A Treasure Worth Seeking

by Sandra Brown

  His pleading eyes and the tense, anxious set of his mouth convinced her he was right. She nodded her assent and slumped against him in defeat. He led her to a vinyl-covered sofa and sat her down. The other two had reached the door to the morgue and were waiting expectantly for Lance. He settled a reassuring hand on Erin’s shoulder and whispered, “I won’t be but a minute.”

  When the trio came back out into the hallway, Melanie was crying softly into a man’s handkerchief. Erin rushed toward her and put her arms around the younger woman who seemed to have shrunk in the last few minutes.

  In her hand she clutched a white piece of paper. Her tear-streaked face was pitiful as she looked at Erin. “They found this in his pocket. It’s a letter to me, Erin. He loved me. He says so. He loved me.” She fell against Erin’s declining strength and sobbed as she continued to aver Ken’s love for her.

  Erin held Melanie against her as they sat on the same uncomfortable sofa while Lance arranged for the transport of Ken’s body to San Francisco. Erin was glad that Melanie was crying. It was a much needed release and tears were cleansing. A weeping griever was better than the zombie Melanie had been all day, merely performing as she was expected to.

  During the drive back to the airport and while they awaited their flight, Melanie continued to vent her grief. She was exhausted by the time they boarded the airplane. Luckily the late-night flight wasn’t crowded.

  A sensitive, sympathetic flight attendant suggested that they remove the arms separating the individual seats and allow Melanie to lie down. She didn’t argue, and by the time Erin covered her with a blanket, she was subdued and lying with her tear-swollen eyes closed.

  Lance, who had been conferring with his associate, was the last passenger to board. He took a seat beside Erin, stowing an ordinary looking suitcase under the seat in front of him. Erin knew what it must be and averted her eyes from it. The brown suitcase was something hideous that had destroyed her brother’s life.

  After the plane had taken off into the darkness and the lights of San Diego had become no more than a multicolored blanket, Lance asked, “How is she?”

  “The crying helped. She needed to do that. I think seeing his… his body confirmed his death in her mind.” She licked her lips and asked, “Was he…?”

  “No. It was a merciful murder,” he said bitterly. “The coroner’s report named asphyxiation as cause of death. They probably smothered him in his sleep by placing a pillow over his face.”

  She covered her mouth with one hand and paled considerably but didn’t say anything. She stared straight ahead. “I’m grateful to him for having written that letter,” she said musingly. “Whatever its contents, it seemed to reassure her of his love.”

  “Yes. I’m glad the burglars saw fit to leave that behind.”

  “Do they have any suspects?”

  “No. It will go down as one of those unsolvable murders. Burglary was the motive. He—or they—were in and out in minutes. Obviously professional. Of course, we’re lucky that they missed the money under the bed.”

  “Yes, aren’t we though,” she sneered. An uncontrollable urge to hurt him seized her. She wanted to punish him for treating her the way he had the night before. She wanted him to suffer under verbal attacks the way he had made her suffer.

  “You should be very proud of yourself, Mr. Barrett. You can go home the hero now. What do you say when you’ve succeeded in ruining someone’s life? ‘Well, boys, we can close the cover on this one.’ Or maybe, ‘Wrap this one up’?”

  It wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t. He hadn’t been responsible for Ken’s crime. But she was hurt. She would never see her brother. All her dreams of establishing family ties, sharing, finding affection, had been cruelly dashed. She wanted to lash out at something, someone, for the pain she was feeling. Lance was there. It wasn’t fair, but she felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at seeing the lines around his mouth tighten. His eyebrows lowered over glowering eyes.

  To escape that hard stare, she leaned her head back on the seat cushion and shut her eyes. A few minutes later, she felt rather than heard him stop a flight attendant as she made her way up the aisle.

  Lance nudged her elbow and ordered, “Here, drink this.”

  He was holding a glass of liquor. “What is it?”

  “Brandy. You need it.”

