The Seductive Impostor

by Janet Chapman

  “Cavemen have egos of granite,” she whispered. “And I’m crying because I love you, and because I don’t know if you even realize what you’re getting.”

  He moved his lips over her cheek and across her damp lashes. “I’m getting a beautiful and passionate woman I want to grow old with.”

  “If…if I don’t kill you first.”

  He looked deeply into her eyes, his own eyes dark with concern. He suddenly smiled at her. “You can’t kill a demigod. We’re indestructible.”

  “My father killed my mother,” she whispered. “He loved her so passionately that he shot her and then put the gun to his own head.”

  Kee reared up with a growl, resettled his hips between hers, and pinned her to the bed with his body. He took hold of her hair on either side of her face, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. “You will not measure what we have against your parents,” he said, his voice harsh with emotion. “Passion is not what drove your father to do what he did, Rachel. It was fear. Frank Foster feared life without your mother, and he killed her when he found her with another man.”

  “F-Fear?”

  He nodded, kissed her nose, then smoothed her hair. “I know you adored him, Rachel. And I know his betrayal wounded you and Willow very deeply. But you’re not your father, sweetheart.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “You don’t fear life, Rachel,” he told her with quiet authority. “You embrace it.”

  “But I am afraid.”

  His smile was warm and tender. “You don’t have your father’s flaw, Rachel. You would never take the coward’s way out.” He kissed her nose again, lowering his head to nuzzle a sensitive spot just below her ear. “Just love me, Rachel,” he gently entreated, nipping her earlobe. “Give me your passion, and I promise to keep us both safe.”

  With the trust of a woman finding herself deeply in love with a demigod, Rachel turned her head to capture his mouth and gave him a kiss that forever sealed their fates.

  Their lovemaking was slow and tender and so wonderfully erotic that nothing existed outside themselves. And as the lengthening afternoon shadows moved through the room, Kee took advantage of her declaration and teased and tasted and became terribly bold.

  Desire stirred deep inside her as his hands moved over her body with purposeful, painstaking care. Rachel became restless, shuddering, gasping, moaning encouragement while trying to remember what it was she wanted to do.

  He entered her slowly—so maddeningly slowly—and she climaxed with the force of a nor’easter hitting shore. Kee rode the wave of her orgasm with the strength of a god determined to hold back the tide.

  Finally he moved, rocking her gently, building her up again with lusty words and gentle caresses that inflamed her beyond reason. He made love to all five of her senses, giving her everything, yet refusing her the same privilege by trapping her hands over her head, not letting her touch him.

  Yes. That’s what she wanted. She wanted to touch him.

  And she suddenly realized, through the haze of a second powerful orgasm, that Kee was saying the words back to her the only way he knew how. This was his declaration of love—his promise to cherish her, to give her his heart, and to keep her forever in his.

  The sun slowly set, turning her bedroom into shadows and reflections of reds and oranges and purples.

  And the lovemaking continued.

  And the passion Rachel had felt churning inside her for more than a week finally settled into a deeper, more comfortable, and far more manageable emotion.

  She would be okay.

  They’d be okay.

  Because she trusted Keenan Oakes—part demigod, part caveman—to keep her safe.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rachel spent the next four days in a fog of surreal chaos.

  She had become quite comfortable living alone, with Willow gone away to school most of the time. But suddenly her life was full—with a wolf and seven men coming and going at all times of the day or night, taking turns guarding Rachel and Mikaela and Sub Rosa.

  Ahab turned out to be the biggest pest. He slept on the Six-to-One Odds, but came over every morning at seven, ate breakfast with them, then took Mikaela back to the boat to polish brass until noon. Which was fine, except that for the last three afternoons, the old sea salt had insisted on going shopping with them.

  Rachel had never shopped with a five-year-old who couldn’t decide what it was she wanted and two grown men who had more opinions than the United Nations. On their first day out, Matthew had wanted Mikaela to buy a yellow dress and white sandals, but Ahab had voted for a pink dress with brown sandals. They’d come home with nothing, and the next day Peter had tried to talk Mikaela into a blue dress and straw bonnet covered with half a garden of flowers.

