Only His Touch ( Forever Friends, Book 2 of 4)

by Webb, Peggy

  “I know,” she whispered, sighing. “I guess I’m destined to live dangerously.”

  Though he knew his compound like the back of his hand, he studied his surroundings, barely visible in the dark. They were in a small cul-de-sac, separated from the house and the eyes of the guards by a large stand of baobab trees. He glanced up at the overhanging branches of the parasol tree. With an addition of Spanish moss, it could be their tree in Jefferson Parish.

  “Just how dangerous do you want to get?” he asked, reaching for her, touching her softly on the cheek.

  “Very.” She leaned her face into his warm palm. “Jake, go home.”

  The big dog padded off. From somewhere in the distance the sugarbird called again, and night came down softly around them.

  Passion seized them as suddenly as a tropical storm, shaking them in its powerful grip. Braced against the tree, they both clung to each other, gasping.

  “Nothing will ever take you from me again, Kat. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

  “Please, Hunter... Please.”

  He knew what she wanted, what they both wanted, what they both needed. And so began the tumultuous journey that wiped everything else from their minds.

  Almost.

  Somewhere on the other side of the wall was the man who had led him through the jungles and over the mountains for years, the man who had haunted his dreams and excited his imagination. Somewhere on the other side of the wall was the man who called himself Hunter’s father. Soon Hunter would have to face him. Kathleen called out to him in a voice tight with passion. Volcanoes exploded in him, and hurricanes raged with a force that almost sent him to his knees.

  Too soon he’d have to leave, but not yet. Not yet.

  For a while there was only Kathleen. He knelt to the ground, taking her with him. Then slowly, like some fine animal from the jungle, he feasted.

  CHAPTER TEN

  As soon as Hunter had Kathleen safely back at the house, he left and called the head of his security into his office.

  “Double the guards around the compound, Tubu.”

  “Reason?” Tubu was a man of few words.

  “Someone is watching Kathleen.”

  “Consider it done. Do we know who?”

  “Tokolosh,” Hunter said, following his gut instinct. “He’s ready to be found. Find him.”

  “And?”

  “Here is what you are to do.”

  Hunter issued rapid-fire instructions, and after Tubu left, he stood looking across the compound to the studio. Although it had been under construction only two weeks, already it looked as if it had sprung up naturally among the parasol trees. Soon it would be finished. Soon he’d have no more excuses to stay on the compound.

  Through the open windows he could hear music. Kathleen was never without it. When he’d left her, she was headed to the bath. He pictured her now, standing naked with the water and the music cascading around her, each movement of her arms as graceful as if she were onstage.

  Filled with purpose, he strode to the studio and sent away the night crew.

  In the days that followed, he found flaws with the already completed work. The floors had to be redone. And the mirrors. The sound system wasn’t perfect and had to be sent back and another ordered.

  Kathleen brought him to task. Sitting in the middle of his carved bed with her hair tumbled across her naked breasts and the mosquito netting swaying behind her in the breezes from the window, she looked like an exotic princess.

  “Last week you told me the studio was almost finished,” she said.

  “Things went wrong.”

  “You’re stalling.”

  “It has to be perfect.”

  Kathleen went absolutely still. The moon moved from behind a cloud and washed her in silvery light. She looked ephemeral, as if she had already vanished and become a figment of his dreams.

  Desperate, he pulled her on top of him and held her fiercely to his chest.

  “We can’t hold back time like this forever,” she whispered.

  “We can try.”

  “Yes, my love,” she whispered. “We can try.”

  o0o

  Tokolosh had misjudged his son.

  When word came from Hunter La Farge, it came through an emissary, and not even his right-hand man, but someone of such low rank that Tokolosh was insulted. He took great pains not to let his true feelings show. Sitting in a hotel room he’d rented for the occasion and wearing a suit he’d bought at a secondhand shop, he tried to look like a man of means instead of a down-and-out vagabond with no place to go and no money to take him there.

  “Mr. La Farge requests blood tests before he will agree to meet with you. I’ve brought his personal physician with me.”

  The man speaking to him with such arrogance had merely introduced himself as Tubu. He had the sleek, dangerous look of a panther that suggested he might be a bodyguard. His black hair was pulled back with a leather thong and the crease in his khaki shorts was so sharp, it looked as if it would cut paper.

  Tokolosh wanted to tell Tubu what he could do with his personal physician, but for once in his life he used restraint. His goal was to get to Hunter La Farge, not instant gratification.

  “Certainly,” he said, rolling up his sleeve. “Anything to get me an audience with my son.” An audience. As if Hunter La Farge were the pope. He’d chosen his words deliberately in order to convey just the right mix of eagerness and respect.

  The needle was relatively painless. While the personal physician filled a vial with dark red blood, Tubu stood at the window looking out as if he had no interest in the proceedings. Suddenly he whirled around, his voice cracking like a whip.

  “Mr. La Farge would like to know your last name.”

  “Tell La Farge he’ll find out when he asks the question in person.” Tokolosh nailed the man with his blue eyes. “Not before.”

  Tubu took a while deciding whether to press the issue. In the end, he headed for the door.