  She shook her head no. “I don’t drink anything that strong.”

  He looked at her scornfully, then said, “Well I do.” He gulped the first glass of the amber liquid and tears came to his eyes. He made a terrible face and sucked in his breath when the fiery liquor hit his stomach, but then he lay his head back and closed his eyes. “You really should try it. It does wonders for the nerves.” He sipped at the other glass slowly.

  For long moments neither of them spoke. When he did, his voice was softer. “I’m sorry about Lyman, Erin. I wouldn’t have had it end this way.”

  She turned her head to face him. His eyes met hers across the inches of dusty upholstery that separated them. “I know,” she whispered. “What I said before was foolish and unfair. Forgive me?”

  For an answer, he reached out and took her hand. He passed his brandy glass to a flight attendant, then moved into the middle seat next to the one by the window in which Erin sat. He raised the armrest separating them. Very few lights remained on inside the aircraft. The few passengers on board were either sleeping or using the dim overhead lights above their seats. The flight attendants, after having seen to everyone’s comfort, had retired to their assigned stations.

  With her hand lying in the palm of his, he examined it with the fingers of his other hand. He traced the long, oval nails, the knuckles, and the fine delicate veins on the backs of her hand. His knee was pressing companionably against hers. Somehow her shoulder had come under the protection of his.

  “Tell me about your husband, Erin.” The request was made quietly, almost inconsequentially.

  She didn’t pretend ignorance. Giving in to an irresistible urge, she lay her head on his shoulder. “Joseph was the kindest man I’d ever met. He was immensely successful in business. Part of his success stemmed from the fact that his employees adored him. He gave even the lowliest mail clerk a share in the profits. Some may accuse him of being a shrewd manager, but I think that he really wanted to distribute his wealth.”

  Lance raised his arm and put it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Her head rested on his chest. “When he first started showing an interest in me, I thought it was because he valued my judgments, my knowledge of his business. And he did. But it was only after we had had several dinner dates that I realized he was seeing me because he liked me. In retrospect, I think I recaptured his youth. He had been widowed for many years. His children were grown and led their own busy lives. For a long time, his business had been his only interest in life. He was lonely.

  “Anyway, he asked me to marry him. I was stunned and a little frightened. He had always been so scrupulously mannerly that his proposal took me completely off guard. I consented, not because I loved him, at least not romantically, but because I thought he would be hurt if I refused.”

  Her hand had found its way to Lance’s thigh, and she was running her finger up and down the crease in his trouser leg. “I married him, much to everyone’s dismay. I think my name was bandied about as being an opportunist, a gold digger. I didn’t like people thinking badly of me, but I knew my motives were above reproach. I couldn’t let other uninformed opinions affect me or Joseph. I was young, lonely, and just a little flattered that such an important man could love me. That’s all there was to it. He died later that same year.”

  Lance captured her hand with his and pressed it against the muscle of his leg. “Not quite all, Erin.”

  His tone was so intimate that she blushed. She raised her eyes briefly. He was leaning down over her so closely that their faces nearly came into contact. His blue eyes speared through her own. She returned her head to his chest.

  “The marriage was nev
er consummated. Joseph—he tried, but—he was already sick,” she stammered. Her face was flaming scarlet. “When he went to a doctor to check on—uh—the other, they discovered the malignancy. It was inoperable.”

  Returning her thoughts to those sad days after Joseph’s death, Erin was made aware of the change she had undergone since meeting Lance. After Joseph’s embarrassing attempts to make her his wife in the physical sense, she had become afraid of sex. He had been so completely devastated when he couldn’t perform as a husband that Erin had felt his pain and embarrassment just as keenly as he had. She never wanted anything to do with sex again. It couldn’t be worth the price of sacrificing someone’s self-esteem.