  They’d returned empty-handed that day as well.

  Except for Ahab. He’d bought a shirt so outrageously loud that it hurt to look at him.

  Kee and Duncan had both joined them the day before, and Mikaela and Rachel had finally gotten their ears pierced. All three men had silently walked out of the shop the moment the clerk had put the hole puncher to Mikaela’s ear. And ten minutes later, when Rachel and Mikaela emerged wearing their little gold studs, they’d found the men sitting on a bench, silently staring at the ground, passing around the flask Ahab always carried in his back pocket.

  Rachel had decided they would stay home this afternoon, since shopping by committee was proving impossible.

  “They’re called ants on a log,” Mikaela said, kneeling on a stool at the island counter and carefully placing raisins on the peanut butter she’d smeared on stalks of celery.

  Rachel eyed the gooey concoction with trepidation.

  “Munky says they’re good for my gut,” Mikaela continued, completely unaware of Rachel’s horror. “He makes them for me every time he comes home from a job.”

  Rachel had learned Mikaela had funky names for all the men. Apparently they’d planned for her to call them uncle, but two names had been too much of a mouthful for a toddler. Mikaela had turned Uncle Matt into Munky, Uncle Duncan into Dunky, and so forth.

  The names had stuck, and the men didn’t seem in any hurry for Mikaela to change them now that she’d mastered speech.

  “Do all of you live on the Six-to-One Odds?” Rachel asked, filling a glass with milk for Mikaela and pouring a glass of wine for herself, thinking it would probably take more than wine for her to get down the peanut butter and raisins and celery.

  Mikaela nodded, holding up a log of ants for Rachel. “I got my own bunk, but Mickey and I sleep with Daddy whenever he’s on board.”

  Mikaela stared expectantly while Rachel carefully took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and then took another bite of the surprisingly tasty treat.

  “Good, huh?” Mikaela said, taking a bite of her own stalk. “Do you think it’s bad that I sleep with Daddy?” she asked.

  Rachel stopped from taking another bite. “No. Why would it be bad?”

  “ ’Cause I’m a girl and Daddy’s a man. Joan said it’s wrong.” She scrunched up her face. “I been sleeping on Daddy’s chest since I was borned. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Rachel quickly assured her, wishing she could get her hands on Joan the shrew for just five minutes.

  “Until you decide you’d be more comfortable sleeping by yourself, then you should sleep wherever you want,” she told Mikaela. “I used to hop in bed with my mom and dad every time there was a thunderstorm.”

  Mikaela nodded, giving Rachel a satisfied smile. “I think Joan didn’t like it when she stayed on the Six-to-One Odds, ’cause she had to sleep in a bed by herself.”

  Rachel had also been sleeping by herself these last three nights. But she didn’t mind, pleased that Kee had such a sense of morality when it came to his daughter.

  Rachel grabbed another stalk of celery and popped it into her mouth just as the screen door opened and Kee and Duncan strolled into the kitchen.

  The men came to
a sudden stop, took one look at the mess on the counter, and collectively shook their heads. Rachel was sure she saw an involuntary shudder run through Kee.

  Duncan picked up Mikaela and carried her to the sink—holding her away from himself as if she were a bomb—and turned on the faucet and ran her hands under the water. Kee remained standing at the other end of the island counter, his arms crossed over his chest, watching in horror as Rachel took another huge bite of gooey celery.

  “I have an errand in town that will take me right past the ice cream shop,” Duncan told Mikaela as he washed her hands. “And I might have just enough money in my pocket to buy us a real treat.”

  “Mickey wants to come, too,” Mikaela proclaimed, wiggling down to her feet and wiping her hands on her pants. “And Rachel,” she quickly added, looking at Rachel.

  “I’m pretty full from the wonderful lunch you made me,” Rachel told her, patting her belly, thinking this might be a great chance to look for the secret room.

