by Laura Taylor
Thomas felt the increased snugness of her body, the clutching sensations caused by her bent knees and upraised legs driving him to the edge of madness.
He pounded into her.
She suddenly screamed.
Thomas savored the sound and sight and feel of her detonating passion as she threw back her head, stiffened, and then completely came apart beneath him. Her trembling body, the moans torn from her depths, and her sustained release destroyed his control, once and for all.
Thomas succumbed. His body detonated, his low groan of release rumbling like muted thunder against Geneva’s breasts.
She held him close when he collapsed atop her a short while later, her lips whispering kisses over his face and neck.
He couldn’t speak yet, so he didn’t try to voice the emotions cascading over him. He promised himself that they would talk in the morning.
They drifted lazily in the aftermath of what they’d just shared.
Thomas eventually rolled onto his side, Geneva cradled against his chest and their bodies still intimately linked.
He dragged a quilt over them, then tenderly kissed her. She spoke, but he failed to make out the words as he fell into a doze.
Shortly after midnight Thomas relinquished his hold on Geneva long enough to put a match to the logs and kindling already arranged in the fireplace. He felt her gaze on him as he made his way back to bed. She opened her arms to him in a gesture of welcome when he sat down beside her.
They made love once again, their passion as incendiary as the flames consuming the logs in the fireplace.
** ** **
Geneva awakened suddenly, her heart racing with panic until she realized where she was. Her panic increased tenfold as the achiness in her body reminded her of the hours of intimacy she’d just shared with Thomas.
The ramifications of her behavior hit her like a blow. She’d welcomed him into her heart and her body, and the consequences of her actions were inescapable. If their relationship continued, she would have to tell him about her past. She hated the very thought of revealing the truth, even though she felt weighted down by the burden that had caused her reclusive life in the first place.
In the minutes that followed she decided that it would be best if she left before Thomas woke up. He read her moods too easily, and she doubted her ability to conceal her escalating uneasiness. She needed to be composed when they finally talked, and regaining her composure meant time alone.
He slept beside her, his breathing deep and steady. Geneva pressed a kiss to his shoulder before she slipped out of his bed. She paused in the darkness, trying to remember where she’d left her clothes.
She crept soundlessly out of the bedroom, gathering articles of clothing scattered on the floor along the way.
Once she made her way downstairs, she hurriedly dressed, collected her purse, and put on her coat. She knew she’d behaved impulsively. She said as much in a quickly penned note to Thomas that she left on the kitchen counter beside the coffeemaker.
Geneva drove the narrow winding mountain road to her chalet. The dawn lightened the sky as she parked her Jeep and made her way indoors. The hot shower she took did nothing to restore her to some semblance of calm. She felt exhausted, emotionally and physically.
Despite the temptation to cancel the meeting scheduled that morning with the Whitney Group, she forced herself back into her Jeep an hour later and drove into Cedar Grove to face the Whitney Group and Thomas Coltrane.
** ** **
Thomas awoke shortly before dawn to a missing woman and a cold bed. He found a note in the kitchen when he made his way downstairs in search of Geneva that chilled his soul.
She’d written: "We acted impulsively last night. It was probably a mistake you’ll regret."
Thomas had feared that Geneva might suffer from morning–after regrets, but he hadn’t expected her to run from him without an attempt to discuss the situation. His instincts assured him that her past had reared its ugly head. Whatever she was hiding, he felt certain that it was serious, perhaps more serious than he’d originally thought.
He put a tight rein on his anger, vowing that he would know the truth—the whole truth. The experienced attorney, the relentless, calculating, often ruthless man who’d rarely suffered a defeat in the courtroom, made the one decision he hadn’t wanted to make. Unfortunately, Geneva had forced his hand.
Thomas telephoned a trusted friend in the intelligence community, took him into his confidence and shared what few real facts he knew about Geneva Talmadge. He explained, as well, her longtime association with the man known as Nicholas Benteen.
His friend, a top man in the CIA’s hierarchy, wryly remarked that Thomas had fallen in with a unique crowd since departing San Diego. Following that cryptic observation, he then promised a prompt reply to Thomas’s inquiry.
After he hung up the phone and began his preparations for the next round of meetings with The Whitney Group, Thomas told himself that Geneva would never have allowed them to become lovers if she hadn’t cared about him. As a result, he felt justified in dealing with her apparent panic in any way he deemed necessary. He now deemed it necessary to investigate her past without her knowledge or permission.
He refused to let her close her heart to him. Not now. Not when what he felt for her went far beyond simple caring. He loved her, and he didn’t intend to lose her.
10
Geneva looked as emotionally stressed as he felt, Thomas decided when he strolled into the conference room at the inn later that morning. He’d deliberately delayed his arrival, waiting until all parties were assembled before making his entrance.
Despite the urge to deal with their personal problems as quickly as possible, he didn’t. His confrontation with Geneva would take place later, when he was ready and only after he’d heard from his friend in Langley, Virginia.
