by Joyce Lamb
"My father died several years ago of heart failure. Mom died two years ago. Cancer."
"I'm sorry. I bet they were proud of you."
"I think so." He judged another couple of minutes before the shrimp had to be turned.
"Mine weren't proud of me," she said.
"Why wouldn't they have been?"
The cloud now looked like a poodle with large, fuzzy ears. "I thought for myself too much, and I could never quite live up to their expectations. I was lucky, though. Dayle's family was an excellent surrogate. And convenient, too. Just down the block." Sadness tinged her tone.
"You're going to miss her for a long time."
"She was a good person. I'll never have a better friend."
"I'm sorry," he said, knowing how inadequate that was.
Avoiding his gaze, she rose from the chaise. "Do you need anything from below?"
"I'm good. Shrimp'll be ready in a few."
"I'll just be a minute."
He watched her go, wondering how long it would be before she was able to let him see her grief.
Below deck, Meg washed her face in the bathroom, then took deep breaths to control the emotion that threatened to burst out of control. Each time she felt her composure slip?
she tried to tell herself that she didn't know for sure what had happened to Dayle. But she knew. In her heart, she knew.
When Meg hadn't returned after a few minutes, Ryan transferred the shrimp from the grill to a plate and went to check on her. He found her sitting on the edge of his bed, a sheet of paper gripped in her hand, her face set in tense angles. Too many nights of restless tossing had left their mark on her—in the lines of her face, in the hollows under her eyes. But there was something else.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I was on my way back up when I heard a noise," she said. "This was coming out of your fax machine."
Accepting the piece of paper, he saw that Nick had sent him photocopies of the driver's licenses of Richard and Kari Grant.
"You're stalling," Meg said in a low voice. "We've been out here for more than a week because you're waiting for something, and it's not for me to regain my strength. This is just a makeshift prison for me until Nick gives the okay on my existence as Meg Grant, isn't it?"
He met her gaze, forced himself to keep his eyes steady on hers. "We're out here to keep you safe."
She pointed at the paper in his hand. "Then why would someone be faxing you my parents' driver's licenses? Why would Nick be telling you about my appendix? He's digging through my life, through my parents' lives. Why? After all this time, what is he looking for?"
"Meg, I had to be sure—"
"It's not right," she cut in, getting up to pace to hold back the emotion that again surged too close to the surface. "I'm a good person. I deserve better than this." She stopped in front of him, thumped her chest with a closed fist. "I deserve better than this. You don't have any right to dig through my past. I am not Margot Rhinehart, damn you. I shouldn't have to prove it to anyone. Especially you."
He grabbed her by the arms before she could whirl away. "Why shouldn't you have to prove it to me?"
She didn't try to get away from him, even as her heart stut-tered with the knowledge of how close she was allowing him. "Don't you know me by now, Ryan?"
"All I know is how much I want you."
She blinked up at him, startled by the unexpected confes-sion.
And then he was kissing her.
An intense swirl of desire caught her, and she flowed with it, helpless. God, it had never been like this, had never felt like this. It scared the hell out of her. She pushed him back and turned away.
Ryan released a frustrated groan and shoved both hands through his hair. He wanted to yank her back to him and sat-isfy the need once and for all. But he was beginning to wonder if once would be enough with her. He pulled in a long breath, let it out. "Look—"
"Don't you dare apologize," she snapped over her shoulder.
"I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were."
"All right. Maybe I was. What's wrong with that?"
"It's decent, and I'm sick to death of seeing how decent you are. It makes me feel like dirt."
"Well, Christ, should I say I'm sorry for that?"
"You don't get it," Meg said.
"Then explain it to me."
She faced him. "You're a decent man, Ryan. I see it in ev-erything that you do. You saved me from those goons on the beach that first night. You got me a good lawyer. You did what you had to do to protect me after I was arrested. You've taken good care of me all week."
"And all of that was the wrong thing to do?"
