A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Joan Johnston

  The alarm bells ringing in my mind warned me to move away, but my body was no longer taking orders from my brain. Or perhaps my brain was no longer capable of giving any intelligent kind of orders. Bottom line, I wanted Sloan to kiss me again.

  But he wasn’t moving. He was waiting for me.

  Just one more time, I told myself. Didn’t I have a right to know if it would be as intense an experience as the first time? My curiosity would be satisfied and then I would move on. That was the problem with forbidden fruit—one taste was just never enough. I leaned forward.

  The first brush of his lips against mine was light, exactly as it had been before. And not exactly what I wanted. Still, I felt the soft caress right down to my toes. All of my senses were immediately heightened. I felt the firmness of his hand, those strong fingers moving up and down on the nape of my neck while his thumb rested at the hollow of my throat. A mix of anticipation and longing moved through me. I could hear my pulse hammer, feel it beat in a frantic rhythm against his thumb.

  His mouth brushed over my lips, slowly, as if he wanted to commit them to memory. The movement was so lazy, so mesmerizing. I’d never been so aware of a man before, never experienced this kind of intensity in a man’s touch. I wanted to simply melt into him.

  As if he could read my mind, he put his arm around me and drew me close until every hard angle and plane of his body was pressed against mine. Then I was melting. I felt parts of myself slipping away. I tried to say his name, but all I heard was a sound, part sigh, part moan. He took my bottom lip between his teeth and bit it sharply, then used his tongue to soothe the ache. Explosions of pleasure shot through me, as he drew my lip into his mouth and sucked hard on it. Desire twisted tight in my center.

  My fingers dug into his shoulders, and as if he were waiting for that particular response, Sloan finally pressed his mouth fully to mine. I knew the sensation of instant fire—I couldn’t tell whether it came from me or him or both of us. But in that moment it was clear this man could make me want more, demand more than I ever had before.

  My tongue met his, seeking, searching. His mouth was…paradise. The rich, dark taste of him was so enticing, so absorbing, I could have explored it forever. Jolts of hot pleasure coursed through me, and I needed more. I felt his muscles so hard beneath my palms, and the sound he made deep in his throat told me he was feeling at least something of what I was. I pressed myself against him, felt his arms tighten around me.

  Passion had never tasted this ripe, this dark before.

  Desire had never been so sharp, so overpowering that it hurt.

  I was so caught up in it, so lost in the moment and in the man that I wasn’t even aware when we were interrupted.

  I just knew that Sloan drew away, and I nearly shivered at the abrupt loss of heat. He didn’t release his grip on me. If he had, I think I would have slid right off the bench. Instead, he settled my head against his shoulder, holding me as he spoke to whomever was standing behind me on the path.

  “We’ll be right in.”

  I heard the words, but it took my mind a few beats before I could make meaning out of them. We were being called into dinner. I had to get it together. More than that, I had to face Sloan. Gathering all my strength, I lifted my head from his shoulder and drew away.

  I met his eyes, and he met mine. Neither of us spoke for a moment, and I wished that I could tell what he was thinking. What does one say to a man who’s just turned you into a puddle of lust? I was a writer. I should have had lots of words and phrases at my command, but what popped out of my mouth surprised me. “I can’t imagine why I would have run away from you.”

  The look he gave me was enigmatic. “You don’t know me yet.”

  A short distance away, a shadow silently moved among other shadows in the garden, watching as the man and woman rose and moved back toward the patio.

  She was back. Just thinking the words had the anger building. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Everything had been going so smoothly. She’d been eliminated. Finally, justice had been accomplished.

  But she was back. Fury erupted. Then ruthlessly the emotion was shoved down. Anger never solved anything. That had been a lesson learned at an early age.

  Anger never changed what was. It wouldn’t change the fact that she’d returned. Speculating on how was a waste of time. The plan had been perfect…. But the only thing that mattered now was a new plan.

  All that mattered was that she had to be eliminated…again. This time there would be no mistake. And then everything would be perfect.

  Chapter 8

  I barely bit back a sigh as two servants carried in yet another set of platters from the kitchen. The dining room was every bit as cavernous as the main parlor had been. Three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and we sat at a huge oak table that looked as if it had been used by Don Roberto Montega, the man who’d built the hacienda. There were small vases of flowers at intervals along the table.

  Instead of four or five courses, Elena and another woman had carried in platters heaped with rare roast beef, chicken in a delicate lemon caper sauce and bowls of salads, grilled vegetables and warm bread. I’d eaten in self-defense because I couldn’t very well talk when my mouth was full, could I? Beatrice, who sat to my left, for the most part ignored me and played the gracious hostess, making sure that the meal unfolded smoothly.

  Austin was drinking quite a bit. He would have had even more if Beatrice hadn’t signaled one of the servants to stop refilling his wineglass. She’d done it in such a subtle and smooth way that I assumed it was something she’d had to do frequently in the past. My cousin still wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he resented my presence, and he hadn’t said a word to me all during dinner. Marcie tried to compensate for his behavior by inviting me to go riding with them the following afternoon. She and Austin were sure that I would want to reacquaint myself with my horse, Lace Ribbons.

