Live-In Lover

by Lyn Stone

  He turned toward Jensen, then raised his wrist to look at his watch. “Two minutes to spare,” he noted with a lift of his brows.

  “I—I need to speak to you,” Jensen muttered. “Privately.”

  Damien waited a few beats, watching him sweat. “Very well. Molly, darling, you and Sydney should find dry clothes, shouldn’t you? Blancher, see to some towels for Mrs. Jensen and Detective Winton. There’s a stack in the laundry room off the kitchen, I believe.” He stood there, perfectly composed, watching Jensen fidget as the others left the foyer.

  When they had gone, he offered the man a cold smile. “Now, what can I do for you, sir?”

  Jensen was steamed, but residual fear must have kept him civil. “What do you intend to do?” he asked curtly.

  “Arrest you for kidnapping, of course,” Damien replied. “You, your wife and your pitiful excuse for a son.”

  “Be reasonable and let it end here,” Jensen said, glancing toward the kitchen. “Mildred and I were only trying to help out. Jack wanted his little girl. He thinks Molly’s not capable—”

  “Careful there,” Damien warned pleasantly. “You don’t want to incite my rage again today, now do you?” The edge of fury crept into his voice in spite of his resolve to contain it. “I know exactly why he took Sydney, and so do you.”

  Jensen’s eyes grew hard. “I can buy protection from you, Perry. For myself and my son. I can also have your badge if you push this.”

  “Threatening a federal agent, Jensen? This gets better and better. Charges are stacking up.” He took the cuffs out of his pocket and held them out. “You want to come quietly, or do I get to shoot you, after all?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve got no proof! And you’ll never find any. I paid the ransom, got the kid back and delivered her here. That’s my story. Check the phone company. There’ll be a record of the call by the kidnappers. The bank will verify an emergency withdrawal of fifty thousand cash from my personal account within the last hour. And all three of us have alibis for the night she was snatched.”

  Damien calmly replaced the handcuffs in his pocket. “Money can accomplish wonders in some instances. One thing you should realize, however.”

  “And that is?” Jensen said smoothly, certain he had won the round.

  No father, good or bad, would want to hear what he had to say, but Damien hoped he would listen. “You cannot buy safety for a man who is out of control. Think what your son has done, Jensen. He terrorized a woman and child. His own child!”

  “That’s debatable,” Jensen muttered, but his words lacked conviction.

  “You know it isn’t. Even if that were the case, he still made you and his mother accessories to a crime. And he’s not finished unless you do something about it. Jack is headed for destruction like a runaway train. If you’re wise, have him committed and get him some help before it’s too late.”

  Jensen snorted and rolled his eyes. “This advice, from the man who threatened to blow Jack’s head off?”

  Damien sighed and shrugged. “Yes, well, I might yet have to do that if there’s no other way to stop him.”

  After a staring down that Damien won, Jensen sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. With his bluster gone, he looked tired and old. Sick at heart. “I’ll keep Jack out of town, away from them. He’ll listen to me.”

  “How can you be sure?” Damien demanded. “Has he ever listened before?”

  Jensen nodded. “Money’s the key, unfortunately. Jack has no other means of support. I’ll make it a firm condition. He won’t come back.”

  “If he ever does,” Damien vowed, pinning Jensen with a glare, “it will be his final trip home. Or anywhere.”

  Jensen’s expensive wingtips squished as he strode to the kitchen, grasped his wife by the arm and marched her back past Damien to the front door. Without another word or look, the couple left, slogging through the dark downpour to reach their car.

  Winton had followed them as far as the entry. “Mrs. Jensen repeated that fairy tale about the ransom. The old man covered their butts, didn’t he?”

  “With solid-gold britches,” Damien confirmed. “Right down to the phone call, withdrawal and the drop. He’s quick, I will grant him that.”

  “Will you pursue it?” Winton asked.

  Damien wondered if he should. The fact that he hesitated told him more about his own position than he wanted to know. He was sworn to uphold the law and the Jensens were clearly guilty, all three of them.

  He also understood how the legal system worked. If he took them in, they would be free on bail within hours of the arrest. The trials—assuming there were arraignments in the first place—probably wouldn’t be on the docket for at least a year. With no priors for John and Mildred, they would get probation. Jack might get a few years, but even that was iffy. Juries could be bought and John was in a mood to throw money around. Sydney was Jack’s daughter. They might even be sympathetic.

  He looked at Winton to gauge his reaction. “If we leave it alone, Jensen has promised to keep Jack at a distance. If we bring him back, he’ll be released on bail and be required to stay here. Defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it.”

  Winton made a face. “Be a bugger to get any proof when we know the old man’s got all the bases covered.” He shrugged and sighed. “Win some, lose some. That’s the way it goes, but damn, I hate it.”

  Molly rejoined them, wearing a long fluffy robe. She had slicked her wet curls into an off-center mop on top of her head.

  “You shine,” Damien said without realizing he’d spoken out loud until he heard his own words.

  She laughed full-out, head back and eyes closed. If he’d ever seen anyone look more appealing and delicious, he couldn’t recall it.

  Winton cleared his throat. “Guess I’ll hit the road. Glad you got your little girl back, Ms. Jensen.”

