All or Nothing (10 page)

That realization hurt, making her feel small and petty for all the accusations she’d hurled at him. He’d deserved better from her then, more understanding. She couldn’t change the past and she didn’t know if they had a future together or not.

But she could control what she did today.

* * *

Conrad started the Land Cruiser, sweat sticking his shirt to his back from the impromptu ball game and the surprise sprint to keep the little Kofi from dashing in front of a moving truck. His head still buzzed with the kick of fear when he’d seen the kid sprint toward the vehicle, unaware of anything but reaching that soccer ball.

Thank God the worst hadn’t happened.

Playing with the kids was the high point of these visits for him, something he always did when he had time here. But today, he’d also needed the outlet after watching Jayne with Boothe, their heads tucked together as they discussed the ins and outs of the clinic.

The day had been a success in every way that mattered, and he was a petty bastard for his foul mood. He wanted to blame the stress on Zhutov, and God knows that added to his tension. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do but wait until the enemy made a move. And once that wait was over?

Hell. The need to take his wife home and imprint himself in her memory, deep in her body, took hold of him. And he couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t follow through on the urge to make love to her until they both fell into an exhausted sleep.

He put the car in Drive and accelerated out of the parking lot. His wife sat beside him with that expression on her face again, like she’d put him under a microscope. He prepped for what he knew would come next.

“That was amazing how fast you reacted when the child ran toward that truck.”

“I just did what anyone would have.” And he’d also had a word with the truck driver about the dangers of speeding past a playground. “Kofi—the kid—spends a lot of time here with his older brother, Ade. Their mother comes regularly for her HIV treatments.”

“Do you know all the kids’ names?”

“Some,” he answered noncommittally.

She sighed in exasperation. “You said before we got on the plane you would tell me anything. Did you mean that?”

“I should have put a limit on how many questions you could ask.” A flock of geese scattered in front of him.

“I’ll go easy on you then. What’s your favorite kind of cookie? I realize I should already know that, and I feel awful for having to ask when you have my favorite pastry memorized, but I realized I really don’t know.”

Cookie? What the hell? “Um, anything with M&M’s. I’m, uh, partial to M&M’s in my cookies.”

She smiled and touched his knee. Apparently he’d answered that one correctly.

“Next question?”

“Why don’t you wear glasses anymore? And why didn’t you ever mention that you used to? You’d think there would be pictures.”

“Boothe,” he said simply. Now he understood why they’d been standing under the awning so long. Boothe had been spouting out crap about the past. “I had Lasik surgery on my eyes so I don’t need glasses anymore. As for photos of me wearing them? They perished in a horrible accident, a trash can fire in Salvatore’s office. A fire extinguisher was sacrificed in the line of duty.”

Her hand stayed on his knee. “You have a sense of humor when you want to—sarcastic, sure but funny.”

She stroked higher up his thigh and he damn near drove into a ditch. He clasped her wrist and moved her back to her side of the car.

“You’ll need to put that thought on hold.”

Laughing softly, she hooked an elbow out the window, her blond hair streaking across her face. “I want to know more about your job with Interpol.”

Apparently the easy questions had just been to soften him up.

“What do you want to know?”

“I keep trying to wrap my brain around the whole notion of you and your friends living a James Bond life, and it’s blowing my mind. How did I miss guessing for four years?”

Because he was a damn good liar?

That didn’t seem like a wise answer. He measured out a smarter answer, balancing it with what was safe to tell her.

“We’re more freelancers, and we don’t take jobs often. It actually keeps the risk of exposure down.” But the longer he went between assignments, the more restless he grew. If this Zhutov case blew up in his face, would Salvatore cut him out or relegate him to some paper-pushing research? “I only worked six ‘projects’ in the entire time we were together. An assignment could take anywhere from a week to a month.”

She nodded, going silent while she stared out the window at an ostrich running on pace with them at forty-two miles per hour. Her deep breath gave him only a flash of a notice that she wasn’t giving up.

