Live-In Lover

by Lyn Stone

  He moved his mouth from hers and grazed her cheek. “Molly,” he whispered.

  “Hush,” she hissed, trying to capture his lips. He evaded, his lips everywhere but on hers. His mouth was hot, seeking, as it blazed down her neck. One hand cradled the back of her head while his other splayed across her lower back, pressing her into the hardness she craved.

  His arms shifted. Dizzy with need, she felt him lift her and turn to take the few steps to the bed. When they reached it, Damien came down beside her and raked open the robe she wore. She shimmied out of her panties while he shrugged off his shirt. His shoes thudded on the carpet. Eagerly she tugged the waistband of his pants. His hand covered hers.

  “Pocket,” he gasped, hurriedly fishing for a foil packet himself.

  Molly abandoned herself to the sheer carnality of another kiss, her fingers plowing through the springy dark curls on his chest while he made ready.

  Too soon, not soon enough, he rolled toward her, covered her and slowly, very deliberately sank to the hilt. Her entire body shuddered in profound welcome.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered. “Don’t.” His hands clasped her behind, holding her immobile while he pulsed rhythmically inside her without thrusting. She came. So violently, he had to follow.

  With a wild burst of motion, he took. And gave more than she could ever have asked, bringing her to the edge and over again before he reached it himself. With a deep-throated groan of pure satisfaction, he lay still, holding her.

  How he could grip so tightly when her own muscles had turned to butter amazed her. Everything about Damien amazed her. A crooked smile stole over her lips while her eyes closed in total exhaustion.

  “Now there is a memory,” she growled to herself. One to live on forever, she thought sadly even as she slid into sleep.

  He was right there when she awoke, despite last night’s request that he leave early. Molly was unaccountably glad he had not honored that one. She only wished she hadn’t wasted the rest of their time together catching up on the sleep she’d lost while worrying about Syd.

  Briefly she entertained the idea of suggesting he stay one more night, but just as quickly discarded the notion. He had done enough, given about all a woman could reasonably ask of a man like him.

  Damien was definitely not the type to treasure picket fences, or fences of any other kind, for that matter. If that was what he wanted, he could surely have had it by now. So, she would tack on a grin that looked happy and send him on his way. No point clinging and saddling him with guilt he didn’t deserve.

  Besides, she wanted Damien to remember their time together as something positive in his life. No tears, she cautioned herself. Not a single one, or he will have regrets.

  She wiped her cheeks of the offenders while she watched him sleep. The morning dawned gray, sifting in through the curtains like a cloud of smoke, but she could see his classic features clearly enough, memorize each one separately and in their wonderful entirety.

  “I love you, Molly,” he whispered, unmoving.

  Caught by surprise, she gave a half laugh. “I thought you were asleep!”

  He reached out to her, but she backed away and quickly sat up on the edge of the bed, holding the covers to her chest. “How about some coffee? I can make breakfast before you leave. French toast okay?”

  Without waiting for his answer, she leaned down and grabbed up the robe that lay puddled on the floor. She sensed him watching her as she shrugged into it, but didn’t dare turn around to meet his eyes. Instead, she hopped up and left the room before she did something really stupid such as beg him not to go.

  Maybe she should have told him how sweet it was of him to say he loved her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He might even mean what he’d said right this minute, but what did that matter when he’d be gone in less than an hour? Well, he wouldn’t leave worried that he had left her here with a hole in her heart. She’d see to that.

  She peeked in on Sydney, saw she was still asleep, and padded on to the kitchen.

  Willing her hands to stop shaking, she put on the coffee and rummaged in the refrigerator. Ten minutes later, she had bacon and French toast ready.

  Damien joined her just as she plunked the bottle of syrup on the table. His frown of concern bothered her. What had she done to cause that? Hadn’t she been a good sport?

  “Hi! Hungry?” she asked brightly, straightening the silverware just to have something to do.

  He shook his head. “No. You go ahead. I just called Winton. He’s on duty this morning, so I’m headed down to the precinct to meet with him.”

  “Why? I thought everything was settled.”

