Tempting the Devil

by Potter, Patricia;

  “We’re going to Fernandina Beach?”

  “Yep. Unless you want to go home.”

  She shook her head.

  “It’ll be dangerous,” he warned her. “They know now you are aware of the boat. They may or may not think you know about the house. If they do, it’s probably been cleaned. If not, there might be people staying there. Dangerous people.” He let that soak in.

  “I want to go. It’s my story.”

  “It’s our lives,” he corrected. “And some justice for those cops. You have to promise to do what I tell you.”

  She started to bristle, then relaxed. She was an amateur. He was the professional here. But she hated the professional tone, the lack of warmth, the implication that she was a burden.

  He finished his meal. She started to reach into her purse to pay the bill but he was a second faster.

  Then they were back in the car and heading south. Nearly eleven now and they had a long drive. She leaned back into the seat. She felt safe with him. More than safe. Warm. Tingly warm.

  It wasn’t enough. She wanted so much more.

  She’d never ached inside like this before, or regretted more something that had been lost. She wanted to reach her hand out and put it over his. She had to be satisfied with closing her eyes and willing herself into falling into a shallow doze.

  Ben stopped at a small town just north of Brunswick. They were both tired, and her directions to the beach house would require daylight. Better to get some sleep tonight and start out at dawn.

  He had Carl’s credit card, and he’d had damned little sleep the past four days. And Robin was curled up in the passenger’s seat sleeping.

  He stopped first at a convenience store, filled up with gas and bought a razor and shaving cream. He bought two T-shirts emblazoned with dolphins. One medium. One large.

  When he returned to the car, Robin was still asleep. He drove to a motel and registered under Carl’s name, then drove the car to the assigned unit.

  She looked peaceful. And appealing. Too damned appealing.

  One reason he’d hesitated to stop was the agony of sharing a room with her. But he damned well wasn’t going to leave her alone. She’d probably steal his rental car and try to save the world on her own. Again.

  He shook her, and she merely sighed. “Come on, sleepyhead,” he said. She protested without opening her eyes. He wondered when she’d last slept a night through. He reached down and picked her up, then carried her through the door. Her eyes fluttered open, then opened wide as he dumped her on the giant king-size bed.

  He’d asked for two double beds. He should probably return to the office, but no, that would draw attention to them. He would take a chair. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  He took off her sandals. He debated doing more, then decided not to. Instead, he pulled the sheet and cover over her, his hand touching her cheek and lingering there for a few seconds. He eyed the chair. Then the very big bed of which Robin Stuart took up a very small part.

  Exhaustion was crushing him.

  He checked the locks, then took off his socks and shoes and lay down on top of the covers. Just for a few hours.

  Robin woke up, her body curled against another.

  She looked toward the window. It was still dark outside.

  Drowsily she inventoried herself. No sandals, but she still wore the clothes she’d had on all day. Still, the warmth of Ben’s body warmed hers in the air-conditioned room.

  She didn’t want to move. His warm breathing against her neck was an aphrodisiac that was irresistible. So was his body against hers.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She had apparently thrown off covers and gravitated toward him. That they both still wore clothes told her that he had carefully tried to preserve a wall between them.

  But one of his arms had fallen across her back and she snuggled into him, her body aching for his.

  She stayed that way, reveling in his nearness, when he pulled her to him. She wriggled her body around until she faced him and her cheek rubbed his.

  “Hmmmmm,” he moaned softly, drowsily, as if not entirely awake.

  She leaned over and kissed him, lazily at first, then his lips began to respond with increasing passion.

  Robin regretted her clothes, and his. She wanted the friction of his skin against hers, the heat exchanged and absorbed. Most of all she wanted to feel him inside her, feel his strength and power and her own tumultuous reaction to him.

  His mouth pressed down on hers. Sensations ignited in the core of her as his tongue seduced its way into her mouth. Her lips moved against his, responding with an intensity that seemed to spur his. His body tensed, and she felt him grow hard next to her. She touched his jeans, which were straining, and she unzipped them.

  His eyes opened halfway, dark eyelashes partially covering them. A sexual electricity sparked between them as his hands made heated paths up and down her body, then they slid down her back to her buttocks and unzipped her slacks and pulled them down.

  She unbuttoned her shirt and slipped off her bra, feeling wanton and sexy in a way she never had before. There was something so sensuous—even primeval—about him, about the way her body responded to his slightest touch.

  She wasn’t sure he was fully awake or even that he fully realized what was happening, the sudden explosive coming together. His eyes closed all the way, then with a heavy sigh his kiss deepened. She wasn’t prepared, though, for the sudden, raw violence as his lips hardened against hers, and his arm pulled her so tight against him she felt every muscle of his body.

  She wanted him. She wanted him with every fiber of her being. She wasn’t sure what had happened in the past few days. She only knew that she wanted to satisfy the fiery craving throughout her body, one so fierce and needy that nothing else mattered but satisfying it.

