Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  “Give it a test drive first, before you decide.”

  She stuck the keys into the ignition, started the engine, and sighed contentedly. God, she loved this truck. But then, Griff had known she would. No sleek little sports car for her. No trendy SUV.

  Of course this vehicle bordered on being sleek and trendy.

  But it was a truck. A gorgeous, badass truck.

  She drove over every paved and unpaved road at Griffin’s Rest. Then they got out on the highway and burned a third of a tank of gas before Nic brought them back home and parked in the driveway.

  Clutching the steering wheel, she whined, and then cast a sidelong glance at Griff. “You’ve corrupted me, you know. I’m seriously thinking about keeping this truck.”

  Griff laughed, the sound a robust rumble inside the truck cab. He reached over, grabbed her, and kissed her. It was their first real kiss since …

  She returned his kiss tentatively, loving the feel of his lips against hers. Griff ended the kiss and let her go. But he kept smiling.

  “Tell me you love the cashmere sweater as much as I love this truck and I might keep my present.”

  “I love the sweater,” he said. “Blue is my favorite color.”

  “I know. And apparently, since you bought me a blue truck, you know it’s my favorite color, too.”

  “Face facts, honey, we really are just two halves of a whole.”

  She slapped his arm playfully. “Stop that mushy talk.”

  Griff laughed again.

  “Would it be greedy if I asked for another gift?”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “What sort of gift?”

  She laid her hand on top of his and looked into his eyes. “I am going home, back to Woodbridge soon, right after New Year’s. And do not try to talk me into staying longer.”

  “I would if I thought I could. But I know better.”

  “My sessions with Yvette are going well. I’m slowly but surely coming to terms with what happened to me. I’m going to continue therapy with someone in D.C., and, hopefully, Doug will put me back to work soon.”

  “What does all this have to do with my giving you another present?”

  “You and I had one night together,” she said. “A rather incredible night. At least I thought it was.”

  Griff’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah, it was definitely an incredible night.”

  “I think we might have had something good going for us and I’d like to give it another try. Maybe this time, we can even go out on dates and stuff like that.”

  “Our dating is the other gift you want from me?”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “Nicki, honey, don’t you know that would be as much a gift for me as for you?”

  “I’m thinking maybe we could do something special New Year’s Eve.”

  “It’s a date. I’ll come up with something really, really special.”

  Nic squeezed his hand. “Just being with you will make it special.”

  “Now who’s getting mushy?”

  They both laughed. And it felt damn good to laugh again, to feel happy again.

  Pudge sat on the beach and looked out at the ocean as dark storm clouds swirled in the sky. He could no longer see the small wooden boat that LaTasha had used to escape the island. Why hadn’t he inspected every inch of his rental property before he’d brought a visitor here? It had never entered his mind that some previous renter, probably years ago, had left behind that damn little dinghy.

  It didn’t matter that she had managed to get away. She’s dead by now. I shot her. Either in the heart or close to the heart. But if she’s not dead, she will be soon enough, definitely by this time tomorrow. There was no way she could survive drifting around out there on the ocean, the hot tropical sun beating down on her. No food. No water. Bleeding to death. Floating aimlessly farther and farther into the Caribbean Sea.

  But what if someone finds her? If that happened, no one would have any idea where she’d come from, would they? There was no way they could connect her to Tabora Island. He was safe.

  But to make sure, he should take the speedboat and go after her. He stared up at the darkening sky. Loud booms of thunder followed streaks of lightning, the approaching storm coming closer and closer to the island.

  Go now, before the storm hits.

  Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he walked back to his bike, got on, and headed for the pier on the other side of the island. But before he’d gone halfway, the storm hit. High winds. A savage downpour. By the time he made it to the house, he was soaking wet.

  He couldn’t take the boat out in the storm. He’d be risking his life if he did. Smiling to himself, he thought how fortunate for him that this sudden tropical rainstorm no doubt would sink the dinghy quickly and end all his concerns about LaTasha’s body ever being found.

  There was no reason to let this little setback interfere with his plans to kidnap Mia O’Dell. But not yet. He would wait, listen to the news, and make certain he had no reason to leave Tabora Island. Once he knew for sure that there was no possible way for anyone to locate him, he would fly to Birmingham and bring the bosomy Samford cheerleader back to his island.

  Nic knocked on the closed den door.

  “Yeah?” Griff said.

  “May I come in?”

  “Nic? Sure, honey, come on in.”

  By the time she opened the door, Griff was only a few feet away, standing there waiting for her. She first noticed there were no lights on in the room and wondered if he’d been sitting in the dark. The second thing she noticed was that he was wearing the blue cashmere sweater she’d given him today.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “I guess you couldn’t sleep, huh?”

  He shook his head. “Apparently you couldn’t, either. Bad dreams?”

  “No dreams. I haven’t been to bed tonight.”

  “Come on in. Do you want a drink? Or we can go to the kitchen and fix some cocoa or hot tea or—”

  “No thanks.”

  When she entered the study, Griff reached around her and closed the door. His arm brushed her shoulder.

  “I can’t stop thinking about LaTasha Davies,” Nic said.

