through the open windows, casting shadows over the hardwood floor and into the corners, and a soft breeze carried in the scent of a honeysuckle vine that had grown wild up the outside trellis.
Secrets 01- Blackhawk’s Sweet Revenge Page 8
