He shifted on the hard porch. He hoped she was smart enough to keep clear of Kray. If that madman got a hold of her—Jeff didn’t want to think about it. Andie had to know the danger she was in. She’d lived with Kray, she knew what he was capable of.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
He searched for the closest thing to the truth he was willing to risk. “How did you meet Kray?” he asked, glancing at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Please. Give me some credit.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been wasting your time thinking about me and wondering how I met Kray? I don’t think so. If you’ve thought about me at all, it’s probably been ten different ways to get me as far away from you as possible.”
Jeff stared at her. She didn’t blink or look away. “You’re some gutsy lady, you know that?”
“Yeah, I’ve got more courage than sense. Don’t rub it in.” She sighed. “It’s okay that you don’t like me, Jeff. Just get Bobby safely away from his father. That’s all I care about.”
It was the first time she’d used his name instead of “Rambo.” That was surprising, but not nearly as startling as the realization that she could read his emotions. Either she was a hell of lot more insightful than he’d given her credit for, or his five years behind a desk had left him dangerously vulnerable. He had a bad feeling it was a combination of the two. Or maybe, he thought, being completely honest with himself, he’d been acting like a macho jerk from the moment he met her. He wasn’t usually like that. Of course he didn’t usually run into his enemy’s ex-wife in the middle of a tropical jungle.
“I still want to know how you met Kray,” he said.
“How did a small-town girl from Nowhere U.S.A. get involved with a notorious crime lord?”
“Uh-huh.”
She pulled her knees close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “It’s a long, boring story.”
“Neither of us seem to be sleepy.”
“I guess you’re right.” She sighed again.
The sound came to him, like a whisper of the wind. In the faint light of the moon and the glow from the windows, her long hair gleamed like pale gold. She was too far away for him to feel the heat of her body, but he knew she was there. Just out of reach. A temptation.
He hadn’t been with a woman since Jeanne died. Sometimes that surprised him, if he bothered to think about it at all. He hadn’t set out to avoid women, it just sort of happened. The invitations that came his way hadn’t been intriguing enough to make him forget the pain and guilt. Now, without warning, he wanted again. His mind might hate Andie for who and what she was, but his body didn’t give a damn about anything but being with her.
The hell of it was, despite the erection straining against the fly of his trousers, this wasn’t all about sex. Sure he wanted to bury himself inside of her and get lost in the passion, but it was more than that. He wanted to hold and be held, to whisper in the middle of the night, to sleep in a sweet tangle of arms and legs. He missed more than the sex. He missed the closeness of living with someone. He missed being married.
He studied Andie’s profile, but instead of seeing her as she sat next to him, he saw the photographs taken with telephoto lenses, blown up until everything was grainy. He remembered her in short tight dresses and cropped red hair. He remembered her clinging to Kray’s arm and laughing.
Even while his body ached for her, even while he felt guilty for being a jerk and judging her, even while he acknowledged she was brave and smart, with a strong sense of survival, he hated her. Not for marrying Kray, but for being alive when Jeanne wasn’t.
“Once upon a time there was a tall gangling fifteen-year-old, with big eyes and skinny legs.” Andie glanced at him. “I was not popular in high school.”
“I’m surprised.”
“No, you’re not.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and continued. “We lived in a small town in central California. You wouldn’t have heard of it. Anyway, one weekend my mom took me to the mall. There was a big model search. We didn’t know anything about it until we got inside. There were all these really beautiful girls there. I’d never seen so many. I was standing there watching when one of the photographers saw me. He wanted to take my picture.”
She smiled at the memory. “I don’t know who was more surprised. Me or my mom. I let him take a bunch of photos, then I gave him my name. Three weeks later I got a call from an agency in New York. They wanted me to come see them. If I looked anything like the photos, they were going to send me to Europe to do some print work and model for the spring collection. I thought it was joke.”
“Did you go?”
She shook her head. “I was only fifteen. The farthest I’d been from home was the weekend I went with my parents to San Francisco. I was going to finish high school and become a veterinary assistant.” Her smile faded. “Such lofty goals.”
“What happened?”
“When I was a senior in high school, my parents were killed in a car accident.”
She paused, then looked at him. For a moment he didn’t understand what she was waiting for. Then he remembered. The lie. That Jeanne and J.J. had died in a car accident, as well. It was something they had in common.
The explosion of rage surprised him. He wanted to stand up and tell her they had nothing common, nothing except the fact that her husband had murdered his family. He wanted to destroy her world, as his had been destroyed. He wanted to see her suffering and in pain.
He did nothing. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t look away. Finally she realized he wasn’t going to respond, so she went on with her story.
“By that time I’d done some local modeling. I’d just turned eighteen. Their estate was small, but it was enough to get me to New York. From there the agency took over. I was sent to Europe. It was a huge mistake.”
He’d calmed down enough to speak normally. “Weren’t you successful?”
