by B. J Daniels
His mouth was on hers again, his kiss overpowering her senses. She resisted at first. He thought he was kissing Jasmine. Not her. She desperately wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted him to kiss her. Molly Kilpatrick. She wanted his desire to be for her. Not the ghost of Jasmine Wolfe.
But his mouth was hot and unrelenting and she gave in to it, passion sparking and catching fire between them. She circled his neck with her arms as he grabbed her waist and drew her against him, wet clothes and all. She felt his need in the kiss, in the strength of his hands pulling her closer, in the hardness of his body.
She wanted him. It didn’t matter who he thought she was. He was kissing her. Wanted her.
He drew back to look into her eyes. His fingers trailed along the side of her cheek, dipping to the open neck of her shirt, across the lace of her bra, across one already hard nipple.
His large hands cupped her breasts, warm fingers teasing her nipples, sending shafts of heat to her center. She groaned as those hands explored her body, his touch setting fire to her chilled skin as he stripped her naked, tossing each piece into the boughs of the pine tree to dry.
He stared at her, caressing her body with his gaze, making her skin tingle and ache. She closed her eyes as he kissed her neck, then dropped lower, taking one aching nipple in his mouth. Heat shot to her center. She groaned, cradling his head in her hands.
“Cash, oh Cash.”
He stopped.
She opened her eyes.
He seemed surprised and overpowered by that desire, as if he hadn’t expected this. Knew it was the last thing he should be doing with her. “Say you want me as much as I do you,” he said, his voice breaking.
His words enflamed her. “I want you like I have never wanted anything in my life.”
He dragged her to him with almost a sob as his mouth found hers again. They staggered over to the warm nest of pine needles where he’d spread the picnic blanket. And under the wide, sweeping, green branches of the tree, he stripped. She watched until there was nothing between them and he was on the blanket with her, his body as hot as her desire.
Their naked bodies glistened in the morning sun as they clung to each other with a passion like none Molly had ever dreamed.
Cash had never known anything like it. She was more beautiful naked than he could have imagined. She opened to him and he thought he would die if he didn’t have her.
“I love your hands,” she breathed against his mouth.
He cupped her breasts and looked into her eyes. Molly. She was Molly, the woman who loved food, laughed joyously, thought even the silliest of things were romantic. Molly.
At that moment it didn’t matter why she’d come to Antelope Flats. Or who she’d called last night. Or why she was so afraid of the two men back in town.
Nothing mattered but her.
He kissed her, deepening the kiss as his hands touched her everywhere. He wanted to know her body as intimately as he knew her laugh. He wanted her, his desire so strong that nothing could stop it.
The cop in him told him he had no business making love to her. Even now that he knew she was Molly, he could still get his heart broken. Or worse. And what about her? What would she do once he told her he knew.
“Molly.” He pulled back again to look at her. “Molly,” he repeated.
She smiled, tears swimming in all that green.
He made love to her, the first time in a frenzy of need, the second time slowly, gently, lovingly on the blanket under the wide sweeping boughs of the pine tree, to the sound of the creek moving through the rocks.
She seemed to blossom under his fingers, her body a woman’s, full and lush.
When they were both finally spent, they lay under the shade of the huge pine, the breeze stirring the branches over their heads, the soft whinny of the horses ground tied nearby, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, her eyes closed, her lips turned up in a smile of contentment.
He smiled too as he pushed himself up on one elbow. Just looking at her filled him to overflowing. How had he lived without this woman?
How could he live without her when she left?
The thought startled him. Why would she leave?
Because she wasn’t Jasmine.
He sat up abruptly and reached for his clothes.
She must have felt the movement. He heard her stir behind him.
“What is it?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her. “It’s getting late. We should get back.”
She touched his shoulder and he turned to look at her. She’d pulled her blouse from a low pine bough and held it with one hand in front of herself as if to cover her beautiful breasts.