"It was the decent thing to do," she said. "But you've done it all because of who you are, not who I am. Every time you look at me ... I see the suspicion in your eyes. You won't let yourself believe that I'm not her."
Stepping to her, he put his hands on her shoulders. "You're not. I know you're not."
And lowering his head, he kissed her.
She felt his hands tighten on her shoulders, as if he was holding himself in check. And she realized that she didn't want him to hold back. She wanted him. She wanted him so much she would have sacrificed breathing to have him.
He felt her surrender and lost himself in it. Tugging her T-shirt free, his hands skimmed bare flesh, welcoming it into hands that teased and caressed as he walked her backward toward the bed and tumbled her onto it. He took command of the moment, stripping away her shorts and tossing them aside.
Meg thrilled to the caresses that carried with them just a hint of roughness, a hint of desperation. His hands were ruthless, carrying her over the first peak within minutes, wringing from her a long, shuddering moan that would have been a scream if she had not managed to swallow it back.
Boneless and shaking, she reached for him, intending to return the favor. He smiled and held himself back. "I'm not done with you yet," he said.
"I couldn't—" She broke off on a gasp.
This time his hands were gentle, just as determined in their quest to have her quivering and helpless at his fingertips. She moved under his caresses, unable to focus on anything but what he was doing to her. Her body strained against the building surge as his mouth plundered hers, then moved down to her breasts, where he nuzzled and nipped each in turn, before moving lower. His tongue grazed the sensitive skin of her belly, dipped into her navel, and sank lower still.
Realizing with a start what he intended, she arched up on the bed. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice hoarse with desire and a sudden, uncertain fear.
His breath whispered across her quivering tummy. "I'm loving you."
But she wasn't ready for so intimate a kiss, and clutching at his hair, she urged him up. As their lips met, he brought her to another peak. She buried her face in the pillow as the pleasure slammed into her, and while her muscles were still tense with the rolling climax, he dragged her up and lifted her onto his lap. She released a sound of surprise that evolved into a purr as he guided her onto him. Then he was pumping into her, forcing her up again, higher this time, then higher still.
He said something, but she was unable to do little more than cling to his shoulders. He took her over another impossible peak, and she bit back a scream, her nails digging into his back.
He spoke again, through clenched teeth, and she struggled to focus on his face. "Let go," he rasped.
She didn't have the chance to decipher his meaning before another, powerful climax rocked her. Even as she floated down, he was shifting their positions, easing her onto her back where he restrained her wrists on either side of her head and resumed the onslaught at a dragging pace that had her arching her body up to meet his, desperate for the next, shattering release. But he pinned her hips to the bed, used his weight to immobilize her.
"Don't move," he said in a low voice, gulping in a deep breath.
She gave a moan of protest, and he felt her body contract around him, a tight, velvet fist. He c
ouldn't hold back. He let control spin away as the pleasure ripped through him with blinding force.
Sanity was slow to return as they lay tangled together on top of the sheets, slippery with sweat and fighting for breath. When he focused on her face, her eyes were closed, a smug smile curving her lips. He knew how she felt.
"Wow," she said.
"Wow?"
"Um hm."
"That's all you can say?" he asked.
"I can't even move, and you want me to be articulate?"
He grinned, kissed her shoulder. He was proud of himself, he wasn't ashamed to admit. But he knew, as mindless as she had been, she had not let go. A trust issue that he would have to work on, he decided. "Want to join me in the shower?"
"Only if you carry me."
"All right." He scooped her up, and she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck and letting her head drop back.
"The room is spinning," she said.
He carried her into the bathroom, set her in the shower and turned on the water. She yelped when the water struck her, but then Ryan was under it with her, his knowing hands moving up to cup her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples into peaks. She melted against him as the water warmed, not an ounce of strength in her legs.
"God, not again. I don't think I can take any more."
"Hold onto me." Backing her into the corner, he drew her arms around his neck, then lifted her legs up around his hips.
