"Where is this place?" Jamie asked as she stopped the car in front of what appeared to be little more than a hovel.
"It's my hideaway," she told him. "Come on. Get out. I have a surprise waiting for you inside."
"Have you had the place fumigated for varmints?" he asked jokingly.
"The only varmint around this place is you, Jamie, my love."
When she got out, he followed her quickly-up the dirt path, up the rickety wooden steps, and onto the partially rotted wooden porch. When she paused at the door, he came up behind her, slipped his arm around her waist, and nuzzled her neck.
She hated him. Hated him with a passion. It took every ounce of her willpower to endure his vile touch. Whenever she thought about how she might have to let him fuck her again, she wanted to vomit. Don't think about it, she told herself. Just think about what you have planned, about all the delectable things you 're going to do to him. When he's touching you, kissing you, concentrate on the revenge you will exact.
The door opened easily, creaking on its rusty hinges. She led him into the interior, lit only by kerosene lamps and the logs burning in the fireplace. When she'd come up here late this afternoon to prepare the setting for Jamie's seduction and ultimate downfall, she hadn't been sure the fireplace was in good working order. They could have shown up and found the place burned to the ground. But she'd had to choose an out of the way place, somewhere miles from the nearest other house. After all, when Jamie was screaming in agony, she didn't want anyone to hear him and start snooping.
"Well, I'll be damned," Jamie said as he looked around the room.
"Cozy and private," she said.
She'd prepared a pallet on the floor with quilts she'd bought at various shops in Pigeon Forge, the kind that thousands of tourists bought every year. No way would anyone ever trace them back to her. A bottle of merlot she'd picked up at a local liquor store rested between two fat feather pillows direcdy in front of the fireplace. She moved away from Jamie and made her way over to the corner, where she'd placed a portable radio. After turning on the radio, she flipped through the stations until she found some soft, romantic music.
While he watched in fascination, she disrobed. Slowly. Doing a striptease for him. The sooner she subdued him, the sooner the fun would begin. Naked, her gaze focused on Jamie, she sat down on the pallet, opened the bottle of wine and poured the rich burgundy liquid into two green crystal flutes. What Jamie didn't know was that waiting in the bottom of one of the glasses was a potent sedative. Something that would render him helpless for a couple of hours. Long enough for her to prepare him for his so richly deserved reward for being a cruel, cunning, manipulative son of a bitch.
Jamie surveyed her naked body, then removed his own clothes and came over to accept the glass of wine she offered him. Before he put the glass to his lips, he grinned wickedly. "You've got a great body," he told her. "Despite… well, you know."
"So gendemanly of you not to come right out and say it." She responded with a smile every bit as genuine as his and twice as wicked.
He sipped the wine. Some cheap stuff she'd picked up at a busy store where she was certain no one would remember her. She'd been wearing sunglasses and nondescript clothes, making herself look as forgettable as possible. Just another tourist.
Jamie finished off the wine quickly, then set the glass on the pallet and reached for her. Inside she cringed the moment he touched her, but outwardly she responded as most of the women he'd seduced had no doubt done.
When she pressed her naked body against his, he sighed loudly. "Oh, darlin', your heart's beating like mad and you're trembling. You're as excited as I am, aren't you?"
"You can't imagine how excited I am."
The anticipation was delicious. It was only a matter of time now. Of course she was excited. She could hardly wait until he passed out. Until he was rendered helpless and completely at her mercy. Oh, the marvelous things she had planned for him. Her little bag of tricks was hidden neatly away in the other room. Thick leather straps. Sturdy railroad spikes mat would anchor so nicely into the old wooden floor in this room. Razors. Knives.
A poker that could be heated to a sizzling red hot in the fireplace flames.
When Jamie kissed her, she opened her mouth and thrust her tongue inside his parted lips. And all the while she thought about thrusting that hot poker up inside him.
* * *
Chapter 9
"Mm-mmm," Jazzy sighed as she placed her empty dish over Caleb's on the coffee table. 'Those were the best scrambled eggs I've ever eaten." She looked over at him. He held his second cup of decaf coffee to his lips. ‘'Tell me, Master Chef, what is your secret?"
Caleb downed the last drops of coffee and set his cup on top of their stacked plates. "If I told you my secret to perfect scrambled eggs, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?"
She cuddled into the softness of her fat old sofa, sighed contentedly, and smiled at him. "Thanks."