Thomas greeted everyone, including Geneva, with a brusque nod. After discarding his topcoat, he took the chair at the head of the conference table, wordlessly stating that he was in charge. And he proved it by orchestrating the contract negotiations with a steel–nerved precision that validated his well–earned reputation for ruthlessness.
Although Thomas recognized Geneva’s distracted emotional state for what it was, he took pride in the fact that she held her own during the non–stop seven–hour meeting. She allowed him, in his capacity as her legal representative, to hammer out her terms, one point at a time. Because they had settled on the tactic prior to the start of the talks, she inserted herself into the process at designated junctures.
They appeared to be in total harmony, despite the fact that Thomas grasped her ongoing struggle to maintain a facade of normalcy with him and the Whitney Group representatives. By the conclusion of the meeting, her goals for Talmadge, Inc. were itemized and approved by all of the parties present. Final approval of the contract would take place when the conglomerate held its quarterly board meeting the following week, but that approval was a foregone conclusion in the minds of everyone gathered at the table in the conference room.
Thomas felt her worried glances although he offered no acknowledgement. Tension emanated from her. He knew she had a headache by the manner in which her fingertips repeatedly strayed to her temples as the hours slipped by. Her stubbornness displayed itself when she refused his offer of an aspirin for the pain.
He treated her with nonchalance throughout the day, purposefully giving her the impression that having a woman flee his bed in the middle of the night didn’t bother him in the least. The appearance of indifference cost him, however, and the men and women seated across from him at the negotiating table bore the brunt of his frustration with Geneva.
Because the Whitney Group representatives had a corporate jet waiting for them at a nearby airport, they all agreed that their success would be celebrated later in the month at the signing of the formal contracts in New York.
Thomas remained alert to Geneva’s every move as the meeting concluded and everyone retrieved the
ir belongings.
She put on her coat, reclaimed her purse and briefcase, and made her way to the door of the conference room. She almost managed to edge out of the room on the heels of the visiting executives. Thomas, having anticipated her escape plan, foiled it when he caught her arm and halted her exit.
"I need to get back to the shop," she said, her gaze on the others as they disappeared down the hallway.
Thomas placed his fingertips beneath her chin and turned her face so that she could see him. He already knew that Rose and a seasonal helper whom Geneva had just hired would take care of the store.
"I’ll go with you," he signed, biting back his anger. "I need to stop in at my office."
She nodded, her reluctance so obvious Thomas wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. He quelled the impulse, however, and remained in control.
Geneva didn’t speak as they left the hotel and walked the half mile distance to the converted Victorian mansion in the fading, late afternoon light. Her silence didn’t surprise him. It was a weapon she used whenever she felt threatened.
The snowfall that had been going on for most of the day had dusted everything in white. Iced–over snow crunched beneath their feet, and the crisp mountain air held the promise of additional precipitation that night.
Geneva paused in front of the entrance to her store. After slinging the straps of her purse and briefcase across her shoulder, she met his gaze and said, "Thank you for handling the contract."
"You’re welcome," he responded grimly.
"Please send me your bill."
"There won’t be one." With that, Thomas turned and walked away.
After a moment of shock, Geneva hurried after him. She followed him down the sidewalk and into the main lobby of the building.
"Thomas!"
He ignored her, proceeded up the stairs to his office, and unlocked the door to the reception area. Geneva followed after him, the exact response he’d intended to provoke with his rudeness.
He pushed open the door and flipped the light switch, then deposited his briefcase and topcoat on a chair before he looked at her. "Close the door, will you?"
Geneva did as he requested, then moved hesitantly into the room. "Why won’t there be a bill?" she asked.
Thomas noticed the sheet of paper in the basket attached to the fax machine. Instead of answering Geneva, he walked over to the credenza, scanned the contents of the fax, and then folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
The information he’d just received was sketchy, but he grasped the bottom line. Geneva Talmadge had once functioned as some kind of an operative for the government—correction, the CIA—under the guidance of Nicholas Benteen. Further details, if he desired them, would be supplied during a face–to–face meeting with his friend. This last bit implied that the work she’d done had been highly classified.
Thomas concluded then that her connection to the terrorist known as Jamal was no accident of fate. He couldn’t help wondering what kind of deadly covert games she’d been involved in prior to settling in Cedar Grove. Because he didn’t plan to fly to Washington in order to obtain the truth, he realized that the most important information he needed had to come from Geneva herself. He intended to have it. Sooner, rather than later.
"Why? Why won’t there be a bill?" she asked again.
He turned and drilled her with a fury–filled look. He then finger–spelled four simple words. "Last night covered it."
She looked like a woman who’d just taken a punch from a well–aimed fist.
Thomas drew little satisfaction from her response, but he didn’t ease up on her. Too much was at stake. "Wasn’t that your intent?" he demanded, his hands slashing through the air as he ignored her shock. "Your delightful body in exchange for legal services rendered?"
Her usual poise completely absent, Geneva shook her head in denial.
"What was your intent?" he asked.
