And like it or not, he was the one. Maybe she wasn't ready to call what she felt love, the word Maude bandied about so easily. But heaven help her, Shea had never felt this way about a man before. She'd never looked at a man and felt her body respond. She'd never been compelled to touch a man. A hand here, a kiss there. He made her feel like a woman. No one had ever made her feel this way.
No matter what was to come, she wanted Nick to be her first. She'd waited all this time. She'd saved herself for the right man, the right time.
The situation was far from ideal, but she wasn't going to be a coward. Not this time.
* * *
Nick munched on a chocolate chip cookie and watched while Shea talked on Maude's cell phone and took notes. She sat at the dining room table, the early evening summer sun streaming through the window and illuminating her to perfection. From his seat across the table he watched the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the white tank top she wore, the working of her slender throat, the occasional spark of wonder and excitement in her warm eyes.
He had never known anyone like Shea. He hadn't even believed that women like her existed. His own mother had never been so caring, and the women who came in and out of his life … none of them had been this warm and real. He had never felt the urge to wrap them up in his arms and shield them from the world.
He never should've kidnapped Shea, but he wasn't sorry. If that was what it took to know her, he couldn't be sorry.
She hit the disconnect button on Maude's cell phone and flashed him a brilliant smile. "Okay, things are rolling."
"What kind of things?" he asked calmly, making damn sure he didn't give away his train of thought.
"First of all, Grace found the woman Winkler had been having an affair with, the one who got fired? Her name is Coral, and after she left the company Winkler was with, she ended up with a better job than the one she had before."
"We never did figure out how she could've planted the evidence. Since she's better off than she was before…"
"We can cross her off the suspect list."
"Why is that good news?" Nick asked.
"We can't do anything until we narrow the list of suspects."
Nick nodded in agreement. "What else did your friend find out?"
Shea's smile faded. "You won't like this next part."
"There hasn't been much in the last year I have liked. Go ahead, hit me."
"Lauren is engaged to be married."
He expected to be outraged, but he wasn't. He'd found out in time what she was like. "Poor bastard," he muttered.
His response generated a soft smile from Shea. The smile didn't last. "To Norman Burgess."
Now Nick felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. "Norman?" His lawyer, his friend. How long had this been going on? Is this why Norman's wife had left him? Months ago. Long before the trial ever started. Nick expected anything of Lauren, but dammit, he expected better of Norman.
"Grace hasn't found anything incriminating on the other neighbors, but she's still looking." Shea's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Nick."
"No need to be sorry." He quickly left the table, turning his back on her and heading for the kitchen.
He made a beehive for the counter and the plate of Maude's cookies, but instead of taking one he placed his hands on the counter and closed his eyes. Could things get any worse?
Shea's bare feet shuffled across the floor. He heard her approaching, steeled himself against the inevitable contact.
"What a jerk," she said softly, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head against his back. "But Nick, this is surely grounds for a new trial. If you had a decent lawyer, and a thorough investigation…"
"You're right," he said dryly. "I could be cleared of murder and get a life sentence for escape and kidnapping instead."
"Don't say that," she whispered.
He turned in Shea's embrace, wrapping his arms around her, losing himself in her soft warmth. "It's the truth," he whispered.
"Do you really think I'd let them convict you of kidnapping? No way. I'll tell them you tried to let me go and I refused, and if that's not enough, I'll tell them we planned it all along, that it was a publicity stunt."
He grabbed her chin and jerked her head up so she had to look him in the eye. "You will not," he insisted. "I won't have you going to jail. I won't stand for you going to that awful place, not for a minute."
Her smile faded. "For as long as I can remember, my brothers protected me. I don't need or want another man shielding me from life. I'm not a child."
"I know that very well," he said huskily.
"I'll do what's right and what's best, and I don't want you trying to stop me, Nick." Her eyes were wide and warm, soft and pleading. "We're partners in this, no matter what."