  Because I felt a bit sorry for her, I might have agreed anyway, but Doc Carter said, “I think that would be a good idea, Cameron. You love riding. The more you familiarize yourself with Cameron’s routines, the quicker your memory might come back.”

  “Fine.” I aimed a smile in Marcie’s direction. But I couldn’t help feeling that I was being maneuvered by her just as surely as James had maneuvered me earlier. I promised myself that I would get away from all of them in the morning and do a little exploring on my own.

  Then because I had Dr. Carter’s attention for the moment, I said, “I’m trying to get a feel for what my last day here was like—I mean before I left. Do you remember seeing me that day? Did we talk?”

  Dr. Carter studied me for a moment. “That’s good. I think it might be a very good idea to try and put together that day.”

  “Did you see me? Were you here that day?”

  He shook his head. “If I remember correctly, it was a Monday, and I spent the day in my backyard working on my putting. Since I retired, I had a putting green put in, and if the weather permits, I’m out there every day. Golf has become my obsession since my wife passed away. But I did walk over here in the late afternoon to check on James, of course. And we had our usual chess game.” He smiled at me. “And if I played the way I usually do, I probably lost. Does that help at all?”

  “No.” I could give Pepper the information, but if Doc Carter lived alone, it meant that he didn’t have an alibi. Not that I could believe that Santa Claus could have had something to do with my sister’s disappearance.

  He patted my hand. “Patience. Your memory will return when you least expect it.”

  Sloan. The moment that Doc Carter turned away, I cut a piece of roast beef off and pushed it around my plate. The evening would have been stressful enough anyway, but my reaction to Sloan’s kiss had made it even more so because I couldn’t put it out of my mind.

  I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. I could have prevented it. But all the should-haves and could-haves didn’t change the fact that I hadn’t followed my plan to stee
r clear of Sloan Campbell. Now I was in trouble, and I had a hunch that it was going to get worse.

  The good news was that he’d been seated at the far end of the table from me with James, the Bolands and the Radcliffs. I understood the strategy of the arrangement. Sloan was able to finally spend some time with clients, and I was isolated from them, surrounded by family and projecting an image of normalcy.

  But that hadn’t made it any easier to digest my food. I sliced off another piece of roast beef and rearranged its position on my plate.

  The dining room walls were an ochre color and paintings by the same artist whose work had been displayed in the main parlor also hung here. There was something about the stark simplicity of them that appealed to me.

  “Do you know who the artist is?” I asked Doc Carter.

  He gave me a searching look. Of all the people in my immediate vicinity, I liked him the best. There was an easy geniality about him, a kindness in his eyes, and not once during the meal had he pressed me about my memory loss, other than to suggest I go riding with Marcie and Austin.

  “Do they look at all familiar?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I assume they’re scenes of the ranch.”

  “They are. Your mother painted all of them,” he said.

  My mother. He had to be talking about James’s second wife, Elizabeth. My gaze returned to the painting that hung on the wall above Beatrice’s head. It was a landscape that must have been painted from one of the bluffs where I’d stood earlier in the day to get my bird’s-eye view of the hacienda.

  I recalled my earlier suspicion that James had passed Cameron off as his biological daughter. Had my sister been kept just as ignorant of her real background as I had been? The possibility stirred something inside of me. Did we have more in common than I’d thought?

  I turned to Doc Carter intending to find out more information about my mother, but he was talking to Jane Radcliff.

  “Elizabeth was a very talented painter.”

  I turned to Beatrice. It was the first she’d spoken to me since we’d sat down at the table. Not that she’d spoken much more to Marcie and Austin. She was a quiet, self-contained woman.

  “Did she ever sell any of them?” I asked.

  “If she hadn’t passed away, Elizabeth would have had a show in a gallery in San Francisco,” Beatrice said. “It was all arranged, but after her death, James canceled the show. He couldn’t bear to part with any of her work.”

  “What did she…my mother die of?” I asked.

  There was a beat of silence, then Beatrice replied, her voice even softer, “After she and James returned from Europe with you, she began to have frequent bouts of illness and depression. Each one left her weaker than the last. The doctors couldn’t seem to find anything wrong with her.”

  “It sounds like postpartum depression.” We’d just run a story line on Secrets in which one of the lead ingenues had nearly killed her child. “It could have been treated.”

  “It was. Doc Carter tried everything,” Beatrice assured me. “Your father spared no expense, and for a while, the drugs seemed to work. She even began painting again.”

  Whatever else she might have told me was forestalled by James, who tapped on his wineglass until he had everyone’s attention. “We’ll have coffee and after-dinner drinks in the parlor. I have an important announcement to make.”

  I rose and followed the procession that was making its way back to the parlor. But as soon as I stepped into the hallway, Hal Linton, who hadn’t spoken a word to me during dinner, took my hand and turned me around to face him.

  “I have to speak with you in private,” he said.

  I’d thought that Beatrice was behind us, but over Hal’s shoulder, I saw that she was headed down the hallway in the opposite direction. A quick glance over my own shoulder told me that Austin and Marcie had already entered the parlor leaving Hal and me alone.

