Deceive Her With Desire (4 page)

Despite her desire to go home with someone, there was something about this guy that was sending warning flares exploding through her brain. Her woman’s intuition was slipping into overdrive, telling her to
run
not walk away from him. But manners, borne of years of living in a small town, kept her from being rude. “It’s a nice party,” Deirdre said before draining the water in the glass. She was at a loss for a way to extricate herself. “Owner’s got to be some mighty rich dude,” she said, wishing Rachel or Emilio would walk out the door and offer that excuse.

“What makes you say that?” His tone was casual, pleasant even and Deirdre thought maybe her muddled brain wasn’t correctly reading this handsome man in his sports jacket and khakis.

“You
know,
two bands. Open bar. And look at this house.”

“You like the house?”

“You’re kidding, right? What’s not to like about this…this
mansion.
” She turned and stared out over the shadowed lawn. The gardens she’d seen on her way in looked even more depressing in the blue wash of the half moon. “Okay, well except the flowerbeds, of course, and well, the lawn, and trees and stuff. But yeah, I like the house.”

He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing against hers and she worked to tamp down the odd vibes the uninvited contact was giving off. “What’s wrong with the gardens?” he asked. “I like all the flowers. It’s what finally convinced me to buy the property.”

The tumbler slipped out of her hand, shattering at her feet. “Oh, damn, I’m sorry.”

Jameson’s firm hand on her forearm held her in place. “Don’t move. I don’t want you to step on something and get cut.”

A waiter appeared from the foyer and scooped the shards of glass into a cloth napkin. A second waiter followed with a silver tray holding two fresh glasses of ice and Perrier.

Shit.
She could kiss the possible landscaping job good-bye. Anyone with staff that jumped without being summoned sure as hell wasn’t going to hire anyone so unprofessional.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Jameson said, releasing her and picking up both glasses from the tray. He handed one to Deirdre. “That’ll be all.”

The waiters melted into the shadows as if they were part of the backdrop.

“I’m so sorry. I always put my foot in my mouth,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize you owned the house when you introduced yourself. The property’s beautiful and it’s a lovely—”

He halted her verbal diarrhea with a finger to her lips.

“You’re a lovely lady, Miss…”

“Tilling.
Deirdre Tilling,” she said against the finger still warm on her lips.

“Nice to meet you, Deirdre Tilling.”
He lifted his glass in a toast.

Despite the gentlemanly way he was treating her, the feral look glittering in his eyes made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Deirdre gulped greedily of the effervescent liquid flavored with lemon, trying to figure out this guy’s story.

“Lovely night to spend with a lovely lady.”
He bent slightly at the waist, took her free hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

Deirdre’s stomach flipped. Was that her libido doing a double take or her gut warning her something was just a little off-kilter?

“Now, back to the gardens.
What’s wrong with them?” he asked.

“Nothing, well, it’s just that…”

“Spit it out, Deirdre.” He laughed as he spoke. “You’re not going to insult me.”

Deirdre tried to let the humor in his voice relax the knot in her stomach.

“I’m a landscaper, and the flowers are throwing seeds, your beds need to be prepared and everything needs trimming, including the maples lining the drive. If it’s not done, you’re going to have one hell of a mess come winter.”

“It sounds like a very big job.”

She shrugged. “Only a little bigger than the usual fall cleanup because the property’s been neglected.”
Damn, she kept putting her foot in her mouth.
“No offense.”

“None taken.”
He looked at her over the rim of his glass as he took several long pulls on his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each long swallow. The moon reflecting in the deep pools of his eyes, sparked with some emotion she couldn’t read.

“Mr. Jameson—”

“Shawn.”

“Right.
Shawn.” Deirdre sighed. “Any reputable company could have this place cleaned up and buttoned down in ten days, two weeks tops.”

He toyed with a ringlet of hair by her face. “And are you reputable, Deirdre?”

The man wasn’t talking about her business and they both knew it. “Tilling Gardens and Plants has been open for five years, we—”

He silenced her a second time with a finger on her lips. “I don’t need your resume. I’ve already decided to hire you, Deirdre.” Knowing he’d rendered her speechless, he dropped his hand. The triumphant smile he flashed nearly made her turn down the job until he quickly added, “I will pay you…say…fifteen thousand dollars to do whatever work needs to be done on my property to get it ready for winter.”

She choked on the outrageous sum. Half of that would cover labor, landscaping materials
and
a tidy profit. She drained her glass, trying to regain her equilibrium. The man certainly had a way of keeping her off-balance.

“That is…” he continued. “And this is a make or break codicil…provided you show up here Monday morning, bright and early. And come every day until the work is done”

“Well I—”

His mouth crushed down on hers. He tasted of lemon and smelled of fresh air. The audacity of his move had her reeling and she wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about his pliant lips devouring hers. When he eased away from her, his mouth curved with masculine arrogance, snapping her back to reality. The man was dangerous all right.

“Do we have a deal, Miss Deirdre Tilling?”

* * * *

Ayden made his way down the path. It was nearly midnight, a slice of moon directly overhead. Looking back over his shoulder, he checked again to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Even as he crested the knoll into the marsh grass, he could hear the loud voices of the crowd. It didn’t look like this party would slow down for a long while. Most of the guests were hopped-up on heroin, maybe coke, definitely alcohol, all generously provided by one Mr. Shawn Jameson.

