by Anne Stuart
The door finally yielded. He followed her into the darkened hallway, closing the door behind them, and put his hand over hers as she reached for the light switch.
“It’s dark,” she said.
“I know.”
“Mabry must be out somewhere . . .”
“Didn’t Sean tell you? They were going out to some publishing function, and then on to dinner. They won’t be back until late.” His hand still covered hers, and he felt the jerk of panic beneath her skin.
“He didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t think so.” He moved her hand away from the wall, using his strength, and she let him. The combination of fear and desire was thick in the air, a potent aphrodisiac. He’d never made love to a woman who was frightened of him, and who wanted him anyway. He was looking forward to it.
He took her hand and placed it on his chest, so she could feel the tempo of his heartbeat, feel his heat. “Do you want to run away, Cass?” he whispered, bending closer, his mouth next to her ear, beneath the cloud of flame-colored hair. “Are you frightened?”
He didn’t think she would answer. Probably without the Irish whiskey she would have lied. But she made the mistake of looking at him, and even in the shadows of the deserted apartment he could see everything she wanted to hide from him. Her fear. Her anger. And her desire.
“Yes,” she said. And it sealed her fate.
He drew her hand down his chest, to the belt buckle, his eyes never leaving hers. She couldn’t look away from him, he couldn’t look away from her. He moved her hand lower, covering his erection, and she made a faint sound, one of distress, perhaps.
She tried to pull away then, but he wouldn’t let her, pushing her up against the wall, trapping her hand between their bodies, pressed against him, as his mouth caught hers. She made that sound again, and it was something more than distress. It was longing as well, and he tasted it, his tongue in her mouth, as he tasted the Irish whiskey they’d shared, and he was on fire with his need for her.
He slid his hand behind her, pushing the jacket from her shoulders, determined to strip off that suit and have her naked on the hardwood floor of her father’s foyer. He felt her fingers curl around him, and he almost came. He reached up and caught her head in his hands, threading his fingers through her tawny hair, and used nothing but his mouth to take her, seduce her, own her, as her body softened and flowed against his hardness.
He pulled away from her, breathing hard, making no effort to control his reaction to her. Her own eyes were lowered, and she leaned back against the wall, waiting. Reaching up, he began to unfasten the silk covered buttons, roughly, wondering what had happened to the deft seducer. He knew the answer to that one. He was living on borrowed time, and he couldn’t afford to waste a moment.
He pulled her blouse free from her skirt. Her bra was skimpy, lacy, barely covering her breasts, and he let his thumb trace the darkness of her areolas beneath the lace, felt the nipples bead up. Leaning down, he took one in his mouth, through the lace, swirling his tongue against the textures, sucking it in deep, and he felt her jerk against him, as her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, and she arched back, offering herself, as he needed her. He slid his hand up her thigh, pulling her narrow skirt up with him, when he heard a strangled gasp of shock. Mingled with a snort of amusement.
Cassidy didn’t move. He felt the coldness swamp her body, mixed with the heat of embarrassment. He lifted his head, and his eyes met hers for a long, pregnant moment. And then she closed hers, leaning back against the wall and uttering a faint moan.
He pulled her shirt back around her, shielding her body with his, before turning. The three of them stood in the kitchen doorway, with three, varying reactions. Mark looked shocked, even frightened, Mabry troubled. And Sean, curse his black Irish soul, was smirking.
Cass pushed away from Richard, and he tried to reach out and catch her wrist, but she was too fast, moving down the hallway, past the voyeurs, away from him. A moment later he heard her door slam, and it didn’t take much imagination to know that the lock had followed.
“Richard,” Mark said, his voice shaken.
“Come on, Mabry,” Sean said, his voice rich with amusement. “I think the lads have a few things to work out.”
“What have you been doing, Sean?” Mabry asked wearily, but there was no answer, and Richard was left alone in the hallway with the only true friend he had.
“What in God’s name are you trying to do?” Mark demanded in a hushed voice.
“You’re smart enough. You figure it out.”
“Don’t tell me it’s a simple case of lust. I won’t believe you.”
“Lust is seldom simple.”
“Don’t play games with me, Richard. I want to know what you have in mind for her. She’s an innocent—you don’t need to drag her into this mess.”
“Who says I’m dragging her into anything? Who says I want anything more than a taste of that remarkably luscious body of hers? You had your chance a few nights ago—now it’s my turn.”
“Is this some kind of one-upsmanship? I thought I was the one who had to compete with you, not the other way around,” Mark said bitterly. “At least, that’s the way it’s always been. And she refused to go out with me. Thanks to you, no doubt. What did you do, tell her I was married?”
Richard allowed himself a faint smile. The rage in his blood had quieted, at least for now. He accepted the fact that Cassidy had escaped. For the moment. Sooner or later they’d be alone, and nothing would stop him. “It’s the truth.”
“Damn it, Richard, the divorce will be final in less than three weeks. I’d hardly call that a lifetime commitment. You didn’t explain that, did you?”
“I mentioned you might have some trouble in your marriage.”
“Trouble like a divorce that’s almost final. Damn you, Richard. What do you want from her? You seemed determined to keep her away from me.”
