Her brows snapped together. “What?”
“Talk about taking the romance out of things.”
She stared at him for a beat. Then she went off like a volcano.
“You started it,” she said.
Her voice was harsh with indignation, anger, and—maybe—pain. Or maybe—just maybe—those were the emotions tearing through him.
“Me?” he shot back. “You’re the one who wanted to compare issues.”
“I can’t believe you’re trying to make this my fault.”
He moved closer to her. “Damned if I’ll let you stick me with the blame for this fiasco.”
“First you accuse me of taking all the romance out of our relationship and then you call it a fiasco. You’re right. Whatever happens between us probably won’t last very long, not at the rate we’re going, so I suggest we get started before it fizzles out completely.”
She closed the short distance between them, clamped her hands around his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.
It was a kiss fueled by the energy that had been charging the atmosphere between them for almost three months; a kiss powered by the emotional fallout from the explosion in the garage; a kiss that carried the fire of adrenaline and frustration and anger.
And it acted like a powerful accelerant for the hunger that had been simmering deep inside him since the day he met her.
“To hell with our issues and the future,” he said against her mouth. “All I care about right now is tonight.”
“Tonight works for me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The rush of desire caught Madeline by surprise. She should have been prepared, she thought. She had, after all, kissed Jack on one other occasion. The heat had been intense that time, too. But he had been in charge that time, deciding what she needed and just how far things should be allowed to go.
Tonight was different. She had started the brush fire this time. She was in control.
She took great fistfuls of his T-shirt in both hands and wrenched her mouth away from his.
“Last time we stopped because you claimed you didn’t think I knew what I was doing,” she said. “Tonight you can’t use that excuse. Do you understand that?”
He trapped her face between his hands. “It wasn’t an excuse.”
“It was as far as I’m concerned. So, one more thing you need to know—if you want to stop tonight, you’re going to have to flat-out tell me you don’t want me. No more pretending you’re trying to do what’s right for me. Got that?”
He looked at her with eyes that were a little savage. “Damn, woman. Do you always talk this much before you get into bed?”
He didn’t wait for a response, which was a good thing because she had no ready answer to the question.
He captured her mouth in a kiss that told her all she needed to know. This time he would not be calling a halt. Only she could stop this, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.
She wound her arms around his neck and opened her mouth for him. There was nothing practiced or deliberately seductive about the kiss because the simple truth was that she had never kissed anyone else in this way—with such excitement and need and anticipation.
This was a kiss that crossed all the lines that she had drawn for herself eighteen years before; a kiss that pushed back her personal boundaries in ways she had never imagined possible. It was a kiss that broke the rules.
Jack’s response was equally primal, devoid of the artistry and finesse of the skilled lover. It was raw and elemental and it told her more clearly than words that tonight was different for him, too.
That was reason enough to break the rules.
They fumbled their way to the bed. By the time they reached it she was unnerved and shivering and taking in oxygen as though it were a rare and fleeting commodity.
Jack released her long enough to get out of his T-shirt, pants, and briefs. When he turned back to face her, she sensed his subtle hesitation and knew that he was waiting for her to reaffirm her decision. It dawned on her that she was not the only one in the room who was in uncharted territory. Jack needed to know that she still wanted him now that he stood naked before her.
She moved closer and once again stood on tiptoe to kiss him. His rigid erection pushed against her thigh. She reached down and took him gently in her hand.
He groaned and pulled her closer. She realized they were about to fall together onto the tumbled sheets. Panic flared for an instant. She opened her mouth to tell him that she had to be on top.
But there was no need for explanations. As if he had received the message via psychic intercept, he landed flat on his back and steered her descent so that she landed on top of him. Exactly where she needed to be.
The flash of fear vanished in the next instant. She was flying now, lost in a glorious haze of pure desire. Some part of her knew it was irrational. It would no doubt end the way it usually did—with a whimper, not a bang. Nevertheless, in that moment she dared to believe that she was normal, that she could respond like any other normal woman would respond when she was in the arms of a sexy man who seemed to want her as much as she wanted him.
And she did not doubt that Jack wanted her—his rigid erection and the achingly tender way he touched her intoxicated and seduced her. He handled her as if she were the most valuable, most amazing, most exquisite creation that he had ever encountered.
She raised her head briefly to look down at him, an unfamiliar sense of profound certainty rushing through her.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I won’t shatter.”
“I know that. You’re strong.” He wrapped one big hand around the back of her head and drew her mouth down to his. “But I sure as hell will fracture into a million little pieces if I screw this up.”
“But you’re not screwing it up,” she whispered.
She wanted to add more reassurances, but there was no chance because he was kissing her again. His free hand moved down her body to her thigh and then he was tugging the hem of her nightgown upward, crushing the soft fabric gently around her waist. His fingers sank into the curve of her buttocks and then he began to explore her even more intimately.