  “You’ll hear from Mr. La Farge,” he said when his hand was on the knob.

  Tokolosh had too much class to ask when. Let the arrogant son of a bitch think he had money to burn, staying in the most expensive hotel in the city with room service every day.

  “Tell my son I look forward to meeting him at last.”

  o0o

  Hunter had designed his office to give the feeling that he was outdoors among exotic plants and cool trees instead of barricaded in a compound with enough guards to provide security for a head of state. Part of the reason for the design was a reaction against his early years in Africa when he’d spent hours and days and months in the darkest reaches of the earth, searching for diamonds. The total absence of light had affected him in ways he hadn’t even realized until he’d started building his house and his offices.

  The first plan, drawn by a renowned architect, featured high walls with narrow windows just below the ceiling. There was enough light, but the walls made it impossible to see the trees. Hunter had thrown the plans in the garbage can and drawn his own.

  It was one of the many ways he’d earned the reputation of being a tyrant. He was called other names as well. Dangerous, daring, cynical, heartless, cold. He’d earned them all. The names had fit... before Kathleen had returned.

  Now, sitting behind his massive teakwood desk, he hoped that Tokolosh had heard of his reputation. When he faced the adventurer who called himself his father, Hunter wanted to be on even ground.

  The intercom buzzed, and his secretary announced Dr. William Reich. As usual, Hunter’s physician minced no words. With his long frame twisted into the chair like a pretzel, he folded his narrow hands into a steeple and stared at a spot just beyond Hunter’s head.

  “As you know, these tests can’t prove conclusively that this man is your father, only that he is not.” Hunter tensed. “The blood tests show that this man could be your father.”

  Hunter was unprepared for the sense of elation that caught him. After so many years he’d though
t himself immune to the old dreams.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Blood-alcohol content was high.”

  “He’s an alcoholic?”

  “He’d been drinking heavily. That proves nothing. Maybe he was nervous about the prospect of meeting you.” William unfolded his hand, focused on Hunter’s face, and gave him a boyish grin. “Hell, I was nervous about meeting you the first time. From all the rumors, I guessed you’d be a cross between King Kong and King Henry the Eighth.”

  “And?”

  “You didn’t disappoint me.” He unsnapped his medical bag and handed the test results to Hunter. “You can look these over at your leisure. If you have any questions, just call me.”

  “Thanks, William.” Hunter left his desk and shook the doctor’s hand. “You’ve done your usual excellent job.”

  “I’m the best. That’s why I charge you a fortune.”

  After William left, Hunter stared down at the test results, not seeing them at all, but seeing the months and years he’d roamed Africa searching for this man. After all those years of playing elusive games, why had Tokolosh suddenly chosen to reveal himself?

  There was only one motive Hunter could think of: money.

  He struggled against the bitterness that curled like smoke inside him. If he weren’t careful, the bitterness could consume him, could wipe out the last vestiges of the optimistic little boy who had wanted nothing except a father and a name.

  “Hunter?”

  Kathleen stood in the doorway with Jake at her side. An enormous silk scarf was knotted at her waist and swirled around her dance leotard.

  “They said you’d be here. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Never. You’re exactly what I need.” With one hand he pulled her close and with the other he shut the door.

  Kathleen slid into his embrace, welcoming his lips with a wild abandon that quickly escalated out of control.

  “I can never get enough to make up for all the lost years.” He pulled her hips hard against his rigid flesh. “Never.”

  “Hunter, I came to talk about important things.”

  “More important than this?” His lips seared the side of her neck. “And this?” He toyed with her nipple.

  The sweet, hot swelling would not be denied. Quietly she took off Jake’s harness and sent him off to play. Hunter drew her back inside and carried her across the room. He cleared his desk with one sweep of his arm, then spread her upon its smooth surface. The multicolored silk scarf spread around her like the petals of an exotic flower.

  When he peeled away the silk and the leotard, she lay upon his dark desk like a carving of ivory. Braced on his elbows, he swept his gaze over her, memorizing each enticing curve, each seductive hollow. Chill bumps rose along her arms and across her abdomen.

  “We can’t keep doing this, Hunter.”

  He knew what she was talking about. Not the loving, not the delicious mating that drugged the senses and filled the heart. But the postponement. Sheltered in his compound, locked in each other’s embrace, they were postponing the time when both of them would have to face the real world.

  He put all thought from his mind and concentrated only on the woman he loved. Euphoria stole over him, and desire bright and sharp as a sword sliced through him. Soon it would rip him asunder and he would be incapable of anything except burying the pieces of himself in her hot flesh and being made whole again.

  He lifted his head while he could, then caught her face fiercely between his hands.

  “There is nothing else but this, Kathleen. Nothing!”

  He lowered himself to her and she eased her hips upward, trembling.

  “Only this,” he whispered. “Now and forever.”

  The tremors that shook her felt like weeping. He braced her hips, holding her back, keeping her on the edge.

  “We can’t go on like this forever, Hunter.”

  “Tell me you don’t want to.”

  “I want to, but—”

  “Shhh... Do you trust me, Kat?”

