Best-Kept Lies (11 page)

“This is the break you’ve been waiting for,” she said, and he heard the hope in her voice.

God, he hated to burst her bubble. “It’s a start, Randi. Time will tell if it pans out, but yeah, it’s something.”

He only hoped it was enough.

“Why don’t you turn in.” He unrolled a sleeping bag, placing it between the baby’s makeshift crib and the fire.

“Where will you be?”

“Here.” He shoved a chair close to the door.

She eyed the old wingback. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“Maybe doze.”

“You’re still afraid,” she charged.

“Not afraid. Just vigilant.”

She shook her head, unaware that the fire’s glow brought out the red streaks in her hair. Sighing, she started working off one boot with the toe of another. “I really can’t believe this is my life.” The first boot came off, followed quickly by the second. Plopping down on the sleeping bag, she sat cross-legged and stared at the fire. “I just wanted to write a book, you know. Show my dad, my boss, even my brothers that I was capable of doing something really newsworthy. My family thought I was nuts when I went into journalism in college—my dad in particular. He couldn’t see any use in it. Not for his daughter, anyway. And then I landed the job with the paper in Seattle and it became a joke. Advice to single people. My brothers thought it was just a lot of fluff, even when the column took off and was syndicated.” She glanced at Striker. “You know my brothers. They’re pretty much straight-shooter, feet-on-the-ground types. I don’t think Matt or Slade or Thorne would ever be ones to write in for advice on their love lives.”

Kurt laughed.

“Nor you, I suppose?”

He arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Not likely.”

“And the articles I did for magazines under R. J. McKay, it was all woman stuff, too. So the book—” she looked up at the ceiling as if she could find an answer in the cobwebby beams and rafters “—it was an attempt to legitimatize my career. Unfortunately Dad died before it was finished and then all the trouble started.” She rubbed her knees and cocked her head. Her locket slipped over the collar of her shirt and he noticed it
winking in the firelight. His mouth turned dry at the sight of her slim throat and the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. A tightening in his groin forced him to look away.

“Maybe the trouble’s about to end.”

“That would be heaven,” she said. “You know, I always liked living on the edge, being a part of the action, whatever it was, never set my roots down too deep.”

“A true McCafferty.”

She chuckled. “I suppose. But now, with the baby and after everything that happened, I just want some peace of mind. I want my life in the city back.”

“And the book?”

Her smile grew slowly. “Oh, I’m still going to write it,” she vowed, and he noticed a determined edge to her voice, a steely resolve hidden in her grin. “Bedtime?”

The question sounded innocent, but it still created an image of their lovemaking. “Whenever you want.”

“And you’re just going to play security guard by the door.”

“Yep.” He nodded. “Get some sleep.”

“Not until you tell me what it is that makes you tick,” she said. “Come on, I told you all about my dreams of being a journalist and how my family practically laughed in my face. You know all about the men I’ve dated in recent history and I’ve also told you about my book and how I got involved with a man who was still married and might be trying to kill me. Whatever you’re hiding can’t be that bad.”

“Why do you think I’m hiding something?”

“We all have secrets, Striker. What’s yours?”

That I’m falling for you,
he thought, then clamped his mind shut. No way. No how. His involvement with
Randi McCafferty had to remain professional. No matter what. “I was married,” he said, and felt that old raw pain cutting through him.

“What happened?”

He hesitated. This was a subject he rarely bridged, never brought up on his own. “She divorced me.”

“Because of your work?”

“No.” He glanced at her baby sleeping so soundly in his blankets, remembered the rush of seeing his own child for the first time, remembered the smell of her, the wonder of caring too much for one little beguiling person.

“Another woman?” she asked, and he saw the wariness in the set of her jaw.

“No. That would have been easier,” he admitted. “Cleaner.”

“Then, what happened? Don’t give me any of that ‘we grew away from each other’ or ‘we drifted apart.’ I have readers who write me by the dozens and they all say the same thing.”

“What happened between me and my ex-wife can’t be cured by advice in your column,” he said more bitterly than he’d planned.

“I didn’t mean to imply that it could.” She was a little angry. He could feel it.

“Good.”

“So what happened, Striker?”

His jaw worked.

“Can’t talk about it?” She rolled her eyes. “After I explained about Sam Donahue? That I was sleeping with him and he was still married. How do you think I feel, not seeing the signs, not reading the clues. Geez, whatever it is can’t be that humiliating!”