  She hadn’t become involved with a man again. It wasn’t for lack of invitation. Many men in New York had pursued her before and after her marriage to Joseph, but she had managed to bridle their passions until they became frustrated enough to seek other partners. In Houston, much the same thing had happened until she met Bart and they had finally reached an understanding about her not sleeping with him.

  It wasn’t the act itself that frightened her. The O’Sheas had been a loving couple with a healthy, active sex life. Even as a child, Erin had discerned that her parents shared something special.

  Her problem was a fear of being disillusioned again if things went wrong.

  Why then had she accepted Lance Barrett so readily? Since that first embrace when she still thought him to be Ken, she had felt a desire kindling and igniting until it raged inside her like a forest fire. Even when she was flinging aspersions in his face, she had had to fight that forceful sexual awareness of him.

  And he had known it. Her body hadn’t been able to keep its longing a secret and his had instinctively responded. Unconsciously she had exuded a magnetic current that he hadn’t ignored or resisted.

  She was playing a dangerous game. Part of her reason for refusing to be Bart’s mistress had been her compulsive desire for a family. Somehow, she had known that Bart wasn’t what she wanted in the way of a husband and father to her children. Becoming too involved with him might put a stumbling block in the way of her achieving what she wanted most out of her life.

  If Bart was a stumbling block, Lance was a mountain. A few days from now they would go their separate ways and never see each other again. Why was she gambling her future? A brief affair with Lance led nowhere. It was stupid. It was hopeless. It was immoral.

  Yet now, when she could feel his breath against her cheek and the pressure of his arm against the soft cushion of her breast, she also knew that it was ordained and out of her control.

  She lifted her head and looked at him. He drowned in the depths of her dark eyes that were wide and liquid with the train of her thoughts. His lips compressed into a stern line when he said, “I’m sorry for what happened last night in the park.”

  “You were angry,” she replied simply. “I knew that.”

  “That’s no excuse for what I almost did. God! Rape.” He sighed in self-disgust. “I’ve never been violent with a woman, Erin. Believe me. Did I hurt you?” The guilty look on his face melted her heart.

  “A little,” she said with a smile.

  “I wish it had never happened. If I could undo it, I would.”

  “Why don’t you apologize?” she suggested seductively.

  He smiled down at her tenderly and placed his index finger on her lips. He moved it from one corner of her mouth to the other with a slow, provocative stroke. “Erin, I apologize for my beastly behavior.”

  “Your apology is accepted,” she whispered. His finger lowered her bottom lip and raked against her teeth.

  Furtively, he glanced around him. “I wish we weren’t in so public a place,” he grumbled.

  “Why? What would you do if we weren’t?”

  “E… Erin.” He said her name through gritted teeth as she caught his finger in her mouth and sucked on it gently. “If your hand comes any farther up my thigh, you’ll know beyond a shadow of a doubt what I would do.”

  “What would you do,” she challenged breathlessly.

  He picked up the thrown gauntlet. “I’d probably kiss you like this.”

  He kept one arm firmly around her and, with the other hand, cradled her face as he lowered his lips to hers. At first he teased her, biting gently on her lips, painting them with his tongue. He pulled back slightly to review the results of his torment. Her eyes were partially veiled with her black-fringed lids and her breath was escaping through parted lips, shiny and wet with the lubricant of his own mouth.

  “Erin,” he breathed as his lips closed over hers. Now was not the time to solve their problems. What if she did have a fiancé who was a millionaire? She wasn’t wearing his damn diamond ring now. He knew almost to the minute when she had taken off that symbol of another man’s claim.

  What if he would never see her again? What if her income quadrupled his? What the hell did any of that matter now?

  She was here. It was dark and cozy and they needed each other. Her body was supple and gave in to the demands of his. Her dear hand lay only inches from that part of him that knew her intimately and strained to know her again. Her lips were opened and receptive to his searching tongue. He had a hard time restraining a moan that formed in his chest and pushed up to clog his throat.

  “You taste like brandy.” The kiss was over, but their lips were still touching. “From now on, I’ll love brandy.”