She rested her chin on her knees. “I made a lot of money, if that’s what you’re asking. But I was kid. I’d never traveled, had never been on my own. Suddenly I was thrust in this high-powered existence. I had more money than I knew what to do with. Everywhere I went, men wanted to be with me, take me places. I missed my parents, my home and my friends, but I couldn’t go back. I remember that the most. Thinking I couldn’t go back. I was never clear why I couldn’t.” She took a deep breath. “Now I know I wanted desperately to fit in, to belong somewhere. I was trying to replace my family. I fell in and out of love a lot. Or at least I thought it was love. There were a lot of strange people around.”
She stared at the ocean. “I know what they said about me. About the parties and the men. I had a reputation for being wild.” She smiled. “I was so happy to be notorious. The truth was I was a terrible drinker. After one glass of wine I felt like I was going to throw up. I’d always felt awkward about my body, so I’d never been free with men. Then I got involved with a dashing Frenchman.” She shivered slightly. “Very handsome, very suave. Elegant dresser. He was my first—” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I fell in love, for real, I thought. We got engaged. Two weeks later I found him in bed with my best friend. I was stunned. I ran off to Monte Carlo.” Her half laugh sounded sad. “Isn’t that dramatic? I ran off to Monte Carlo. To lick my wounds and salvage my pride.”
He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, and he didn’t want to know she might have been one of the innocents. It was easier to hate her if he thought of her simply as Kray’s wife.
“Yeah, you had it real hard.”
She glanced at him. “You’re consistent, Rambo. I’ll give you that. While I was staying with a friend in her rather small but exclusive apartment, I met Kray.” Her bravado slipped a little. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I was young and stupid, but I would have run in the other direction if I’d had a clue about who he was.”
She paused as if waiting for him to yell at her. When he didn’t, she straightened an
d stretched out her long, bare legs. “He was older, very charming. He knows women. I didn’t have a prayer. Within the first hour, I’d told him everything about myself, including the experience with the Frenchman. By the end of the week I had a private suite in the hotel where he was staying. I thought he was a good man. I thought he cared about me. It wasn’t until later that I put it all together. I can’t be sure of course, but I’ve always wondered.”
“What?”
“There was a car accident. I didn’t find out about it until we were married. The Frenchman I’d been engaged to had been hit by a car about a week after I met Kray. He died instantly. I think it’s because of me. Isn’t that awful? I’m afraid to face the truth, yet there it sits for everyone to see. How am I supposed to live with that?”
He wasn’t surprised by what Kray had done. A twisted form of justice had always been the crime lord’s calling card. He protected what he owned and that protection would extend to the woman he planned to marry. In a single, large explosion Kray had stolen Jeff’s ability to protect those he loved. He wondered what Andie would think if she knew the truth.
She blinked several times before continuing. “I didn’t want to know, you see. I didn’t want to have made a mistake. I was looking for a place to belong. No, that’s not right. I wanted to belong to someone. I was a child inside, but no one knew that. Not even me. I just wanted to love someone and have him love me back. I wanted what everyone else has and takes for granted—a normal life. Is that so awful?”
She turned toward him. The moonlight filtered through the palm fronds and highlighted her high cheekbones and full mouth. Her skin glowed.
The question hung between them. Was it so awful? Was it her fault? Did he have the right to keep on hating her for being alive?
He wanted to shout yes. She deserved what she got, and more. Except it wasn’t that simple anymore. He could feel her confusion and her pain. The first twinges of compassion surprised and irritated him. The need within him was overwhelming. Not just to touch her, but to comfort her. To hold her until the wounds had closed and begun to heal.
Who was he to heal anyone?
She glanced back at the ocean and raised her chin slightly. He realized she fought against her emotions and the tears they produced. She looked fragile, sitting there alone in the dark. She waited for him to pass judgment. To continue to hate her. He did hate her. Almost as much as he wanted her.
Without stopping to think why he risked it, he slid toward her. Her lower lip quivered.
“No, it’s not so awful,” he said, reaching his arm around her shoulder and drawing her close.
He was ten different kinds of a fool. Worse, he was crossing the line and once on the other side, he might never find his way back.
Before he could pull away, Andie threw herself against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face against his chest.
“I know you hate me,” she said, her voice broken and contrite. “I’m sorry I’m in the way. I’m sorry I married him. I just want everything to be okay and it’s not. It’s never going to be okay. What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t keep my son safe? I’m so afraid.”
“It’ll be all right,” he said automatically.
“You don’t know that.”
She raised her head and looked up at him. Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. He should shove her away from him. He should tell her the truth about what Kray did. He should remember his wife and the explosion that took her life.
But all he could see was Andie. She was close, too close. Too real. In his arms, trembling. She was alive and made him realize how he’d missed the living. He studied her perfect features. Her eyes. Her mouth. God, he couldn’t look at anything but her mouth. There, for the taking. Then the wanting overwhelmed him with unexpected force. He had to taste her or perish.
He hesitated that last moment. Fighting the need, the pain, the desire and the past. Her gaze locked with his. He read uncertainty, then an answering flare. He brushed his lips against hers.
It had been so long, he wasn’t sure what the kiss would feel like. He’d forgotten about the rush of desire, the passion that flooded his body. She was soft and hot, her sweet lips trembling slightly under his.
