"You and I are going to have to keep up a brave front for Bethany," Morgan told her. "If she thinks we're worried, then—"
The insistent ring of Morgan's cellular phone interrupted. He removed the phone from his jacket pocket, flipped it open and said, "Kane here." His brow wrinkled.
Anne Marie slid off the bar stool and eased over beside him. James set his glass of lemonade on the bar and focused his attention on the conversation.
"Damn! I'll tell her," Morgan said. "Knowing her, she'll want to come straight over."
"What's wrong?" Anne Marie tugged on Morgan's sleeve. "What happened?"
Morgan motioned for her to wait, then said into the telephone, "So you caught them. How many were there? Yeah, thanks for getting in touch with me so quickly. Will you wait around until we get there? OK. Fine. I'm sure Bethany will want to ask you a few questions."
The minute Morgan slipped his phone back in his pocket, Anne Marie grabbed his arm. "What happened?"
"Some of Farraday's fans broke into your and your mother's home and ransacked the downstairs before the police could get there."
"Oh, no! This is all Mama needs."
"Didn't the security alarm go off?" James asked.
"It went off and alerted the police and scared all the neighbors," Morgan said. "But it didn't deter the men who broke in. It seems they'd all been celebrating Bethany's indictment and had one beer too many."
"Who was that on the phone?" Anne Marie asked.
"Detective Varner," Morgan said.
Bethany walked into the kitchen, her eyes puffy and damp from crying. "What's this about Hal Varner?"
"How's Mother?" Morgan asked Bethany.
"She's all right. I told her that I'd been indicted. We discussed the future and the past and— Did I understand you to say something about Hal Varner calling you just now?"
"Mama, please, don't get upset." Anne Marie rushed to her mother's side.
"What's going on?" Bethany asked.
"Some of Farraday's drunken fans broke into your house and ransacked the place," Morgan told her, and when she didn't even blink an eye, he marveled at her composure. "The police arrived in time to apprehend three of them. They weren't in any condition to run."
"I want to go home, now," she told Morgan, then turned to Ida Mae. "Please don't say a word about this to Claudia. I put her to bed before I came downstairs, so you should check on her in a little while and make sure she takes her medication."
"I always do," Ida Mae said.
"Why don't you kids stay here?" Morgan suggested.
"No, if Mama's going to look at the house, then I'm going, too!" Anne Marie clasped her mother's hand.
"We'll all go and see how much damage there is," Bethany said placidly.
Morgan knew that there was something wrong with Bethany, something bothering her that had nothing to do with the break-in at her house. She was far too calm and controlled for a woman who'd just lived through the worst day of her life and had suddenly discovered that her home had been vandalized.
What had happened upstairs between Bethany and his mother? If he asked Bethany, would she tell him? And if she was willing to tell him, was he sure he really wanted to know?
* * *
Hal Varner met them the minute they pulled into the garage at Bethany's Forest Park home. Several neighbors still milled around in the street and one black-and-white was still parked in the driveway.
Bethany didn't wait for Morgan to get out and assist her. She jumped out of her Mercedes and headed up the sidewalk.
"Mrs. Wyndham?" Detective Varner called to her. "One of the intruders broke out a window in the kitchen and crawled in, unlocked the door and let the others in. It's quite a mess in the downstairs. You might not want to—"
Stopping halfway up the sidewalk, Bethany glanced over her shoulder. "Did you catch all of them?"
"We arrested three of them, but we figure a couple more got away. The three we caught were too drunk to run."
Bethany walked up to the open front door, then stepped into the foyer. Morgan followed her. She halted, her body tensing the moment she glanced into her living room. Coming up behind her, Morgan grasped her shoulders and drew her back up against his chest.
James's eyes widened in shock when he walked into the house. "Holy cow!"
"Oh, Mama. Mama." Anne Marie stood in the foyer beside James and shook her head back and forth, then suddenly turned pale. She grabbed James's hand and whispered, "I think I'm going to throw up."
James put his arm around Anne Marie's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go back outside."
