Eyes wide but full of caution, she tossed the covers to the side.
“Tell me I’m not dreaming.” His cock, painfully engorged, jutted toward her.
“If so, we’re together. I hope to make the fantasies I’ve had about you over the past three weeks come true. Obviously, you’re up for the challenge.” The wariness disappeared and her smile went full throttle.
He trailed his fingers along her wrist. Moving closer, Mary shoved John onto his back and climbed on top. Their chests touched and thighs rubbed against each other. He found his way to her sweet place with his cock, stroking her clit with the tip as he caressed one of her nipples with a thumb and forefinger.
Her lips worked magic as she nibbled on the side of his neck, then outlined his mouth with hers and sucked, until she inserted her limber tongue inside. He added hot passion. She moaned, making him want more, to taste more, experience more. She broke the kiss, placed a hand on his chest.
“So strong,” she whispered and licked his nipple. The scents of coconut and lime filtered into his nostrils as his skin heated.
He rolled on top of her, parted her thighs and settled into place, the tip of his sensitive cock seeking to enter. But she wasn’t ready. She didn’t wiggle underneath him, squirm with excitement for him to fill her. No moaning, or groans because he wasn’t inside her yet. Although they’d only been together one time, he knew exactly what to expect, what moves to make and when to merge their bodies.
God, she tasted good, hot and sweet, and the eager way she kissed him back sent shivers of delight through him. He wanted her so badly, her liquid heat surrounding him, and soon. His penis nodded as if in agreement of what was to come. She was wet, slick with desire when he inserted two fingers into the path he’d take to bring her to ecstasy. Her hips met his every stroke, and he moved his lips to her nipples, laving, sucking. She groaned, gripped his rear and tugged him closer.
“Now,” she whispered.
He released a nipple and kissed her mouth, which she opened, welcoming him, and he entered her. Soon, they got into the rhythm of their own particular timing. The slap of their thighs kept beat with the thunk of drums on the current song playing in the other room. A tune he wasn’t familiar with, but the rata-tat-tat was in perfect harmony.
He’d fantasized for such a long time about their second lovemaking session, he was ready to come within seconds, but he waited. She should have her pleasure before he took his. He withdrew, holding the end of his cock still inside her, and rubbed the tip of her clit with his fingers. Her pupils dilated, and she lifted her hips, driving herself deep. Her sleek, wet muscles surrounding his cock tightened, her moans became short bursts of air as her climax gathered.
A sharp moan came from her as she reached her summit. At her cry of pleasure, he couldn’t help it and lost himself in her, filling her. His arms wobbled with the stress of holding most of his weight from pressing her into the mattress. Wanting to maintain the connection, he rolled to his side, keeping them attached.
“You’re amazing,” she whispered into his shoulder. Her warm breath dried the light coating of sweat on his skin.
He withdrew and positioned their bodies to align, listening to the music, and touching his lover. Something he hadn’t been a part of for a long time.
Silence invaded as the stereo shut off. Mary had to leave Cage. He couldn’t put her in danger, and menace was around the corner. He held her hand, and then kissed her cheek. “Until Waterman is caught, you’re going to relocate to a safe house.”
“No. I want to stay. I won’t go out. I’ll keep making crafts.”
“Mary.” He gripped her arm. “I’m not going to take chances with your life.”
She pried his fingers loose, but held tight to his hand. “What about Mrs. Landware and Thanksgiving next week? The fake Mary will not get past her eagle eyes. The entire town will know.”
“I’ll cancel.”
“She’s old and values each encounter with people. You witnessed her expression just from viewing the tree. She longs for the good ole days when life was simple, and you could count on your neighbor helping in an emergency, or just being a friend and visiting. She’d probably be offended if we didn’t show up. I know I’ve only lived in Cage for a short time, but I like the people and they like me. They would want to help. What if we left directly after Thanksgiving?” Her sea green eyes pleaded with him.
“This isn’t up for negotiation. Debbie will imitate you, and you’ll go to a safe house.”
“I could stay at Devon’s lake cottage, an hour away. As I’ve proven, sometimes it’s best to hide something valuable in plain sight.” She licked her lips.