  Griff placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the leather sofa facing the fireplace. Flames danced from the burning logs, casting warmth and light into the room.

  When he reached for the switch on a side table lamp, Nic clasped his hand. “Leave it off. It’s cozier this way.”

  When they sat, Griff laid his arm across the sofa back, directly behind Nic’s shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “Yes and no. I’d like to stop thinking about her, stop wondering when her body will show up.” Nic looked at Griff. “Do you think he’ll take her back to Tampa and hang her from a tree?”

  “It depends on whether he stays true to form or alters his game plan.”

  “By now, he’s probably already killed her.”

  “Nic, honey …”

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s all right. I’m dealing with it.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “You’re doing it.” She reached for his hand.

  He grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips into her open palm. “It’s been nearly fifteen years since I left Amara and for the most part, I’ve put that time in my life behind me. But in the past four months, since we’ve been tracking the Hunter and I’ve realized the similarities between him and York, my nightmares have returned.”

  “I haven’t questioned you about those years.” She squeezed his hand. “After you told me what had happened … Well, I knew that if and when you were ready, you’d tell me more.”

  “Sanders and Yvette were part of those years, not just the four years on Amara, where we were York’s captives, but the six years following, when we stole York’s billions. That accounts for the ten missing years of my life.”

  Tilting her head to
one side, she gazed at Griff, noting the stern, stock-still expression on his face. “You stole the man’s billions? Is that how you—?”

  “Stole isn’t quite the right word. Let’s just say we acquired his billions.”

  “How? I don’t understand.”

  Griff slipped his arm around her shoulders, then faced her, eye to eye. “We killed York.”

  Nic took a deep breath. “I assumed you had.”

  “We stabbed him to death. The three of us. And we watched him bleed to death. Very slowly. We wanted him to suffer.”

  “Oh, Griff …” She caressed his cheek. “I understand. If I’d had the chance, I would have stabbed Everhart again and again until he was dead.”

  “These monsters, men like York and Everhart, they turn us into killers. They destroy our humanity and try to remake us in their image.”

  “That’s why we can’t let them win. You killed York. You’ve built a new life—a good life—and you help others, those who have been devastated by cruel, inhuman murderers.”

  Griff leaned forward, bringing his forehead down on hers. He whispered against her lips. “The brutal savage that York turned me into still exists inside me. And sometimes … sometimes that knowledge frightens me.”

  Nic pressed her mouth against his, wanting to comfort him, and yet wanting far more. They needed each other, on every human level. He understood her the way no one else did. Griff had been right—they were two halves of a whole. So much alike. Male and female counterparts.

  When Nic ended the kiss and they came up for air, Griff pulled her into his arms and buried his face against her neck. “You can’t know how much I want you.”

  Sighing deeply, she slipped her arms around his waist and held him close. “I want you, too.”

  He lifted his head. “I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want to do anything that will harm you in any way.”

  “Physically, I’m almost as good as new and perfectly capable of making love. And my body is telling me it needs you.”

  “What about your mind? And your heart?”

  “Oh, Griff, my heart—” Tears misted her eyes. “I refuse to get all mushy and female on you.”

  “I don’t mind, honey. I’d kind of like to see you all mushy and female.” He ran his right index finger over her chin, down her throat, and brought it to a standstill at the V-shaped neckline of her blouse.

  Everywhere he’d touched her tingled with life. “I’m not going to be the first one to say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “You know—that I care.”

  He shrugged. “Want me to say it first?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He cupped her face with his hands. “Nicole Baxter, I’m crazy about you. I don’t know how it happened or when it happened.” He laughed. “God help me, but I love you.”

  He loved her? Griffin Powell loved her.

  Oh, shit. Shit!

  Don’t freak out. Isn’t this what you wanted to hear? Didn’t you want him to say he loves you?

  Now what?

  Tell him how you feel.

  How do I feel?

  I love him, too.

  So tell him. Now!

  “I love you, too, Griff.” Tears filled her eyes, trickled from the corners, and dropped onto his hands that were holding her face with passionate tenderness.

  Nic had never wanted anything in her entire life the way she wanted Griff. Here and now. With an aching need to love and be loved, a hunger that went beyond the physical.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered. “Please, Griff. I need you so.”

  When he gazed into her eyes, she saw her own desperate longing reflected in the cool silvery blue of his eyes.

  “You have no idea how difficult it’s been for me to keep my hands off you these past few weeks.” Pressing his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes and ran his hands down either side of her neck and over her shoulders. “If I take you now, I might hurt you. I might be too rough. After what you’ve been through—”

  She kissed him. No hesitation. No prelude.

  He shuddered.

  His eyes flew open. “Nic … ?”

  “You’d never hurt me,” she said, her voice husky with desire. “Don’t you know that what I want is your passion? I need that. I need to feel totally alive again. With you. Only with you.”

  Clutching her shoulders firmly, he jerked her to him and bore his mouth down on hers with fierce possession until she whimpered, parting her lips for his invasion. As he plundered the softness of her mouth, he splayed his left hand across her lower back, holding her in place while his right hand reached between them and cupped her breast.