Just looking at her made him catch his breath again. She reached for him and the next thing he knew she was in his arms. He held her tight to him, wanting to make love to her again. And yet afraid of what he was feeling for her. A woman he couldn’t trust. A woman he didn’t know.
“Jasmine?” he breathed against her hair and felt her tense. He’d called her Jasmine to remind himself of her lie. And remind her as well.
This time she was the one to draw back. “You’re right. We should get back. I promised your mother I would help with dinner.”
He dressed, his back to her, pretending to give her some privacy, when in truth he knew he would take her in his arms again if he looked at her and confessed that he knew she wasn’t Jasmine. His desire for this woman was boundless. Inexhaustible.
But now more than ever he needed to know who she was. Who he was falling in love with.
Chapter Twelve
They rode back to the ranch, saying little. The air felt hot and close, and Molly was glad to get off the horse in the cool barn.
“Go on in. I can take care of this,” Cash said without looking at her.
She stared at his broad back, wanting to touch him, wanting to say something. But telling him the truth now seemed the worst thing she could do. Get through this family dinner. Then leave the first chance Cash gives you tonight. A clean break. No harm done.
But even as she thought it, her heart broke at the thought of never seeing him again. No harm done, like hell. But she reminded herself that it wasn’t her he’d made love to, but Jasmine.
You were so good at pretending you were Jasmine that you fell in love with her fiancée. But if he knew who you really were…
She entered the cool, elegant ranch house and stood for moment. Earlier she had wanted to be a part of this family so badly and had felt it for those few minutes. But she didn’t belong here. She never had. Jasmine would have fit in, Jasmine with her wealth, her privileged upbringing.
“There you are.”
Molly turned to see Cash’s mother.
“Is everything all right?” Shelby asked.
Molly nodded quickly and smiled. “Wonderful. The ride was…amazing. It just got hot out there.” She couldn’t help but look sheepish. “I fell in the creek.”
“I like your hair better that way,” Shelby said. “It suits you.”
Molly wiped at her forehead, fighting back tears at the memory of being in Cash’s arms under the sweeping pine.
“Freshen up in the bath down the hall, then come into the kitchen,” Shelby offered. “I’ll pour you a large glass of lemonade. You look like you could use it.”
In the bathroom, Molly washed up, the cool water feeling good on her flushed, sweaty skin, the same way Cash’s hands had felt hot on her cold skin. She touched the scar on her forehead. She’d told Cash the truth. She didn’t know how she’d gotten it. The scar had just been there for as far back as she could remember. Max had said he didn’t know when she’d gotten it or how. She knew he had to be lying. Wouldn’t it have bled horribly?
She shut off the water. She could still smell Cash on her skin, still feel his touch. She closed her eyes trying not to cry. Then, getting control, she headed down the hall to find the large functional kitchen.
Shelby smiled when Molly came in, then handed her the promised gl
ass of lemonade. The glass was cold and wet. She put it against her forehead for a moment, then took a sip of the lemonade inside.
“Thank you. It’s delicious.” She looked around. “What can I do?”
Shelby seemed to study her, then nodded. “Would you like to make the salad?”
“I would love to,” Molly said with relief. She needed to keep busy. She needed not to think about Cash. Or the lie that had put her in this unbearable position.
CASH COULDN’T BELIEVE his family that night at dinner. Everyone was there, Rourke and Cassidy with news of their honeymoon—and the construction of their new house up the road in a corner of the ranch; J.T. and Reggie and their upcoming wedding plans, as well as the construction of their home; even Brandon and Dusty seemed in good spirits.
Cash looked around the table at his ever-growing family and felt a sense of pride in them tonight. He caught Asa and Shelby exchanging what could only be called intimate looks. They loved each other. There was no doubt about that.
“How was your horseback ride?” Reggie asked Molly.
“Reggie’s been taking lessons,” J.T. added. “Hasn’t been bucked off in what? Hours?”
Everyone laughed, even Reggie. “You wait. I’m going to be a ranchwoman yet. You’ll see.”