Bethany could hardly believe her eyes. Utter, complete, desolate destruction. Drapes torn down from their rods. Pictures and mirrors ripped from the walls. Lamps thrown onto the floor, their broken fragments scattered on the carpet. Tables overturned, pillows strewed, gashes sliced in the sofa and chairs. The brass fire poker pierced the oil painting above the mantel.
"I'm leaving an officer here overnight, Mrs. Wyndham." Hal Varner stood in the open front door. "It's not regulation, but under the circumstances… Well, you'll need to get somebody out here first thing in the morning to repair the broken windows and—"
"Thank you, Detective," Morgan said when Bethany made no reply, indeed didn't acknowledge either Varner's presence or his. "I'll see that someone's here bright and early."
"I'm sorry about this," Varner said. "I'd like to lock up that Tony Hayes along with those three we arrested here tonight. He might have loved Jimmy Farraday like a son loves a father, but that doesn't give him the right to incite these pea-brained bastards to take the law into their own hands."
Bethany stepped over the debris in the floor as she made her way across the room. Morgan watched her as she picked something up off the carpet. Clutching the retrieved object in her arms, she returned to his side, looked up at him with cool, dazed eyes and said, "We'll spend the night at Mother's. She has more than enough room for all of us."
"All right, honey," Morgan put his arm around her shoulders. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
Holding the retrieved object in one hand, Bethany reached up and caressed Morgan's cheek with the other. He laid his hand over hers, pressing the tips of her fingers into his cheekbone.
She held up a lopsided bright green clay pot with the word Mommy painted in red across one side. "Anne Marie made this for me in her second-grade art class. For Christmas. It isn't broken." Tears gathered in the corners of Bethany's eyes and trickled down her face. "See. Not a scratch on it." Bethany clung to the disfigured little pot as if it were solid gold. "Where is she? Is she all right? I want to show her that her little Christmas vase is all right."
"She's outside, honey," Morgan said. "She got a bit sick to her stomach when she saw the mess, but James is taking care of her."
"I should be taking care of her. I'm her mother. I've always taken care of her." Bethany allowed Morgan to pull her into his arms, but she didn't loosen her tenacious hold on the green and red pot. "I've loved her since the moment I found out I wan pregnant. Everything I've done, I've done for her. Always. Please, Morgan, tell me that you believe me, that you know why—"
"Hush, honey, hush. Everything is going to be all right. I'll take care of you and Anne Marie. I'll handle everything. I promise."
"Oh, Morgan." She cuddled close to him, absorbing his strength. "I've told you over and over again not to make promises that you can't keep."
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Morgan hovered in the corner, a dark shadow in the sunny yellow bedroom in Eileen Farraday's home. He had stood silently by while Bethany cared for her emotionally distraught child. The day's events had been too much for Anne Marie, the vandalism of her home tipping the scales. He had wanted to do something—anything—to help ease Anne Marie's distress, but she had wanted no one except her mother. And he had felt helpless, still felt helpless. He was supposed to be their protector, the man who would keep them safe and secure. But there was
n't a damn thing he could do to change what had happened. Bethany had been indicted for Jimmy Farraday's murder, and the man's idiot fans had vandalized her home.
Bethany lifted the embroidered silk shawl off the foot of the bed and covered her sleeping child. All the love in her heart showed plainly in her eyes as she gazed down at her daughter. A tight knot formed in Morgan's throat as he watched Bethany caress Anne Marie's cheek.
Bethany was a woman who loved completely, with every fiber of her being, holding nothing back, giving all. She had loved him that way once, and he'd been too young and foolish to realize what a rare and precious thing Bethany's kind of loving was. Whether it was mother love or sexual love, Bethany loved with all her heart.
He glanced over at the chair where Bethany had placed her purse. The lopsided little green and red vase that Anne Marie had made in second grade sat beside the leather shoulder bag. He shuddered, remembering the fanatical way Bethany had clung to that stupid clay pot, almost as if it were a lifeline. Nothing had mattered to Bethany, absolutely nothing, except what her daughter's gift represented: a lifetime of love and sacrifice she'd given her child and that child's love and devotion in return.
