His eyes on her lips made her nervous. “Yes to your first question.” Every word she spoke would be remembered later, analyzed and dissected for clues as to her identity. “No to the second. I won't tell you my history if you won't tell me yours.”
Reaching over, he put out his cigarette. “Come here.” He grabbed her forearm and turned her toward him. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You're driving me crazy. This is worse than when I tried to climb up on the refrigerator to get to the cookies when I was four years old.”
Taking her time, she crushed her own cigarette in the ashtray. A few more minutes and the drug would work. A shame she hadn’t encouraged him to talk. “Did you get them?”
“No. I fell off. Got five stitches in my chin.” He grew impatient and pulled her down on him where his lips found hers, claimed them, and threw her into headlong confusion. Noelle's diamonds lay against her collarbone, prickly and heavy, and her lungs fought to breathe. Her breasts strained against him.
What was wrong? Why did a kiss bring on such turmoil?
Because it had been so long since she’d kissed a man.
And he is a man
. She repeated her mantra as she felt her will slipping away.
I'm in control. He's just a man
.
Then he shifted her so she sat on top of him. He rolled the bodice down to her waist and exposed her to his hands.
Panicked, she rescued her gown and covered her breasts.
He laughed, holding her, keeping her on top. “Fair's fair,” he mocked, rubbing her nipples under the silk. “I'm undressed. I want you undressed, too.”
“You're going too fast.” Her voice wasn’t under control. It sounded husky, sex-drugged. Her dress was hiked up to her waist, only her panties and his boxers protecting her from penetration. She couldn't keep from cradling him. “You said you'd be slow.”
“I'll be slow, I just want to look.” He turned persuasive. “That's all I'll do. I promise I won't do anything but look at you until you say I can. Let me see you. Please.”
With no small effort, she forced herself to perch docilely astride him as he drew down the top of her dress again. The cool air made her nipples bud, but his heat rose to envelop her.
Too much stimulus for someone who led a nun’s life.
His breaths lengthened, either from the drug or his desire.
Her desire. Her breaths lengthened, too, until she was giddy from oxygen that sent her heart drumming in her ears like too much bass. The fire of his sex met hers, kindled when she rubbed against him. How long since she’d given in to this mindless frenzy?
“See?” he murmured. “That wasn't difficult, was it? Notice I'm not touching anything vital.”
“No,” she panted. “It wasn't difficult at all.”
His eyes, wide-awake, locked with hers. “You're making me crazy, did you know that?”
Not as crazy as he was making her. “Maybe you were crazy to start with.”
“No. You're doing it. I'm still not touching anything.”
But he was. She was acutely aware of her thighs around his waist and his solid chest under her hands, of his hard length against her center. It wouldn’t hurt to move, grind against him. Just for a…
No, you’re going too far.
He lay back, plainly aroused but on alert like a dog waiting for his master’s command. Unlike her, wrestling with her lust.
Get hold of yourself.
He should be unconscious at any time. She could contain herself long enough for the drug to work. Of course, she could. But did she want to?
His watch band snagged in the tatting as he worked with her dress.
He’s looking at the label.
Oh dear God, the label!
The tatted border and embroidered
A. Jane, Atlanta
were too distinctive. A minute with sharp scissors could have seen the label cut out, but she hadn’t planned on going this far. Now there was no withstanding his scent, his touch. It was too late.
Too late for everything.
Did it matter? What would it hurt to give in? One time...
Before she could throw caution to the winds, he let out an impatient sound and freed his watch from the tatting. In one swift motion, he pushed the silken bodice down past her navel.
When he ran one hand down over her hip, the other caressed the curve of her breast. “I can't stand this.” His whisper was provocative.
Her hands stopped his. “It's too fast.” Was that hoarse voice hers? “I don't, I need... You need to slow down.” No, he didn’t need to do anything of the kind.
She needed him in her. Now.
“I know what you want.” His thumb traced her navel's circle, wandered down, down, inside her panties.
Down through the curls.
The place bloomed under his thumb, drawing a moan.
“I'll make sure you get there, sweet Scarlet. I won't leave you hanging, I promise.”
“Stop it.” Somehow she found the strength to slap at his hand, stop the circling thumb. “We need something before we go any further.”
“Ah, protection. I’d forgotten. You did that to me.” He gave a long shuddering sigh. The little boy's smile spread with delicious slowness. “We’ll take care of that right now. Mine or yours?”
“What about another cigarette first?”
“I think, if it's all the same to you, I'll skip the cigarette, and no, I don't want more champagne either,” he said gravely though his eyes began to dance. A dimple, unsuspected before now, broke out into the open. “Thank you just the same, but the only thing I want is for you to pick up a condom and put it on me. Or are you too shy? Should I do it myself?”
“Now? I don't want to rush it, Callaway.”
“We won't rush.” As he spoke, a small yawn escaped. “But we can't put it off all night either.”
His guard dropped, revealing complacency and something else.
He was a user who saw her only as an object to be possessed and discarded.
Desire fled even as she moved closer and pushed her breasts against his face. “Let's make this night special.”
“It's already special.” The light in his eyes had faded so the brown irises were opaque. “You made it special the moment I saw you at the play.” He yawned again.
He’d soon be out.
I’m not sorry. I’m not
.
“Lie back,” she whispered, stretching and letting her length cover him and force him down into the pillows. Cheek against cheek, breasts against chest, stomach against stomach, sex against sex. “Close your eyes and think of me.”