“Even if it kills you,” J.T. said, but with obvious pride.
“So how was your ride?” Reggie asked Molly again.
Molly had been avoiding looking at Cash during dinner. Not that he could blame her. He’d wanted to distance himself from her and calling her Jasmine up on the mountain had definitely done it. He swore at his own foolishness. He’d made love to Molly. Not Jasmine.
Now she glanced over at him as she answered. “The ride was wonderful. Everything about it was incredible. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
The room was suddenly silent as he locked eyes with her, sparks arcing between them. Then she seemed to sense the quiet and added hurriedly, looking down at her plate, “The ranch is so beautiful.”
Cash saw the exchange of knowing smiles around the table and hoped to hell his face wasn’t as red as Molly’s.
“So when will your house be done?” he asked Rourke, trying to change the subject. But he could feel his mother’s eyes on him. She hadn’t missed the exchange between him and Molly.
The rest of the meal passed without incident. Just as the family housekeeper and cook Martha was about to serve dessert, the phone rang. Martha answered it and announced it was for Cash.
“I need to take this,” he said rising. “I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me.” He headed for his father’s office and closed the door, knowing it was the call he’d been waiting for.
“Cash?” said the voice on the other end of the line. “It’s Frank. Sorry I couldn’t get back to you any sooner.”
Cash had sent an e-mail to Frank with the fingerprints saying it was urgent he get the results. Frank had e-mailed right back while Molly had been cleaning the ink from her fingers to say he could have them in twenty-four hours.
“You said you needed these ASAP,” Frank said.
“You have no idea. I can’t thank you enough.”
Frank sighed. “I hate to disappoint you, but they don’t match Jasmine Wolfe’s. But there is something interesting—”
“You’re sure?” Cash interrupted, hearing only that Molly Kilpatrick’s prints didn’t match Jasmine’s. She wasn’t Jasmine. He’d known, of course, but now it was confirmed. He felt a swell of relief, then a deep sense of regret. Jasmine was likely dead. But he’d known that, too, hadn’t he?
So who was Molly? She looked so much like Jasmine. When she wanted to, he realized. Molly was nothing like her. Especially now, after her dip in the creek, without makeup, her short blond locks curly, her face flushed from the sun. She looked very different from the woman who had come into his office the evening before.
With a jolt, he remembered how she’d rolled down the window in his pickup. Jasmine would never have done that because of her allergies. He swore. Jasmine might have changed over seven years, but she couldn’t have overcome her allergies.
He should have seen it earlier, felt it the moment he touched her, let alone kissed her.
“Definitely no match but as I was saying, the interesting thing is that the prints you sent me did come up in another matter.”
Frank’s words finally registered. “You have Molly Kilpatrick’s prints on file?” Cash sat down hard at his father’s desk, his heart in his throat. That meant she was wanted for something.
“Not on file, but a red flag came up on them. I’m going to have to track ’em down,” Frank said. “I’ll call you as soon as I have something. Meanwhile, you want me to fax what I have to your office?”
“Could you fax it here?” He gave Frank his father’s fax number there at the ranch, then hung up and waited for the report.
He thought about when he was taking Molly’s prints. She hadn’t known hers were on file or she would never have agreed to it. What the hell was she wanted for? He shuddered to think.
One thing was clear: she had to know she wasn’t Jasmine Wolfe. So who was she?
And maybe more important, why was she pretending to be Jasmine?
Archie Wolfe’s fortune? What else? But how did she hope to pull that off once her fingerprints didn’t match Jasmine’s? Did she hope to get money out of Bernard before the print results came back?
Good luck with that.
Cash scrubbed a hand over his face as the report rolled out of the fax machine, his dread growing. He couldn’t let on that he knew she wasn’t Jasmine. Which might work out, since he needed her to be Jasmine. Desperately needed her to be alive—until he could find out who killed her. Until he could clear his name.