He gripped her shoulders tightly, wanting to thrust her away. Instead, his eyes closed and he hauled her against him.
She made a small sound, surprise and encouragement, as if she, too, needed this moment of holding and touching. He felt a flash of sympathy, of connection; then it was lost, burned away by the fire that engulfed him.
He pressed hard against her mouth, wanting to feel every part of her. So smooth and soft, so willing. As he increased the pressure, her lips clung to his, as if afraid he would leave too soon. Her fingers brushed against his sides; then she leaned against him. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs bumped his knees. The warmth of her, the scent, the need surrounded him in a woven net of desire.
He parted his mouth. She responded in kind, opening for him. He swept his tongue inside. She was hotter there, sweeter. Oh, the taste of her. He’d forgotten about the forbidden flavor of a woman. His breathing deepened.
Between his thighs, need pulsed in time with his quickening heartbeat. His muscles tensed, his blood heated. He was harder than he ever remembered being, the passion was stronger, the hunger deeper. He raised his hands from her shoulders to her neck. How slender she was. Her skin felt like rose petals, cool and smooth. He touched her hair, the liquid satin, then fingered the long rope of her braid.
She clutched at his back. Her fingers branded him, as did her breasts. He moved his chest back and forth. Through the layer of her T-shirt and bra, he felt her breasts swell and tighten.
He wanted her naked. He wanted to touch her and taste her—all of her. He wanted to explore every inch, to discover secret freckles, the feminine dips and hollows, the shape of her hips, her ribs. He wanted to trace the long lines of her legs, her arms, her hands. He wanted to bring her pleasure in his arms, see her shudder, hear his name spoken in passionate surrender.
The need overwhelmed him. He cupped his fingers along her jaw, holding her still. He tilted his head so he could go deeper inside of her mouth. She met his assault, matching him thrust for thrust. There was a fire between them. He could feel it licking along his body, consuming him. There was nothing but the moment and how she made him feel. Long-denied hunger exploded into a beast he couldn’t control. There was only this woman in his arms and the night. Nothing else mattered.
He pulled back slightly so he could kiss her face. She laughed softly as he nipped at her nose, then gently traced an outline of her mouth. She was different. He liked the differences. They—
Jeff stiffened. His muscles tightened with shock, as if he’d plunged into icy water. He opened his eyes to find Andie looking up at her. Wide blue eyes darkened with confusion. Different. She was different from Jeanne. Different hair color, different features, different shape.
“Jeff?”
Even her voice was different. Even the question, the slight flicker of pain, the shifting of her against him was different.
He stood up and crossed the porch to the corner opposite the swing. He stared out at the night. Instead of seeing the surf or the stars, he tried to picture his wife. The image wouldn’t come to him.
Instead, he saw Andie’s face. The faint glistening of tears, the slight quiver of her mouth. Had Kray also fallen for tears in the moonlight?
He needed to know more about her. More about her marriage so his hatred could strengthen him. For despite the pain and the loss, he still wanted her.
“So you met Kray in Monte Carlo and he fixed your broken heart,” he said harshly. “Then what?”
Andie stood up. She leaned against the porch railing and stared at him. “You still want to hear about my past?”
“Yes.”
She touched her fingers to her mouth as if she didn’t believe what they’d just done. Or how he was acting. He didn’t
care about that. He had to know more. “Tell me everything. You must have married pretty quickly.”
“We did,” she said slowly. “We were engaged within the month and married a few weeks after that. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She flinched at his harsh tone. He hated that he noticed the way her hands trembled slightly. “Go on. When did you first figure out the truth about him?”
“There were clues before we were married, but I didn’t put them together until after. I suppose I began to wonder on our honeymoon. At first it was just the two of us.” She folded her arms over her chest and looked out at the sea. “At first it was exactly what I thought it would be. Then things began to change. More and more people flew in to meet with him. There was always something odd about the way he did business. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was uncomfortable around his associates. Unfortunately they were staying with us at the villa, so I couldn’t escape them.”
Jeff heard the words, but he didn’t want to believe her. “At the villa? Here? You honeymooned on St. Lucas with Kray?”
She stared at him. Slowly she lowered her arms to her side, then stiffened her spine. She walked toward him, stopping when she was two steps away. The light from the living room spilled onto her face. “Yes. What did you think?”
“You’ve been here before?”
“For six weeks. I left him a few months later, so I never came back. The honeymoon is the reason I knew about the island in the first place. That’s why I knew where he would take Bobby.”
He could still taste her sweetness. He wanted to scrub the flavor away. He glared at her, despising her, despising himself. She’d been with Kray on this island. She’d touched him and loved him. Jeff clutched the railing, squeezing until his fingers ached. How could he have been so blind? How could he have kissed her?
“Jeff, what’s wrong?” She placed her hand on his arm.
He jerked away. “Go inside.”
“What?”
“Go inside,” he repeated slowly. “Get some rest. We’ll be leaving soon. In the meantime, just stay out of my way.”
The Only Way Out Page 10