Partners. He'd never had a partner, in anything. He'd had employees, he'd had comrades in arms, he'd had women who came in and out of his life as it suited him. Even Lauren had never been a partner. She'd been a means to an end, the wrong woman who was in the right place at the right time.
Nick lowered his mouth to Shea's. Dammit, she looked like she needed to be kissed, like she wanted to be kissed. She melted in his arms, falling against him, parting her lips very slightly and breathing deep and slow.
He cupped her breast and flicked his thumb over her hardened nipple. She never bothered with a bra when she wore these old tank tops, and he had noticed the way she filled out the fabric, so soft and tempting. Yes, he had definitely noticed. She took in a deep breath, perhaps surprised by his boldness or the intensity of the sensation, but she didn't back away. She flicked the tip of her tongue in his mouth and leaned into his hand.
Already he was hard, ready to take her here, or on the stairs, or on the kitchen table. He didn't care where, but dammit, it needed to be soon.
Did she know what she was getting herself into? She'd said she didn't do casual sex. Of course, there was nothing casual about this. It was intense, overpowering. Unstoppable.
He slipped his hand beneath her tank top to trail his fingers along her bare flesh, to touch her breasts again, without the thin cotton fabric between his hand and her silky skin this time. Her breathing changed, and she held him tight, as if she needed to hold on to keep from falling to the floor.
He moved his mouth to her neck, marveling at the way he treasured the taste of it, the feel of her skin against his mouth. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held on, taking deep, heated breaths.
"I feel…" she whispered. "I feel misty."
"Misty?" he asked with a smile, dragging his mouth from her neck to her shoulder.
"Misty," she repeated. "And hot. And … and I throb. Nick, I throb everywhere. Oh, my."
She sounded pleasantly surprised, taken aback, as if she'd never…
Nick raised his head to look her in the eye. He needed to see her reaction to his question. "Shea, you said you didn't have casual sex."
"This isn't casual," she insisted breathlessly. "This is—this is…"
Love. She didn't say it, but he saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice.
"Shea, are you a… You have done this before, haven't you?"
She held on tightly. "What difference does it make?"
That was a yes. A damned yes! "You're a virgin, aren't you?"
"I suppose," she said, unsmiling. "But it doesn't make any difference," she whispered. "I want you to be my first. I've never wanted anything the way I want this."
She'd waited all this time for the right man. Someone who was headed for prison or a life on the run was not the right man. No matter how much he wanted to be.
Shea fought dirty. She reached out and began to unbutton his shirt. Every move was seductive, every flick of her fingers pushed him a little further beyond his limits. When the shirt was unbuttoned, she spread it open and laid her hands on his chest.
"I've wanted to do this for days," she said softly, watching the play of her hands over his chest, the flick of her slender fingers ove
r his flat nipples. "And this." She leaned forward and kissed him, first in the center of his chest, then on each nipple, her soft lips lingering, teasing.
He thought of walking away, of dredging up every ounce of dignity and honor he had left and pushing this woman away. But he couldn't.
Moving as slowly and deliberately as she did, he dragged the tank top over her head and dropped it to the floor. In the last light of day, soft rays breaking through the yellow curtains in the kitchen window, she was warm and incredibly soft, her breasts full and firm, her waist tapered and her belly flat. He'd never seen skin so smooth, so flawless.
She wasn't shy, not even when he lowered his head to take a nipple into his mouth. He savored the feel of her against his tongue, but more than that he savored her reaction. Her heart raced; her knees trembled. He knew that if he touched her, she would be wet. Wet and ready for him.
But he took his time, caressing one breast and then the other, trailing his fingers over her bare skin and delighting in her unrestrained response. Slipping his fingers just inside the waistband of her shorts, he caressed her gently, touched and stroked and explored unseen skin.
When he put his mouth to hers again she pressed herself against him, her soft breasts against his bare chest, her belly against his, her arms tight around him. She parted her lips and teased him with her tongue, moving it in and out, in and out, until he couldn't take any more.