She took a quick, sharp breath when she felt his fingers on the inside of her leg. He went utterly still beneath her. When she opened her eyes partway, she saw that he was watching her with an intensity that told her just how hard he was working to maintain his control.
She kissed his throat and then his chest and then she reached down and stroked him intimately, trying to tell him without words that she liked his touch.
No, she craved his touch. She did not want any other man to touch her ever again. Just Jack.
His hips moved against her, encouraging her to part her legs for him. When she accepted the invitation, he touched her more deeply still, drawing forth a response that stunned her. A great urgency tightened her insides.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Now.”
But he continued to stroke her as though she were a fragile flower. He did not seem to realize that she needed more—so much more.
Galvanized by the spiraling tension building within her, she levered herself up so that she could ride him astride. He groaned when she guided him slowly, carefully into her. His fingers gripped her thighs. He watched her as though in that moment she were the only thing that mattered in his world.
He groaned. His jaw was as rigid as the rest of him. He pushed upward, slowly, deliberately; filling her completely, astonishing her.
He added one more element to the volatile mix of sensations. He moved his thumb against her clitoris, and with that she was lost. The waves of a release unlike anything she had ever experienced crashed through her and she was truly breathless.
He surged upward one last time, going impossibly deep. His climax thundered through him. A low, husky roar of satisfaction ripped
through the night. She had given him that gift, she thought, elated. She had fully and completely satisfied this man.
And he had given her something even more wondrous in return. Tonight, for the first time, she had responded in a way that, until now, she had never believed possible—a way that felt normal. Real.
All she needed was the right man—Jack—a man who was anything but normal.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Egan did not bother to switch on the lights in the great room. The drapes were open. The cold, bright moon and the outdoor security lamps combined to illuminate the path to the liquor cabinet. He could have made the trek blindfolded. He’d had a lot of practice over the decades.
He had always been a restless sleeper. His doctors had prescribed meds from time to time, but in the end he always returned to his standby drug of choice—a few large shots of good scotch. On the bad nights nothing else would do.
This was one of the bad nights.
He picked up the bottle and splashed the first generous dose into a glass. For a time he stood at the window, sipping the scotch and watching the moonlight glaze the dark waters of the cove. He had been consumed more and more with thoughts of the past lately. It made him uneasy. He wondered if that was the price of getting old. Age was supposed to bring wisdom, but he woke up too often in the middle of the night thinking of what might have been if he had taken another path back at the start. Maybe nothing would have changed. Maybe he would still be in the same place.
The door opened quietly.
“Egan?” Louisa walked into the room and closed the door. “Is something wrong?”
He did not turn around. “I’m fine.”
“Another bad night.”
It was not a question. He heard her cross the room to the liquor cabinet. Glass clinked on glass. He knew she was pouring herself a drink. She preferred the orange-scented liqueur.
She came to join him at the window. They sipped their drinks in silence for a while. It was not the first time they had gone through the ritual together. It had been years since they had been lovers, but he was certain that as long as both of them were alive they would be partners. Their strengths and weaknesses complemented each other.
“I made Madeline Chase an offer for the hotel today,” Louisa said.
“I assume she refused.”
“Yes. I also advised her to leave Cooper Island.”
“Did you tell her why it would be in her best interests?”
“There was no need to spell it out. She understood exactly why I was warning her to go away. She suspects who was behind the explosion.”
“And still she refused to leave.” Egan drank some scotch. “The question is why, after all this time, is she suddenly spending time here?”
“You know why. Her grandmother is dead and now Tom Lomax has been killed. She no longer believes that Edith Chase’s death was an accident, assuming she ever did believe it, and I’m sure she thinks Lomax’s death is somehow connected. Madeline Chase is investigating every option, Egan, and that is going to be dangerous.”
Egan swirled the liquor in his glass. “I talked to Dunbar earlier this evening. Still no sign of the woman Madeline Chase and Rayner claim was at the scene of the explosion.”
“We both know there are plenty of empty summer cottages where she could have holed up for the night.”
“There’s another possibility. Someone might have had a boat waiting in case things went wrong.”
Neither of them spoke. There was no need to spell out who might have provided a getaway vessel. Xavier’s name seared the atmosphere of the darkened room as surely as if it had been written in neon blood. Xavier had been piloting boats of all kinds since he was old enough to take the wheel.
“There’s nothing we can do until he goes too far,” Louisa said.
“It’s very likely that he went too far today.”
“There’s no proof,” Louisa said.
“Don’t you understand? If Xavier gets arrested for murder, Travis’s candidacy will be destroyed. Every politician carries some baggage, but there are limits. Having a mentally ill brother who turns out to be a murderer would be more than enough to sink Travis’s campaign.”