“We had a daughter,” he said, his voice seeming to
come from outside his body. “Her name was Heather.” His throat tightened with the memories. “I used to take her with me on the boat and she loved it. My wife didn’t like it, was afraid of the water. But I insisted it would be safe. And it was. Until…” His chest felt as if the weight of the sea was upon it. Randi didn’t say a word but she’d blanched, her skin suddenly pale, as if she knew what was to come. Striker closed his eyes, but still he could see that day, the storm coming in on the horizon, remember the way the engine had stalled. “Until the last time. Heather and I went boating. The engine had cut out and I was busy fiddling with it when she fell overboard. Somehow her life jacket slipped off. It was a fluke, but still… I dived in after her but she’d struck her head. Took in too much water.” He blinked hard. “It was too late. I couldn’t save her.” Pain wracked through his soul.

Randi didn’t move. Just stared at him.

“My wife blamed me,” he said, leaning against the door. “The divorce was just a formality.”

D
ear God, how she’d misjudged him! “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wondering how anyone survived losing a child.

“It’s not your fault.”

“And it wasn’t yours. It was an accident,” she said then saw recrimination darken his gaze.

“So I told myself. But if I hadn’t insisted upon taking her…” He scowled. “Look, it happened. Over five years ago. No reason to bring it up now.”

Randi’s heart split. For all of his denials, the pain was fresh in him. “Do you have a picture?”

“What?”

“Of your daughter?”

When he hesitated, she crawled out of the sleeping bag. “I’d like to see.”

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“Not the first,” she said as she crossed the room. Reluctantly he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Randi’s throat closed as she took the battered leather and gazed at the plastic-en-cased photograph of a darling little girl. Blond pigtails framed a cherubic face that seemed primed for the camera’s eye. Under apple cheeks, her tiny grin showed off perfect little baby teeth. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes.” He nodded, his lips thin and tight. “She was.”

“I apologize if I said anything insensitive before. I didn’t know.”

“I don’t talk about it much.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Don’t think so.” He took the wallet from her fingers and snapped it shut.

“If I’d known…”

“What? What would you have done differently?” he asked, a trace of bitterness to his words. “There’s nothing you can say, nothing you can do, nothing that will change what happened.”

She reached forward to stroke his cheek and he grabbed her wrist. “Don’t,” he warned. “I don’t want your pity or your sympathy.”

“Empathy,” she said.

“No one who hasn’t lost a child can empathize,” he said, his fingers tightening, his eyes fierce. “It’s just not possible.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel some of your pain.”

“Well, don’t. It’s mine. You can do nothing.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No…it’s better.”

“How?” he demanded, his nostrils flaring. “Tell me how you knowing about Heather helps anything.”

“I understand you better.”

“Jesus, Randi. That’s woman patter. You don’t need to figure out what makes me tick or even know about what I’ve been through. You weren’t there, okay? So I’d rather you not try to ‘feel my pain’ or any of that self-aggrandizing pseudopsychological, television talk-show crap. You just need to do what I tell you to do so that we can make certain that you and your son are safe. End of story.”

“Not quite,” she whispered, and without thinking, placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. The need to soothe him was overpowering, nearly as intense as her own need to be comforted. To be held. “If we’re going to be sequestered from the rest of the world, I do need to understand you.” She kissed him again.

“Don’t do that.” His voice was hoarse and she noticed that he shifted, as if his jeans were suddenly too tight.

“Why?” she asked, not budging an inch, so close she smelled the rain drying on his jacket. She felt reckless and wild and wanted to touch him and hold him close, this man who had seen so much of life, felt so much pain.

“You know why.”

“Kurt, I just want to help.”

“You can’t.” He turned to look her square in the eye, his nose only inches from hers. “Don’t you know what you’re dealing with here?”

“I’m not afraid.” She kissed his cheek and he groaned.

“Don’t do this, Randi,” he ordered, but it sounded like a plea.

“You can trust me.”

“This isn’t about trust.”

“No? Then why are we here? Alone together? If I didn’t trust you, you can bet I wouldn’t be locked away from the world like this. Believe me, Striker, this is all about trust. That’s why you told me about Heather.”

“Let’s leave her out of this!” he growled.

“You have a right to be angry about what happened to your daughter.”

“Good. ’Cuz I am and you’re not helping!”