  “And I’m not really in the mood for ice cream,” Kee added, staring at Rachel with his dark, piercing eyes.

  Rachel slowly took another bite of celery as she stared back at him—and watched, fascinated, when he shuddered again.

  Mikaela picked up her giraffe from one of the stools, then tugged the fur on Mickey’s neck. “Come on, Mickey,” she said, heading for the door. “Maybe they got your favorite—caramel swirl. And waffle cones,” she added as she pushed through the screen door ahead of Duncan and after Mickey.

  Rachel stopped chewing and could only blink at the closing screen door. The wolf liked caramel swirl ice cream? And waffle cones?

  She looked back at Kee, and her proximity problem suddenly swelled her chest, making it difficult to swallow. Kee was emitting enough raw energy to melt glass—to melt her.

  Rachel’s insides tightened. It had been four days since they’d declared their love. And they were suddenly alone in a house full of beds, and Kee was staring at her with such…such want that it was almost frightening. Rachel grabbed her wine and emptied the glass in one gulp.

  She needed to calm down. Surely she could be in the same room with this man and hold a civilized conversation without jumping his beautiful bones. Couldn’t she?

  “Tell me about Mikaela’s mother,” she said without thinking, desperately trying to slow her thumping heart.

  But her heart raced even faster when Kee’s eyes darkened to nearly black. He crossed his arms over his chest again, his entire body strung tight, his posture defensive.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” he said. “I’ve had custody of Mikaela since she was born.”

  Rachel refilled her wineglass with an unsteady hand, wondering what had possessed her to bring up Mikaela’s mother now. But dammit, she wanted to know. She was in love with Keenan Oakes, and this past week she’d fallen in love with his daughter.

  “She just walked away from her baby?” she asked softly.

  Kee studied her in silence across the messy counter, the muscles in his shoulders and neck bowstring tight, his face hard, and his eyes cold. “She walked away with a small fortune in her pocket,” he finally said, his voice even. “Leaving us in debt to the tune of one and a half million dollars.”

  It took every bit of willpower Rachel possessed not to show her shock. He had paid for his daughter?

  “But that’s…is that legal?” she whispered.

  He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at her with dark, unreadable eyes.

  And she suddenly understood, only too well.

  He wasn’t mad she’d probed into his past—he was scared.

  “So you borrowed a million and a half dollars to pay off Mikaela’s mother, and in return you got a daughter.”

  “I could only raise a million. Duncan and Jason and Luke and Peter and Matthew chipped in the rest.”

  Looking back at her wineglass, Rachel picked her next words very carefully. “I think it was a very noble thing you did,” she told him, looking up. “Unconventional maybe, but sweet.”

  “There was nothing sweet about it,” he said. “Pamela was four months along when she told me and was betting on my response. She was more mercenary than maternal.”

  “You can’t get an abortion at four months,” she said, truly horrified now.

  “You can if you want one badly enough.”

  Rachel sighed. “What do you want from me, Kee?”

  “Understanding,” he whispered thickly.

  “You want me to understand why you went over your head in debt for your child?” she asked. “Kee, your full inheritance from Thadd wouldn’t have been enough for your daughter. I think you got a damn good bargain.”

  She stood up and walked around the counter and stood in front of him. “I love you,” she fiercely declared. “Even more, if that’s possible.”

  He moved with the speed of a striking cobra, pulling her into his arms with desperate need and burying his face in her neck. Rachel clung to his trembling body, clutching his head to her chest and kissing his hair, whispering words of love and assurance.

  It was then she resigned herself to the fact that a civil conversation between them might never be possible. Not when actions could speak louder than words.

  Kee must have thought so, too. He swept her into his arms and turned and carried her through the living room toward the stairs.

  The screen door opened and shut with a bang.

  Kee stopped with his foot on the bottom step and cursed.

  “Hello the house!” Luke shouted.

  Kee lowered Rachel until her feet were on the second step, cupped her face with his hands, and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “I’ll be right back,” he promised. “I’m just going to shoot Luke, and then we’ll go upstairs.”

