by Renee Simons
She felt the surf tugging at them, moving their bodies in a slow, measured tempo. She found herself duplicating the movements of the waves, instinct dictating how and when to move, making her aware of what gave him pleasure, what she needed to make her self whole and clean once more.
She heard Ethan's breath catch in his throat. "You're a quick study, aren't you?"
"I had a superb teacher." She kissed the tip of his nose. "Teacher."
"Now what?" he asked, his blue eyes focused sharply on her.
She brought her mouth down on his so he could feel her longing. "Share with me, Ethan. Please?"
"All right, but we'll have to move to dry land. Or I'm liable to drown us both."
On shore once again, he wrapped his shirt around her for warmth and carried her back to the guest room. He lowered her to the bed and lay his chilled body over hers, warming them both as he had in the water.
As his hands moved over her body, Jordan stilled them. "Ethan. No more games. Please."
"Are you sure?"
His expression was serious. Only his eyes betrayed his pleasure. Usually cool and placid, they glittered with sudden fire. His arms tightened around her and his lips joined with hers. She felt some inner control snap. A wave of heat swept through her and her body began to tremble with renewed anticipation. The muscles of his arms flexed and relaxed. His hard chest pressed against her breasts. She let the feel of him seep into her through her fingertips as they passed over the silky hair on his chest and the smoothness of his muscled upper arms and broad shoulders.
His eyes swept over her face, marveling at the beauty she denied but that he'd recognized in the first moment he saw her - the mass of sunlit hair, fanned out now about her like a golden halo, the wide sea witch eyes that seemed to search his soul, the mouth at once sensuous and innocent that drew him and held him....
Finally, he slipped between her thighs, his hands lifting her gently from beneath, arching her toward him, helping her to take the length and strength of him into her, and together, they completed what they'd begun in the gentle surf below.
* * *
Morning found Jordan on the beach. Awake since sunrise, she'd walked miles along the shore, watching as the tide moved in and then began its inexorable march back out again. Now she simply sat with arms hooked around her knees and watched the restless water, blue-gray beneath a sky full of dark, lowering clouds. As if they felt the coming storm, the gulls stayed on the beach. Unafraid of her quiet presence, they settled around her, pecking at the sand, alertly watching the waves, or sleeping with their beaks tucked beneath their wings.
Jordan thought about the man who lay sleeping in the house and smiled, then blushed as she remembered a night of lovemaking, by turns passionate, tender, bawdy and at the last, warm and comforting, a serene pleasure lulling them to sleep. She remembered his lips, hungry for hers, tasting her, heating her skin. Once again, she felt his hands as they explored her body and its most secret and sensitive places. She remembered the lean, hard strength of him, and how his body had felt to her fingers, how his skin had made her skin tingle, how her body had exulted when it joined with his.
She recalled, but could barely describe the sensations that had wracked her body - heat, cold, pleasure, pain, and above all, the surrendering of control while being acutely aware of every breath, every beat of heart and pulse, every inch of sensitized skin covering quivering cells and veins throbbing with the power of her blood coursing through them.
She relived the moments when he'd been gentle, patient, and those when his passion had ruled, making him demanding but never cruel, merely insistent. In those moments, his need had fueled hers, had become hers. The fulfillment tasted even sweeter because it belonged to both of them, as sweet as the moment when he held back and helped her climb to the summit with him. Whatever happened between them, she would never regret her decision, though the impulse had come without warning and she'd acted on it without conscious thought.
In the house, Ethan woke finally to find Jordan gone but he wasn't worried. They had connected in a way he hadn't anticipated. Although he knew how he felt about her and he'd seen clues that told him she cared for him, nothing that had passed between them before last night had prepared him for the intensity of what they'd shared. He was glad he hadn't let his reluctance get in the way.
He stayed in bed for a few minutes, choosing to linger pleasurably with memories of the previous night. When his body began to respond, as it had the previous night, he rose, swung his long legs onto the floor, and headed for the shower. Fifteen minutes later, he was out on the bluff, leaning cautiously on the safety rail installed the day after he and Jordan had first met.
He spotted her down on the beach, surrounded by sea gulls and pipers. He watched as she rubbed the back of her neck. As if sensing his presence, she turned and waved. He went down the steps to the beach and sat beside her on the sand.
"Sleep well?" he asked, nuzzling the side of her neck.
She smiled. "Too soundly even to dream." She gave him a sideways glance. "How about you?"
He grinned at her. "Like a baby."
This time she laughed. "Some baby!" Ethan hooked an arm around her neck and pulled her close. She sighed. "How long will we be staying?"
"That depends on how you feel about me once we've had our long overdue talk."
"About what?"
"About yesterday's insanity."
"Okay," she said with another sigh. "Let's hear it."
"You've got to stay away from those people." He felt the instant tensing of her muscles.
"I can't do that."
"Listen to me, please. Once Volpe realizes who your father was, your life will be at risk. For all you know he may already have made the connection and is setting you up for a fall. You can't count on Conlon to bail you out, either. His first loyalty is to the organization, assuming, of course, that he even makes it back from wherever he is. You have to be sensible about this. It's no game, you know."