  “Before I go, I want to make sure you have adequate protection. Winton has a list of guys who moonlight as bodyguards occasionally, and I’m going to check their qualifications. I’ll drop by later to pick up my things and say goodbye.”

  “Take them with you,” Molly ordered curtly, dumping two spoons of sugar into her coffee that she always drank straight. Some granules spilled onto the table. Angrily, she brushed them off. Her hand trembled and she clenched it into a fist. “Don’t come back. Please.”

  Silently he watched her, his eyes piercing as always, probing for words she wouldn’t give and was certain he wouldn’t want to hear if she said them.

  “And you can forget the watchdog,” she added. “I can’t afford it, even if I needed one. Which I don’t.”

  Belatedly remembering her promise to herself, she stretched her lips into a determined smile. “Now get out of here, will you? I’ll tell Ford you said hi when he gets back.”

  She swallowed hard, holding her expression as steady as she could. “And thanks, Damien. Thank you for everything.”

  Without another word, he turned and left. He must have gone back down the hall and gathered his things because several minutes passed before she heard the front door click shut.

  A car’s engine revved. He was gone. Molly laid her head on her arms, heedless of the sticky residue left by the sugar, and cried.

  Jack needed a gun. Too bad Shorty was gone now or he might have sold him one of those little Saturday Night Specials. He could just imagine that bullet bouncing around inside Molly’s thick skull. That’d fix her.

  Tears burned the backs of his eyes. If she were dead, would he be able to forget her then? He shook his head. Why couldn’t she really, really love him the way she was supposed to?

  A tramp, he thought. Just like all the rest. Every single one he’d ever known, including his mother. She’d never loved him either. Oh, she’d pretended until he got old enough to say what was what and have his own way. Then she acted the same toward him as she did to his father. As though they were scum, as if they were nothing. Scaring her was the only way his dad could keep her in line. Jack had tried that. Hadn’t worked with Molly, though. He figured it was her upbringing. Wasn’t raised to respect men or herself.

  That was the way with women. They all wanted control of a man. Not one of them would do like they should on their own. And if they were like Molly, you couldn’t even beat them into behaving. If it didn’t work this time…

  He glared at the house, his eyes settling on the black Explorer in the driveway. A bomb would be good if he knew how to make one. Wouldn’t be hard to find out, he thought. Later, he would take time to learn. Agent Damien Perry was going to regret messing around with Jack Jensen’s woman.

  And the woman herself was going to learn who called the shots. One more chance was all he was giving her. Just one.

  Jack almost jumped out of his skin when the front door opened and he saw Perry come out with a travel bag. He hadn’t expected that. “Well, well,” he crooned. “Tired of her already, huh?” Probably Molly’s stubbornness, not to mention her alley-cat ways that soon sent them all packing. They couldn’t handle her, either.

  Jack watched the car until it disappeared around the corner at the end of the block. Longer, he waited, while he psyched himself up for what was necessary. Twice, he sni
ffed deeply and sighed, feeling more powerful than he ever had.

  He’d played around long enough now. It was time to make her pay. Make her mind. Hell, he didn’t need a gun to whip her into shape. Or to kill her if that’s what he decided to do. It might be the best thing, after all.

  Chapter 17

  She had to get herself back together before Sydney woke up, Molly decided after a good ten minutes of self-indulgent mourning. But Damien was a man worth shedding a few tears over, wasn’t he? Still, there was no use wasting her energy and making herself sick over this.

  She pushed up from the table and went to the sink to wash her face.

  The door chimes halted her in her tracks. He’d come back! She just knew it. Who else could it be this early? It was hardly daybreak!

  Molly flew across the kitchen and down the hallway to the front door and peeped through one of the long panes beside it. Through the frosted glass, she saw the tall outline. It was him! She flung open the door.

  Hands shoved her backward and she lost her balance and breath in the same instant. Her hips hit the floor and her shoulder struck the leg of the foyer table. Stunned, she braced herself on one elbow and looked up, horrified. “Jack!”

  With a grunt he kicked, his shoe catching her in the thigh as she curled away from it. “Bitch!” he growled, pulling back his leg again. “I’ll fix you good this time.”