She followed him as he strode into his private office, walked to the bar, and took two wineglasses from the rack above the sink. He reached into the refrigerator for an already opened bottle of wine, removed the cork, and splashed liquid into each glass.
Only then did he look at her, his gaze piercing, cold. "Or was last night just a one–night stand? A form of exercise, perhaps," he ground out. "One of those no harm, no foul kind of nights between consenting adults?"
She stared at him, still looking stunned as she hovered just inside the doorway.
"Do I finally have your attention, Geneva?"
She gathered herself under his steady gaze. He watched her do it by sheer force of will. He even grudgingly admired her innate strength as she squared her slender shoulders and lifted her chin.
"You have my attention, Thomas. Cruelty always does that to me."
"What you did wasn’t cruel?" he demanded.
She paled and made her way to the nearest chair. She sank into it, her purse and briefcase thudding to the floor at her feet.
Thomas approached her, drew her up from the chair, and relieved her of her coat. Taking Geneva by the hand, he led her into the private sitting room adjacent to his office. He didn’t pause until they stood in front of the couch positioned before the fireplace.
"Sit down."
Geneva slowly lowered herself onto the couch. She moved with the caution of the extremely wary as she perched on the edge of the cushion.
Thomas towered over her, forcing her to look up at him. He took in her poised–for–flight posture. "Stay put."
Rebellion sparkled in her eyes, but she didn’t move a muscle.
He rescued their drinks and returned to the room, kicking shut the door. Geneva flinched as it slammed, her gaze never leaving Thomas. He placed their wineglasses on the end table next to the couch, and then put a flame to the already prepared logs and kindling in the sitting room’s fireplace.
Thomas loosened his tie, shedding it and his jacket before joining Geneva on the couch. Unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, he reached for his wineglass and took a drink.
She held her breath as she watched him. Stared at him, actually. She’d never seen him this angry before, and she didn’t blame him. She’d acted like a coward. No getting around that fact.
"Talk, Geneva."
She studied his face, and she saw more there than she wanted to see. More than anger. More than frustration. Much more. Pain. Deep pain.
"Your past, Geneva. That’s the boulder you’ve dragged back into the path of our relationship, isn’t it?"
She pressed her fingertips to her temples. "You make it sound so easy. It’s not."
"It would be if you trusted me."
"I do trust you."
"Prove it." Standing, he walked to the mantle, his gaze still on her.
She wondered if he knew what he was asking of her. "Not ready yet," she whispered.
Tears brimmed in her large blue eyes, and she fought the urge to weep. What would be the point in revealing her past? The truth would end things between them once and for all, and she wasn’t ready for that. She wanted more. Needed more, especially after the night they’d just shared.
"Come here," Thomas signed.
She stiffened. "Why?"
"I need to touch you, if only to prove to you that I’m real and that I’m not going anywhere."
Filled with a combination of anguish and hope, she went to him, wanting to believe that he spoke the truth, desperate to believe that the woman she’d become during the last several years somehow compensated for the woman she’d once been.
Thomas drew her into his arms and held her.
Geneva relaxed by degrees. With his hands drifting up and down her back, he unknowingly soothed her with the kind of tenderness that also contained the power to seduce.
She couldn’t change her past, so she finally stopped wishing for the impossible. And in the quiet minutes that followed, Geneva finally realized that she possessed the courage to risk everyth
ing.
Thomas was right. The time to tell the truth had arrived. Whatever the outcome.
She felt no shame about her past. If anything, she was resigned to the reality of why and how she’d become an explosives expert in the first place. She was, after all, Patrick Talmadge’s daughter. And because she’d been his companion during those nomadic years, wandering the globe in search of strife and conflict, it wasn’t surprising that she’d perfected her skills under his tutelage.
To deny her past meant that she would have to deny her father. She couldn’t and wouldn’t do that, not even for Thomas Coltrane. And if he rejected her, she would survive. She’d survived far worse—invariably sadder and always much wiser, of course. But still standing, still loved by her family, and still in possession of her self–respect.
She’d managed to avoid rejection for years, although the safety of her reclusive life had cost her in a thousand and one other ways. Thomas had brought back to life her dreams of loving and being loved, but he also possessed the power to shatter them—even if he didn’t realize it.
Geneva lifted her face from the warm curve of his neck and met his gaze. Any words she might have uttered remained unspoken when Thomas cupped the back of her head and guided her lips to his. He kissed her then, his mouth possessive as he drank in her shocked exhalation.
He wrenched free of her just moments later, muttering, "If seducing you is the only way to get you to talk to me, then so be it."
Gasping for breath, Geneva tried to tell him that she didn’t understand what he’d just said, but he reclaimed her mouth, silencing her. Her hunger for him exploded across the landscape of her senses like a firestorm. She feared that this might be their last time together, and she refused to deny herself.
She lost her ability to think or reason under his passionate onslaught. She eagerly succumbed to the darting penetration of his tongue as it invaded her mouth and the roaming of his hands over her body.