“Now, why should I do that? You’re not a serial killer are you? Murdering women once you fuck them?” He kept his voice low and conversational, knowing it was the best way to rattle him.
“Neither of us are.”
“How do you know who and what I am?” he countered.
Mark shook his head. “You’re wasting your games with me. You forget, I know you. Better than anybody. You have something in mind for Cassie, and her father’s in collusion with you. I want to know what it is.”
“I’d suggest you use your imagination, but I’ve already seen how dangerous that can be. If I want anything from Cassie, I promise you’ll be the second to know. After the lady herself, that is,” he said pleasantly.
“Damn it, Richard, I care about her!” Mark said furiously.
“That was remarkably fast, wasn’t it? Since you said she wouldn’t go out with you, you must have seen her, what is it? Twice? Don’t tell me it’s love at first sight.”
“I hate it when you sneer,” Mark shot back.
“Was I sneering? Sorry. Young love brings out the cynic in me.”
“We’re not talking about young love, or love at first sight, or any of that bullshit. We’re talking about a decent human being who doesn’t deserve to be brought into your tortured schemes.”
“What makes you think my schemes are tortured? They’re really quite straightforward.”
“What do you want with her?”
“For the time being, Mark, none of your damned business.” He started away from him, down the hall, and Mark’s voice followed him.
“I’m warning you, Richard. If you’re planning on hurting her, you’ll have to look elsewhere for help. Someone else can arrange your legal and financial affairs.”
He didn’t bother to turn around. “I’m counting on you, Mark.” And the faint words were only lightly tinged with threat.
He went s
traight to Cass’s door. He expected it to be locked, so he simply knocked, twice, softly, as he’d heard Mabry do.
In a moment the door swung open, and Cass’s face appeared, pale, woebegone, streaked with unexpected tears. “Mabry . . .” she said, and then her voice disappeared as she saw him.
She tried to slam the door shut in his face, but he put out his hand to stop it, forcing it open, moving inside and closing it behind him. He considered locking it, but Cassidy looked at the raw edge of her reserves, and she might very well scream the place down if he tried it.
“Go away,” she said.
She refused to look at him, so he simply put his hand on her chin and lifted it, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I didn’t know they were here,” he said.
“Didn’t you?” Her doubt was insultingly clear.
“If I did, I would have taken you to a hotel.”
It shocked a reaction out of her, as pink flooded her pale cheeks. “I wouldn’t have gone.”
“Maybe,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Maybe not. Tell me, Cassidy. What would have happened if they hadn’t interrupted us?”
“I would have come to my senses. I stopped being a victim years ago, Richard. I don’t do self-destructive things.” Her eyes were surprisingly calm despite the flush on her cheeks.
“You’re never impulsive? You never ignore what your brain tells you and follow your heart?” he persisted.
“My heart didn’t have a damned thing to do with it,” Cassidy said tartly. “We aren’t talking about romance, we’re talking about sex. I’m human, female, healthy as the next person. And you’re very good, aren’t you, Richard?”
“Good at what?”
“At seduction. At teasing and taunting and drawing someone along, making them do what you want. You know just how to play me. How did you develop such a talent?”
“Lots of practice,” he replied in a silken voice.
“It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? Some nasty, manipulative little exercise in mind control.”
“Actually,” he said, “it’s not only your mind I’m interested in. I want your body and soul as well.”
She should have been past being shocked, but she wasn’t. She just stared at him, and he moved closer, keeping his hands to himself, so close that his body brushed hers. She didn’t back away from him, something he had to admire, even as he knew he had more work to do.
“Leave me alone, Richard,” she said, very quietly. “You don’t need me, and I’m hardly enough of a challenge.”
“Wrong on both counts,” he whispered, his mouth brushing hers, just feathering lightly against her lips. They moved beneath his, clinging for a brief, impulsive moment. “Just answer me one thing, Cassidy, and I’ll let you be.” He spoke against her mouth, barely audible, and he could see the dark torment in her eyes.
“Ask me,” she said in a hushed voice, and the movement of her mouth against his was an unwilling kiss.
“Did you like it?”
Her eyes had begun to drift half-closed, but they shot open in outrage, and she jerked away from him. “Get out of here.”
He caught her as she tried to get away, hauling her back up against him, and her eyes blazed into his. “Shall I find out?” he murmured, and slid his hand down the front of her skirt, over her mound, pressing.
She hit him. Hard, slamming her wrist against the side of his face, and he felt her ring scrape against his cheekbone, and then she backed away, clearly shocked.
He considered hitting her back. He would have, if it would advance his plan. He would do anything to further his agenda, whether he liked the idea or not. He didn’t like the idea of hitting her. Kissing her, teasing her, fucking her, yes. But not hurting her, if he didn’t have to.
“It’s interesting how easy violence is,” he murmured. “Just have someone goad you, and you lose control.”
She looked sick. “Is that what happened with your wife?”
“I don’t know,” he said blandly. “I wasn’t there.” And he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Cass waited, her fist jammed in her mouth. She wouldn’t have heard him walk away—he moved like a vampire, silent, elusive. She counted to twenty, then ran to the door and locked it. When she turned away she realized her knees were weak, and she threw herself on the bed, shuddering.
