“Yes?” Roarke asked.
The pocket doors slid open. Daphne Sutton, dressed in a micromini, skintight, backless, red sundress, sauntered into the room. “I hate to disturb y’all, but Phil Bacon just called and said for Kane to call him right back. He’s home from church, but he’ll be leaving to go to his mother-in-law’s for a late Sunday dinner in about thirty minutes.”
“The sheriff wants to talk to Kane?” Roarke asked. “The phone in here didn’t ring.”
“I was walking by Kane’s room and heard his phone ringing. Did you know you’d left your cellular phone lying on your bed?” Daphne asked. “The door was unlocked, so I went in and answered the phone for you.”
“I’ll go give Bacon a call,” Kane said.
Daphne sashayed across the study, her slender hips shifting seductively. “When I asked Phil why he’d bother a body on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, he said he was just returning Kane’s earlier telephone call. Something about his using the sheriff’s department’s firing range.” Daphne sat down on the edge of the Jacobean desk and looked back and forth from Roarke to Kane.
“Yeah, I asked the sheriff if he’d set up a convenient schedule for me to get in a little practice.” Kane rose from the chair, excused himself and exited the room, leaving the doors open behind him.
“I take it that our Mr. Kane is a crack shot and doesn’t want his skills to get rusty while he’s on an assignment.” Daphne draped her body across the top of the desk, lifting herself in a semiupright position. “Are you a sharpshooter, too, Roarke?” She slithered across the desk until she reached him, then dangled her long, bare legs off the side.
“I’m not as good as Kane,” Roarke said. “But I usually hit whatever I aim at.”
“I can’t picture a man like you married to my little cousin, Cleo.” Daphne lifted one leg and stretched it out toward Roarke. The toe of her red sandal hit the edge of his chair. She tapped her foot repeatedly against the chair.
“What sort of man do you think I am? And why can’t you picture me married to Cleo?”
“I’d say you’re an adventurer, a man who’s lived his life on the edge. And my bet is you like your sex hot and wild and as untamed as the life you’ve lived.” Slipping her hips off the desk, Daphne grasped the side with her hands to balance her body, then slid her foot between Roarke’s thighs, pressing him intimately when her foot hit its mark. “Cleo is a tame little tabby, who’s never done anything exciting in her entire life. Business is the only thing that matters to her.”
Roarke knocked Daphne’s foot away so quickly that she almost lost her balance. While she struggled to climb back on top of the desk, he stood up and glared at her.
“That just goes to show how little you know your cousin,” Roarke said. “My wife happens to be the most exciting woman I’ve ever known.”
“Is she paying you to say things like that, too?” Daphne glowered at Roarke, her breathing harsh and her cheeks slightly flushed. “We all know that she went off to Atlanta on a shopping trip and bought herself a husband.”
“Think what you want to,” he told her. “The bottom line is that I’m Cleo’s husband and I intend to take good care of her and protect her from any and all harm.”
“Are you going to get her pregnant, too?” Daphne asked. “If she isn’t pregnant within a year, she’ll lose control of McNamara Industries, you know.”
Roarke grinned. “Let’s just say that we’re doing everything we can at every available opportunity to make that happen.”
Daphne’s exotically beautiful face hardened. Her green eyes sizzled with a barely contained anger. Slithering off the desk, she walked over to Roarke.
“Cleo must be paying you plenty to screw her.” Daphne eased her arms around Roarke’s neck and rubbed herself against him. “You must be getting pretty bored with all that cool, controlled sweetness.”
Just as Roarke reached out to remove himself from Daphne’s clutches, she pressed her lips against his and tried to force his lips apart with her tongue.
“Oh, excuse me,” Cleo said as she walked into the room.
Roarke grabbed Daphne’s arms and threw her away from him with such force that she almost fell. She caught the arm of the swivel chair and laughed, then turned around to face Cleo.
“We thought we were alone,” Daphne said. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to say. How to explain.”
“Cleo, this wasn’t what it looked like,” Roarke told his wife.