“Sounds to me like your Alpha Brotherhood has morphed into a Bond Brotherhood.” She tipped her face into the wind, her eyes closed, her neck arched and vulnerable. “Troy is definitely the Pierce Brosnan Bond type, with his charm and his metro-sexual style. Malcolm is the Roger Moore type, old school Bond with his jazz flair. I only recall meeting Elliot Starc once, but he fits well enough for the Timothy Dalton slot, rarely seen but very international. The doctor, Boothe, he’s the Daniel Craig Bond, the tortured soul.”

“Who said Boothe was part of the Alpha Brotherhood?” And yes, he noticed she’d aptly insinuated they were all working for Salvatore as well, something he didn’t intend to confirm.

“Just a guess.” She glanced at him, her perceptive blue eyes making it clear she hadn’t missed the nuance. “By the way,
you
are absolutely the Sean Connery Bond.”

“I think you’re paying me a compliment.” He glanced over and found her staring at him with a familiar sensual glint.

He went hard at just a look from her—and the promise in her eyes.

“You’re sexy, brooding, arrogant and too damn mesmerizing for your own good. It’s not fair, you know.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Just that I can’t resist you. Even now, I’m sitting here fighting the urge to jump you right here in the middle of nowhere. I’m trying to play it cool and logical because I don’t want either of us to get hurt again.”

“Can we go back to the Sean Connery discussion?” He hooked an arm around her and tugged her to his side.

She adjusted her seat belt and leaned against him. “I wonder sometimes if we were drawn to each other because of feeling like orphans.”

He forced himself not to tense as she neatly shifted the conversation again. “We had parents.”

“Don’t be so literal.”

“Don’t be such a girl.”

“Um, hello? I have breasts.”

“Believe me.” His hand slid along the generous curve. “I noticed.”

“You’re not paying attention.” She linked fingers with him, stopping his caress.

He squeezed her hand, driving with the other hand down the deserted private road leading back to his house. “You have my complete and undivided attention.”

“Good, because there will be a quiz afterward,” she said smartly.

He nuzzled her hair, and wondered when just sitting beside her, holding her hand had become such an incredible turn on. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Her head fell to rest on his shoulder. “That’s what I was getting at. You have your brotherhood, but you lead these separate lives with just periodic high octane reunions. Day by day, neither of us has a family.”

He laughed darkly. “Dysfunctional is drawn to dysfunctional, I guess.”

“Not exactly how I would have phrased it, but that works well enough.” Her hand fell to rest on his knee, stroking lightly.

To arouse or soothe?

“Jayne, your dad’s a loser just like mine was.” Anger simmered in his gut over how her father had hurt her. “End of story. We overcame it.”

“Did we?” She drew circles on his jeans, her touch heating him through the denim. “Or are we still letting them control our lives?”

His hand clenched around the steering wheel. He wanted to be with her, but damn it, she needed to leave discussions of his father in the past. He’d said all he cared to say about the old man who didn’t warrant his time. This whole twenty questions game was officially over.

“If I wanted therapy I would pay a shrink.” He turned off the road, hitting the remote for the gate, which also triggered a timed release for the other layers of security along with a facial recognition program.

“Wow, Conrad,” she said, sliding back to her side of the vehicle, “that was rude.”

He reined his temper in even as sweat beaded his brow. “You’re right.” He stopped the car beside the house. “Of course.”

“If you don’t agree,” she snapped, throwing her door open wide, “then just say so.”

“I disagree, and I’m rude.” He threw his arms wide as he circled to the front of the car. “I agree, and you tell me not to?”

“I just meant disagree politely.” She crossed her arms over her chest, plumping her breasts in the simple white T-shirt.

His hard-on throbbed in his jeans, aching as much as the pain behind his eyes.

“I just want to get a shower and some lunch.” He yanked his sticky polo shirt off and pitched it on the porch. To hell with this. He stalked toward the outside shower stall along the side of the house. “Not pick a fight.”

“Who’s picking a fight?” Her voice rose and she all but stomped a foot. “Not me. I’m just trying to have an honest discussion with you.”