“Xavier hasn’t killed anyone.”
“Yet.” Egan swallowed some more scotch. “At least not that we know of. He’s smart, Lou. If he did kill someone, he would be very careful not to leave any evidence.”
Louisa stilled. “You’re thinking of Tom Lomax and Edith Chase, aren’t you? But that makes no sense. Xavier had no reason to do harm to either of them.”
“I said he was smart, but he’s also crazy. He doesn’t need a logical reason to do anything.”
In most circumstances, Louisa could be relied on to think pragmatically and strategically. But when it came to her younger son, she had a blind spot. He couldn’t blame her, Egan thought. There had been a time when he’d had the same blind spot. Xavier had been the golden boy—the strong, brilliant son who possessed the charisma, the intelligence, and the ruthless edge it took to acquire real power.
But Xavier had proven to be fatally flawed. That meant the future of the family empire was now in the hands of the weaker son.
“Xavier is obsessing on Rayner because of the incident at the café,” Louisa said. “It . . . disturbs him to see Rayner here in town. If we can convince Rayner to leave and take Madeline with him, I think Xavier will refocus.”
Egan considered that for a time. “I could try talking to Rayner. He’s a businessman. Maybe I can get him to see that leaving town would be in his financial interest as well as in the best interests of his client.”
“Don’t waste your time. Rayner won’t leave without Madeline Chase, and you can’t get rid of her by offering her cash,” Louisa said. “I tried to buy her out, remember? She threw my offer back in my face.”
“We can’t go on like this indefinitely. Something must be done and it must be done soon, before the damage is irreparable.”
“I know,” Louisa said.
She sounded unutterably weary, but she was also resigned.
They stood in front of the window for a while longer, finishing their drinks. There was no need for further conversation. When it came to the difficult decisions involving the future of the family, they were always in agreement.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“For the record,” Madeline said. “You didn’t screw up.”
He had been drifting, happily lethargic and more relaxed than he had been in what seemed like forever, but her words startled him into a crack of laughter.
He opened his eyes partway and watched her stretch. The action made him think of a cat. Everything about her was sleek and feline.
Her hair was tangled and tumbled on the pillow. At some point in the proceedings he had managed to get rid of the prim cotton nightgown. She had pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts, but he could see her bare shoulders. They were elegant and gracefully curved. He could not recall ever being so fascinated by that part of a woman’s anatomy. But then, everything about Madeline fascinated him.
“Good to know I didn’t screw up,” he said. “Because toward the end there I lost track of events. In fact, it’s all a blur. A very nice blur, but there’s no getting around the fact that it’s a blur. We should probably do it again, and soon, so that I can make sure I get a clear understanding of exactly what happened.”
She had been smiling, a lazy, sultry, rather smug and deeply feminine smile, but without warning she turned serious. She rolled toward him onto her side, levered herself up on one elbow, and watched him with a pensive expression.
“It was a very nice blur for me, too,” she said. “And that’s the first time that’s happened.”
He tried to decipher the meaning of the comment for a few seconds and finally abandoned the effort.
“Is that good news or bad news
?” he asked.
She smiled again and his world shifted on its axis.
“It’s good news, at least for me,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve always had a few issues in this department.”
He tensed. “Are we back to the issues thing?”
“I freak out if I’m not on top. I usually go straight into a panic attack.”
He tried to grasp the enormity of her issue. And failed.
Instead he shrugged. “Given what happened to you all those years ago, it’s understandable that you’d have a problem with being pinned down. Seems logical to me. Wouldn’t call it an issue.”
Her brows snapped together. “Of course it’s an issue. I’ve had full-blown panic attacks at some very awkward moments in my life. My issue has ruined more than one relationship.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve learned the hard way that a lot of men start out thinking that the position is sexy, but sooner or later one of two things happens. Either it turns out they’re looking for a dominatrix, in which case I lose interest, or they decide I’m way too controlling, in which case they lose interest.”
He wanted to tell her that her so-called issues were nothing compared to his own, but that would require an explanation, and any explanation would mean asking her to carry another heavy secret. He had no right to do that to her.
“You don’t have an issue, sweetheart,” he said instead. “What you’ve got is a preference.”
Her brows rose. “A preference?”
He smiled, pleased with his uncharacteristically smooth diplomacy.
“Everyone is entitled to preferences when it comes to sex,” he said. “Or anything else, for that matter.”
“That is . . . very understanding of you. But what about your preferences?”
He reached out and pulled her to him so that she sprawled across his chest.
“At the moment, my preference is to do whatever it takes to make things a blur for you,” he said.
Her smile was a little misty. “That is very generous of you.”