He hated it when she did that, because her mouth was delectable and always drew his attention, especially when she made her lips slick and shiny. “Yes. You are valuable, which is the reason I’m not taking chances.”
“I’ll stay inside the entire time.” She sat upright, drawing the sheet with her, and tucked it under her armpits. “Hire a guard. Keep the blinds closed. Hopefully, you’ll catch Waterman and then we’ll go to Mrs. Landware’s dinner party. Let me be a decoy for Waterman. We’ll be sure to draw him into the open.”
“This isn’t some TV show where they always catch the bad guys.” He tugged the sheet and settled his back against the iron headboard. “I can get you a house in a warmer climate.”
“My blood is beginning to get thicker. I don’t want to run. I’d rather stay and fight.”
“Fighting might include death, a risk I’m not willing to take.” He glanced at her wound, which wasn’t red and swollen. He had to admit Buckley had done an exceptional suturing job. “Let me sleep on it.”
“Fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She gave a half-smile, turned onto her side, and placed her hands under the pillow.
Wanting their connection to last, he curved himself around her. She couldn’t remain in the area. He’d have to be cautious in telling her no, because their relationship was new and fragile. A fiery blast would occur when he did, but he wasn’t gambling with her life.
* * * *
The annoying constant buzz of the alarm woke her. Mary felt around until she found the off button. Eight o’ clock. She had one hour until she had to be at work at the Garden and Floral Design Center. Today she planned to create an angel vignette. The wire figure would rest on a bed of baby’s breath and white larkspur, to dangle in the display window.
Her usual roll to her back met resistance. Firm muscles, skin smelling of her body wash and sex. John.
“Good morning.” He kissed her cheek and then catapulted off the bed.
As he strutted around the bed, heading toward the bathroom, she appreciated his tight rear. “I smell coffee. Have you been up already?”
“No. Debbie. She made a run to the bakery for breakfast. She’s an early riser.” He shut the door and then the water ran.
“Oh, Debbie,” Mary murmured, knowing he couldn’t hear her. Had John decided if she could stay? If the answer was no, then she would insist on going to the OB-GYN before he shipped her off. She needed to be told that her baby was safe and healthy. Once she got affirmation, she’d tell John fatherhood was in his future. She had no expectations from him, but being the daddy of their child and currently intimate with her, he should be told. Would he accept the news with joy? Was it a possibility that he’d connect the donor project with her pregnancy? She hadn’t planned on him being a sperm benefactor, and after seeing Conrad on the ship, she’d abandoned the idea of conception. Her time with John was a result of desire and love. He had not been a target on a list of possible benefactors.
Mary rose, slipped on her robe and smoothed her hair. The bedroom door squeaked as she pulled it open, making her a little annoyed. She didn’t want to surprise the unexpected houseguest who’d invaded her home.
Situated on the sofa, Debbie typed rapid fire on the keypad of a laptop. From the way she was positioned, her skin-tight white shirt rode high on her waist and thong underpants were vis
ible. The woman irritated her. John could have been the first one out of the bedroom. Why wouldn’t she be fully dressed if she’d gone to the bakery? Debbie gave a weak smile, sat upright and lifted her take-out coffee container. “Where’s Kajiyama?”
“In the shower.” She had to get rid of the actress. The longer Ms. Debbie squatted in the guest house the more time the woman would have with John. The chick wanted to be a fake Mary Keefe. More than likely she’d want all the benefits that came along with the name. But John’s kisses and lovemaking would only be directed toward the real Mary.
The pungent aroma of coffee filtered into the air as Debbie lowered her cup. Mary made her way to the kitchen, intending to start a pot of tea. There were two other cups in the cardboard container on the bar. One Styrofoam cup had caffeine free Chai printed across the side. Perfect. Why not drink the fresh cup right in front of her?
She removed the plastic cap and poured the steaming creamy liquid into a ceramic cup.
“There are bagels and doughnuts,” Debbie proclaimed in her nasally tones.
