Caress Part Three (Arcadia Book 3) (8 page)

Experiencing the orgasm I had
given her so intimately and intensely drove all the breath from me. My lungs
burned as my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest. But that didn’t
stop me from reaching down and stroking her clit repeatedly, prolonging her
release even as I denied my own.

She kept coming, over and over,
wave after wave taking us both. All the while, she sobbed my name, music to my
ears and a balm to my darkest, deepest needs. I knew in that instant that I
possessed her utterly, if only for the moment.

It was the thought that she could
still withhold anything from me after this that finally broke my endurance. With
a hoarse shout, I seized her hips, lifting her hard against me and drove into
her, thrusting fast and deep. Unerringly, my cock hit the most sensitive spot
inside her again and again.

Her cunt tightened, quivering all
around me. My head fell back as I savored the sensation. She kept coming, over
and over, ragged moans breaking from her straining throat.

My own orgasm hit with the force
of a tsunami, pulling me under. My balls pulled up vise-tight and erupted. Jet
after jet of semen spurted into her in thick, hot bursts that seemed to go on
forever. The pleasure was so raw and brutal that it felt as though my spine was
shattering.

Or maybe it was my heart.

I didn’t care. Nothing was going
to deter me from my plan, absolutely nothing. Not the soft mewing sounds she
was making or even the sight of the tears seeping from the corners of her wide,
dark eyes.

Even as my balls finally drained
and I sagged against her, I knew that we weren’t done. Not by a long stretch.
On the contrary, I’d barely gotten started.

 The front car of the Cyclone that I was sitting in slanted
downward. I clung to the edge of the seat, terrified that I was about to be
thrown from it.

Coney Island spread out to either side. I could see the
colored lights and neon signs of the attractions and hear the lilt of calliope
music.

But it was the ocean that commanded my attention. It loomed
directly below, dark and turbulent, roiled by an oncoming storm. The rush of
blood in my ears rivaled the angry murmurings of the sea and the steadily
increasing wind.

Panic surged in me as I realized that the wood-and-metal
track of the roller coaster with its steep climbs and dips had vanished. There
was nothing below me but empty air. I was trapped with no hope of escape.

The car jerked suddenly. In an instant, my mind darted from
disbelief at what was happening to terrified certainty. I opened my mouth to
cry out but no sound escaped. Mute with fear, I could only wait, helpless to
prevent the inevitable.

Another jerk and then…
Falling!
Adrenaline roared
through me, igniting every cell. Light vanished; I was enveloped in darkness,
plummeting headlong toward a shattering impact. I could smell the salt tang of
the waves and feel spectral fingers of icy water clawing at my face. Horror
filled me.

In the next instant, I shot upright. My heart pounded
wildly. Astonishment at still being alive warred with lingering terror.
What
had just happened? Where was I?

Slowly, the roller coaster car, Coney Island, the ocean, all
dissolved. In their place the shadowed contours of the master bedroom emerged.
Several moments passed before I accepted that none of what I had just
experienced had been real. It was all an illusion cast up by my overwrought
mind, a nightmare.

My relief was overwhelming. It heightened even further at
the sight of Lucas, sprawled on his stomach fast asleep beside me in the bed. The
covers were pushed down below his waist, revealing the powerful contours of his
broad back. In the dim light, I could just make out the thin, red streaks that
marred his taut skin. My face flamed.

Too vividly, I recalled how wantonly I had clung to him in
the heights of passion. The pads of my fingers still tingled with the sense
memory of his sculpted muscles clenching as he drove into me over and over. Deep
inside, I felt the resonance of our shared passion. My chest tightened
painfully at the reminder of all I was about to lose.

The small clock on a nearby table showed the time: 6:10 a.m.

It would be light soon.

Spurred by that awareness, I started to move only to stop
abruptly. My body had a few things to say about the excesses of the previous
day…and night, the long, exquisite hours of unbridled sensual indulgence. I
supposed that was to be expected but I couldn’t manage any regrets, just
lingering astonishment at my own behavior.

As I gathered up my clothes from the floor, I noticed the
faint marks on my wrists. Not very long ago, I would have been horrified by the
sight of them and what they signified. Now all I could manage was a lingering
sense of arousal tinged with embarrassed pride.