“Oh, I think it was exactly what it looked like.” Cleo walked across the study and rounded the desk. Opening a bottom side drawer, she withdrew a laptop computer. “I forgot and left this down here. I need to do a little work this evening.” She took several steps toward the door.
“Cleo?” Roarke called out to her.
“Yes, dear?”
“Don’t you want an explanation of what you saw?”
Hugging herself around the waist, Daphne nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’m really sorry, Cleo.”
Cleo’s loud laughter filled the room. She turned slowly and glared at her cousin. “Simon isn’t Paine Emerson or Hugh Winfield. He’s twice the man either of them ever was. And he’s my man!”
“Well, your man is a wonderful kisser,” Daphne said.
“How would you know?” Cleo smiled devilishly. “He didn’t kiss you. You kissed him. Or you were trying to. And Simon was trying to push you away when you attacked him.”
“You’re deluding yourself if you think he didn’t want me.”
“No, Daffie, you’re deluding yourself if you think he did.”
Roarke stood there speechless as his wife turned around and walked out of the study. Daphne huffed loudly. Roarke chuckled. Well, he’d be damned. Cleo trusted him. She trusted him completely.
When he rushed past Daphne, she called out, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to find my wife so I can kiss her,” he said.
He left Daphne in the study and raced up the stairs, catching up with Cleo in the upstairs hallway. Without saying a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into their suite. He tossed her down on the bed, then came down on top of her, kissing her breathless.
They tore at each other’s clothes, and when they had removed enough essential garments, Roarke took her hard and fast and wild. They reached their climaxes simultaneously, their bodies joined in ecstasy, their hearts beating in unison and their souls touching for one spellbinding moment.
They both treasured what they shared, but knew, despite the trust they had in each other, the magic couldn’t last.
CLEO HAD DIFFICULTY concentrating. She couldn’t seem to keep focused on the row of figures before her. Her mind kept wandering off in a decidedly different direction. The past weekend with Roarke had been so incredibly wonderful that she questioned if it had really happened. But it had. All she had needed to do to confirm the reality of their uncontrollable passion for each other was to glance across the room at Roarke. Every time he’d looked at her during the past few days, she’d seen the desire in his eyes and had known he wanted her. And just that one look had set her pulse to racing. Dear Lord, would it always be that way? Would she never get enough of loving and being loved by Simon Roarke?
With Roarke in the same room with her, she hadn’t been able to think straight. She kept thinking about Saturday, when they’d gone riding and spent the day making love outside, in the creek, under the willows, in the woods. And Sunday, when she’d caught Daphne trying to seduce Roarke. How good it felt to know that she could trust her husband. After Roarke had carried her into their suite, they hadn’t come out again until that morning, when they’d left for work.
Roarke had been such a distraction she’d finally asked him to leave, to send Kane or a member of his security force to guard her for a few hours. Roarke had put a man named Tom Brown outside her office, kissed her goodbye and told her he’d be back around noon with their lunch.
How could she be this deliriously happy w
hen her life was in constant danger? Because she had fallen in love with her husband, that’s how. She’d been attracted to him since the first moment she saw him in his Atlanta office, and with each passing day that attraction had grown. The more she got to know Simon Roarke, the better she liked him. He was everything a man should be. Intelligent. Strong. Courageous. Understanding. Loving. Gentle. And an incomparable lover. But her perfect husband had one slight flaw. He wasn’t a man for long-term commitments. He hadn’t signed on for the long haul.
She hadn’t planned on falling in love with him. He’d been a means to an end. Their marriage a business arrangement. But somewhere between the judge pronouncing them man and wife and Roarke kissing her for the first time and this weekend, when their passion had known no bounds, she’d fallen head over heels in love with Simon.
How would she ever be able to let him go? Without him, her life would be meaningless. But when the time came she’d have no choice—if he chose to leave her. Maybe he was beginning to care for her. Maybe he wouldn’t want to end their marriage. Whatever his reasons for stipulating that he wouldn’t stick around to see her through the pregnancy might no longer be valid. Not if he loved her the way she loved him.