"She's asleep." Easing off the side of the bed, Bethany stood. "She's exhausted. Poor baby. This has been such a horrendous day for her."
"She'll be all right after a good night's sleep," Morgan said. "We'll be able to talk to her tomorrow and make her understand that everything is going to be all right."
Bethany stared at Morgan, her eyes questioning him. "Is everything going to be all right?"
"Of course it is," he told her, unwilling to believe he wouldn't be able to save her. "I'm not going to let you go to prison."
Stepping away from the bed, Bethany staggered. She grabbed the edge of the nightstand in an effort to steady herself. The Chinoiserie lamp on the nightstand tottered precariously. Bethany swayed forward, reaching for the lamp.
Realizing Bethany was on the verge of collapsing, Morgan bolted across the room. Catching her around the waist, he supported her body as she righted the lamp. "You're dead on your feet, honey. Let me take care of you."
She turned in his arms and gazed up into his piercing gray eyes. The way she looked at him spoke to him as loudly and clearly as any vocal response could have. For a split second she wondered if he had understood her silent message, but when he swept her up into his arms, she knew he had heard her heart's plea. Yes, take care of me. Hold me and love me and comfort me. Make the world go away. Just for tonight, let's pretend that neither the past nor the present exists.
She wanted to forget that he had left her sixteen years ago, alone and pregnant. And she wanted him to forget that he had come back for her and found her married to his cousin a few months later.
She clung to him as he carried her across the room, out into the hall and into the guest bedroom that Eileen had assigned to him. He closed the door behind them, shutting out the world, closing them off from the day's events and from tomorrow's worries.
Morgan knew that, despite her strength and determination, despite the way she'd held herself together for her daughter's sake, Bethany was ready to collapse. Emotional collapse as well as physical. Something more than being indicted for murder and having her house vandalized haunted Bethany. Something had happened between his mother and her, something that had thrown Bethany into an emotional turmoil she couldn't quite handle. He had no idea what that something was. He didn't need to know. Not now. Not tonight. All he needed to know was that Bethany needed him.
He flipped the wall switch. Subdued lighting from two huge, stone-based lamps illuminated the autumn-leaves textured wall and softened the rich hues of moss greens, golds and reds that dominated the large, masculine bedroom. He carried her past the sleigh bed and straight through to the adjoining bathroom.
"Morgan?" She questioned his actions when he entered the bathroom, turned on the wall sconces and set her down on the bench in front of the marble vanity.
"You need some tender, loving care, Beth." He knelt in front of her and removed her shoes, his big hands incredibly gentle as they massaged her feet. "This has been the day from hell. I want you to put everything out of your mind and relax and let me take care of you. Just for tonight. As if there were no tomorrow."
His words mirrored her thoughts. They had tonight. What would a few stolen hours of bliss hurt? Somehow she knew instinctively that Morgan needed her as much as she needed him. Tomorrow she would face all the ugly, bitter truths. Her indictment for murder. Her vandalized home. Her fears for Anne Marie's future. Her guilty heart, realizing more now than ever what an unforgivable mistake she'd made in marrying Amery.
When Morgan caressed the calves of her legs, easing slowly upward, Bethany reached down and tunneled her fingers through his long, golden hair. With his hands spread out over her knees, he looked up at her.
"Just for tonight." With those three words she placed herself in his care, trusting him to give her the pleasure and the peace her heart and body craved.
He lifted her enough to ease his hands up and under her skirt. He grasped the waistband of her panty hose, slid them over her hips and down her legs. Closing her eyes, she threw back her head and abandoned herself to the luxury of Morgan's loving attention.
With indulgent ease, as if he had all the time in the world, he undressed her. Unbuttoning her blouse slowly, he caressed her breasts through the thin silk, then unhooked and discarded her bra. His fingers plucked at her nipples, insistent yet gentle. Bethany sighed as sensations of sheer feminine delight rippled through her body. Within minutes, he divested her of all her clothing, and she sat before him, gloriously beautiful in her nakedness.