Mary flicked a finger and the white wax-coated bag popped open. She took hold of a shiny-crusted bagel. The fresh cinnamon aroma took her back to a simpler time, in her South Carolina kitchen, before Conrad had appeared in her life. She opened the fridge and glanced through the limited food products inside. Between the half-gallon of one percent milk and a loaf of bread was a box of cream cheese. Phoenix had gone shopping before she left.
Mary cut the bagel, tossed the two halves in the toaster and then retrieved the knife, wove the blade and turned it over between her fingers. Dexterity was a part of her genetics, because her mother had been a member of a knife throwing act with a traveling circus. The Cutting Edge troupe had left the city of Keefe with one less knife flicker, and her father had gained a wife. The knife was sharp, and she might need a weapon. She wiped it on the towel and slid it into her purse on the stool.
“Good morning,” John said, his voice cutting across the room.
Mary was getting used to his light steps and knew the moment he came close.
She hadn’t anticipated his arms circling her waist, nor his warm lips kissing her neck on the opposite side of the incision. “Um, smells good.”
“Shall I warm one for you?” She turned into him, and found the sensitive part of his earlobe with her mouth. In the background, Debbie lowered her gaze and moved the laptop onto her naked thighs.
“Yes, please, I’m starving.”
“I found a house for Mary,” Debbie shouted from the living room.
Mary grimaced. The toaster shot the bagel up. Jerking the slices from the appliance, she placed them on plates, smeared cream cheese on top and handed one to John. He snapped his coffee from the counter, and with smooth even steps, went into the adjoining room. He took a seat on a foot stool and placed his dishes on the table. “Where?”
“California wine country. In the West she’ll be hidden safely among the vines. Jason Fox will be her guard.” Debbie typed a few key strokes. “Come see.”
John sat beside his co-worker and evaluated the screen. Would he agree, or consider Mary’s request? “Nice. I don’t want Fox, though.”
“Ho. Ho. Cause he’s like a fine glass of wine, sensually handsome with a touch of age?” Bombshell’s lips puckered.
The two investigators discussed her future as if she wasn’t there. Mary finished the bagel, wiped her hands on a towel and snapped open a canvas shopping bag lying on the counter. She unscrewed the vise, laid it to the side and lowered the asbestos pads into the bottom of the carrier. The chunky vise went next. She grabbed a few plastic shopping sacks from under the sink, wrapped the angel in them and placed it on top. Her emergency escape satchel had been packed with what was important, her jewelry tools. Next stop was wine country, where she’d be protected by a George Clooney look-a-like.
Granted, neither the guard’s appearance nor George’s name had been mentioned, but if she was going to California and would be under house arrest, at least she could create whatever fantasy she wanted, including celebrating not going to jail for conspiracy or obstructing justice. The phone rang as she cleaned crumbs from the counter top. Mary ignored it, believing the ring tone belonged to John’s cell.
“Mary,” John said. He extended her open cellphone to her. “It’s Devon.”
She looked at John, at the phone and then at Debbie, who obviously planned to continue listening. Mary took the cell. “Hi, Devon, what’s up?”
“My friend is going out of town but is willing to see you today. Can you get away to see the great Dr. Lance Secreast, OB-GYN?”
“When?”
“In one hour. If you leave in the next half-hour, you’ll make it to his office in the village near Hillside on time.”
John leaned against the counter with one dark eyebrow raised.
Mary kept her gaze on him. “Yes. Tell him I’ll be there. Will you send me the address?”
“Yes, I’ll text the details.” Devon hesitated. “Do you need me to drive you? I’m at a hospital with a couple of emergency patients, but I’ll get someone else to take them if you want.”
“No, I’ll be fine. If needed, I’ll borrow Dane’s car. Thank you for the offer.”
Papers shifted in the background, and then Devon asked, “Okay if he removes your stitches?”
“I don’t know. Once you’ve had magical fingers touch you, it’s difficult to think of another’s hands.”
Arms crossed, John shot away from his lazy position.
Devon chuckled. “You can decide after you talk to Lance. He’s a great guy, but if you want me to do the honors, then we can meet later tonight or tomorrow.”