  Moaning, on fire to possess him, Nic slipped both hands beneath his cashmere sweater and shoved it higher and higher until she reached the thatch of honey blond hair covering his massive chest. She tugged on the sweater. He lifted his arms and allowed her to remove it. When she lowered her head and flicked her tongue across one nipple and then the other, he groaned savagely. He shoved her away from him and down onto the sofa, then unbuttoned her blouse and unhooked her bra with swift accuracy.

  She lay beneath him as he hovered over her, big and hard and overwhelmingly male. His breathing ragged, sweat dotting his brow and upper lip, he gazed down at her naked breasts.

  She quivered as he lowered his head. The moment his lips touched her nipple, she cried out with an intense pleasure/pain, her body so sensitive, so hungry for fulfillment. He licked and sucked one nipple while his fingertips tormented the other.

  “Now … now …” she pleaded.

  He unzipped her slacks, snaked his hand inside her silk panties and fondled her. She bucked up against his hand as his fingers rubbed her intimately.

  “Oh, Griff, please … please …”

  He yanked her slacks and panties down and off. He removed his pants and briefs and tossed them on the floor.

  When he cupped her buttocks in his hands and lifted her to meet his first, deep, penetrating lunge, she flung her arms around him and held on for dear life. When he was buried deep inside her, his breathing ragged, his big body trembling, she moved against him. Inviting him. Encouraging him. Begging him.

  Gritting his teeth, his muscle strained beyond endurance, he let go completely, relinquishing the tight control over his emotions. He hammered into her, claiming her with primitive need.

  Nic clenched her fingers, tightening her hold on him as she met him stroke for stroke, taking from him as he took from her, giving him all that she was as he gave to her. She came first, shivering, shuddering, and crying out as she drowned in pleasure. Moments later, Griff came, surrendering to her completely.

  He lifted himself off her, sat up and pulled her onto his lap. She draped her arms around him as he nuzzled her neck.

  “I love you,” she murmured.

  For the first time in her life, she had allowed a man to do more than claim her body. Griff had taken possession of her heart and her very soul.

  Chapter 29

  Griff watched Nic while she slept.

  He had thought this would never happen to him, that he would never truly love someone with a passion that bordered on madness. He wasn’t the type. He was a hard-ass womanizer. He’d never had a long-term relationship. Had never wanted one.

  But he wanted to keep Nic with him, wanted to bind her to him and never let her out of his sight. Yeah, right. Like she would ever let that happen. He had fallen in love with an independent lady, one who gave as good as she got. If he tried to control her, even slightly, she’d rip into him like a buzz saw. But that mile-wide, self-reliant, liberated streak in Nic was one of the things he loved about her.

  He slowly eased the sheet downward until it rested about her hips. Her large, firm breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. An ugly surgical scar peeked out from under her arm. Nic’s red badge of courage. A surge of fear gripped him when he thought about how close he had come to losing her.

  He could give this woman everything she wa
nted— except the one thing she wanted most: Rosswalt Everhart behind bars. Or perhaps six feet under. That’s definitely where Griff would prefer to put the psychopath who had tortured Nic.

  Sighing languidly, she turned over on her side. Griff watched her closely as she opened her eyes and looked at him. She smiled.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “It can’t be morning already, can it?” She glanced toward the French doors. “It’s still dark outside.”

  “It’s raining,” he told her. “Actually, it’s a rain-sleet mix.”

  “Hmm … a good day to stay in bed.” She winked at him.

  He rolled over, draped his arm across her waist, and kissed her. “You read my mind.”

  She reached up and draped her arms around his neck. “Did you pull the sheet off me?”

  He laughed. “Sure did. I wanted to get another look at those big, beautiful boobs.” He nuzzled her in the center of her upper chest, directly above her breasts, then licked a path downward, going from one nipple to the other. “And I wanted to taste them, and …” He slid his hand over her belly, across her mound, and dipped his fingers inside her.

  Moaning invitingly, she bucked up, taking his fingers fully inside her. “You’re giving me ideas, Mr. Powell.” She slipped her hand between their bodies, inched her way across his six-pack lean belly, over his navel, and circled his erect penis.

  “God, woman, I love your ideas.”

  She shoved him off her, rolled him over on his back, and lifted one leg up and across him. Then she hoisted herself into a sitting position and straddled him. After bracing her open palms on either side of his head, and taking the dominant position, she smiled seductively.

  “I want you to just lie there and take it like a man,” she told him, then kissed his mouth, his chin, and his throat.

  He cupped her buttocks with both hands. “I’m yours, honey. Putty in your hands.”

  With her fingers gripping him firmly, she caressed his penis. “Not exactly putty. More like solid rock.”

  Griff loved seeing Nic like this. Sexy and flirtatious. Full of life. And love.

  She touched and kissed every inch of his chest; then she moved slowly, maddeningly, down over his waist. Her tongue toyed with his navel. In and out. She bypassed the spot he most wanted her to kiss and instead went down one leg and up the other. When she made her way back to his belly, he reached down, forked his fingers through her hair, and urged her to put him out of his misery.