  A moan ripped from his throat as her body played with his, inviting him, seducing him in a way that astounded her. She’d never been the aggressor before, but she was very much that now.

  Then he became an equal in lovemaking. His hand touched her hair with unexpected tenderness. It was only a moment but then she knew it wasn’t only lust on his part but something gentler, sweeter. Still he hesitated just a moment. She arched her body. He moved over her, hesitating just a fraction of a second before entering her.

  Her legs went around him, drawing him even closer to her, until he was so deep in her she felt he was touching her soul. She felt his tenseness, the struggle within him, then heard the curse, low and mumbled, as he started to move inside her, a rhythmic movement that brought whimpering sounds from deep in her throat.

  The exquisite electricity ignited every nerve end and coursed through her body. She responded, moving her body in concert with his in a primitive, sensuous dance that sent ripples of heat racing through her bloodstream. He was so strong inside her, so full, so compellingly complete. His every movement aroused such incredible sensations, she felt like an eagle racing toward the stars. As his body moved with more and more urgency, she thought she could stand no more, that the ecstasy was too great to bear. Then one last thrust exploded in thousands of radiant streaks. Waves and waves of pleasure washed through her.

  He slumped next to her, his hand fondling the triangle of hair just above her legs. Awash in rippling aftershocks of pleasure, she made a half turn, lying halfway across him, her head against his heart. She heard its beat, rush, hurried, as was his breathing.

  She had never felt this way before, never experienced the splendor she did tonight, or the sense of belonging she felt with him. She reached out to touch his face, still rough with beard.

  A groan started in the back of his throat and his eyes opened wide. His hands explored her as they had minutes ago, but this time with more tentativeness as if something had changed. She had changed.

  Sex. Lust. Certainly that had been there, but she’d never felt anything so powerful, so wondrous. There had been a confluence of souls. Nothing else could account for the splendor, for the tender
ness in his hands, in his almost wondering touch.

  She’d never believed in love like this. She’d known him a week. Two? Real love was built from companionship. Similar likes. Similar values. Now for the first time she could understand how her mother, the gentle birdwatcher, and her father, the consummate warrior, got together. But their marriage had been unhappy.

  Ben wrapped his arms around her, pulled her tight against him, and nothing mattered, only the beating of their hearts in concert. Not even the warning in the back of her mind that the heady sense of belonging—the contentment mixed with something close to rapture—waged war with the profound differences between them, that both of them might be stumbling down the path to disaster.

  His hold on her loosened and he gently guided her over to her side. The first indication of dawn was filtering through the curtains, and she saw his eyes. Not curtained now. Not wary. Instead there was a tenderness she’d not seen before.

  “It wasn’t a mistake,” she said, anticipating him.

  He ran a finger down her cheek and sighed. “Of course it was,” he said. “The time, the place …”

  She put her finger to his mouth.

  “Not now,” she said. “We’ll think about it later.”

  For now, for this instant, she was going to relish what she had.

  To her surprise, his lips twisted into a wry grin. “That’s a Scarlett O’Hara tactic.”

  That startled her.

  “I do read,” he said.

  “Gone with the Wind?”

  “Everything as a kid, even Gone with the Wind. One of my foster homes had a copy. I devoured anything around. Even Alice in Wonderland,” he added with a mischievous humor she’d not seen before. “Escape, I guess.”

  “Foster homes?” He’d said he had no family. He’d not mentioned foster homes.

  His face changed, as if he felt he’d said too much. Then he shrugged and touched her face. “You don’t know anything about me, Robin. Nothing.”

  “Because you don’t want me to know, even about Alice in Wonderland.”

  “Just not very interesting,” he said. “I was a throwaway baby. Never knew who my father was. My mother gave me up when I was two. Grew up in foster homes. I learned early not to want anything badly. I learned not to form attachments. I learned not to depend on anyone but myself.” He paused, then added, “Those are habits I can’t break, Robin.”

  The words weren’t self-pitying. They were matter-of-fact and that made them even more painful to hear. No wonder he’d never discussed anything personal. Her parents’ marriage had been anything but perfect, but she’d always been loved by both of them.

  His words, though, had been more than a painful admission. They had been a warning.

  A warning she chose to ignore. “How did you happen to join the FBI?”

  “I joined the army after high school. The state turned me loose, and the army was the means to an end. I went into military police and took college courses whenever I could. I finished college after being discharged and was recruited by the FBI. The bureau likes a military police background.”

  “And you like it?”

  He shrugged. “As well as anything. I’ve always been good at puzzles. That’s what most crimes are. Little puzzles. Big ones.”

  “And Dani?”

  His hand stopped moving across her back. He sat up and looked at the window, at the first rays of sun pouring in. “It’s late,” he said abruptly. “We should be on the road.”

  He’d closed the door to his life again.

  chapter thirty

  Michael put down the phone and stared out the full picture window of his condo at the Atlanta skyline. The sun was rising over the city.

