by Lyn Stone
But by the time Molly’s brother returned, he wouldn’t have a sister to worry about anymore. And Jack would be gone.
So, who was it back there? Every time he got ready to stop, get out and confront whoever it was, the SUV disappeared. Until he found out who was trailing him, he’d have to put off doing anything else to Molly.
Spitting out the foulest curse he knew, Jack headed home, seething with fury and frustration. At least the bastard couldn’t follow him inside his own gates!
Once Jensen’s car entered the grounds and was out of sight, Damien parked on the side of the street so that the Explorer was hidden from the house by the stone wall. Molly was dozing, obviously weary. It had been a tiring day, but he thought Jensen was running scared now, wondering who was after him.
When he heard the dogs, Damien got out, walked past where the animals waited and fed them. Two additional times today, when Jensen had been holed up in his father’s office building, Damien had quickly swung by and tossed jerky to the animals.
This time, he held the back of his hand just close enough so they could sniff, but not bite it. He crooned nonsense, calling their names. Both dogs whined, straining between the bars of the gate, begging for more treats. He offered them one each.
“Sit,” he commanded. They sat. He rewarded them with praise and another tasty tidbit and then returned to the Explorer where Molly waited.
“This is ridiculous,” Molly told him. “You’re not going in there!” She’d said exactly that every time he’d done this. “You’re not!”
“Let’s have dinner,” he suggested, ignoring her words. “Your choice of restaurant.” He shrugged when she named one they had passed only minutes before, and proceeded to backtrack and find it.
“Well, the proximity’s convenient,” he said. “And there is a motel attached. I would imagine you’re tired of all our driving around, being cooped up in the car, aren’t you?”
He knew he was. Having Molly alone in a motel room—again—wouldn’t do a blessed thing to relieve this ache for her that was driving him mad, but at least he could stretch out. “We’ll get a room.”
“Rooms,” she corrected, giving him a level look that said she was thinking straight, if he was not. “Two rooms this time.”
“Connecting,” he compromised, surprised when she didn’t argue.
To Molly’s disappointment, the motel restaurant served tasteless prime rib and wine that was little more than sweetened grape juice. The rooms proved as tasteless as the food, but were clean at least. Damien was probably appalled.
“Sorry about picking this one,” she said as he glanced around her room, frowning. “It’s not exactly the Ritz, is it?”
“It’s not safe, either,” he commented, visually measuring the distance between the plate-glass window and the door lock. “An amateur with a glass cutter could be in here in seconds.”
He ambled across the room, stopped directly in front of her and settled his hand in the curve of her neck. His thumb caressed the underside of her chin. “We’d best stay together.”
“Now, just wait a minute, Damien,” she began to protest, wishing she could tear her gaze away from the desire in his eyes. “We can’t—”
He silenced her with that determined look she could never say no to. “We can.”
She pulled away sharply then and turned her back to him. “Okay, stay, if you insist! But it’s not necessary and you know it as well as I do.” She flopped down onto the edge of the king-size bed, turned on her side away from him and closed her eyes. “Good night.”
“Good night, Molly,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Sleep well.”
There was less chance of Jack looking for them here than there was of the roof caving in while they slept, Molly thought. If they slept, that is. The security of the room—or lack of it—had nothing at all to do with Damien’s staying in here.
She knew exactly why he insisted. He wanted to share the bed with her. But they were not going to have sex and that was that, because that’s all it would be. If it turned out to be more, that would be even worse.
She listened as he moved restlessly around the room, clicked the locks shut on the outer and inner doors, fiddled with the drapes a moment and finally went into the bathroom.
The shower ran for a while, causing her to visualize what a glorious sight he must be, all those deliciously wet muscles rippling beneath the stinging jets of water. Cold water? she wondered wickedly. He’d been aroused and hadn’t even bothered to hide it.
Later, Molly felt the mattress give as he lay down on the opposite side of the bed. Was he fully clothed again? No doubt he was, but she couldn’t dismiss the memory of him half naked in that thin hospital gown all those months ago when they’d first met. Her pulse skipped just thinking about it.
Maybe she should be taking the cold shower, Molly thought with a sigh of frustration. She got up, visited the bathroom herself, drew a little frowny on the steamed-up mirror and then washed her face. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but return to bed and try to sleep.
Never had a king-size bed seemed so narrow to her, the gulf between her and Damien a magnetic field that tried relentlessly to tug them together, toward the ultimate pleasure, and toward a risk she dared not take. She fought temptation with all her might for the longest time, adamantly feigning sleep, until she heard his breathing even out.
Would it have hurt, to give in to what she felt for him? Not tonight, she told herself. It certainly wouldn’t hurt tonight. But eventually, it would make her miserable. Once she’d given herself to Damien, Molly was afraid there would be no getting herself back, even when he was ready to move on.
That he might want to stay should never have occurred to her. She could not allow herself to build any pipe dreams. It was merely her hormones kicking up a fuss. And look where that had gotten her the last time she’d wanted a man.
