by Karen Leabo
He checked out the kitchen window as darkness began to fall. The wind was whipping the bare branches of the trees into a frenzy as dry leaves danced in minitomadoes and eddies along the street. And the Toyota was still there.
He reached a decision then. Whatever the consequences, he couldn’t allow Jess to get frostbite out there. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, tucked the garage-door opener—with new batteries—into his pocket and stormed out of the house, a man with a mission.
He didn’t bother knocking this time. He simply jerked the driver’s door open. She hadn’t even locked it.
Jess gave a shriek of surprise before recovering and glaring at him. “What n-n-now?”
Jeez, she was practically blue. The keys were in the ignition, he noticed. That made things easier. He climbed behind the wheel, adjusted the seat and started the car.
“What d-d-do you th-think—”
“Save it. I’m taking you in where it’s warm. You can sit in front of the fire, I’ll make us some coffee and then we’ll start taking shifts watching the Gilpatricks’ house.”
She focused on only one thing he’d said. “Fire?”
“The logs are stacked on the grate, ready for a match.” It took about twenty seconds of driving to reach his rental house. He pressed the button in his pocket to make the garage door open.
“Wait a minute,” Jess objected. “We can’t... I mean, I can’t hang around in your house. We’ll be in the same fix we were last time you offered me your...hospitality.”
“It’s not quite the same as last time,” he said reasonably, using the same arguments he’d used on himself to rationalize his decision. “For one thing, I didn’t tell a soul where I would be. I leased the house through an ad in the paper. So unless one of us was followed... You weren’t, were you?”
“I d-don’t think so.”
He knew he hadn’t been. He’d meandered around enough side streets to be sure. “Then we’re okay. We’re safe.”
She didn’t look as if she believed him. Could he blame her? He’d made similar assurances last time he’d taken her home with him, and look what had happened.
Jess had to fight with her prison of blankets in order to get out of the car. Finally she freed herself and awkwardly climbed out, still visibly shivering. She followed him into the house. “Oh, Lord, it feels good in here. Where’s that fireplace you were talking a—” She stopped midword, looking around her in awe. “This place is a palace! You could park an airplane in here.”
“It is a bit excessive, but I didn’t have much choice. Come on.” He guided her by her trembling shoulders from the kitchen into the living room. He helped her peel off her gloves, jacket and scarf, then propelled her into a plump chair by the fireplace. “Sit.”
With the touch of a match to the dry kindling—and with a little help from a natural-gas jet—they had instant crackling fire.
Instant atmosphere, too. All in the world Kyle wanted was to curl up in that big chair with her and gaze into the dancing flames, sipping wine and talking softly about nothing more significant than summer vacations and movies they’d seen. He wanted to feel her body warm next to his and loosen from the effects of the wine. And when they were both seriously relaxed he could carry her upstairs to that sinfully huge bed and—
“You said something about coffee?” Jess asked hopefully, intruding on his fantasy.
“Coming right up.” Just as well, he thought, as he measured coffee into a paper filter. Even if Jess were willing, he didn’t have time to dally in bed with her. Every minute he spent away from that window was a possible lost opportunity to spot Terry Rodin and end this nightmare for Jess.
While the coffee brewed, he made them each a ham-and-cheese sandwich. She smiled gratefully when he handed her the mug of coffee and set a plate with the sandwich and some potato chips in her lap.
“Another few minutes out there,” he said as he resumed his seat by the patio door, “and you’d have had icicles growing off your ears.”
“I know. I probably shouldn’t admit this to you, but I was thinking about packing it in when you showed up.”
Kyle thought about that as he gazed out the window into the increasing gloom. If he’d been just a touch more hard-hearted, he would be rid of his problem. Jess would have gone home, and he wouldn’t have to deal with her now. Only he had a hard time thinking of her as a problem right this moment. An unwelcome distraction, maybe.
“Are you warming up?” he asked. “No frostbitten fingers or toes?”
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, yeah. Thermal underwear. I’d forgotten.”
She laughed, a low, throaty sound that Kyle had heard far too rarely since he’d known her. “You’ll never let me forget it, I suppose.” She paused, and when next she spoke she was solemnly serious. “What can you see out there?”
“Well, it’s getting dark, and so far I don’t see any lights.”
“Shoot, the place is probably deserted. Do you think we’re on a wild-goose chase?”
He considered lying to her. If she didn’t think this vigil would pay off, maybe she would go home, and he wouldn’t be constantly aware of her presence. But she’d sounded so defeated that he couldn’t stand to disappoint her further.
“Actually, no. I believe there could be someone occupying that house.”
“Really?” She shot out of her chair and in an instant was beside him, peering into the night. Even rumpled and exhausted, she was dazzling, at least to his own tired senses. Her body still retained a hint of whatever fragrance she’d used that morning—soap or shampoo, not perfume, he guessed.
“At first glance the house looks deserted,” Kyle said, trying to keep his mind on business. “But look at the leaves on the front porch, around the door.” He handed her the binoculars.
She took a few moments to locate the house and focus the lenses to her satisfaction. “I don’t see any leaves.”