As he was folding the fax, he heard the door open behind him and turned, expecting it would be Molly. His mother came in, closing the door firmly behind her.
Oh boy. He knew what was coming. If he’d learned anything about his mother since she’d come back from the dead, it was how perceptive she was. He’d seen her watching them all, learning things they thought they kept hidden. Hidden from most people anyway.
“If this is about Molly—”
“Of course it’s about Molly,” his mother snapped. “I’m worried about you.”
“Didn’t we already have this discussion last night? I told you I know what I’m doing.”
She made a face as if she knew better. “You’ve fallen in love with this woman.”
“That is old news. I think you know I was engaged to Jasmine seven years ago.”
“No, not Jasmine,” Shelby said with obvious irritation. “Molly. You’re in love with Molly.”
He stared at his mother. Did she know that Molly wasn’t Jasmine? Given the way she’d treated Molly last night compared to tonight… “You lost me.”
“I really doubt that,” she said. “This woman isn’t the woman you knew seven years ago.”
No kidding.
“Stop looking for that woman and appreciate what’s right in front of your eyes,” she said, sounding angry.
He laughed. “Whoa, wait a minute. Last night you told me not to trust her.”
“Last night I thought she was Jasmine.”
He stared at his mother.
“Don’t give me that look. Jasmine hurt you. Get over it. This woman isn’t Jasmine. She’s…Molly.”
His mother meant well but she had no idea what she was talking about.
“We’re all waiting on you before we have dessert,” Shelby said and turned on her heel and left the room.
“Oh, she’s Molly all right, but who the hell is Molly?” he said to himself as he followed her back toward the dining room, stopping to stuff the fax into the pocket of his jacket hanging in the hallway.
MOLLY WONDERED what important phone call Cash had gone to answer and why it was taking him so long. She tried not to watch the door, tried not to look anxious for his return.
Had Jasmine’s body been foun
d? Or Jasmine herself?
Right now, it would have been a relief to have this all end. She needed to leave one way or the other. Earlier, she’d tried to tell Cash the truth but he hadn’t wanted to hear it. He wanted her to be Jasmine. Not Molly Kilpatrick.
A few minutes ago, Cash’s mother had excused herself and disappeared down the hall, obviously going to check on him. Molly had wanted to go as well. As time passed, she felt herself growing more anxious.
She looked up. Shelby came back into the room. Cash wasn’t far behind. He didn’t meet her eyes as he sat back down.
“I’m sorry. It was official business,” he said.
“Is everything all right?” his father asked.
Cash took a bite of his dessert as if stalling for time. He was different. And it wasn’t her imagination. She’d been trained to read people. Cash was upset, shaken. What had the phone call been about?
“The bartender at the Mello Dee was killed last night,” Cash said after a moment. “Teresa Clark.” He glanced at his youngest brother Brandon. “You haven’t been going out there have you?”
Brandon shook his head. “I thought the place was closed.”
“Was she murdered?” Dusty asked.
“Can we please talk of more pleasant things?” Shelby interrupted. “Cassidy, didn’t you have something you wanted to say?”
Everyone looked down the table at Cassidy. She blushed then nodded as she reached for her husband’s hand. “Rourke and I are expecting!”
There were cheers and applause. Molly found herself in tears and hurriedly wiped at them, offering her congratulations. Cassidy looked so happy and Rourke, who looked like all the McCall men—blond, blue-eyed and handsome—beamed.
Of course none of the McCall boys was as handsome as Cash, Molly thought as the meal wound down and Cash announced that they had to leave. “I need to pick up those cinnamon rolls you have for me,” he said to Cassidy.
“I left them at your office. I thought that would be handier for you,” Cassidy said.
Molly watched the exchange. Cash was picking up more cinnamon rolls? How odd, she thought, remembering how he’d had to stop by the café before they came out to the ranch. If it was just to order more cinnamon rolls, he could have called or waited to see her once they got to the ranch.