But Simon had never mentioned love, not even during their most intimate moments, when they were as close as two people could possibly be. She had no doubts that he would die for her, that he’d lay his life on the line to protect her, but what she didn’t know was whether his actions would be prompted by duty or love.
Did she dare bring up the subject of their marriage? Question him about his true feelings? What if he didn’t love her? What if he intended to follow through with the stipulations of their marriage contract and get a divorce?
A knock on the outer office door brought Cleo out of her thoughts. She glanced up just as Audrey opened the door.
“Mr. Winfield is here to see you, Mrs. Roarke.”
Tom Brown stood in front of Hugh, obviously waiting for Cleo’s answer before either stepping aside to allow Hugh entrance or escorting the man outside.
“Tell Hugh to come on in.” Cleo checked her watch. Twelve-twenty. Roarke would return with their lunch shortly.
“Thanks for seeing me, Cleo.” Hugh pranced into the office like some spirited young colt, blithely slamming the door in Tom Brown’s scowling face. “We haven’t had a chance for a private conversation since you married.”
“Is that what this is—a private conversation?” Cleo asked. “I assumed you needed to speak to me about a business matter.”
“I thought we were friends.” He perched his skinny butt on the edge of her desk. “Can’t friends have a private conversation?”
“Yes, of course.” Cleo scooted her swivel chair up to her desk and looked at Hugh.
“We are still friends, aren’t we?” he asked. “I mean you’re not still upset about what happened between Daphne and me, are you?”
“No, Hugh, I’m not still upset. As a matter of fact, I was never that upset. I was disappointed more than anything else. Disappointed in your judgment. We’ve known each other since we were kids and I always thought you were a reasonably intelligent guy.”
“You are still upset.” He slid around the desk, grabbed her chair and turned her where she was directly facing him. “Cleo, sugar, Daphne is an exciting woman and very…well, shall we say, talented. But sleeping with her while I was dating you was a big mistake. And I’m sorry it happened.”
“What’s the purpose for rehashing old news? You’ve already apologized and begged my forgiveness.” Cleo wondered just what Hugh wanted. He hadn’t stopped by to renew their old friendship. He was after something else.
Leaning forward, Hugh reached out and grasped Cleo’s chin in his hand. “It’s not as if Daphne and I are in love or anything like that. I mean, if you’d accepted my offer when I found out you needed a husband, we could have worked something out. You didn’t have to pay a stranger to marry you.”
Cleo sucked in her cheeks, then relaxed them and ran her tongue over her teeth in an effort not to laugh in Hugh’s face. The dirty dog. The scheming, lying cheat. He actually thought she would have preferred marrying him to marrying Simon Roarke. Obviously Hugh’s ego was inflated. Didn’t he know that he wasn’t even close to being in Simon’s league?
“What would you have done if I’d accepted your offer?” She tried desperately not to smile.
“Why, I’d have married you, of course. Obviously your uncle George wanted us to marry. What other reasons could he have had to put such ridiculous stipulations in his will?”
“But if I’d married you to fulfill the stipulations in the will, what would you have done about Daphne?”
“Well, I don’t know. Daffie and I are pretty heavily involved sexually. But since my marriage to you wouldn’t have been a love match—”
“Are you saying that you could have married me, gotten me pregnant to fulfill the stipulations of the will and continued your relationship with my cousin at the same time?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound rather crude, doesn’t it?”
“Hugh, let’s cut to the chase. I’m not pining away for you. I never loved you. I never wanted to marry you. And the only reason I dated you was because it pleased Uncle George.”
Her declaration wiped the smile off Hugh’s face. “Well, I see. I see. But still, wouldn’t it have been better to have married me than to have paid some stranger to marry you and get you pregnant? After all, what do you know about this Roarke character? Do you have any idea who his people are?”
Cleo grinned. Laughter bubbled up inside her. “For your information, Simon Roarke is the most wonderful man I’ve ever known and my marriage is a real one, despite what you and my dear family want to believe.” Unable to contain it any longer, Cleo burst into laughter. “Why did you request this little private visit? What is it that you want, Hugh?”