She had wanted Jack once, Molly admitted, but that had been an insignificant little twitch of hunger compared to the way she craved Damien Perry. All she could do was clasp her hands together to keep them off him, and curl closer to her edge of the bed. That pull was that damned strong.
Damien woke Molly very early, offering no comment on the fact that she was not a morning person. He merely pointed her toward the bathroom while he went out to find coffee for her. Then he guided her out to the Explorer and ushered her inside.
She muttered her thanks, finally, when the caffeine kicked in. He sort of liked that she wasn’t all that chatty on awakening. It was a good quality in a woman, he decided.
This time, it was much more difficult to ignore how sexy she looked while still half asleep. How great that pouty mouth of hers would feel when he kissed her fully awake. Or maybe he wouldn’t wake her completely at first. With a firm snap of his head, he dismissed what he was thinking. Not yet, he told himself. Maybe someday, but definitely not now.
Just before dawn, they were situated so that they could see the Jensens’ gates again. In the weak illumination of the streetlights, he watched her yawn widely, covering her mouth and issuing a groan. He should have bought her two cups.
She still looked a bit tousled from sleep. Incredibly desirable. Driving him crazy.
Damien turned his head and stared out into the darkness, knowing full well Molly hadn’t slept any more than he had. When she’d finally drifted off, he had closed the distance between them and held her the way he wanted to. Well, almost the way he wanted. He treasured the feeling of her absolute trust, much as it had discomforted him at the time.
He could have had her then with very little effort or persuasion, but instinct told him that to do so would have been a grave mistake. An error Molly might have enjoyed, but probably wouldn’t forgive.
Damien was not certain, even now, how he could stand to let her go when the time came. But along with intimacy, he would have to offer Molly a commitment. She was simply that kind of woman. And Damien didn’t believe he had it in him to become what she needed.
Marriage had occurred to him more than once, but he’d rejected that possibility.
What did he know of loving or being loved, of giving more than taking, of sharing himself the way a husband and father should? Such things must be taught from an early age and by example, for them to be real.
Curse his luck, he’d had no teachers available for those lessons. Now it was too late for him. Too late for them, even before they’d begun. Before he’d met her. A unique and intriguing woman who moved him more than any person he’d ever known, and he couldn’t have her because he simply didn’t know how.
He turned on the radio to distract his thoughts. The sky lightened gradually to the eloquent voice of Mirella Freni pouring out her sensitive aria from Madama Butterfly.
Damien couldn’t resist reaching for Molly’s hand, feeling it tense as his closed around it. He caressed her palm with his thumb as he listened to the heart-rending sound of the music. The painful notes of absolute loss with no help for it. He could identify. The sun rose on a particularly poignant passage and streetlights automatically flickered off.
Molly leaned forward and defiantly punched at the radio. Suddenly fiddles blared and a cocky female group declared they were “Ready to Run.” He shot her a questioning look.
“Dixie Chicks,” she declared, tugging her hand from his. “What’s the matter, sport? Don’t you like ’em?”
“Oh, like can’t begin to describe what they make me feel,” he admitted, hiding a smile. “Puccini doesn’t hold a candle, does he?”
She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her breasts. “I know changing stations was rude. I apologize.”
“Mmm-hmm, but you’ve done that before,” he commented.
“Well, after that hand-holding business and all, I was trying to make a point.”
Damien nodded. “Point taken. When I’m behind the wheel, you have control of the radio.”
Her laughter was fleet and self-conscious. “No, silly! That our tastes are wildly different. In music, and just about everything else, I bet. You go for Grand Opera, I go for the Grand Ol’ Opry. Nothing in common. Not a single thing. So there’s no use getting too chummy…in other areas, if you know what I mean.”
“You might convert me,” he suggested offhandedly, appreciating her embarrassed attempt to ward off disaster, wondering why on earth he was arguing when he agreed with her completely. “Or we could meet on some middle ground. Jazz? I like that. Some rock.”
She shook her head, smiling a sad little smile. “Music’s only the tip of the iceberg, Damien. We are who we are, and never the twain shall meet.”
“Never the twain? Aha, you’re a poet at heart! I do like poetry,” he said, cocking his head to one side to see what she would try next.
“I nearly flunked English lit,” she said, almost proudly. “Poetry always made me giggle.”
“‘Like a high-born maiden in a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden soul in secret hour,’” Damien quoted to the strains of classic Bluegrass banjos, “‘With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower.’”
“Now that’s rich!” She did giggle, by God, and it didn’t sound faked.
“I suppose our old Percy is a bit flowery,” he admitted.
Molly was trying so hard to argue him—and probably herself—out of pursuing a relationship. He already knew it was futile, but somehow resented the fact that she’d realized it, as well.
Her reasons for that realization were what angered him most. She made him sound like a snob of the worst kind, one who put cultural differences above anything else. What would she say if he told her the real reason they should give it up had nothing to do with that?
“Mount up and tally ho,” she said laconically. “Our fox is leaving the cage.”
Damien jerked his attention to the matter at hand and watched Jensen’s car pull out onto the street. The gates closed and the chase was on.