He reached down and popped the snap on her cutoff jeans, lowering the zipper slowly. She parted her legs, offering herself to him openly and hungrily.
His mouth was clamped to hers when he slipped his hand inside her panties, over her mound, and touched her intimately. He was right: she was wet. Hot and slick and eager. He cupped her mound, pressed his palm against her most sensitive spot and teased her with the tips of his fingers.
Again her reaction was genuine and intense, as powerful as anything he'd ever known. She parted her thighs farther and rocked against his hand.
The kiss continued while he stroked her, the caress becoming stronger, longer, more rhythmic. Her breath came hard and fast, her body shook, and when he slipped his finger inside her she cried out, coming apart with a deep tremble and a glorious spasm.
The climax died, but the kiss continued. Softer. Easier. And then she reached for the zipper of his jeans.
He grabbed her wrist and moved her hand away. "No," he protested huskily.
"But we're not finished," Shea whispered, still breathless.
"We are most certainly finished," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and gently pushing her away from him. She was flushed, breathing deeply and shaking slightly. And God, she was beautiful! He wanted her. He wanted to carry her upstairs and make love to her all night.
But he wouldn't. "You waited all this time for the perfect moment," he said. "I kidnapped you. We have no future. I won't … I don't want you to do anything you might regret in the morning."
"I won't," she insisted. "I wouldn't—"
"You don't know that," he said, walking past her and heading for the stairs. Dammit, he couldn't look at her any longer! Topless, shorts unzipped and pushed low on her hips, face flushed and lips well kissed, she was too tempting. He already felt like a damned saint, walking away.
"But Nick…"
He heard her behind him, knew that at any moment she would come up behind him and put her arms around him and he would be lost.
If noble wouldn't work, maybe crude would. "Besides, I don't sleep with virgins. It's messy and painful, and I just don't have the desire to break in an untried woman."
She stopped following him; he knew it. The house went completely silent.
"You needed to get off and I did what I could to help you out," he said as he began to climb the stairs. "Seems like the least I can do since you've been working so hard to help me."
He expected something heavy to come flying toward his head at any moment, but no projectiles came his way. No harsh words, either. All remained silent, and he didn't look back. By the time he reached the first landing, Shea had left the dining room.
Maybe that hadn't been too smart. He'd probably wake tomorrow morning and find his bed surrounded by cops.
At the moment, he didn't particularly care.
* * *
Luther Malone had a suspicious nature. He wasn't surprised when Grace and Ray invited him over for dinner. He saw them often. But when he found that Grace had prepared all his favorite foods, and no single, eligible, suitable woman had been invited to join them, he was immediately on alert.
"So," Grace said as she placed the roast, the final dish, on the table. "How are things at work?"
How were things at work? If she read the paper, she knew darn well how things were. "If we had a popcorn machine and an organ grinder we could call it a circus."
Ray, sitting at the head of the table, laughed. Grace just smiled and took her place next to her husband and across from Luther.
She'd begun to pass the vegetables his way when Ray nudged her. "Go ahead," he said. "Get it over with."
"Over dessert," Grace said softly.
"Now." Ray Madigan gave his wife a loving but stern look, then kissed her briefly on the mouth. "Now," he said again, in a softer voice.
Grace sighed and turned her eyes to him. "Luther? Do you trust me?"
"About as far as I can throw you," he said honestly.
She arched her dark eyebrows. "You shouldn't speak that way to a pregnant woman."
"You're not even far enough along to be showing yet," he grumbled.
"Yes, she is," Ray said, a sparkle in his eyes as he looked down and placed his hand over Grace's belly. "Just a little."
This was disgusting.
"You're going to milk this pregnant thing for all it's worth, aren't you?" Luther mumbled.
Grace grinned. "Why not?"
"Go ahead," Ray urged. "Tell him."