"For what? All I did was fix you breakfast at two o'clock in the morning."
Jazzy loved his smile. A cocky, self-confident, closed-mouth smile that hinted of danger and mystery. He wasn't as pretty as Jamie, but he was far more appealing in every way. Damn! Why was she falling into that same old trap-comparing every man who came into her life with Jamie? Ah, Jasmine, my dear, don't you realize what a breakthrough you've made? You've actually found someone who appeals to you more than Jamie Upton.
Jazzy laughed, the warm, carefree feeling spreading through her body rapidly. "You've done more than just fix me breakfast. You've pampered me, which is something I'm not used to. And I think you've forgiven me, too, haven't you?"
Caleb reached over from where he sat on the opposite end of the sofa and brushed toast crumbs from the side of Jazzy's mouth. Without thinking, she ran the tip of her tongue around the inside of her lips and accidentally licked Caleb's index finger. Their gazes met and held for an endless moment.
"I was wrong to judge you. It's not as if I've lived a spotless life. What you did or didn't do with Jamie Upton last night wasn't any of my business."
Jazzy grabbed Caleb's hand just as he pulled it away. "I didn't have sex with Jamie last night. I haven't had sex with him since he returned home in January. I haven't been with another man since I've known you."
"Am I suppose to read some significance into that statement?"
"Maybe one has nothing to do with the other. Maybe it does. I honestly don't know."
"And that's suppose to make me feel better how?"
"Jamie is getting married in three weeks. We said our good-byes last night."
"You've said good-bye to him before and-" Jazzy drew Caleb's hand up to her face and pressed it against her cheek. 'Jamie isn't the man I want." She paused, garnered up her courage and said, 'You are."
He jerked his hand away and
stared at her. "Don't play games with me. I'm not the kind of guy who's willing to be second best. And I don't share. If you're mine, you're mine alone. Whether it's for a night or a week or a month. Understand?"
Jazzy huffed. "Why did I know you'd be this way, all old-fashioned macho possessive?"
"Let's lay our cards on the table, so we'll both know where we stand." She nodded.
"I've wanted you since the first time I saw you," he told her. "I want you now more than ever. But there are things about myself that I haven't told you. Things I won't tell you unless…" He clicked his tongue. "Let's just say I don't make promises to anyone that I don't keep. Do I want to fuck you? Hell, yes. Do I care about you? Yeah, I do. Will I make a lifelong commitment to you if we have sex? Not necessarily. But when I'm with you, I'm with you exclusively. And I expect the same from you. No lies. No games. And I swear I'll never hurt you."
Emotion caught in her throat. Tears stung her eyes. Jazzy glanced away, not wanting to face him until she was totally in control. She swallowed a couple of times, took a deep breath, and turned back around. Why couldn't she have met Caleb when she was sixteen? Why couldn't he have been her first love? If he'd gotten her pregnant, he would have married her. And if anyone- his parents or grandparents-had objected, he would have told them to go straight to hell.
"I want you, too," Jazzy admitted. "Since that first night. You'll never know how difficult it was for me not to… well, not to use you. And if I'm honest about it, I've been protecting myself, too. I've been hurt and disappointed so many times. I've believed promise after promise. But no more! I like you, Caleb McCord. I like you a lot But I'm not ready to make a commitment to anyone. What I want-what I need-is for us to just take things one day… one night… at a time. Get to know each other. See if we really work well together. Don't push each other. Just let things happen naturally, on their own. If it works, we'll take, the next step. If it doesn't, we'll part friends, with no hard feelings. No one hurt."
He studied her as if he were trying to gauge her honesty. "It would seem that we want the same thing."
"Yeah, it would seem so."
Caleb scooted closer. Jazzy held her breath. She'd been wanting another one of his devastating kisses. He slid his hand behind her neck and grasped gently, then pulled her forward, just enough to brush his lips against hers. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted more. So much more.
He played with her lips, featherlight kisses at first. Then he used his tongue to paint a moist oval over her mouth. She sucked in her breath. His fingers reached up and splayed apart, forking through her short hair to cup her head. She sighed. And then he kissed her, really kissed her, curling her toes and making her heart pound faster.
This guy is a master at the art of kissing, she thought, and then ceased to think coherently.