“I am thinking of you.” A drowsy arm tightened around her. “I thought...all night...you make me... I’m lightheaded...”
“Lie here and imagine what we'll do together.” Her hand reached up to cover his eyes. “Close your eyes and think about what you're going to do to me, what I’ll do to you.”
“I want...” He gave a heavy sigh, his mouth twitched. “I can't think... Something isn't... something's wrong.” His eyelids fluttered. His eyes were trusting and uncomprehending. “You...”
For one terrible moment before the drug took him, his credulity stabbed her. She should never have let Noelle talk her into coming here like some despicable hustler.
His arm relaxed as his breathing became slow, steady. The long lashes rested dark against his cheek.
Defenseless as a sleeping child, he lay.
Beneath her ear his heartbeat remained strong and regular. Her head relaxed on his chest, allowing her time to stamp down the passion, calm her thudding heart. Noelle and Teddy were all that mattered.
Callaway McIntyre had brought this on himself when he took advantage of Noelle.
“Sorry, Callaway,” she muttered as she slid out from under his arm and got up. “It's dangerous picking up strange women. A big boy like you should have learned that long ago. You’re lucky I’m not a thief.”
After settling him into a comfortable position—he really did look like a little boy with his upturned nose and soft mouth and tousled hair—she tucked the covers beneath his chin. The packets on the night stand, hers and his jumbled together, went into her purse.
What else? Wipe the flute glasses along with the champagne bottle and whatever else she'd touched so as not to leave anything incriminating. Her fingerprints weren't on record, and please God, they never would be.
In his bathroom, she dressed before punching in the numbers Noelle had given her. Holding her breath, she tried the handle.
The safe opened.
Hah. So stupid to talk about the combination in front of people. Callaway McIntyre should be smarter, but then a smart person wouldn’t have trusted a stranger.
He hadn't loaned Noelle’s ring out, thank goodness. It lay to the side by itself, waiting to be slipped on her finger.
Wiping down the locked safe took only a moment. Going back through the bedroom, she avoided looking at the unconscious man while checking one last time for anything overlooked. He was still breathing easily so she grabbed her cloak and evening bag from the living room, and fled.
Only when her driver dropped her at the airport did the tension dissolve. It was over. She’d never see Callaway McIntyre again.
So why did she feel like a criminal?
Chapter Three
What’s that noise?
After a while Cal realized that it came from a telephone. He opened his eyes only to squinch them against brilliant light peeking through cracks in the heavy draperies.
The ringing continued.
This aching head.
He groped for the receiver by the bed, managing a grunt.
Sonny Kirkman's cheery voice assaulted him. “Rise and shine. It's ten o'clock. Our meeting’s in half an hour.”
Cal groaned.
What the hell had he done to deserve this mother of all hangovers? His head felt as if an ax were striking between the eyes and coming out through the crown.
“Cal?” Sonny sounded suspicious. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah.” He somehow got the words out through his mouthful of cotton. “I'm awake. Be right there.” The phone didn’t want to fit back on its cradle, but it finally settled.
A hungover head had never been this bad before, not even when he was a freshman in college.
The woman.
He turned to check the other half of the bed, but the tiny movement caused his head to explode again. Everything blurred.
Finally, the pain subsided enough to see she was gone. All he could remember was her hair, a thick red cloud tumbling over creamy white shoulders.
What the hell had happened? Could he have passed out before the big event? Had she left in disgust? No, he hadn’t drunk that much. He distinctly remembered bringing her up here.
She showed no reluctance about entering the bedroom, drinking champagne, and kissing him.
Now everything was coming back.
They'd made it as far as the bed. The pillows were cool against his back, her gown silky under his fingers.
Lying on his back with her straddling him, he’d fondled breasts that were smaller than he’d expected but round and perfect in his hands.
She'd played shy before letting him caress her, kiss her. Cupped by her spread legs, he'd wanted to tear into her, but...
What had happened? He’d been excited one moment but then had to struggle to keep from yawning while listening to her whisper stuff about... What?
Her breath had been warm, tickling his ear. When she’d pressed his eyelids closed, he’d...
He sat up cursing.
Which was a mistake.
Not only did he feel like a colossal sledgehammer had slammed the top of his head, but the worst nausea he'd experienced in his entire thirty-five years attacked.
Gritting his teeth, he made it to the bathroom before throwing up. Once he was able to wash his face and rinse his mouth, he staggered out to check his wallet.
About five hundred dollars was gone.
A common thief. He should have known.
Damn the conniving tramp and damn him for being so gullible. He should have put the wallet in the safe. His head pounded.
Damn this frigging head. He'd have to scrounge up some ibuprofen. Staggering back to the bathroom, he raided his shaving kit and found two tablets he managed to keep down.
What about the safe? No, it was all right. A girl he'd met one time might find the hidden safe in the dressing room closet, but she wouldn’t know the combination. Still…
He punched in the numbers: the date of his mother's graduation from Agnes Scott.
The door swung open.
The emptiness hit him like a blow in the stomach.
He forgot the nausea and the headache. Blood rushed from his brain and left him so dizzy he fell against the wall.
When he could stand unaided, he reached inside the safe for physical confirmation of what his eyes relayed.
Not only was the case containing his lucky studs missing, but so was the journal he’d picked up the day before.