  Molly rolled, avoiding the worst of the blow. She scrambled quickly to her knees and bounced upright. “You stay away from me!” she warned, hands out, balanced on the balls of her feet. He stood between her and the open door. There was nowhere to run without leaving Syd defenseless.

  He lunged. She dodged toward the table and grabbed the heavy crystal bud vase that had tipped over. Damien’s words rang in her head. Feint…strike.

  She threw up her left hand, palm open toward his face. When he jerked his head back to avoid it, she swung the vase with her right, connecting with his jaw. Jack staggered and she thought he’d go down. Not waiting for that, she crashed her right foot into his knee. He howled as it buckled.

  Molly bolted for the living room, jerked open the drawer to the curio cabinet and found the pistol. Jack staggered after her, almost on her before she could turn around.

  “I’ll shoot!” she cried, holding the gun with both hands, pointing it directly at his head. Damien’s instructions leaped to mind. Larger target than a head. She lowered the barrel, aiming for Jack’s midsection.

  Could she shoot him? Jack had halted, arms outflung, balancing on his uninjured leg.

  Hysterically, Molly thought he looked like the little guy in The Karate Kid, balanced on that pole. Only not serene. He looked wild. His eyes flared and his mouth fell slack.

  “Stay!” she commanded, her voice surprisingly strong while the rest of her quivered like Jell-O.

  I have the weapon. He’s not even armed. All I have to do is keep him here until I can get help. She lowered one hand from the gun, moved sideways toward the phone and grabbed up the receiver. No dial tone. Angrily, she tossed it aside. Jack must have cut the line outside.

  Now where would she get that help? She remembered the security alarm. She hadn’t activated it after Damien left. He wouldn’t have done it on his way out, would he? Maybe. He was nearly fanatic about keeping the thing set.

  It rang a silent alarm at the police station if the code wasn’t entered three minutes after the door opened. She would wait fifteen minutes. If the cops hadn’t come to check on her by that time, she would think of an alternative.

  If all else failed, she could scream bloody murder and maybe the neighbors would come running. Unless they had gone to work. Her mind scrambled for a solution. She’d just have to stand here threatening to shoot him until somebody decided to show up.

  Slowly Jack lowered his arms and leg and slumped. His shoulders began to shake and he covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry,” he moaned. “Oh, Molly, I am so sorry. I never meant…” His words trailed off in a fit of piteous sobs.

  Molly stared at him in shock. Jack crying? Begging forgiveness? She must be hallucinating. Unthinking, she lowered the weapon slightly.

  He struck. Without warning, his long arm shot out, batted her hand to one side and snatched the pistol from her. Before she could react, he had put several feet between them and Molly was staring down the chrome sights of her own gun.

  Her heart skipped, felt like it stopped. What would happen to Syd? Would he hurt her, too? Maybe if she got Jack to talk, she could keep him busy in here until the police arrived. If they arrived.

  “Why, Jack? Would you please tell me why?” she said as calmly as she could manage.

  He laughed, sounding more than a little mad. The pistol waved unsteadily, but she was too far away to grab for it.

  “You know why, Moll. Treatin’ me like dirt. Never doin’ what I told you. Screwin’ around on me!” He sneered. “Thought you could palm off that kid as mine, didn’t ya? And then sending me up for it when I reacted like any normal husband would. Low, lady,” he snarled. “Very low.”

  “Oh, Jack,” Molly said. “You were rid of me! The divorce was final when you got out. All you had to do was leave me alone, pretend I didn’t exist, find somebody else. It was over!”

  “Don’t you get it yet, you sorry tramp? I never wanted anybody else! But you just weren’t good enough, and I couldn’t make you be what—”

  He shook his head as if to clear it, then scanned the room as if he expected ghosts. “They all had you, didn’t they? Every damn one of them. They came here. I know they did!”

  “Who, Jack?” Molly asked, working to keep her voice low, soothing. “Who told you those lies?”

  The question worked. Made him stop to think. His gaze wandered again and he seemed unaware of her for a second.