  Rachel laughed and pushed him away, scooting under his arm and running through the living room. She skidded to a stop just inside the kitchen door—and stared, utterly speechless.

  Luke looked like hell. And he smelled even worse.

  The man reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol.

  Luke rubbed his hands over his face and pulled them away to reveal an apologetic smile.

  “Are you drunk?” Rachel asked, looking straight into his eyes. She frowned and turned to Kee. “What’s going on?”

  “I spent the afternoon at the Drop Anchor,” Luke said, drawing her attention. “And I learned some pretty interesting things.”

  “Like what?” Rachel asked.

  “Like the fact that Mary Alder probably is responsible for burning both boats,” he said gently, moving his completely sober gaze from her to Kee. “Accelerants were found on her hands and clothes. And she was shot, close range, with a nine-millimeter, possibly a Glock.”

  “What did they do, post the autopsy report at the Drop Anchor?” Rachel asked.

  Luke shook his head. “No. But apparently somebody in the sheriff’s office likes his beer.” He shrugged. “You know how it is in small towns. People like to tell what they know, if only for five minutes of fame.

  “There was something else,” Luke added, looking at Kee. “They found two cans of diesel fuel in Mary Alder’s garage, one of which was empty. They matched the can found floating in the harbor last Sunday morning. And they found boat designs burned in the fireplace.”

  Rachel quietly sucked in her breath.

  Kee looked at her, then back at Luke. “Were they readable?”

  Luke shook his head. “Not according to the rumors. But they knew they were designs from some of the un-burned edges. The state police detectives spent yesterday going through files at the Lakeman Boatyard.”

  Rachel pulled out a stool from the island and sat down, hugging her belly.

  “I don’t suppose you wore gloves while you snooped through Alder’s files?” Kee asked her.

  Rachel mutely shook her head.

  “Anything else?” Kee asked Luke.

  Luke suddenly smiled. “The town’s new puffin statue is a big hit. Everyone’s go
ing nuts speculating on who put it up.”

  “Do you know when they’re going to release Mary’s body?” Rachel asked. “So Mark can bury her?” She stood up. “I should go see him. I should have done it before now.”

  Kee took hold of her shoulders and sat her back down. He picked up the bottle of wine still sitting on the counter, filled her empty wineglass, put it in her hand, wrapped her fingers around it, and nudged it toward her mouth.

  “What about men with beards?” Kee asked Luke. “Or the name Raoul Vegas? Did it ring any bells?”

  Luke shook his head. “If he has half a brain he’s using an alias. And hell, there must be over a dozen men fitting the description Jason gave us who live around here.”

  Luke smiled, scratching his chest. “I told them I didn’t know his name, but that I was looking for a guy who helped me change a flat tire the other night and wanted to pay him back with a rack of beer. That got me at least ten names right off the bat, two of which somebody said lived in Fisherman’s Reach.”

  He pulled a wrinkled napkin out of his pocket. “I wrote the names down as people thought of them. It actually turned into a contest to see who could think of guys matching my description. I’ll get Jason and Matthew, and we’ll start nosing around.”

  Luke turned and walked to the screen door but stopped and looked back. “There was one more thing,” he said, darting a glance at Rachel before looking back at Kee. “They found a Fabergé egg in Mary Alder’s bedroom that was stolen eight years ago from a home in Austria.”

  “Any of Sub Rosa’s legitimate art found?” Kee asked.

  Luke shook his head. “Not that I heard. Only the egg.”

  Luke turned and left a lot more quietly than he had arrived.

  Kee took Rachel’s hand, tugged her off the stool, and headed out onto the porch.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, following meekly.

  “Duncan’s idea of an ice cream suddenly sounds good. We’ll sit in the park to eat it and watch people’s reaction to Puffy.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It was already Friday, and Rachel still hadn’t been able to find a way into her dad’s secret room, mostly because she hadn’t been left alone long enough to hunt for it. And Willow was coming home tonight and would be expecting answers.