I had given Lucas everything he demanded, holding nothing
back, at least physically. And in doing so, I had held him enraptured even as
he held me.

All the same, I couldn’t forget the words he had murmured in
the heat of passion so intense that it threatened to burn away all my defenses.

“Trust me, sweetheart. I won’t let you down.”

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s got you spooked.”

And even, “Let me in, damn it!” This while he was already
buried so deeply inside me that I was no longer sure where one of us ended and
the other began.

Whether low and seductive or harsh and rasping, his voice
had a power all its own. I marveled that I’d been able to resist it. But nothing,
no amount of carnal persuasion or reason-destroying pleasure could convince me
to put him at risk. Someday, he’d understand why I had done as I had. I could
only hope that he wouldn’t hate me for it.

At the thought of how he would react when he realized that I
was gone, my throat clotted with unshed tears. Before they could begin to fall,
I moved quickly. Ignoring my body’s protest, I left the master bedroom.

Upstairs, in the guest room that I’d occupied so briefly but
where I had left most of my few belongings, I made a quick inventory. My father
had said that I didn’t need to bring much with me but that I shouldn’t leave
behind anything that I really cared about. He was presuming that I would never
return. I had to do the same.

The temptation to walk away without anything that would
remind me of my brief time with Lucas was almost overwhelming. But it was vital
that I do nothing that could arouse my father’s suspicions about my true
intentions.

To that end, I shoved a few clothes into a small bag and
looked around for anything else to add. My eye fell on the music box that I had
placed on top of the dresser.

My father had given me the box on my sixteenth birthday. At
the time, I thought it was a childish gift but sweet all the same. Bringing it
along would convince him better than anything else that I was still his “star”.

Still, I hesitated before slowly opening the lid. As the
familiar tune began to play, the words to it slipped through my mind:

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are!

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are!

As I watched the tiny ballerina whirl to the tinny music, I
couldn’t help thinking how much better off I would have been if I had
questioned what sort of man my father really was rather than just accepting his
lies. So would a great many other people who had lost so much because of him.

But this wasn’t the time to dwell on that.

Instead, I shoved the box into my bag before grabbing a
quick shower--two minutes under cold water. Still damp and shivering, I pulled
on clothes and ran a brush through my hair before gathering it into a loose
ponytail. With that much accomplished, I couldn’t postpone any longer what I
knew had to be done.

If I simply disappeared, Lucas would move heaven and earth
to find me. I couldn’t take the risk of him succeeding.

In the library, I took a sheet of paper from Margo’s desk.
My eyes stung as I wrote a quick note:

Lucas,

We were always temporary.

Now it’s time for me to move on.

Emma

Short and to the point. All the better if he thought it was
cruel; he wouldn’t want anything more to do with me.

By the time I finished, my cheeks were wet. I swiped a hand
across them impatiently. My father would never believe that I was eager to
start my new life if I looked as though I’d been crying.

I left the folded note on the small table beside the front
door. It was getting on for 6:30 a.m
.
Lucas could wake at any moment. As
wrenching as the thought was, I had to go.

The temptation to steal just one more look at him while he
still slept was all but irresistible. But I knew what would happen if I did. It
would take very little to turn me into a sobbing, crumbling mess.

Rather than risk that, I hoisted my small bag over my shoulder
and forced myself to walk to the door. With every step I took, my anguish
worsened.

Was I making a terrible mistake? Should I just tell Lucas
about my father? But if I did, what was the likely outcome?

My father hated Lucas; he’d made that more than clear. In
his madness, he blamed him for everything. I had no doubt that he would take
any chance to exact revenge.

The image of the large men with guns flashed through my
mind. That was enough to steel my resolve. I stepped into the foyer and pushed
the button for the elevator.

Just as I did, the cell phone my father had given me rang.

My hand shook as I answered it. “Yes?”

“Are you ready?” His voice sounded strained.

I was sure that mine did the same. “Yes.”

“Good. Downstairs, five minutes.”

The elevator doors slid open. Feeling as though I was no
longer in control of my own body, I stepped inside.