The sophisticated man he’d met at the bar was exactly what he’d expected. He fit the three C’s of the profile Ayden had worked up on Maine’s drug Lord—charismatic, commanding, cocky. Even in his casual attire, Jameson exuded an air that communicated to those around him he was in complete control.

Ayden speculated on how far Jameson’s connections reached.

With legitimate real estate businesses in Bangor, Portland and Boston, Jameson had perfect locations for distribution. But even with that income and the ability to purchase foreclosed properties for pennies on the dollar, his three estates, one of them a seaside retreat large enough to be a small hotel, seemed a bit of a financial stretch. This could definitely be the score Ayden was looking for.

He had no doubt Jameson was his guy. He’d bust this asshole’s operation wide open and staunch the hemorrhaging of illegal substances into the United States. In the process, he’d purge himself of the burden of guilt he’d slogged around for three goddamn years. He wanted so much more than to save the future drug addicts the pain of recovery.

He wanted revenge.

The evil snake, desperate to find those responsible for screwing up his life, coiled up within him and he fought to tamp it down. Now that he was so close, Ayden couldn’t let his personal need to settle a score get tangled up with the professional job.

Stepping off the path onto the small beach bathed in moonlight, he rolled his head and stretched the taut muscles of his neck. He forced his heart rate to slow in time with the rhythmic wash of the ocean. The sound of the surf rolling ashore drowned out the last strains of the pounding rock music.

This
he could enjoy. He breathed deep, letting the pungent taste of the salt air replace the bitter flavor of remorse. Refocused, he headed down the beach.

He’d come down here because he’d seen the sexy redhead walk this way. Intent on killing two birds with one stone, three if he worked it right, he’d check the beach for recent boat traffic and find Jameson’s play toy and ply her for information. And if he got
real
lucky, perhaps get a little action on the side.

Oh, he’d watched her all right. He didn’t think anyone had missed the little bump and grind she’d done with the brunette on the speaker.
Sexy as hell
.
What man wouldn’t react to that display? The way those two had been on each other though, he’d thought probably they were lovers. They looked like they were going to strip each other naked and do each other right there.

Then the brunette had left with some guy, and he’d watched the redhead play tonsil hockey with Jameson on the front deck. It had surprised him when she’d walked away alone and Jameson had headed back into the mansion, but sometimes you just didn’t question when fate handed you the golden ticket.

Half way down the path, he’d abandoned all pretenses of professionalism and now was as focused on getting laid as he was on collecting information. He figured the redhead swung whichever way the wind was blowing. And the way he was feeling, he hoped she’d think a monsoon had swept in her direction when Ayden found her.

He scanned the beach, but saw no signs of her or anyone else for that matter. Perhaps there was another path up to the house. Didn’t matter, it had only been wishful thinking on his part.

Ayden inhaled deeply, letting the cool ocean breeze clear his head. This night was supposed to be about gathering
intel
on Jameson, not satisfying his deprived libido. Refocused, he headed for the dinghy lying on its side on the beach. Tethered to a large buoy bolted into the sand, it was anchored against any rogue waves. From the placement of the seaweed mounds, he surmised it was nearly low tide. The waves rolled in a long distance from the power motor on the back of the dinghy. The fifteen foot skiff didn’t look big enough to haul large quantities of drugs from cargo vessels to the shore, but Ayden knew drug runners could be very resourceful when the need arose and looks could be deceiving.

An unnatural thump stopped him in his tracks. His gaze swept the sand as his hand instinctively went to his back, touching only the waistband of his jeans.
No gun. Damn
. It was still tucked safely in his car. What had he been thinking, coming all the way down here without it? He hadn’t. His dick had been leading the way for the last fifteen minutes. The thought of a heated conversation and some slap and tickle with one of Jameson’s squeezes had been like a magnet pulling him toward the ocean.

There was that noise again. The pounding surf made it difficult to identify.

He fought for control, searching the shadowy expanse of beach, looking for anything or anyone out of place. If someone was watching, he didn’t want to give them reason to shoot and ask questions later. He needed to look innocent. He was simply a guest out for an evening stroll. But standing here in the middle of the beach with the moon casting everything in a blue hue, he was an easy target. He’d wandered too far from the path to use the marsh grass as cover. His only refuge was the boat, and without a gun, that really wasn’t all that safe.

But he had no choice.

Chapter 4

Cautious, and working to keep his jangled nerves from pumping his legs in a dead run, Ayden strolled to the shelter of the dinghy. The noise grew louder. Ayden realized he wasn’t moving away from the sound. He was aimed right toward it. What a fool. It was a beautiful fall night. No doubt lovers were using the upended craft for a little private party of their own.

Turning on his heel, he started to walk away, when the noise came again. It wasn’t the moan of sexual pleasure. It was the keening sound of sadness. Someone was crying. And from the quiet hiccupping, it was female.

Ayden shot a longing look over his shoulder, debating between the refuge of the path and the complications under the boat.

Chivalry won out and he stepped warily around the bow.

The redhead sat on the wooden slats, her bare feet digging restlessly in the sand, her face cupped in her hands. Between shuddering breaths, she sputtered angrily into her bent knees, but her tears and her fingers kept the words from him.

“Uh-hmm.”
He cleared his throat, not knowing how else to get her attention.

“Holy shit…” She tried to jump to her feet, but banged her head on the iron rigging attached to the upside of the boat and fell back down. “Fuck.” Her hand flew to her head.

“I’m sorry, you okay?” Ayden reached for her, but she shook him off.