  “Drink some more,” he said. This time it was her tongue that explored his mouth, finding all the hollows and filling them. When she pulled away, she teased the cleft in his chin with that relentless tongue which left him feeling weak and conversely powerful.

  Her index finger replaced her tongue in that intriguing crevice as she asked huskily, “And if you got away with kissing me like that, then what would you do?”

  He was all too eager now to participate in this duel of the senses. He put on his stern government agent face and said, “I’m not convinced that you’re not some hardened criminal hiding behind a sexy disguise. Especially now that you’ve tried to seduce me, my suspicions are aroused.”

  “That’s not all that’s aroused,” she said in a barely audible singsong voice.

  Did she actually brush her hand over him or was that only his overactive imagination? Hell, the way he felt now, anything was possible. He swallowed hard and grated, “You’re getting me off the subject.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said contritely. “Please continue.”

  “As I was saying,” he cleared his throat authoritatively, “I’d probably feel the need to search you again.”

  His mouth took on an insolent slant that she remembered all too well. When she had first seen it, the arrogant expression had frightened her. Now she found that it caused her heart to pound with excitement.

  “You surely wouldn’t want to be derelict in your duty,” she said solemnly.

  “No. I couldn’t let that happen.” He brought his face down to hers again, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead he looked deeply into her eyes as he slipped his hand under her blazer. It lay warm and heavy against her chest, similar to the warm heaviness that centered in the lower part of her body and throbbed between her thighs. With agonizing slowness, he moved his hand downward.

  Erin was held spellbound by the flashing sensations that radiated from his fingers through her blouse to her skin. His eyes impaled her. They held her in a tender, but avaricious, gaze. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  His palm settled over her breast and molded it to his hand. Sensuously he began massaging her in a circular rhythm until he felt her become taut and firm in the center of his hand. The lips he was watching so hungrily parted and formed his name.

  “You have two very feminine habits, Erin O’Shea,” he said with infinite softness. “One of them is this.” He brushed his thumb over the responsive crest. “The other is saying my name without really saying it. I find them both endearing.”

  He left her only long enough to set free two
of her buttons. Then it was the flesh of his hand sliding over the lush curves. As gently as if he were undressing an infant, he pushed aside the wispy lace barrier of her bra and surrounded her with his hand.

  She leaned forward, making herself fuller, more accessible to him. But never did their eyes waver. Hers became shuttered momentarily when his thumb began its own distinct finessing.

  He leaned over her and placed his lips against her ear. After kissing it and the velvet, scented skin around it, he whispered, “Erin, God help me, but I want you.” His words were urgent, but if anything, his questing hand became more soothing.

  Rolling her nipple between sensitive fingers, he asked, “Did I tell you what a pretty color you are? I can remember just what this feels like in my mouth, against my tongue, what you taste like. Right now, I want—”

  The seat belt sign lit up and they heard the soft chimes that called attention to it. Lance’s breath was expulsed near her ear with a muffled curse. He eased away from her and, protecting her with his body, rebuttoned her blouse before returning to sit straight in his own seat.

  She reached out tentatively to touch his arm, but he hissed, “Don’t touch me.” When he saw her hurt expression, he smiled. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that it may take a minute or two for me to become decent again?” He looked at her with a lopsided grin until she caught his meaning. When she did, she jerked her hand back and faced the front of the airplane, not daring to move. He chuckled deeply.

  Just when the wheels of the aircraft skidded to the runway, she looked at him shyly. “Lance, do you… do you think I’m terrible for acting so shamelessly in light of what happened today? Am I a disgraceful person?”

  His smile was gentle and sincere. “It’s been my experience over the years to watch the reactions of people in all sorts of chaotic situations. I’ve discovered that an emotional release from tension or grief can take myriad forms. Some people weep, or scream, or get angry. Others laugh uncontrollably. Some turn to love.” He paused significantly. “One emotion is as honest as the next, Erin.”