Aching with the anticipation of having him inside her again, she shifted to allow him easier access. Fascinated, she watched his face as he slipped into her. The muscles in his jaw bunched, and she saw him swallow. Then all she could do was hang on as he built a new tower of passion inside her, higher and higher until the world exploded into sparks of light.
She thought she might have blacked out as she became aware of the water raining down on them. Ryan started shampooing her hair, and she had to grip his arms to keep from collapsing at his feet.
He couldn't stop grinning. She was pliant against him, not the least bit resistant as he angled her head into the spray to rinse. Her eyes slid closed and stayed closed.
"How're you doing?" he asked, lathering her up with a bar of soap, taking particular care with her most sensitized parts.
She clutched at his wrist. "I'm going to die a slow, ago-nizing death if you start that again."
He relented, figuring there would be plenty of time for more later. After shutting off the water, he wrapped a large, fluffy towel around her and carried her to the bed.
Meg would have protested, but she didn't have the strength to walk. Every muscle in her body hummed with the aftershocks of their lovemaking.
Drawing a sheet over her, Ryan sat on the edge of the bed. He brushed wet hair back from her forehead and placed a chaste kiss at her temple. Clasping his hand, she kissed his palm.
"Sleep now," he said.
She couldn't keep her eyes open. "What are you going to do?"
"Watch."
She let the heaviness of her lids win. "Watch me sleep?"
"Yep."
"Why?" she asked.
"Ssh."
She drifted off without another thought.
Ryan sat with her for several minutes, until her breathing became shallow and even and he was assured her sleep would be calm for the first time since they had met.
Only then did he crawl between the sheets beside her and allow himself to rest.
Later, while Meg still slept, Ryan called Nick. "Stop the research."
"Too late. I'm done. Want to know what I found?"
"I don't need to know," Ryan said.
"What's going on?"
Ryan rubbed at his right temple. "God help me, Nick, I think I'm in love with her."
A loud laugh answered him. "Gee, that's a shock."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. And just for the record, she's squeaky clean," Nick said. "Every little detail checks out."
"It wouldn't matter."
"Yes, it would."
"Maybe it would," Ryan said, then let his breath out in a shuddering huff. "I think I can walk away now."
"From Meg?"
"God, no. From Slater Nielsen and Margot Rhinehart. The FBI is on Nielsen, and they'll get him eventually," Ryan said. "Who the hell knows where Margot is? All I want now is to concentrate on Meg."
"Do you think you can do that? Walk away, I mean. I've never known you to leave something unfinished. Don't get me wrong—I've never thought that going after Beau's killers
was the wise thing to do, and I agree that the feds will get
*
them. But it's not like you to walk away."
"The more I pursue this thing, the more I put Meg at risk," Ryan said. "I'm walking away. I've got to try, Nick."
"Uh, look, before you walk away, there's something else I have to tell you that's going to muddy things up a bit from Meg's angle."
Chapter21
Meg woke to an empty bed and an empty stomach. The sheets where Ryan had been were cool, and she sat up. The clock said it was just after noon. Her body felt battered and sore from the inside out, but she welcomed the delicious satisfaction. She realized now that she had never made love before. She'd had sex. Good sex, even. But no one had ever taken her like Ryan had. She already craved their next encounter.
After donning the T-shirt and shorts Ryan had helped her shed the night before, she went in search of him.
She found him above deck. Kelsey Sumner sat across from him, gripping a glass of iced tea, her face turned to the sun. "Ah, Ryan, I envy your life on this yacht. You know how to live."
"You didn't used to think so," he said.
"I didn't know what was important then." She gave him a significant look, one brow arched. "I think I'm learning."
Ryan, as if sensing Meg's presence even though she had not made a sound, shifted in his chair and saw her. "Good afternoon, you." Going to her, he pulled her into his arms without an ounce of self-consciousness. His kiss was so thorough that she forgot they weren't alone. When he pulled back, he tucked hair behind her ear and smiled into her eyes. "You've been sleeping for fourteen hours. Doing okay?"