“I certainly didn’t request a visit so that you could laugh in my face.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re so transparent.” Cleo laid her hand on his shoulder. “You forget that I’ve known you a long time.”
“Meaning?” Tilting his chin haughtily, he stuck his nose in the air and turned from her.
“You found Daphne irresistible, but you’ve finally figured out that she might have been using you to hurt me. After Uncle George died, you found out about his will, and hoped you could have me, my money and Daphne, too.”
“How can you accuse me of being so mercenary?” He displayed a properly wounded expression.
“But recently, you’ve begun to wonder if maybe you made a mistake, that perhaps I’m going to win this battle and retain control of McNamara Industries.” Cleo shot up out of her chair, placed her hands on her hips and looked Hugh square in the eye. “Is that why you’ve offered yourself to me again? Did you think I still wanted you?”
“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want me, that you never did,” Hugh said. “There’s no need to rub it in.”
She put her arm around Hugh’s shoulder. “Thanks for the offer, old friend, but I already have exactly what I want. I’m married to Simon Roarke, and if I’m very lucky, I’ll have his baby.”
“God, Cleo, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
“What’s wrong with that?” she asked coyly. “After all, he is my husband.”
“Yeah, well, I hope he doesn’t break your heart the way I thought I had.” Hugh slipped his arm around her waist. “You know, you’d probably have been better off if you had married me. At least when our marriage broke up, neither one of us would have gotten hurt.”
She knew that in his own misguided way Hugh might actually have meant what he said, and it was obvious that his statement had made perfect sense to him.
She kissed him on the cheek. “You can always marry Daphne. After all, she’s a wealthy woman. Just not quite as wealthy as she would be if we had to sell McNamara Industries.”
“You’d be better off
if you did sell.” He sighed, then hugged her to him. “But I know you won’t ever do that willingly.”
Just as Hugh kissed Cleo, a hasty, goodbye kiss, Roarke walked in. She glanced over Hugh’s shoulder at her husband, who stood in the doorway glaring at her.
The sight of Cleo in Hugh Winfield’s arms hit Roarke like a blow from a sledgehammer. He wanted to march across the office, rip Cleo from Winfield’s arms and beat the hell out of the guy. How dared he touch Cleo! She belonged to him. She was his wife.
Some primeval instinct rose inside him, heating his jealousy to the boiling point. If Cleo knew what he was thinking, she’d skin him alive. He wanted to place a brand on her. One that read, Roarke’s Wife.
Every muscle in his body tensed. He took several deep, calming breaths. Winfield was kissing Cleo, not the other way around. This was pretty much the same scene Cleo had walked in on in the study yesterday between Daphne and him.
Taking one more deep breath, Roarke lifted the two paper bags he held in his hands. “I brought lunch, honey. Are you finished with Hugh?”
Smiling at Roarke, Cleo stepped out of Hugh’s embrace. “Yes, I’m finished with Hugh.” Dismissing her former boyfriend without another word or glance, she motioned for her husband to come to her. “I’m starving. I hope you brought dessert, too.”
“As a matter of fact—” Roarke ignored Hugh as he walked by him and over to Cleo and set both sacks on her desk “—I drove over to the River Bend Café.”
“Lemon icebox pie?” She groaned. “Tell me you brought me a piece of lemon icebox pie, and I’ll be yours forever.”
“You’re mine forever,” Roarke said, then took Cleo in his arms and kissed her.
The kiss was long and wet and deep, and when he allowed Cleo to come up for air, Hugh Winfield was nowhere to be seen and the office door was closed.
Roarke removed the two lunch sacks, placing them in her empty chair, then lifted Cleo off her feet and set her down on the edge of her desk. Kissing her deeply, he pushed her skirt up her thighs until it bunched around her hips, then slid his hands inside her panty hose and bikini briefs and tugged them down and off.
Til Death Do Us Part Page 43