He removed his own clothes quickly and adeptly, then lifted Bethany into his arms, opened the frameless glass door and walked into the enormous marble-tiled shower. After adjusting the faucets and turning on the water, he guided her down the full length of his big, aroused body, allowing her to feel every throbbing inch of him. The warm spray hit their bodies like a thousand heated, massaging, cushioned needle pricks. Clinging to Morgan's shoulders, Bethany stood on tiptoe to reach his neck. Pressing her damp breasts against his hairy chest, she kissed his throat. Morgan groaned. His hardened sex pulsated against her belly.
Holding her securely around the waist, he pushed her gently away from him. She moaned when their bodies separated. He lifted the bar of soap from its niche in the shower wall and began a slow, intimate exploration of her body, lathering every silken centimeter of her wet, naked flesh. When her knees weakened, she tightened her hold on his shoulders. Giving her a gentle shove, he pushed her against the shower wall, bracing her there as he lowered his mouth and covered one breast while he pinched the nipple of her other breast with his fingertips. She squirmed as sexual twinges radiated from her breasts and through the core of her femininity.
Moving downward, he licked a hungry trail across her stomach, over her navel and on to the edge of the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs. He kissed her there, as the water cascaded over him, drenching him. When he slipped his hand between her legs and parted her thighs, Bethany gasped and trembled.
"Oh, Morgan … please … ah…"
His knees rested on the tiled shower floor. His big hands cupped her, spread her, opened her up for his marauding mouth and deadly hot tongue. The moment his lips kissed her intimately, she whimpered. With her hips pressed into the warm marble surface, she flattened her palms against the wall on each side of her, trying to steady her trembling body.
While his mouth made passionate love to her, he reached up to capture her breasts, heightening every sensation as his tongue and fingertips worked in perfect union. As she moaned and writhed, her body squirming against the marble wall, Morgan devoured her with his raging hunger. She cried out, shuddering with the force of her release. He drew every ounce of fulfillment from her, until she collapsed in his arms. Lifting her, he turned off the water and carried her out of the shower.
Bethany felt as
if her bones had turned to liquid. She allowed Morgan to take care of her as if she were totally helpless. He set her on the vanity stool and wrapped a towel around her head, securing her long dark hair in the turban. With infinite patience for a man boldly aroused, he rubbed a large towel over her arms, her legs, her breasts, her hips and then eased the towel between her thighs and patted her intimately.
Desire spiraled anew within her. She reached out and caressed his chest. He sucked in a deep breath. His big hand shook when he grabbed her wrist and drew her fingers toward his sex.
"Touch me." He guided her hand, and when she encircled him, he threw back his head and groaned like a wounded animal.
With moisture still clinging to his hairy chest, legs and arms, Morgan picked Bethany up off the vanity stool. "I want to make love to you all night," he said, then captured her mouth in a heated, tongue-thrusting kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, accepting and then participating in the ravaging kiss.
Morgan carried her into the bedroom, laid her in the middle of the bed, atop the topaz gold sheets, and came down over her. His lips covered hers as he lowered his body. He parted her legs and sought entrance into her hot, damp depths. With his mouth eating at hers, sucking, nibbling, consuming, he lifted her hips and rammed into her. She cried out from the earth-shattering sensation of having him buried deep inside her.
Every muscle in his body tensed as he willed himself under control. The pleasure was almost beyond enduring. Simply sheathing himself within the tight fist of her womanhood brought him to the brink. But he wanted to make this loving last, at least long enough to bring Bethany to fulfillment once again.
When he withdrew from her, she whimpered, clinging to him, trying to bring him back inside. He plunged again, then withdrew and delved deeply. Stilling his movements as quivers of impending release warned him how close he was to losing himself, Morgan placed his lips over her breast and drew one tight nipple into his mouth.
She squirmed beneath him. Shudders of excitement trembled through her. She lifted and lowered her hips, then lifted them again, telling him of her need.
A MAN LIKE MORGAN KANE Page 18