“No?” she said, her temper snapping. “Then I don’t suppose I helped the other night, either?”

“Hell,” he muttered, glancing away. His fingers were still surrounding her wrist, her pulse beating wildly beneath the warm pads.

“You remember that night, don’t you?” she reminded him. “The one where you were watching me from the second story?
That
night, you didn’t have any of these reservations.”

“That night is the reason I’m having these reservations. It was a mistake.”

“You didn’t think so at the time.”

“You’re right, I didn’t think period. But I’m trying to now.”

“So it’s okay for you to seduce me, but not the other way around.”

He closed his eyes as if to gain strength. “I didn’t bring you up here to sleep with you.”

“No?” She kissed him again, behind his ear, and this time his reaction was immediate.

He turned swiftly, pinning her onto the floor and leaning over her. “Look, woman, you’re pushing it with me. A man can only take so much.”

“Same with a woman,” she said. “You can’t just—”

The rest of her sentence was cut off as his lips clamped over hers. Fierce. Hot. Hard. Desperate. He kissed her long and wildly and she responded, opening her mouth, feeling his tongue slide into her, arching as it probed. Her breath was trapped, her blood on fire, her bones melting as he slid his hands up and down her body. No longer did he deny what they both wanted. No longer did he say a word, just kissed and touched and tugged at her clothes.

She had no regrets. This was what she wanted. To touch him, physically and emotionally. Her own fingers struggled with the zipper of his coat and the shirt buttons below. She felt strong sinewy muscles covered by taut skin and chest hair that was stiff. Her fingertips grazed nipples that tightened at her touch.

“Oh, God,” he rasped as he yanked off his shirt, then worked at the hem of her sweater. Strong, callused hands rubbed her skin as he scaled her ribs. She cried out as he touched beneath her bra, skimming the underside of her breasts. Her nipples tightened. Her breasts filled and she wanted him. With every breath in her body, she needed to feel him inside her, to have him rubbing and moving and balming the ache growing deep within. He peeled away her bra and scooped her into his strong arms, climbed to his feet and carried her to the sleeping bag, where they fell into a tangle of arms and legs. His mouth was ravenous as he kissed her face and breasts. Hard fingers splayed against the small of her back, pulling her tight against him, pressing her mound into the hardness of his fly, rubbing her sensually.

She moaned softly as he kissed her nipples, teasing them with his tongue and lips, biting softly before he nuzzled and sucked. Her mind spun in dizzying frag
ments of light and shadow. She saw his face buried into her breasts, felt his fingertips probing beneath the waistband of her pants, burned with a want so hot she was sweating in the cold room, aching for him, her fingers reaching for his fly. “Randi,” he whispered across her wet breasts. “Oh, God, darlin’…” His hand slid down the slope of her rump, fingers stretching to find that sweet spot within her. She cried out and moved her hips as he yanked off her pants with his free hand and continued to explore with his other. Parting her. Delving deep. Causing her to gasp and throw her head back as she arched and he suckled at her breast. He scratched the surface of her need. Liquid warmth seared her.

“More,” she whispered, lost.

He stripped her panties from her.

She fumbled with the buttons of his fly, but they came undone and, with amazing agility, he kicked out of his jeans to be naked with her. Skin on skin. Flesh on flesh. Blood heating, he pulled her atop him, and in one quick movement removed his hand and replaced it with his thick, hard erection.

“Oh!” she cried as he pushed her hips down and raised his buttocks in one swift motion. The world melted away as they began to move. Slowly at first. Friction and fire. Heat and want. All emotion and need. Randi closed her eyes and heard a slow, long moan. From her throat or his? She didn’t know, didn’t care. Nothing mattered but the man beneath her, the man she wanted, the man she feared she loved. This small moment in time could very well be their last, but she didn’t care, just wanted to feel him within her.

Deep inside something snapped. She wanted more of him. More. So much more. Opening her eyes, she saw
him staring at her, his own gaze bright with the same desire as her own. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered as she increased the tempo. He caught up quickly and took command, his hands tight on her as he began pumping furiously beneath her. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his skin tight, his hair damp with perspiration. Yet he didn’t stop.

Hotter. Faster. The world spinning. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh…oh…” she cried as the world seemed to catch fire and explode around her. She convulsed, but still he held her upright, still he thrust into her, and though she’d felt complete surrender a minute before, she met each of his jabs with her own downward motion. Again. And again… Over and over until the heat rose in her in such a rush that she bucked. This time he came with her, his breath screaming out of his lungs, his body straining upward as he let go and finally emptied himself into her.