“Exactly. Leaves have blown up knee-deep along that face of the house, but there are none right around the front door—which means someone pushed them out of the way to get in or out of the front door.”
“So someone has at least entered the house in the last few days.”
“I believe that’s the case.”
“Interesting. Oh,” she said, sounding surprised.
“What is it?”
“A big security light just came on,” she said excitedly.
That’s what he’d been afraid of. He’d noticed the floodlight by the driveway, atop a tall pole. “Just because it came on doesn’t mean anyone turned it on,” he said as he reclaimed his binoculars. “It’s probably on a timer.”
“Oh.”
He looked through the glasses. The floodlight bathed the house, practically as well as daylight had earlier. It would be harder for him to detect interior lights now.
“Kyle?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Why can’t we just go up to the house, ring the doorbell and see who’s there?”
“Because if it’s Terry, he won’t answer the door, and he’ll know we’re wise to him. He’ll be extra careful, maybe even find a way to escape from the house without us seeing. I don’t want him careful. I’m counting on him being careless, at least once.”
She nodded her understanding. He studied her as she gazed out into the darkness. She was obviously thinking hard about something, judging from the little furrows of worry on her forehead. Finally she spoke. “I suppose I should go. It appears you have everything under control here.”
And he supposed he should let her. To his consternation, the words that came out of his mouth were “No, stay.”
She looked just as surprised as he felt.
“I’ve realized that one pair of eyes just isn’t enough,” he continued. “You made the point earlier. I do have to sleep, and eat. With the two of us, we can cover the house every second. We could take four-hour shifts. Although the decision is up to you,” he added hastily. “If you feel it’s too ri
sky for you to stay here with me—”
“I’ll stay,” she said with finality.
He felt elated, even as he acknowledged that his feelings went well beyond what was logical. He had it for Jess, and he had it bad. “Okay. I’ll take the first shift.”
She looked at her watch. “I’ll try to get some sleep, then,” she said in a very businesslike tone. “Are the bedrooms upstairs?”
“Two up, two down. Take your pick. I’ll wake you when it’s your shift.”
“Okay.” She looked around, then plodded up the stairs. Somehow, he knew which bedroom she would pick.
Jess could only stare in openmouthed shock at the huge round bed with its custom-fitted red satin comforter and matching sheets. This was something she would expect to find at the Poconos, not in the heart of the conservative Midwest.
Such a temptation. How could anyone resist? She peeled off her clothes down to her infamous thermals, folding everything neatly and stacking it on the dresser. That’s when she noticed the dresser drawer open a crack. She opened it the rest of the way and found men’s socks and underwear.
Kyle’s.
Of course, he’d picked the master bedroom as his. That was only logical. And she should hotfoot it down the hall to some other room. But the round bed called to her. Ah, hell, he’d never know she’d been here. She peeled back the comforter and dived between the decadent sheets, laid her cheek against the satin pillow slip and sighed with contentment. She was asleep in seconds.
Some time later she was wakened by a crack of thunder, loud as rifle fire. Flickering lightning illuminated the strange bedroom, and it took her a few moments to get oriented. Rain poured down on the roof in what sounded like a waterfall.
She slipped from the bed and went to the window. The rainfall was so hard that visibility was nil.
Jess looked at her watch. Kyle had let her sleep an hour past their shift-change time. That was nice of him, she supposed, but hardly fair. She pulled on her jeans and went downstairs.
The living room was dark and eerily quiet, cast in faint orange glow from the dying embers of their fire. “Kyle?” She could make out his form, stretched out in the chair by the door. He didn’t answer her.
As she came nearer, the faint sounds of snoring reached her. He was asleep! What kind of lousy stakeout was this, anyway? She bumped his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”
His eyes flew open and he was instantly awake. He looked at his watch, then out the door where the downpour continued.
She reached for a lamp, but he stopped her. “Don’t. At night I want to keep the lights off in here as much as possible. Don’t want one of the neighbors to see us with the binoculars and get the wrong idea.”
“Good point.” She could see all right by the dying fire. “You were sleeping on the job,” she said, though there was no bite in her words.
“Just a catnap while it rained. I have the ability to wake myself up every few minutes to check. And as long as it was raining and neither of us could see a thing, I didn’t see any point in waking you.”
Momentarily mollified, she said, “I’ll make fresh coffree.”
“None for me, thanks. I’m heading upstairs.” He heaved himself up out of his chair, gave her a distracted wave and made good his word.
It was a full minute later when Jess realized she hadn’t made the bed, hadn’t taken her shoes and sweater with her when she’d run downstairs. He would know she’d been in his room. She flew up the stairs with the vague notion that she might erase the traces of her trespassing while he was in the bathroom—or, failing that, at least apologize for her presumptuousness.
The door to the master bedroom was wide open. Kyle sat on the bed, removing his tennis shoes. He looked up. “Did I forget something?”
“No, I did. I’m afraid I slept in your bed, and I forgot to remove the evidence.”
He grinned wickedly. “Seems to be a habit with you—sleeping in my bed, that is.”
“It sure could get to be a habit.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what had possessed her.