“Honest?” He barely kept his voice under control. That shower was sounding better and better by the second. Maybe it would cool down his temper. “You want to talk honest then let’s talk about why you want to rewrite history so I’m some pathetic sap who blames the world for all his problems.”

She stalked closer to him one step at a time until she stopped an inch shy of her breasts skimming his bare chest. “Conrad? Shut up and take me to the shower.”

Ten

A
s much as Jayne ached to find answers that would give them a path to reconciliation, clearly Conrad didn’t want to talk anymore. And to be honest with herself, the trip to the clinic had left her more than a little vulnerable. She’d seen a side to her husband she hadn’t known existed. Beyond just funding a building, he was obviously hands-on at the place, well-known and liked. The way he’d played with the kids still tugged at her heart until she could barely breathe.

She definitely needed to give them both time and space. She was a patient woman, and right now she could think of the perfect way to pass that time.

Making love to her husband.

And if she was using sex to delay the inevitable? Then so be it. She couldn’t leave the protection of this place so she might as well make the most of this time.

She linked fingers with Conrad and tugged him toward the side of the house.

“Jayne, the front door’s that way.”

“And the exterior shower is this way.” She walked backward, pulling him with her. “Unless there’s some reason we should stay inside? I figured since we walked around the grounds earlier, the security system outside is as good as inside.”

“You are correct. I wouldn’t have built an outdoor shower if it wasn’t safe to use it. No one can get within a mile of this place without my knowing about it.” He reassured her with a fierce protectiveness in his voice and eyes.

The magnitude of that comforted her and unsettled her at the same time. She was a dentist’s kid from Miami. Prior to meeting Conrad, the extent of her security knowledge included memorizing the pin code for the security box on the garage leading into her condo.

She shoved aside distracting thoughts and focused on the now. Seducing Conrad. She pulled a condom from her purse and tucked it into his hand. “And that takes care of our last concern.”

He flipped the packet between his fingers. “You were planning this all day?”

“Actually—” she tossed aside her purse “—I intended to get you to pull over on a deserted side road—since this whole place is essentially deserted that wouldn’t have been tough—and I would seduce you in the car. Since the Land Cruiser is conveniently roomy, we would finish off the fantasy we started in the Jaguar in Monte Carlo.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Do you want to go back to the car?”

“I want you. In the shower. Now.”

He hooked his thumbs in her jeans. “Happy to accommodate.”

She grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and peeled it over her head, baring her white lacy bra. Late afternoon rays heated her skin almost as much as his eyes as she toed off her canvas loafers. The gritty earth was warm beneath her feet, pebbles digging into her toes.

Her hands fell to her belt buckle, and she unfastened her jeans, never taking her eyes from his sun-burnished face. She wriggled denim down her hips, enjoying the way his gaze stroked along each patch of revealed flesh. One last shimmy and she kicked aside her jeans, grateful she’d invested in new satin and lace lingerie before this trip.

That panty set forced her to admit she’d been hoping for just this when she’d come to Monte Carlo to deliver her five-carat ring and divorce papers. Deep in her heart, she’d hoped he would tear up the papers and slide the ring back on her hand.

Life was never that clear-cut. Today’s answers had shown her more than ever how far more complex the situation—and her husband were.

But one thing was crystal clear. She had amazing lingerie and her husband’s interest. And she intended to enjoy the hell out of their afternoon together.

She teased the front clasp open and tossed her bra aside. The extravagant scrap of satin and lace landed on top of her jeans. After they’d met in Miami, he’d rented a yacht to live on while he concocted business reasons to stay in town. Even though she’d been tempted to sleep with him from the first date, she’d held back, overwhelmed by his wealth, concerned about his past. But two months into the relationship, she couldn’t ignore her heart any longer. She’d fallen irrevocably in love with him.

They’d made love on his yacht that night. They’d eloped four weeks later.

Memories of the optimism of that day and the heartbreak that followed threatened to chill her passion. She refused to let that happen, damn it.

Turning toward the shower, she called over her shoulder, “Someone’s way overdressed for this party.”