She pulled away. "I know it's no game, and how dangerous it is, but I can't let that stop me. The man must be brought down. If the task has fallen to Conlon and me, then so be it." She turned to him. "And you're wrong about Terence. He wants Tony Vee as badly as I do."
"For God's sake," Ethan said impatiently. "The man made a choice before and chose the wrong side. You can't trust him. Even Dominique agrees you should bow out."
"Dominique agrees, huh? And how do you know that?"
"We worried about you. After I read the report we discussed the situation."
"What do you mean, you and she discussed the situation? What right did you have to discuss me? Or my life? What right do you have to make decisions for me? About me?" A cold, almost deadly calm invaded her, destroying whatever peace his touch had brought.
"You think you understand me? That you have clues? Answers? What you know is one-tenth of what I am and why. If I were capable of the violence that ruled my parents' lives, I'd shoot the man and end it quickly. Well, I'm not. So if I have to work with Conlon, I will. If I have to see Volpe again, I will. Whatever it takes to destroy him, I'll do. And you and Ms. Star Candidate for the D.A.'s office can take your discussions, decisions, and your damned surveillance team, and go to hell."
Totally unprepared for the tirade, Ethan could only turn and watch her climb the rickety wooden stairs to the house. He swore fiercely. He'd hit another one of those hidden nerves that he couldn't know existed, until it was too late. "I'd give my eye teeth to know what this one is," he muttered. "Must be a bloody bitch."
Back at the compound, he found her not in the main house, but in her cottage, packing. She'd emptied the drawers and the closet and was filling her garment bag and two pieces of soft sided luggage with whatever clothing and possessions hadn't already made the trip to Boston.
"Where are you going?" he asked softly.
"Back to Beacon Hill," she replied curtly and glared at him. "With or without you."
"Let's talk first."
He shook his head. "Give me a few minutes to pack some of my things, too, and to close the house again. We'll go back together. You're in no shape to drive yourself."
"My keys, please, Ethan. I've been taking care of myself for a long time and I don't need you to do it for me.” She held out her hand. "And no matter what you believe, you're not the best judge of my condition."
He handed her the keys. "Will you wait for me?"
"I'll wait."
During the trip back, Jordan paid particular attention to her driving, in an effort to show Ethan how wrong he'd been about her state of mind. He merely slid down in his seat and closed his eyes. Finally, about a half hour from the city, he spoke up.
"Are you hungry?"
She smiled in spite of her anger. Nothing kept the man from his food. "A little. You?"
"I don't know how you can be so casual about meal times. I'm so bloody hungry my stomach is knocking against my backbone."
"Okay, we'll stop."
"There's a small diner up ahead about a mile. Been there practically since the Flood, but the coffee keeps a body at attention and the apple pie is the best I've eaten anywhere. If you're really hungry, Gus'll dish you up a hefty portion of moussaka."
"I love moussaka, but not today."
Gus' Diner, Augustine Trikonis, Prop., stretched invitingly beneath its neon sign. Three patrons at the counter turned briefly as Ethan and Jordan entered. At a table to the right of the entrance, a couple smoked and filled their cups from a large coffee carafe. At the rear of the stainless steel and yellow Formica room, four young men in their late teens flirted with three girls of similar age seated in a booth opposite them.
A burly, olive-skinned man came through the swinging door from the kitchen with three steaming platters on his arm. He glanced at Jordan and Ethan.
"Hey, there, Caldwell. How goes it?" He slid the plates onto the counter and poured coffee for the men before reaching out to shake Ethan's hand. "Ain't seen you in a dog's age."
"Haven't had much time lately to come out this way."
"Sorry about your trouble up to Boston. You workin' your way out?"
"It's too early to say."
"Well, you got a bunch of friends, me included. So don't be afraid to ask for help."
"Speaking of friends," Ethan said, turning to her, "here's one you've never met. Jordan, meet Gus."
After hastily using his apron to wipe his hands, Gus took hers. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. Ethan, here, needs us all right now."
Ethan hadn’t lied about either the coffee or the apple pie. They lingered over the carafe Gus put on the table, neither wishing to end the tenuous truce that resulted from tackling double portions of both. Tenuous because although they hadn’t reached an agreement, they hadn’t argued, either. Once again, Ethan made the first overture.
"I don't want to start up our argument again, but there are a couple of things that still need saying. Will you listen?"
She nodded and leaned back against the yellow vinyl cushion lining the booth.
"You've been alone for a long time, taking care of yourself, not having to account to anyone for your actions. I understand how that is. I lived that way for a long time myself. But you're not alone any more. That carries a different kind of responsibility with it.
"Whatever you do from now on affects others. You can't hurt without them hurting and you can't get yourself killed without part of them dying right along with you."
His tone had turned harsh. She glanced at him, surprised by the raw emotion glittering in his eyes.
"All I ask is that you please think about the rest of us the next time you beard the lion in his den, or go marching off to tilt at windmills. Or any other fool thing that fertile mind of yours can invent to put its owner in harm's way."