When her breasts were tight and aching, her femininity clenching and unclenching in preparation, and he'd completely taken her breath away, he ended the kiss and lifted his head. She opened her eyes and stared into his whiskey-gold eyes. Puzzled that he'd stopped just as they were getting warmed up, she opened her mouth to ask him what was going on.
He laid his index finger across her lips. 'This was our first date. You don't go to bed with a guy on a first date, remember?"
"Mm-hmm, I remember." Why the hell had she ever told him that? Even if it was the truth, somehow that rule just didn't apply to Caleb. He was different-not only different from Jamie, but different from every other man she'd ever known. Well, maybe he was a little like Jacob, who was one of the best men in the world. But there were no sexual sparks between her and Jacob. And there were enough sparks between her and Caleb to set off a major explosion.
"I'll clean up these dishes, then I'll leave." When Caleb stood, he did nothing to try to hide the fact that he had a magnificent erection.
"You're leaving?" Just like that, he was going away when they were both aroused and needing relief in the worst way?
"I'll be back," he told her as he gathered up their dirty dishes. "You need some rest and so do I. It's"-he glanced at the clock on the end table-"three-fifteen. How about I come by this afternoon around two-thirty? It's Sunday. My only day off. Let Tiffany take over at Jasmine's. We'll drive over to Gadinburg, meander around through all the little shops, and then eat supper at one of the nice restaurants."
"I see you've planned our second date." She rose from the sofa and followed him into the kitchen. He put the dishes into the soapy water where he'd cleaned the cooking utensils earlier. 'Just leave them. I'll do them in the morning."
He nodded and turned to go, but she blocked his path.
Caleb grinned at her. "What?"
"You're a nice man, Caleb McCord."
He laughed. 'You think so, do you? Just goes to show how much you don't know about me."
She stepped aside, allowing him to make his way to her front door. She followed behind him. "Okay, so maybe nice was die wrong word. You're a good man."
When he glanced over his shoulder and frowned mockingly, she made one final correction to her original statement. "You’re a man with a good heart."
He winked at her, then walked out and down the exterior stairs that led to the sidewalk. Jazzy stepped out onto the narrow stoop at the top of the stairs and watched him walk toward his car. As soon as he got in and drove off, she closed and locked the door, then danced back into the living room. She hugged herself and sighed.
She had a second date with Caleb tomorrow. An honest-to-goodness date.
Feeling an unfamiliar sense of happiness, Jazzy hummed softly to herself as she headed for her bedroom. Tonight she would dream of Caleb. And maybe tomorrow-no, later today-that dream might come true.
Andrea Willis couldn't sleep. She had tossed and turned for hours, but she had too much on her mind to relax. Besides, Cecil was snoring like a freight train. So like a man to be able to sleep soundly when his daughter was on the verge of making the biggest mistake of her life. It wasn't that his concern didn't run as deep as hers. It did. After all, he loved Laura in a way Andrea had never been able to, somehow able to overlook all her inadequacies.
When she had first suggested psychiatric help for Laura when she was twelve, Cecil had been livid, accusing her of wanting to find fault with Laura, of loving her less than she did Sheridan. But it was because she did love Laura that she'd wanted help for the child. Finally she'd been able to bring Cecil around to her way of thinking, but only after that terrible incident with the Roberts boy. He claimed she had tried to run over him with her car-her sixteenth birthday present. Laura had been unable to remember what happened that night.
After slipping into her house shoes and satin robe, Andrea crept out of the guest room and down the hall to the room their daughters were sharing this weekend. When she reached the closed door, she paused for a few moments, considering whether she should disturb them at this hour of the morning. Yes
, she definitely shouldn't wait to talk to Laura. And if she woke Sheridan in the process, so be it. Maybe Sheridan could help her talk sense to Laura.
Andrea tapped on the door. No response. She tapped again. Still nothing. She didn't dare knock any louder for fear of waking Cecil, who was only a couple of doors down. The Upton family's quarters were in the other wing of the house, so no chance of bothering them. She tried the handle and found the door unlocked. She opened the door and walked into the dark room.
"Laura," she called as she tiptoed toward the bed where her elder daughter slept. "Laura, wake up, dear."
No answer.
When she reached the bed, she realized why no one had responded. The bed was empty. She glanced at the other twin bed. It, too, was empty. Andrea turned on a bedside lamp and searched the bedroom and adjoining bath. Where were her daughters? Don't panic, she told herself. There is a perfectly good explanation for why neither of them are here.
The Last To Die Page 13