Her arm ached. She had never hit another human being in her entire life. Even in her childhood, when her elder brother Colin had teased her, she’d never attacked him with pummeling little fists. She hadn’t liked the tension, the shouting that had filled her home. She hadn’t liked the occasional blows she’d sensed more than seen between her parents. She’d always told herself she’d never lose control, never hit another living soul, never fly into a panic and rage so deep that her defenses crumbled.
But Richard Tiernan had breached those defenses, time and time again, and she had little doubt he’d done it deliberately. He’d wanted to see how far he could goad her, though she couldn’t imagine why. Unless he were simply so bored that he was forced to waste his energies playing cat-and-mouse games with the only available mouse in the apartment.
He simply wanted to see what she’d do if he kissed her again. See how far she’d be willing to go, and she, like a brainless idiot, had been ready to do just about anything for him. What would he have done if they hadn’t been interrupted?
Except she knew exactly what he would have done. She’d felt him beneath her hand when he’d drawn it down his body, known just how hard he was. He may have been toying with her, teasing her. But he’d been caught in his own trap as well.
She couldn’t stay here. How many times had she decided that, how many times had she changed her mind? She wasn’t going to pack, she wasn’t going to tell anyone, she was simply going to take her purse and walk out the front door. Mabry could send her clothes to her. Sean could survive quite well without her—a semi-competent secretary could handle what she’d been doing.
She glanced in the mirror, intending to put herself in a semblance of order, when she stopped, horrified. Her hair was a tangled mass, a flyaway halo of fiery curves. Her lips were damp and swollen, her eyes huge, and the trace of her reluctant tears could still be seen. Her jacket was somewhere in the front hall, and her silk blouse hung open around her. The front of her bra was still damp from his mouth.
And so was she. He’d known it, he’d done it deliberately, and all her embarrassment and rage couldn’t change simple biology. She was wet for him. Aching for him. Even though he was disaster.
Her hands were shaking as she pulled the blouse over her head. It took her a few minutes to change her clothes completely, dumping the skirt and underwear in the hamper, pulling on a pair of khakis and a cotton sweater and her aging running shoes. She even found an oversize pair of sunglasses to plop on her nose. She was running away, incognito, and she wasn’t going to stop until she was safely back in Baltimore.
There was no sign of anyone when she stepped out into the hallway. From a distance she could hear men’s voices, low, casual, Sean’s distinctive, pseudo-Irish lilt mixing with Richard’s slow, dark tones. Mark was probably there as well, damn him, and damn all men.
She almost made it to the front door when Mabry appeared. She looked pale, sick, and resigned. “Running away, Cassidy?” she asked.
“I really need to get back,” she temporized. “Besides, can you blame me?”
“Not really. Are you leaving now?”
“I was trying to. Before someone tried to stop me.”
“You know us all too well,” Mabry said.
For a moment Cassidy had the horrifying thought that Mabry, cool, unruffled Mabry, might start to cry. And then she blinked, her serene smile in place, and Cassidy decided she must have imagined it.
“If you’re determined to leave, I won’t
stop you,” Mabry said. “But before you get on the train, we have to talk. Let’s get out of this place—it’s getting on my nerves. We’ll go someplace for a drink.”
“No drinks!” Cass said, shuddering, the taste of the Irish whiskey still blending with the taste of Richard Tiernan.
“Tea, then. A nice, soothing English tea, complete with scones and strawberry preserves. And then we can talk.”
“About Sean, I suppose?” Cassidy said wearily. “You aren’t going to spin me some cock-and-bull story about him being sick, are you? He’s as strong as an ox.”
Mabry’s perfect mouth curved gently. “He’s not just sick, darling,” she said. “He’s dying.”
SEAN WAS WELL into his third whiskey and soda, getting more expansive by the moment. Richard sat back in the chair, watching him, part of his mind preoccupied with Cassidy. She was going to try to run, he knew that. He wondered whether he dared try to stop her. Or if she escaped, could he go after her?
Both those possibilities seemed unlikely. He might have Sean ready to sacrifice his daughter, but Mabry would be on Cassidy’s side. If he came up against the two of them, there’d be nothing he could do.
He could only hope he’d brought her far enough along that she couldn’t run. No matter how much she wanted to escape him, the strands of his spider’s web were too long and sticky, trapping her. Part of her might want to run, but another part was too fascinated to leave. He wondered which part would be stronger.
“Lord, Mabry’s gonna tear a strip off my hide tonight,” Sean said cheerfully. “And you should have seen Bellingham’s expression when we found you two in the hallway. I thought his eyes were going to bug out. It’s a good thing I didn’t wait a few minutes longer, or he might have had heart failure, and you would have had to get another lawyer.”
“What made you decide to come home? I thought you were going on to some social function.”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” Sean said blithely. “A bit too much of the grape last night. Besides, I was curious as to what you had planned for Cassie. I expected the two of you would be socked up in bed by the time we made it back here, but you weren’t. I must say, I was sorely disappointed in you, laddie.”