He allowed the Mercedes a sizable lead since traffic was sparse and it was too soon for them to be noticed. Jensen should begin feeling a bit smug first before he spotted them.
“I’ll bet he’s going to the office again,” Molly guessed. “That’s the direction he’s taking, anyway. Old John must be serious about him taking over part of the business. Jack never seemed to care before.”
However, three blocks away from the Jensen building, Jack made a sudden left and pulled up to a Waffle House.
“Cook’s day off, or is he curious who’s behind him?” Molly asked. “Are we hungry, too?”
“Working up an appetite, aren’t you?” Fortunately he was able to remain a couple of cars back in the turn lane until Jack went inside the restaurant.
“Now that’s what I call luck,” Damien said as he scanned the parking lot. “This couldn’t be better if I had orchestrated it myself. Look, there’s a squad car, down near the end.”
“It’s showtime, right?” Molly asked.
“Right.” He wheeled in then, and parked so that the car window on her side faced the glass front of the restaurant.
“Jack’s sitting at the counter, looking out,” Molly observed. “See him?”
“The mouse watching for the cats.” Damien smiled and pushed the button to open her window. “And he’s about to see us, too. Right…about…now!” He leaned forward a bit so that Jensen was certain to glimpse him as well as Molly.
Anger suffused the man’s face, turning it dangerously red. Damien knew the exact instant Jensen realized who had been trailing him around town.
“Let’s raise his blood pressure one more notch,” Damien suggested. Then he pulled Molly toward him, took her in his arms and kissed her passionately.
Surprised, she struggled for a second before her mouth melded softly to his. God, she tasted fine! He had to struggle a bit himself to keep his mind clear and his eyes open so he could watch for audience reaction.
Anger to pure mindless fury! Perfect!
Shoving off the counter stool, Jensen tore out of the doors of the Waffle House and stomped toward the Explorer.
Damien quickly broke the kiss and grinned while he hit the door lock and pushed the button to close the automatic window. “Come on, you lowlife, make a scene for us,” he encouraged in a low voice.
A split second later, fists pounded the glass. Shouted curses and warnings overrode the sounds of traffic.
Molly laughed nervously and clung to his sleeve. He held her tighter. “Steady, love.”
Damien tapped the horn several times, as much to stir Jensen’s fury as to distract the cops from their breakfast. “Hmm, that worked swell on both counts,” he noted, shifting Molly farther away from the window in the event Jensen managed to break the glass. “Here comes the cavalry. Watch this.”
They observed with satisfaction as two uniformed policeman approached Jack from behind and grabbed his arms. In seconds they’d secured him with handcuffs and led him away from the car, struggling.
“Wow!” Molly said with a tense chuckle, and pushed away from him so she could see better. “Ask me if I love this!”
One of the cops tapped lightly on the window and Damien obediently opened it, wearing the most innocent expression he owned. “Officer, thank God, you were here.”
“Yeah, well…” Suspicion crinkled the weather-beaten face. “That guy says you were kissing his wife right out here in the parking lot, trying to drive him crazy. Now is that true?”
“Like we’d have to try!” Molly exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “We were just sitting here minding our own business. I haven’t been Jack Jensen’s wife for two years. He just got out of jail for assault. Now he’s violating a protection order by approaching me. You think I’d actually go looking for him?”
“Guess we better haul him in,” the officer said with a weary sigh, no doubt thinking about his abandoned breakfast.
“That might be wise,” Damien suggested. “He seems…distraught, to say the least. Maybe dangerous?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” the cop said, turning halfway ar
ound to glance at Jensen who was busy threatening the other officer with a lawsuit for false arrest. “You coming down to press charges, ma’am?”
“Absolutely,” Molly said. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“He’ll probably be out within twenty-four hours,” he warned her. “You might want to make yourself scarce about then, at least until he cools off.”
“No problem,” Damien assured him. “We’ll follow you to the station.” He hoped Detective Winton was on duty today. This incident might add weight to the complaint about the bees.
Only that was not to be.
“Where is this going?” Molly asked Damien after they left the main precinct where she’d filed charges against Jack.
What a high she had felt, seeing him cuffed and taken in, knowing she’d been instrumental in having it done. But she’d quickly deflated when she saw that the arrest didn’t scare Jack at all. He’d shown no remorse, no fright, and no intention whatsoever of abandoning his quest for revenge.
The glare he shot her before they had shoved him into the back seat of the squad car remained etched in her brain. It had been a promise. A renewed and beefed-up vow, that look.
“Will I ever get my life back?” she asked Damien. “What’s it going to take to do that?”
“I know you’re worried. So am I. We might have made things worse.” He hesitated until they stopped at a red light, then looked at her with an apology in his eyes. “I had hoped an arrest would drive home the fact that he’s not immune to the stalking laws. Also, make him realize that the police would come after him if anything else happened to you. Fear of another sentence should have convinced him to leave you alone, but now I honestly don’t think it will.”
“No, Jack’s more than determined. He’s obsessed. If looks could kill, we’d both be dead right now. If he’d gotten to us through the car window, he would have tried to murder us on the spot. And he didn’t care who saw him, did he?”