  Molly quickly sidestepped toward the hallway, dashed down it and out the front door. Her bare feet hardly touched the steps, then hit the ground running just as she heard him shout.

  Thank God, he’d chased her. She could lead him away from Sydney and scream for help at the same time. He might still shoot her, but at least it wouldn’t be in the house with Syd. Surely he’d forget the baby or be caught before he could go back. She sucked in a breath without slowing down and yelled “Fire! Fire! Help!”

  No one came outside. Cars were gone. People at work.

  She could feel him hot on her heels, heard his curses over her own frightened gasps. Zigzagging, expecting a hand to snatch her to a halt or a bullet to rip into her, Molly ran for all she was worth.

  He grabbed her hair and swung her. Molly fell backward and landed in a heap, cornered between the tall hedge of the neighbor’s ligustrum and the chain-link fence bordering her own backyard. She pushed up off the ground, struggling to get her breath back.

  “Don’t you scream,” Jack warned. “You just hold it right there!” The harsh invective he spouted grew louder with each word, so venomous, she stopped listening. He gestured wildly, waving the gun around as though he’d forgotten he held it.

  Molly clenched her eyes shut, terrified it would discharge. A screech of brakes alerted her and she looked past Jack to the street. Damien’s Explorer! He jumped out, weapon in hand. Her knees turned to water and she exhaled with sharp relief.

  “Lower the gun, Jensen,” Damien ordered. He stood a good six feet behind Jack. “Gently to the ground and kick it away from you.”

  Instead Jack braced it, aimed directly at Molly’s heart. He smiled evilly and his voice quavered as he answered Damien’s command. “I can get off a shot! Even if you shoot first. You can’t have her!”

  “All right, Jack. Take it easy,” Damien replied, his tone firm but reasoning. “Now lower the weapon. You don’t want to go down for murder, do you, Jack? Don’t you think you’ve hurt your family enough? Your mom? Your dad? And what about Molly? You love Molly, Jack.”

  “No!” he cried, his hands restless on the pistol grip, finger trembling on the trigger. Molly watched tears break fre
e and trail down Jack’s face.

  He sniffled once and then spoke, but his words weren’t for Damien. “This is…your fault, Moll,” he said brokenly. “All your fault! You remember that, long as you live!” Swiftly, he raised the gun to his head and narrowed his eyes. “You did this!”

  “Jack, no!” she screamed as he pulled the trigger. The sound blocked out everything, her hearing, her sight and her reason. A harsh, silent wail vibrated inside her just before she shut down.

  Damien hurriedly removed Molly’s pistol from Jack’s hand and automatically checked him for a pulse. Not that he expected to find one with a portion of the head gone, but it was standard procedure.

  Then he moved quickly to Molly, almost thankful she had fainted. The dark gray of the cloudy morning hid little of the ugliness of Jensen’s death. Forgetting all she’d already endured would be impossible. She didn’t need to see any more of this than she already had. He gave her a swift check as she lay on the grass. She didn’t appear to be hurt, not physically, anyway.

  Damien lifted her, carried her into the house and put her on the sofa in the living room.

  The phone’s receiver lay off the hook. He picked it up and found the line dead. He’d have to go back to the car to get his cell phone. A black-and-white turned in just as he opened the front door.

  He walked out to meet the officers as they exited the squad car.

  “Ms. Jensen’s alarm sounded. Is she all right?” the younger one demanded.

  Damien recognized Sharps, the one who had answered Molly’s complaint about the poison. “Suicide,” he told the officer, inclining his head toward the corpse in the corner of the yard. “It’s Jack Jensen.”

  “Is Ms. Jensen hurt, sir? Will we need two ambulances?”

  “I’ll take her in if she needs to go,” Damien said.

  Sharps nodded and pulled the radio off his belt to make the call while the other cop approached the body. Damien left them to it and went back inside.

  Molly had come to and was sitting now, leaning over with her face buried in her palms. He joined her on the sofa and pulled her into his arms. “The police are here,” he said. “I’d like to take you the emergency room, have them check you out. Are you hurt?”