  “Thank you,” Molly said sincerely, still wearing a huge smile as she held out her hand.

  Damien opened the door and shook Winton’s hand as he left. “I owe you.”

  “Send me a case of beer,” Winton suggested with a wink. “Take care of ’em,” he added, inclining his head toward Molly.

  Molly slipped into his arms the minute the door was closed. In a low voice, she droned, “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to relocate Agent Blancher. He’s laid claim to my kitchen and I think he wants me to adopt him.”

  He laughed and kissed her forehead. It felt like satin and smelled of baby shampoo. Her body moved sinuously against his, suggesting a reward if he undertook the task she’d assigned.

  “Give me two minutes and Blancher is history,” he murmured. “Is Sydney asleep?”

  “Down for the count,” she answered, her face now sober, her body motionless in his arms. “It was all I could do to leave her in there by herself, but I know she’s fine. This hasn’t seemed to upset her at all. Mildred must have been good to her.”

  “Sydney is her granddaughter,” Damien reminded her. “Regardless of what Jack told Mildred about that, I’m sure she knows the truth. That aside, it would be impossible for anyone not to love Sydney even if they were not related.”

  Molly wore a questioning look as though she wondered if he referred to his own feelings toward Sydney.

  Damien took her arms from around his waist and lifted her hands to his lips. “I’ll banish Blancher. You call your mother.”

  “Already called. She’s coming by on her way home from Josie’s.”

  “Staying the night here?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Just to see Syd for a minute.”

  “Great. After that, we’ll see about dinner. You must be famished.”

  Her questioning look stayed with him. He’d said it was impossible not to love Sydney. He could have told her that he loved her baby. It would be true.

  He also could have explained that his feelings for the child were a natural extension of the way he felt about the mother.

  But now was not the time. Announcing that
he loved them would imply a lifetime commitment to Molly. He wasn’t quite ready to declare himself yet.

  How did one suddenly become a family man after existing as a loner for thirty-five years? It might not be possible. Molly wouldn’t understand. She had always had her mother and Ford, and now had her daughter.

  He wanted Molly too desperately, too urgently, to judge why. Was it the kind of love that sustained a marriage over the years? Or was it the greatest sex he’d ever experienced combined with the opportunity to get on the other side of that window he’d had his nose pressed against all his life?

  No doubt she would embrace him, too, and love him without reservation because Molly was like that. So were Sydney, Brenda and probably Ford and his wife. Demonstrative, loving and affectionate, and perfectly natural with the interaction.

  Could he accept all of that? And if he did so, could he learn how to reciprocate?

  He would find out. But for tonight, he would put the question of long-term plans aside and simply hold her, content that he had been instrumental in restoring Molly’s greatest treasure.

  The satisfaction in that would be quite enough for one day.

  Chapter 16

  “My appetite’s returned,” Molly explained, reaching for another helping of the packaged lasagna she had put in the microwave for dinner. Her hunger extended way beyond what was on the table, she thought wryly. A pity Syd’s nap had lasted only long enough for her to scrape together a meal from the freezer.

  Damien shot her a smile and immediately went back to coaxing Sydney to use a spoon with her SpaghettiOs. Molly sighed. They looked so sweet together. Like father and daughter. She smiled. That is, if you disregarded their respective coloring and all their features.

  If only Damien were not playing at this family thing temporarily. She imagined the novelty of it would wear off pretty quickly for him now that things had leveled out.

  He had explained what John had promised to do if they let the charge of kidnapping slide. Molly agreed that was for the best.

  Arresting the Jensens wouldn’t help matters. Snobs that they were, she could understand why they had done what they’d done. In a way, she appreciated that they were concerned enough about Sydney’s welfare to do what they believed was best for her. Even if they were dead wrong, at least they cared.

  Maybe she was being naive about that. Their concern might have been solely for Jack, but it wouldn’t hurt to give them the benefit of the doubt.

  They never had liked Molly, never thought her good enough for their son. However, John and Mildred were the ones who were naive, if they believed money mattered when it came to morals and good character.

  Molly shrugged off her meandering thoughts and got back to the nitty-gritty. With Jack permanently out of town, Damien had no real reason to stay any longer. That was just as well. A swift, clean break would be better. She would keep things light and happy for his sake, even if it killed her.

  “You’re pretty good at that,” she observed, just as Syd reached under the spoon for a handful of spaghetti and squished it on her tray. “Uh-oh.”

  Damien patiently wiped up the mess with a paper towel. “Have you considered limiting her diet to finger food?”

  Molly chuckled. “Everything is finger food for Syd. She’ll get the hang of utensils sooner or later. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not obsessing about this,” he explained, and began feeding Syd with the spoon himself.

  “No, no, didn’t think you were,” she assured him.

  “She’s to learn at her own pace,” he said, sounding like a TV authority on child-rearing. “The handling of the spoon is merely to get her accustomed to the feel of it. You expose children to things that are a bit beyond their capabilities now and then. Challenge is good for them.”

  “My goodness, Dr. Spock! Where did you get all of this information?” Molly asked as she buttered a piece of bread.