  Did she dare? Would he keep her like this forever, a prisoner of passion? Sweet agony. Worth any price.

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t trust you for a minute.”

  “Yes, you do, Kat. You trust me. I’m your soul and you are mine.”

  They were wild and savage, panting, their hot breaths mingling, their hearts pounding like native drums.

  “Don’t... ever... let... me... go.” Her plea was ragged, coming out in gasps as they rode the waves of passion.

  “Never.” His hot breath seared the side of her throat as his body went rigid. “Never!” he whispered release shook them both.

  They collapsed together, her legs twisted around his hips and his head resting in the curve of her shoulder. When their strength finally returned, he lifted her off the desk and carried her to the sofa. Then, kneeling beside her, he tenderly wiped away the sweat with her scarf. She lay with her eyes closed, feeling the drift of silk over her skin.

  “You’ve made me forget there was ever anything except the two of us and this magnificent obsession,” she whispered.

  “You call it obsession. I call it love.”

  She held him close, until the sun fell from the sky and the stars came out and made silvery patterns on their naked skin.

  o0o

  They had food and a bottle of champagne delivered from his kitchen.

  Lying back against the sofa cushions, they fed each other, laughing and touching and kissing softly. Kathleen knew that in the weeks and months to come she would always remember them this way, full of each other, happy as children, oblivious to everything except the sensations that ignited like Fourth of July sparklers between them.

  She hated to be the one to break the spell.

  “I called the other crews to come back to the studio,” she said.

  He stiffened. Then setting the food aside, he drew her into the circle of his arm and pressed her head against his shoulder.

  “We don’t have to talk about this, Kat.”

  “Yes. We do.” She eased out of his arms and braced herself against the end of the sofa. “The studio will be finished tomorrow.”

  There was a heavy silence. She wished she could see his face. Instead she had to rely on her senses, and what she felt was the tension in him, the denial.

  “We can’t go on this way forever,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “I have to dance.”

  “I know that too.” He took her hand, kissed the palm. “I want you to dance. I want you to be at stage center with the eyes of the world upon you. I’ve always wanted you to have that dream... and I’ll do everything in my power to make it come true. Do you believe me, Kat?”

  “Yes, Hunter. I believe you.”

  “Six months from now you’ll be in New York at Lincoln Center and I’ll be in the front row seat, cheering my wife on.”

  His words sent shivers through her.

  “Your wife?”

  His laughter was rich and deep.

  “Are you so surprised? We’ve always known it would be so.”

  “It’s something I haven’t thought about in a long time.”

  Hunter had always known her moods, and she felt his stillness now, his disbelief. Don’t, she pleaded silently. Don’t press the issue. Not now of all times.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, he lifted her foot and planted a kiss in the arch. When he released her, his tone was light and beguiling.

  “It’s high time you started thinking about it again, Kathleen Shaw. I don’t intend for you to be a kept woman the rest of your days.”

  “A kept woman?”

  “Yes, indeed. A kept woman.” He sucked her big toe.

  “Ha.” She jerked her foot away from him and stalked naked around his office, pretending a magnificent rage. “You call this being kept, Hunter La Farge? Where I come from, kept women are showered with jewels.”

  “I thought you’d rather be showered with somethin
g else.”

  She could hear the laughter bubbling up in his chest. That was good. If they laughed long enough, they might hold time suspended in this golden day filled with love.

  “I haven’t felt any showers lately. Not even the tiniest sprinkle.”

  “You haven’t?” She heard him leave the sofa. Heard his footsteps as he stalked her.

  “No. Not even a hint of a sprinkle.”

  He was closer now, so close she could feel his body heat. Passion surged through her. Standing naked and breathless, she glowed with it.

  Silk whispered, and suddenly she felt the scarf around her waist. Hunter tugged gently, drawing her forward.

  “Come here, you insatiable wench.”

  “Not unless you make it worth my while.”

  The scarf tightened, pulling her closer, so close to the heat that she was melting.

  “I intend to make it worth your while, all right.” Another tug. The heat ripped through her so hard that she cried out. She heard the slosh of liquid being poured, then felt the tip of his finger against her taut nipple, wet and ripe with the smell of champagne.

  “Very worth your while,” he added, tugging at the scarf.

  The silk landed at her feet, and they slid to the floor with it, already entangled, already lost.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  They didn’t leave his office that night, and when morning came, Kathleen was curved softly against him on the sofa, sleeping. The sun coming through the parasol trees made lacy patterns on her skin. She stirred, sighing, then settled back against the cushions with one arm stretched over her head.

  She sighed once more, smiling in her sleep. As Hunter watched her his heart ached. Today she would begin rehearsals in her newly completed studio, and in a few months, perhaps even a few weeks, she would be ready for the stage.

  And then the small paradise they’d created would vanish... unless he could find a way to make it last forever.

  Sliding quietly off the sofa, he went into the private dressing area adjoining his office to shower and put on fresh clothes. So he wouldn’t wake Kathleen, he took his Braillewriter into the dressing room. The note was brief, and he left it on top of her leotard beside the sofa. Then he covered her with a light afghan, slipped a stack of CDs on the player, and turned the volume down low.