He rose, dug in his pocket for money to pay the check and tip and walked out to the car. With her mind spinning around his short but potent speech, Jordan had no choice but to follow him and complete the trip back to Boston.
He was right about one thing, though. She’d been alone so long it hadn’t occurred to her that anyone would care what happened to her.
* * *
They found the house nearly deserted when they returned. The Willises had left to visit their married daughter and everyone else had gone home to see family or friends on an abbreviated R & R. One lone communications officer remained at his post monitoring the phones. Conlon's call came in at nearly eleven o'clock that night.
"Who's there with you?"
"Ethan."
"Good," he said. "He might as well hear what I have to say. I'll be there momentarily."
The bell rang shortly after he'd hung up. They looked at each other in surprise.
"He must have called from the limo," Ethan muttered as he went to the door.
Jordan rose when they entered the room. Genuinely glad Conlon had survived whatever he'd encountered in the Caribbean, she knew from his stony expression she might not be so lucky.
"I ought to wring your neck," he announced without preamble. "Have you any idea the damage done by that little grandstand play of yours? The man is absolutely obsessed by the idea of tracking you down. And you should know you're not that difficult to trace. There's a clear trail back to your date of birth.” He paused for a breath. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I did what I needed to do. What I wanted to do. If I was wrong, then so be it." She closed her eyes for a moment, then stared at the man glowering down at her. "Besides, he’ll find out about me once we start hyping the book in the media."
“What book?” His lips narrowed and two deep lines bracketed his mouth. He seemed to know the answer before she spoke.
"I guess it’s time you heard how things are."
"All right," he said slowly. "How are they?"
"The article I told you about was a ruse to get me into the site to gather information for Ethan. The information you gave me later was so monumental, I took Drew into my confidence. We've been incorporating your disclosures into a book he’s been writing to clear Ethan’s name."
"Who says you're not your father's daughter?" With a rueful smile, he joined Ethan at the fireplace and stared down into the empty well. One hand rested on the mantle and the other in the pocket of his linen slacks.
Ethan turned to the older man. "Suppose Volpe does discover Jordan’s identity? What's he likely to do?"
Conlon gave him a sideways glance. "Use your imagination."
"That's a lot of trouble to go through, don't you think?"
"For Volpe," Conlon said with dry emphasis, "it's a minor inconvenience."
Ethan rubbed his jaw and grimaced. "Too bad we can't find a way to make it a major inconvenience, too major even to consider."
Conlon looked at him with interest. "How?"
"Hell, Terence, you know the bloke better than I do." Ethan nodded in Jordan’s direction. "What makes her such an attractive target in the man's mind?"
"Her vulnerability. Her lack of importance. In his mind, to eliminate Jordan would be akin to - swatting a fly - no more, no less."
She bit a nasty remark. Dominique had made the same comparison but by now, the image appeared uncomfortably accurate.
"If that's the case," Ethan continued, "then we need to make Jordan so important that all hell will break loose if she's hurt in any way."
“Would you two quit talking about me as if I was in another room?”
Terence looked at her. "Then make a contribution to this discussion.”
“Okay...what do you think about my going public during Drew’s book tour?”
Ethan spun around to face Jordan. “Are you bloody out of your mind?”
Terence laid a hand on his arm. “Let her finish.”
Jordan shrugged. “Being in the public eye might provide some security.”
“More than staying under wraps could?” Ethan asked.
Terence chuckled. “Look where being under wraps has gotten us so far.”
Ethan smiled. “Might’ve worked if we’d just stayed there.”
“You started it,” Jordan said. “I’m just looking for a way to turn this to our advantage.” Still seated, she stretched her legs out before her.
Terence glanced at Ethan. "Can we trust your brother?"
"Yes." His immediate response pleased Jordan.
Conlon walked to the window and parted the sheer curtain panels to look out before turning back to them.
"We should meet with Drew and his publisher tomorrow, to discuss their plans for advance publicity on the book." He pointed at her. "Maybe your protection is to be so visible that Tony won't dare harm you."
"As visible as Alan Blakeley?" she asked softly.
Terence stared at her. "How did you make that connection?"
"Drew made it. But it's an apt comparison, don't you think?"
"Did you ask Tony about Blakeley?"
"Yes."
"No wonder he's out to get you." He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Couldn't you find something less sensitive to talk about?"
"He was so self-contained and full of philosophical baloney, I just wanted to shake him up a little and see his reaction."
"All this," Ethan said, "while we sat out front sweating over what kind of trouble she was getting into up there."
"By the way," the older man said, "do you still want to get into the site?"
"I already have - several times."
"That doesn't surprise me." Conlon grinned at Ethan. "Did you see everything you wanted to see?"
"No, but I can't get the prosecutor's office to issue the paper I need to get it done."
"I'll arrange it," Conlon promised and left.
Chapter 12
A strategy meeting took place at two p.m. the next day. Drew's editor and the publicity director outlined a campaign for the book that included print ads, commercials on radio and television and talk show appearances. When they completed their presentation, Terence spoke, addressing his remarks to Drew.