  Was he blushing? She leaned forward so she could see more of his face. He was! “Hey, have you been reading baby books, Damien?”

  “A magazine,” he muttered.

  She wiped her mouth with her napkin and held it there for a moment to hide a bittersweet smile. Damien reading Parents? How could she not love this man? Such a short time he’d been with her and already she could not imagine life without him. But she would have to get used to it, and soon.

  “I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “My written reports on the Florida job are past due. I can’t delay much longer.”

  “I see,” she said quietly. She got up and went around to wash Syd’s hands and face with a cloth.

  Damien stroked her arm and settled his fingers around it. “Molly, it’s not that I want to leave.”

  But he would go, anyway, she knew. “That’s all right. We’ll be fine,” she said with a smile, letting him off the hook. It was the least she could do after all he’d done for them. “I doubt Jack will trouble us anymore. John can be pretty forceful when he wants to, and he does control Jack’s purse strings. You don’t have to worry.”

  “It’s not that,” he said, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. “I’m not quite certain I can explain this.”

  “Oh, I can!” Molly said lightly, tugging Syd free of her high chair and perching her on one hip. She headed across the kitchen, hoping to cut off what might prove to be an awkward confrontation about their relationship. Well, what might have become a relationship, she amended.

  “We’re a pretty tame bunch when you get right down to it,” she said offhandedly. “Now that the trouble’s over, you’d probably die of boredom if you stayed another week. No need to explain, Damien.”

  “Wait a minute.” He was getting up, coming after her. She didn’t want him to because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the act. “Molly—”

  “’Scuse us, Uncle Dammit, we’re off to bed! Say goodnight, Syd.”

  To her relief, he let her go. Now if she could get Sydney back to sleep for the night, she would go straight to bed herself.

  If Damien was as smart as she thought he was, he would leave her alone. She didn’t know a man alive who would actually seek out a woman to elaborate on his reasons for dumping her. Especially when that woman made it perfectly obvious she’d figured it all out for herself.

  Despite her suppositions, Damien was standing in the doorway of her bedroom when she came out of Sydney’s. It had taken a good half hour to rock the little rascal back to sleep. But there he was, propped against the door frame, his arms folded and one foot crossed over the other. Waiting patiently.

  She noticed his hair was still damp, but not from the rain. He had showered and changed, now wearing loose, pleated slacks and a half-buttoned tan suede shirt that looked soft to the touch. His leather deck shoes looked sexy with no socks.

  His outfit might be pure GQ, but anybody with half a brain could see the man beneath was not model material, even if he did possess the body and the face for it.

  Those intense blue eyes now regarding her with speculation gave away how dangerous Damien really was. Coiled for action inside that laid-back exterior. Or spoiling for a fight to end everything neatly?

  She shook her finger at him. “You don’t really want to dissect what’s between us, I can tell.”

  “Take it apart? No, never that,” he said evenly. “But I refuse to leave in the morning with you thinking that anything about you or the way you live has turned me off.”

  Molly grinned. “You’re not completely turned off, I can tell that, too. That’s why you waited where you’re waiting, right? Once more, for old times’ sake? That what you got in mind?”

  She wasn’t against the idea herself. If tonight was to be all she’d have of Damien, she would take it. Hadn’t she sort of promised him this? “When things are as they should be,” he’d said, and she had nodded. A few more memories of the man she loved were certainly better than nothing, even if it would make saying goodbye more painful.

  Slowly he s
hook his head. “You seriously undervalue yourself, Molly. We need to work on that.” He pushed away from the door frame and unfolded his arms. They reached for her. “Come here.”

  “I’ll think about it, on one condition,” she said, catching his hands before he could embrace her. He laced their fingers together and his were gentle. Not grasping urgently as she would have expected if he were all that hot to have her. She didn’t care much for his deliberate restraint, since she could plainly see it was forced.

  Molly raised her gaze to his again and held it. “No more talk. That’s my one requirement. Just be with me tonight and be gone when I wake up in the morning. No goodbyes, no awkward excuses, no false promises. Okay?”

  “No,” he whispered. “It’s not okay. I have to leave you tomorrow, that much is true. But I will be back as soon as possible. That is a definite promise and one I will keep. As for the excuses you don’t want, you’ve already heard my reasons. I do have work left unfinished.”

  Molly quirked a brow and gave his hands a squeeze. “You said you weren’t sure you could explain about something. Was that job-related? I don’t think so.”

  She shook her head and looked away, unable to endure the intensity any longer. “No, I don’t want the explanation. Don’t make it. Let tomorrow take care of itself, Damien. It will, you know?”

  Damien disentangled their fingers and wrapped his arms around her. “Yes, I know.”

  His mouth claimed hers in a kiss so tender she could barely contain the tears. She was losing him. Oh, God, how in the world would she bear it? Without meaning to, she deepened the kiss herself, wishing she could take him into her and hold him there forever.

  Without pausing, Damien backed them into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She leaned against it, reveling in the press of his body against hers, as hard and unrelenting as the panel at her back. Molly arched into him, twining her arms around his neck. She raked her fingers through the damp silkiness of his hair while he raised her to her toes so their bodies fit perfectly.