His eyes took on a predatory gleam, and he walked toward her, taking off his jeans and boxers with a speed and efficiency that sent a thrill of anticipation through her.

He stalked toward her, his erection straining hard and thick up his stomach. She reached behind her, her fingers grazing along the teak cubicle until she found the latch. She pulled the door open.

The slate tile floor cooled her feet after the scorched earth outside. She turned on the shower just as Conrad filled the entrance with his big, bold presence. The spray hit her in a cold blast, and she squealed, jumping back.

Laughing, Conrad stepped deeper inside, hooking an arm around her waist and hauling her against the delicious heat of his body until the spray warmed. She arched up on her toes to meet his kiss, water slicking over her skin in thousands of liquid caresses. She knew they couldn’t continue like this forever. They were merely delaying the inevitable decision on where to take their relationship next.

That only made her all the more determined to indulge in every moment now. She scored her nails lightly down his back, down to his hips, her fingers digging into his flanks to urge him closer. The rigid press of his arousal against her stomach brought an ache and moisture between her thighs that had nothing to do with the sheeting water.

He caressed her back, her breasts, even her arms, the rasp of his callused fingertips turning every patch of her skin into an erogenous zone. One of his hands fell away, and she moaned against his mouth.

“Patience,” he answered, his hand coming back into sight cupping a bottle of shampoo.

He raised his arm and poured a stream onto her head before setting aside the bottle. Suds bubbled, dripping, and she squeezed her eyes shut a second before he gathered her hair and worked up a lather. Pure bliss.

The firm pressure of his fingers along her scalp was bone melting. She slumped against the sleekly varnished walls. With her eyes closed, her world narrowed to the sound of the shower, the wind, the distant cackle of monkeys, a natural symphony as magnificent as any opera.

Certainly Conrad played her body well, with nuances from his massage along her temples to the outlining of her ears. Bubbles rolled down her body, slithering over her breasts and between her legs. She rubbed her foot along the back of his calf, opening her legs wider for the press of his erection against the tight bud of nerves already flaming to life. Each roll of her hips, each thrust of his fingers into her hair took her higher, faster.

The pleasures of the whole incredible day gathered, fueling the tingling inside her. He’d always been a generous lover and their chemistry had been explosive from their first time together. She opened her eyes and found him watching her every reaction.

Time for
her
to take
him
.

She scooped the bar of soap from the dish and worked up a lather. He lifted an eyebrow a second before she used her hands as the washcloth over his chest, down his sculpted arms and down to stroke his erection, cupping the weight of him in her hands. He twitched in her clasp, bracing a hand against the shower wall.

He clamped her hand to stop her.

“Jayne—” his voice came out choked and hoarse “—you’re killing me.”

“As I recall...” She sipped water from his chest, her tongue flicking around the flat circle of his nipple. “You never complained in the past when I took the initiative.”

“True enough.” He skimmed his hand over her hair, palming the back of her head.

“Then why won’t you let me...”

He stepped back, the shower spraying between them. “Because you’ve called the shots for the past three years.”

That was debatable, given how many times he’d sent her papers back unsigned. “Then this is a punishment? I’m not sure I like the context of that mixed with what’s happening between us.”

“Do you want to stop?” His question was simple enough, but the somber tone of his voice added weight and layers.

They were talking about the future. She wasn’t ready to have this discussion with him.

“You know I don’t want to stop. I never have. How about my turn now, yours later?” Clamping hands on his shoulders, she nudged him down to the shower seat. “Any objections to that?”

“None that come to mind.” He spread his arms wide. “I’m all yours.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Anticipation curled through her. Kneeling in front of him, she took him in her mouth, the shower sheeting along her back. She gripped his thighs. The flex of muscles thrilled her as she took in every sign of his arousal increasing. His head thudded back against the cubicle wall, and yes, she delighted in tormenting him as much as he’d teased her last night, drawing out the pleasure.