  He glanced at the clock. Seven a.m.

  His life had become a nightmare, and not even the apartment he loved had its usual soothing effect.

  He’d worked damned hard for it. He’d been the first in his family to go to college, and he’d had to work two jobs to manage it. All his life, he’d wanted enough money to never have to worry about bills again.

  After college he had college loans to repay. He’d been happy to get a job with a large financial firm that did auditing for some of the largest corporations in the Southeast, but the beginning pay had been barely enough to live on, much less help his younger brother with college expenses.

  Then he’d been assigned to work on an audit of a large Atlanta development company. He’d been young and eager, went deeper than the other auditors and found a number of irregularities, including payments to what appeared to be shell companies.

  He also discovered some overlapping management funds with a company called Exotic Imports. He started to ask questions. The president of the company, James Kelley, called him to his office and answered them, not entirely to Michael’s satisfaction. But Kelley told Michael what a great job he’d been doing and how impressed he was. He was going to tell the accounting firm he should have a bonus and a promotion.

  When Michael went into his office the next day, he was told by his immediate supervisor that he was being moved upstairs, and that he was in line for a partnership. His salary would be increased by half.

  Nonetheless, he told his supervisor about what he had found.

  “James Kelley and his friends are among our largest clients,” he was told. “It’s because of him we have substantial government business. I know Kelley. He used to be a practicing attorney and he knows every mover and shaker in town. No one is hiding anything. Believe me, he’s on the up-and-up. Now, I have this other job for you …”

  Michael took the raise and more money over the next few years. Bonuses. Some from the company. Some from Kelley. He was given a sweetheart deal on his condominium. Then he was up to his neck in sludge, too deep to get out without losing everything, including his livelihood. He was Kelley’s man, and he became the auditor for Kelley’s various developments and partnerships. He knew Kelley was laundering money, but when the original partner, the one who asked for an audit, died in a fiery crash, Michael stopped asking questions. He knew by then that he had become entangled in Hydra, and he didn’t know how to get out. Alive. Now others had died. Including three cops. He suspected Kelley, through foreign corporations, owned the land where the three cops were murdered. Then he was ordered to romance the reporter. She was asking too many of the wrong questions.

  After all, Kelley told him, Robin Stuart was a cripple and would be grateful for attention from a good-looking guy like Michael. To Michael’s chagrin, Kelley knew of every woman Michael had romanced and bedded. He realized then he’d been followed, photographed.

  He’d liked Robin Stuart. More than liked her. She intrigued him. For someone who usually liked flashy blonds and great figures, he was taken off guard. Her smile was infectious, not fake. Her blue eyes lit when she talked. There was a guilelessness about her that appealed to him.

  He’d enjoyed every moment with her, as few as they were. She was everything that he’d wanted to be, and wasn’t. He saw himself through her eyes and was sickened.

  He was also aware that he knew too much, and too many people who knew too much died. Not only did he know too much, he had failed with Robin Stuart, and failure wasn’t tolerated.

  The voice on the phone had demanded as much. Find out where Robin Stuart had gone.

  He thought he could deliver. He had been at Charlie’s when Mama answered the phone. Though she didn’t mention the name, he sensed Robin was on the other end. One phone call, and he could get the telephone records. He decided not to make that phone call.

  Time for him to go to the authorities and try to get into witness protection. He knew he couldn’t live the way he was living now, never knowing whether he was going to be the next accident victim. Nor could he live with himself if he had anything to do with any more deaths.

  The problem was he didn’t know whom to go to; whom he could trust.

  He knew Kelley had cops on the payroll, including most of the Meredith County sheriff’s de
partment. He’d heard him brag about others. The FBI? The U.S. attorney’s office?

  Someone in Washington?

  He poured himself a drink. The only person he thought he could trust was Robin. She’d withheld the name of a source despite heavy pressure. She might know someone who could be trusted.

  He left his condominium and went to his favorite restaurant around the corner. He stopped and dialed her newspaper office, asked for the editor.

  “It’s about the stories she’s writing,” he said. “I have information for her.”

  “Who is this?”

  “That’s not important. But it’s urgent I reach her.”

  “Bob Greene has taken over the story.”

  “I’ll only talk to Ms. Stuart. I’ll call you back in a few hours to see if there’s a way I can reach her.”

  He closed the cell phone. His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped it.

  Robin took a quick shower and washed her hair while Ben shaved. Then he took a shower while she used the motel blow dryer to partially dry her hair and applied just a touch of lipstick.

  She’d wrapped a towel around her after emerging from the shower, and she looked incredible. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair curled around like honey-colored silk as she dried it. Her blue eyes glowed from their lovemaking.

  He glowed inside, too, but he was loath to admit it.

  He touched her still damp skin, then leaned down and kissed her lightly. His heart slammed against his rib cage as the kiss deepened.