Tonight or tomorrow, she wouldn’t be in Cage, Vermont. “Sure, I’ll call you. Thank you for arranging the doctor’s visit for today. I’ll leave in the next few minutes.”
Disconnecting from the call, Mary quickly dialed the Garden Center and talked to Betty, who snorted as Mary explained she was ill and would be out for the next two days.
Now, how to break the news.
Chapter 22
The sporting and business magazines in the lobby of the obstetrician slash gynecology office were limited. Many of them had teeth marks on the edges. John grabbed a gardening periodical off the glass tabletop and flipped through the pages, getting an idea of what was inside. The last selection of reading material would be parenting journals. He hadn’t thought about children, since he’d never considered a permanent relationship, at least not until recently.
The woman sitting across from him was dressed in a fashionable business outfit, white blouse, vest and matching slacks. She used her PDA, sharp purple-painted nails clicking. He could envision Mary pregnant with his child. Not that she would wear an outfit like that, but one of the other more feminine selections he’d seen in the chick-oriented business magazines he’d flipped through. Instead of focusing on technology, Mary would smile in that sweet relaxed way she had, while touching her protruding stomach. Her eyes would be soft and dewy with love and hope. John shook off the image and reached for another decorating-how-to publication.
The slam of a file drawer brought his attention to the reception desk. A tiny nurse wearing pink scrubs and a stethoscope necklace reached for a file folder. The sharp-tongued dark-haired woman, who barked at Mary for not having an appointment or having filled out the documents prior to arriving, extended a manila envelope. Her sour expression must be permanent.
“Did she get impregnated by a sperm donor, or do you think hunky Dr. Buckley is the father?” the dark haired woman asked the nurse. “He arranged the visit and said it had to be hush-hush.” Her attitude was as black as her hair.
“Obviously you don’t know the meaning of hush. It’s really none of our business. Just give me the pregnancy care instructions,” the spunky nurse replied.
The landline rang, interrupting whatever unkind comment Miss Personality had on the tip of her wicked tongue. Around him, those in the waiting room flipped
magazine pages. The nurse at reception shuffled papers and answered the phone.
His heart pounded in his chest as fast as the woman’s typing on her tiny keyboard. Donor. Mary’s list on the ship was labeled donor. Her categories weren’t a sort of schematic for a potential dating partner, rather, a method to search for a perfect father, or at least the right sperm. Mary was pregnant. She’d failed to mention that little tidbit during her confession time.
He clenched his fists and the magazine ripped at the bottom. He wasn’t on her donor list. Yet, she’d slept with him and he hadn’t used protection. The coffee in his stomach churned. Had she been pregnant at the time? Who was the investor for Mary Keefe’s child?
“John? Mr. Kajiyama?” Mary stumbled over his last name, as if having difficulty saying the word.
“Yes,” he croaked.
“Ready to go, or would you like to finish reading that article?” Papers stuck out from her large purse. Eyebrows lifted, she stared at him. His hesitation was obvious, so he’d need to cover until they were alone.
He placed the nearly shredded magazine on the chrome and glass table and stood. “Yes, I’m ready. Everything okay?”
“Iron poor blood, as I expected. Could we stop by a pharmacy?” She didn’t look him directly in the face, rather shifted her glance from the people in the waiting room to the receptionist, who hovered as close as possible to where they were standing.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” He kept his voice at a monotone, while rage heated his insides. She was deceitful. No, the problem wasn’t lies. It was that she didn’t trust him. Heart pounding and gut painfully clenching, he took her elbow and led her toward the exit.
“Good bye, Ms. Keefe, will Dr. Buckley be coming with you next time?” the receptionist shouted across the room.
Mary tensed under his fingers. “Not that I know of, but I’ll give him your regards, Michelle.”
The glass doors gave him a ready view to the outside. Nothing unusual, so he relaxed. He should give Mary the benefit of doubt, or he was an idiot and had been used to be her baby’s daddy. He took her hand and guided her to the car. Once she was strapped in the seat, he settled behind the steering wheel. She dug a gold tube out of her purse, twisted the bottom until pink appeared and refreshed her bow-shaped lips.
Jewel Hiest Page 18