He stared at her, looking quite shocked at first, and then his grin returned—even more wicked, if that were possible. “So how was it? The bed, I mean.”
“F-fine,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Not too hard? Too soft?”
“Too big,” she said, amazed at her bravado. But suddenly it seemed totally insane that the two of them should be in this bedroom and not take advantage of it. That’s why she’d followed him upstairs. Not to remove her things. Not to apologize. But to take advantage of the situation. “Too big for one person.”
Kyle held out his hand. “Come here, Jess.”
Powerless to refuse him, she approached with baby steps. He snagged her by the wrist and pulled her into his lap. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
She shrugged. “Well, since it’s raining...”
He laughed softly, the sound of it sending pleasurable shivers up her spine, as he wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands were warm where they rested possessively along her midriff. “That’s a helluva reason to make love.” He grew serious. “I want to make love to you, Jess. I’ve wanted to from the first day I met you. But I have to be honest. Relationships aren’t really my thing.”
She found his confession oddly amusing. “I’m assuming you’ve tried one.”
“I’ve seriously dated a coupie of women. But I always find reasons to run them off.”
“Like?”
Just when she thought she could gain some serious understanding of this man, he clammed up on her. “It’s not important,” he murmured against her hair. “But I’ve seen enough to know that having a woman around could seriously foul up my life.”
“And I know, from personal experience, that having a man around can end up wrecking life as I know it. Yet like an idiot I keep gravitating toward them—toward the wrong kind. Incredible how strong our biological urges can be.”
“Incredible,” he repeated, nuzzling her ear as if to prove her point. “Am I the wrong kind?”
“Would it matter?”
He stopped nibbling long enough to answer seriously. “I’m curious to know what you think is the right kind.”
She sighed. “Someone kind and gentle and unselfish, not too egotistical. Easygoing. No temper,” she added meaningfully.
“Sexually compatible?” He resumed his exploration of the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
“Ah, um, that would help. But other things are more important...” Her words trailed off as she drifted into a sensual dream. How could he, how could any man, do this to her with so little effort? Certainly Terry hadn’t.
Terry. Funny, when she’d met him she’d thought he was all the things on her list. But it hadn’t taken her long to realize that Terry Rodin was a chameleon, capable of showing whatever it was that people wanted to see. He was nothing but a practiced actor, a con man.
Kyle certainly didn’t meet many of her ideals. Oh, he’d shown flashes of kindness, when it suited his purposes. And gentleness, like now. But he was all tied up in his professional ego. He’d admitted it—that proving he was right about her innocence was his primary goal right now. And he certainly wasn’t easygoing or without a temper.
At least with Kyle, she saw up front exactly the kind of man he was. If she had the option of getting seriously involved with him—which she didn’t—she would know what she was getting into.
“A man like you describe wouldn’t hold your interest for a week,” Kyle said as he pulled the hem of her thermal top free of her jeans and slid his hands inside it. “You’d dominate him, like a whipped dog. You’re too strong for someone like that.”
“Me, strong? Ah...” She issued a small, pleasure-filled gasp as his firm hands kneaded her flesh, stiff from all those hours in the car.
“Yes, you, strong,” he whispered, renewing the assault on her neck. Between butterfly-light kisses he added,
“You’re the talk of the department, the way you’ve held up under interrogation.”
“I cried like a baby—oh, right there, a little higher—that first day.”
“But you improved, didn’t you? Adversity makes you stronger.”
“Then I should be King Kong by now.” Unable to stop her hands from wandering, she did a bit of her own exploring, fondling the rigid cords of his neck and shoulders, the soft springiness of his hair. It was so much softer than it looked. “So, say I’m strong. Does that mean I need a hard-nosed, overbearing man who’ll order me around and expect me to subjugate all my needs to his? No, thanks. Been there, done that.”
“Well, you don’t need Mr. Rogers.”
“Then who?” Some fantasy man. Someone who didn’t exist.
Her question went unanswered as Kyle lifted the hem of her top and pulled it over her head. This was getting serious. If she didn’t stop things now, they wouldn’t get stopped.
She found she didn’t have the slightest urge to stop. Kyle certainly wasn’t a fantasy man.
But fantasies, she’d decided, were for naive girls who believed in equal partnerships and mutual love and respect and happily ever after. Far better to go into any liaison with her eyes wide open than to end up betrayed, emotionally brutalized, terrorized.
That’s what men did to her—because she allowed it somehow, she figured. Both times when her relationships had gone downhill and she’d firmed up her backbone and tried to take control of the situation, she’d ended up a victim instead.
Well, no more. She would never again willingly put herself in a situation that gave a man power over her. That wasn’t what was happening here, by God. Judging from Kyle’s shortness of breath and the way his hands shook as they unhooked her bra, she was the one wielding the power. And that suited her just fine.
“I don’t mean to be cavalier about this—” Kyle said.
“Then I won’t take it that way.”
“You do mean something to me. This isn’t just a case of opportunity. I think we were destined for this moment, whether now or later.”
Jess knew what it had probably cost Kyle to admit that he cared, even a little. She accepted his assurances, let them settle warmly about her heart. She answered him by placing her lips quite deliberately against his.