She knew his body as well as he knew hers, thanks to years of great sex and exploring what drove the other crazy. And she drew on every bit of that stored knowledge now until his fist clenched in her hair, gently guiding her off him. She smiled, reveling in the powerful attraction, the connection that couldn’t be denied even after three years apart.

His hands slid under her arms, and he lifted her onto his lap. She straddled him, the tip of him nudging between her legs, and she almost said to hell with birth control. Never had she been more tempted, her womb aching to be filled with his child. Aching to have a whole damn soccer team with this man. But after what her parents had put her through, she wouldn’t risk bringing a child into an unstable relationship.

And, damn it, even thinking about those lost dreams threatened to wreck the mood. She grabbed the condom from the soap dish and passed it to him. Her hands were shaking too much to be of any help.

Her hands braced on his shoulders, and she raised up on her knees, taking him deep, deeper still inside her, lifting again. She slid her breasts up and down his chest. Every brush of flesh against flesh launched a fresh wash of goose bumps over her. Faster and faster they moved, his hands on her hips, guiding her as he thrust in synch with her.

Moans rolled up her throat, wrung from her, each breathy groan answered by him. And yes, she took added pleasure in controlling this much of her life, bringing him to the edge, knowing that his feelings for her were as all-consuming as her own were for him.

His hands slid under her bottom and he stood, never losing contact, their bodies still linked. He pressed her back to the wall, driving into her, sending her the rest of the way into a shattering orgasm. Her arms locked around him, her head on his shoulder as her cries of completion rippled through her.

Thank goodness he held her because she couldn’t have stood. Even now, her legs melted down him, her toes touching the slate floor. His hot breath drifted through her hair as he held her in the aftermath of their release.

They’d made love in a shower numerous times and the tub, too, but never in an outdoor shower. His adventurous nature had always appealed to her. She’d always been such a cautious, practical soul—her mother had always been so stressed, Jayne had worked overtime to be the perfect daughter and that regimen eventually became habit. Rigid attention to detail was a great trait for a nurse, but not in her personal life. Then Conrad had burst into her world.

Or rather he’d hobbled into the E.R. on that broken foot, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge just how badly he’d been hurt. Even in a cast, he’d been more active than any human she’d met. He’d swept her off her feet, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, she’d done something impulsive.

She’d married Conrad after only knowing him for three months.

If they’d dated longer might they have worked through more of these issues ahead of time? Had a stronger start to their marriage, a better foundation?

Or would she have talked herself out of marrying him?

The thought of having never been his wife cut through her. She wanted a future with him. She couldn’t deny that, but she also couldn’t ignore what a tenuous peace they’d found here.

And the least bump in the road could shatter everything.

* * *

Conrad lounged on the shower bench with the door open, watching his wife tug her clothes back onto her damp body. Damn shame they couldn’t just stay naked, making love until the world righted itself again. “I read once that ‘The finest clothing made is a person’s skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this.’”

She tugged her T-shirt over her head, white cotton sticking to her wet skin and turning translucent in spotty places. “Where did you read that?”

“Believe it or not, Mark Twain.”

“I always think of you as a numbers man.” She pulled her hair free of the neckline, stirring memories of washing her, feeling her, breathing in the scent of her.

Her legs glowed with a golden haze, backlit by the sunset. There was still time left in this day.

He gave her a lazy smile. “You’ve been thinking of me, have you?”

“I do. Often.” Her smile was tinged with so much sadness it socked him right in the conscience.

He stood and left the shower stall, sealing the door after him. He reached for his jeans. “And where do you think of me? Somewhere like in bed? Or in the shower? Because I thought of you often in the shower and now...”

She rolled her eyes. “Where doesn’t matter.”

“It’s been a long three years without you. I’m making up for lost time here.” He tried to lighten the mood again, to bring them back around to level ground. “That’s a lot of fantasies to work through.”

“If only we could just have sex for the rest of our lives. That would probably cure your insomnia.” She gave her jeans an extra tug up her damp legs, her breasts moving enticingly under the T-shirt.

She’d been his wife for seven years and still his mouth watered when he looked at her. Her blond hair was slicked back wet, her face free of makeup, and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.