"You know Shea Sinclair is a friend of mine," Grace said with wide-eyed innocence.
"Yep." It hit him then. Shea was Grace's friend, and Grace hadn't said a word about the kidnapping. She hadn't asked a single question about the case. "Why aren't you hysterical?"
"See, I got this phone call…"
"From Shea?" Luther barked. "God, Grace!"
"No," Grace interrupted with a quick shake of her head. "From her cameraman, Mark. Anyway, he said she was okay, and said she wanted me to look into the Winkler murder. Apparently she thinks Taggert is innocent."
"You're not surprised," Ray said immediately. "You already knew, didn't you?"
The Sinclair brothers had finally realized why Mark was so sure Shea was fine when he'd passed along the message. But they had asked him to keep the news that Shea was a willing hostage to himself. They didn't want to see their sister go to jail for aiding and abetting, and to be honest, neither did Luther. They were tearing the state up searching for her. They'd decided to start with her friends in Huntsville and then work out from here. Luther almost felt sorry for Taggert.
"I had a suspicion," he said cryptically.
"The thing is," Grace said, "I think she might be right about Taggert. Daniels did a lousy job of investigating the Winkler case."
Ray and Luther both mumbled their unflattering opinions of Daniels.
"I've been investigating the case—"
"You've been what?" Luther interrupted.
Grace bit her bottom lip. "Mostly I've been looking into the backgrounds of Winkler's other neighbors and a few of the people he worked with. I don't have anything solid, but there are a number of details that just don't look quite right. I have a couple of friends following a few muddy money trails."
"Hackers?" Luther deadpanned.
"Friends," Grace reiterated. "If I give you what I have, will you look into it? I'll keep looking, and I promise I'll give you everything I find."
Luther pinned accusing eyes on Ray. "Did you know about this?"
"For a couple of days. But it's Grace's case," Ray said defensively. "Not m
ine. She's making the calls on this one."
Luther shook his head. Ray had once been a damn good cop, and he was a brilliant P.I., but he had let a woman wrap him around her little finger. "You should have come to me right away."
"I'm coming to you now," Grace said softly. Luther glanced around the laden table. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade biscuits, corn on the cob, green beans and carrots in a honey glaze. He should order her to stay away from the case, to keep her nose clean, to spend her time eating pickles and ice cream and knitting booties. But in truth he was as bothered by this case as she was. Things didn't quite add up.
"Can we wait until after dinner?" he asked, surrender in his voice.
Grace's smile was brilliant. "Sure. And I have jelly doughnuts for dessert."
"You're a wicked woman, Grace Madigan," he said as he dug into the mashed potatoes.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
Shea danced around the kitchen in her bare feet as she prepared a late breakfast, feeling oddly content.
It had taken her half the night, a few tears and more than a few hotly whispered threats directed toward Nick's favorite body parts, but the truth had finally dawned on her about three in the morning. She chastised herself for not seeing it right away.
Some tough guy Taggert was, she thought with a fond smile. He'd probably swear there wasn't an ounce of gentleman in him, but he was wrong.
A soft knock interrupted her song, and she peeked through the kitchen window to see Maude, resplendent in pale blue and yellow and the requisite pearls, nervously bouncing on the balls of her feet outside the door. Shea admitted her with a bright "Good morning."
"Almost good afternoon," Maude said as she closed the kitchen door behind her. But not before surreptitiously glancing down the driveway and to the woods at the rear of the property. Searching for coppers, no doubt. And then she glanced at the sizzling ham on the stove, and her eyebrows shot up.
"We had a late night," Shea explained, turning down the music and taking her biscuits from the oven.
"I can imagine," Maude said with a smug smile. "Anyway, I came to tell you that the police chief doesn't know a thing. He's aware of the kidnapping, of course, and on the lookout for you two, but I don't think he even realizes that you're Irene's niece."
HOT ON HIS TRAIL Page 10