“Randi!” he cried hoarsely, his voice breaking, “Oh, love…”

She fell against him and felt his strong arms surround her and hold her close. One hand cradled her head, the other was wrapped around her waist. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes as his words echoed through her head. Though they were spoken in the throes of passion, though she knew she would never hear them again, she clung to them. Randi… Oh, love.

They would be meaningless in the morning, but for now, for all of this night, they sustained her. She cuddled up against him, and knew a few moments’ peace. For tonight, she would indulge herself. For tonight, she would sleep with this man she could so easily love. For tonight she’d forget that he was her bodyguard, paid to
protect her, a man who no woman in her right mind would allow herself to fall for.

Lovers.

She and Kurt had become lovers.

The thought hit her hard, battering at her before she opened her eyes and knew that he wasn’t in the sleeping bag with her. They’d made love over and over the night before and now… She opened one eye to the cabin as morning light streamed through the dusty windows. If anything, the dilapidated old cottage looked worse in the gloom of the day. The baby was rustling. It had probably been his soft cries that had cut through her thick slumber and roused her. So here she was, naked, cold, no sign of Kurt, in the middle of nowhere.

“Coming,” she called to the baby as she found her clothes and slid into them. As she felt a slight soreness between her legs, a reminder of what had happened, what she’d instigated last night. What had she been thinking? Embarrassed at her actions, she crawled over to her baby and smiled down at his beatific face. “Hungry?” she asked, though she was already changing him. How quickly she’d become adept at holding him in place, talking to him, removing the old diaper, cleaning him and whipping a new diaper around him.

She found premixed formula in a bottle and, singing softly, fed her child. She heard the door open and looked over her shoulder to spy Kurt, carrying an armload of split kindling into the cabin. She felt heat wash up the back of her neck, but he didn’t seem embarrassed. “Mornin’,” he drawled, and the look he sent her reminded her of their lovemaking all over again. She’d been the aggressor. She’d practically begged him to
make love to her. She’d definitely seduced him and now she felt the fool.

“I think I should say something about last night,” she offered.

“What’s to say?”

“That I’m not usually like that…”

“Too bad.” One side of his mouth lifted. “I thought it was pretty damn nice.”

“Really? But you…I mean you acted like it was a mistake. You
said
it was one.”

“But it happened, right? I think we shouldn’t second-guess ourselves.”

“So it was no big deal?” she asked, and felt slightly deflated.

“It was a big deal, but let’s not start the morning with recriminations, okay? I don’t think that would solve anything. As I said, I’m not into overanalyzing emotions.” He stacked the kindling in an old crate that was probably home to several nests of spiders. “I was hoping to make coffee before you woke up.”

“Mmm. Sounds like heaven,” she admitted.

“It’ll be just a second.” He dusted his hands and found a packet of coffee.

“I don’t suppose you have a nonfat, vanilla latte with extra foam and chocolate sprinkles?” she asked, and he snorted a laugh.

“You lived in Seattle too long.”

“Tell that to my boss,” she muttered. “Actually, when I’m finished here…” She inclined her head toward her son. “I want to call him. If I’m allowed,” she added.

“Just as long as you don’t divulge our whereabouts.”

“That would be tough considering that I don’t know where we are.” Randi finished feeding the baby and
played with him as she changed his clothes. While Kurt heated water for the instant coffee, she balanced her son to her shoulder and put in another call to Bill Withers, only to leave another voice message when the editor didn’t pick up his phone. “Withers must be ducking me,” she muttered as she redialed and connected with Sarah.

“Where’ve you been?” Sarah demanded once she realized she was talking to Randi. “Bill gave me the third degree, and whenever your name is mentioned, he looks as if he’s having a seizure.”

“I can’t really say, but I’ll be back—” she glanced at Kurt who was shaking his head “—soon. I don’t really know when. In the meantime I’m going to e-mail my stories. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, most of the questions I get come in over the Internet.”

“It’s a control issue with Bill, but then it is with most men.”

“Especially if the man happens to be your boss,” Randi said. “Look, if he talks to you, tell him I’m trying to get hold of him. I’ve called twice and I’m going to e-mail in a couple of hours.”

“Well, hurry back, okay?”