  As Hal drew me into an alcove, I had the distinct impression that I had been manipulated again. And I was getting tired of it.

  Hal raised my hand and pressed his lips to it. “I’ve missed you. When can I see you?”

  I tried to draw my hand away, but he tightened his grip. “You’re seeing me right now.”

  He studied me intently. “I need to see you alone. You can’t have forgotten what happened between us the night before you left.”

  The implication of what he was saying had my head spinning. What had been my sister’s relationship with this man?

  “I’ve been so worried about you. When you disappeared so abruptly, I thought he’d gone into a jealous rage and done something to you.”

  A sliver of ice worked its way up my spine. This time I managed to get my hand free. “What are you talking about?”

  “Sloan. He’s incredibly possessive of you, and he discovered us in the garden that night. We were kissing, and he demanded that you go with him. Everyone knew that you quarreled. And he has a terrible temper.” He had his hands on my shoulders and was drawing me closer. “Do you know what it’s been like for me, worrying about you for weeks? And then tonight, seeing you come into the parlor, sitting across from you at the table and not being able to touch you. Please—”

  “No.” I put my hands on Hal’s chest and gave him a shove that sent him back against the wall of the alcove.

  Behind me came Sloan’s even tone. “James is waiting for you, Cameron.”

  My legs felt like rubber as I turned and walked out of the alcove.

  “Can you explain what just happened back there?” I asked Sloan softly as we walked side-by-side down the hall.

  “Looked pretty obvious to me,” Sloan said. “Old Hal made a pass and you nixed it.”

  What was obvious to me was that Sloan didn’t seem to care a bit. There hadn’t been a trace of anger or annoyance in either his actions or his voice. Didn’t he care if someone made a pass at his fiancée? How could he have kissed me as he had in the garden and then been so cool when he’d found me extricating myself from another man’s arms?

  And I couldn’t forget what Hal had said. His version of the argument that Sloan and Cameron had had on the night before she disappeared differed from James’s version. And Sloan had refused to talk about it at all.

  When I entered the parlor, James was sitting near the fireplace, pouring champagne into flutes and the bartender was passing them out to the guests. He’d said he had an announcement to make. Had he and Sloan closed some kind of important deal over dinner?

  Sloan took two glasses from the tray he was offered and handed one to me.

  “I mentioned an announcement,” James said, “and I don’t think it should come as a surprise to anyone. My daughter’s disappearance was a harsh reminder of how little time there is and how quickly it passes. As a result, I’ve decided that her wedding to Sloan, which would have taken place in September, will take place here on Friday evening.”

  Friday was the day after tomorrow. I nearly dropped the glass of champagne I was holding. I would have if Sloan hadn’t reached out and steadied my hand. “He can’t mean that,” I said.

  “He means it all right,” Sloan confirmed in a low tone. “He’s a sneaky, manipulating bastard, and it’s just like him to pull something like this.”

  “I don’t have the patience to wait any longer,” James continued. “And I don’t think Sloan does, either. Since I’ve known all of you from the start of McKenzie Enterprises, you’re invited. The ceremony will be at five in the chapel, and we’ll have a small celebration afterward.” Then he raised his glass in the air. “To the happy couple.”

  “If you don’t do something,” I said in an under-tone to Sloan, “I will.”

  “Be my guest.”

  I had the distinct and annoying suspicion that Sloan was enjoying this. That only increased my determination.

  I strode forward until I was standing directly in front of James, who was flanked on one side by Beatrice and on the other by Doc Carter. I kept my eyes on James. “I can’t do
this. I don’t remember Sloan. I need more time.”

  James took my hand and squeezed it. “Humor an old man, Cammy. Doc Carter is convinced that all you need is a bit more time. Everyone here will help you to get your memory back by Friday. Sloan will see that you get a grand tour of the estate first thing tomorrow. You’ll see. You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  I turned back to Sloan, still hoping that he’d join me in protest, but he seemed perfectly okay with the announcement. In fact from the look he gave me, I was sure he’d been anticipating it. I couldn’t believe that he was letting James do this.

  James squeezed my hand again and drew me down closer. “Please. You and Sloan were meant for each other. Trust me and do this for me. The future of the McKenzie Ranch depends on you.”

  Sloan was right. James was a manipulative and wily old man, and he’d staged this on purpose in front of clients. In fact, I was sure that’s why the Bolands and the Lakewoods and the Radcliffs had been invited. I could have put up a bigger fight if there’d just been the family. And I would have, I told myself.

  “Cammy?” James said.

  “Yes. Okay.” I told myself I had two days to talk James or Sloan or both of them out of this. In a soap opera story line that was plenty of time. And I was good at inventing new plot twists. If all else failed I could just say no when I was at the altar. I couldn’t be forced to marry anyone. Could I?

  “To the bride and groom and to the future of McKenzie Enterprises.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  As we all raised our glasses and sipped champagne, I scanned the faces of Cameron’s family. From what I could see, only James seemed happy with the surprise announcement.

  “To the bride,” Sloan said, slipping his hand into mine.

  As everyone drank again, I turned to find both amusement and challenge in his eyes. I promised myself that I was going to figure him out.

  If it killed me?

  Chapter 9