She returned his smile, delighting in the flutter in her stomach. She couldn't recall ever feeling so calm, so certain that what was happening was right. "Guess I needed it."
His thumb grazed the skin under her eyes that was still bruised with exhaustion. "You need more."
"We're being rude," Meg said.
He gave her a puzzled look. "What?"
"We have a guest."
"Oh." Ryan turned back to Kelsey. "Sorry about that, Kelsey."
The lawyer rose and crossed to them, smiling. "Looks like you two are getting along better. Meg, you look stunning. The sun, or something, agrees with you."
"Kelsey called earlier and asked to drop by to check up on you," Ryan said. "I told her you were doing fine, but she had to see for herself."
"Yes," Kelsey said. "I know what an ogre this man can be when you spend too much time alone with him."
Meg laughed. "Oh, he's definitely an ogre."
"If you two are done tarnishing my reputation, I'm going to throw some grouper on the grill for lunch," Ryan said. "Care to join us, Kelsey?"
"I'm afraid I can't," she said. "I have a full slate this after-noon, and I'm already running behind. I really just wanted to check in on Meg." She grasped Meg's hand. "From what Ryan tells me, I'm thinking we'll cross paths again."
"Thanks for everything," Meg said. "I appreciate what you did for me."
"Oh, I brought you some clothes. Ryan put them some-where for you." She gave a quick, easy smile. "Not that you're going to need them."
As soon as Kelsey was gone, Ryan turned Meg into his arms and nuzzled her neck. He would tell her later, when she was stronger and more rested, what Nick had told him last night. For now, he wanted to enjoy her and her to enjoy him. "You smell incredible," he murmured.
She dropped her head back on a sigh. "She's stil
l in love with you."
The quick flick of his tongue on her skin raised goose bumps. "Who?"
She smiled. "Good answer."
His lips curved against her throat as he felt the rapid beat of her pulse under his lips. "If you're talking about Kelsey, it's been over between us for more than a year."
"What happened?"
Slipping his arms around her, he pulled her close. "We had a scheduling conflict. She didn't have the time or the energy for me. She always had one more case to take care of, one more commitment, before we could get away for a few days, a long weekend, whatever. It never happened."
She clasped his face between her palms. "She was stupid."
He chuckled. "The things you do to my insides. You can't imagine how much I want you right now."
Sliding her hand to the back of his neck, she brought his mouth to hers. When they parted, breathless, she said, "Then take me."
"Come with me."
He led her below deck. Beside the bed, he lifted the T-shirt over her head and watched strands of curls tumble over her shoulders. Pressing his lips to the curve of her neck, he felt her sigh against his shoulder, then lightly nip his flesh.
His mouth moved against her throat and downward. She let her hands slide over his body, digging her fingers into him as he found and played her pleasure spots. Tumbling her back onto the bed, he seared kisses from the tops of her thighs down to her ankles and back up, planted damp caresses across her belly, his tongue dancing around the pink pucker of flesh on her lower abdomen where the bullet had struck her.
Meg squirmed on the sheets, caught in a whirl of sensation that was wonderful—and frightening. God, he'd just begun, and she was already writhing. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she urged him up until their mouths fused together. They rolled across the bed, Ryan trying to fumble out of his shorts without breaking the embrace.
When her tongue flicked his nipple, his hands tightened in her hair. He pulled her head back to the pillow and watched her face as his fingers stroked down her stomach, smiled as her eyes slid out of focus and her head arched back on an intake of breath. Her fingers sank into his shoulders, her body tensing.
"Please," she whispered.
"Not yet." He paused when he knew she was on the edge. She clutched at his wrist, pushing at his hand, desperate for release. When he allowed her to leap off the edge, he put his mouth on hers, his tongue imitating the intimate caress of his fingers. For a long moment, she wasn't aware of anything but the pleasure that shuddered through her.