The ride to the ground floor took seconds and felt like an
eternity. I was surprised to see that George was on duty. He smiled when he saw
me.

“Good morning, Miss Emma. You’re up early.”

“So are you,” I said automatically.

“The night man’s down with the flu,” he said with a shrug.
“Looks like it’s starting early this year.”

I nodded, knowing that I should say something more, try to
seem normal. But the effort was beyond me.

Moments later, a large black SUV pulled up in front of the
building. One of the men I recognized from the day before got out. Seeing me in
the lobby, he opened the rear door and stood waiting.

“I have to go,” I said. My voice sounded high and far away. I
felt as though I was back on the nightmare roller coaster, about to hurtle into
a chasm from which there could be no escape.

George frowned. “Is everything all right, Miss Emma?”

My gaze flicked from the man waiting outside to George.
Apprehension moved through me. If the doorman sensed how afraid I was, he might
do or say something that could endanger him.

Forcing a tight smile, I said, “Everything’s fine, George.
Have a great day.”

I turned away quickly but not before seeing his frown as he
opened the lobby door for me. Outside, the morning air was cool and damp,
already hinting at the autumn to come. I shivered slightly as I walked the few
steps to the SUV.

As I reached it, the large man in the dark suit held out his
hand.

“Your bag,” he said when I looked at him uncertainly.

With a growing sense of dread, I gave it to him. He pawed
through the contents quickly until he came to the music box. That caught his
attention, if only for a moment. With a nod, he closed the bag and handed it
back to me.

“I need both your cell phones,” he said.

This was it. Once I handed the phones over and got into the
car, I would be cut off from any hope of help and committed to going with my
father. Instinctively, I hesitated. Everything that I truly wanted was in the
apartment high above, the life, the future that I yearned for. Only the thought
of Lucas and what would happen to him if my father remained at large stopped me
from backing out.

Drawing on all my courage, I surrendered the phones and
stepped into the SUV.

As the door shut behind me, I looked out the tinted window.
George’s face was still wreathed with concern. His features and the entrance to
the Arcadia itself both blurred behind the rush of my tears.

My hand, reaching out across the bed, encountered emptiness.
Eyes still closed, I patted the covers until I couldn’t avoid the truth any longer.

Emma wasn’t there.

Her absence hit like a shot of adrenaline. I jack knifed up
and looked around.

The bedroom was wreathed in shadows, faint light filtering
through the drawn curtains. It was just barely morning. Where the hell was she?

Bathroom? Kitchen? Sipping coffee on the terrace?

I could only hope but the minute I reached the living room,
I knew. The apartment had an empty, hollow vibe. If Emma was there, I’d have
sensed her. A hint of her scent, a rustle of movement, something would have
alerted me.

Instead, there was only ominous silence.

Shit.

I’d done my damndest not to fall asleep. When I finally did,
she was secure in my arms, her body soft and pliant against mine. I’d drifted
off thinking that the way she’d surrendered to me, what she’d allowed, signaled
a breakthrough.

She trusted me, I knew she did. At least physically. The
rest would come. Right?

In the cold, hard light of day, I had to do a rapid
reassessment.

As determined as I’d been to take her apart, break down her
barriers, and make her open up to me, I couldn’t evade the sense that I’d been…what?
Not bested, no way I’d accept that. But definitely well matched.

At the worst, we’d played to a tie so why did I have the
sense that I’d lost?

I tried to tell myself that I was overreacting. She’d just
gone out to run an errant; she’d be back any minute. But even as I grasped at
that, I knew it was wrong.

After what we’d shared, she should hardly have been able to
lift her head off the pillow, much less slip out of bed at the crack of dawn
and disappear. Whatever was behind her absence, it had to be serious.

Back in the bedroom, I pulled on clothes, grabbed my cell
and tried calling Emma. No answer, of course. Fine, I’d do it the hard way.

I was on my way out the door of the apartment when I saw the
note propped up on the table nearby. My hand shook as I grabbed it and flipped
it open.

Lucas,

We were always temporary.

The words leaped out at me. My stomach clenched into a knot
so big and hard that it kept me from breathing. I almost couldn’t bring myself
to read the rest.

Damn her! And damn myself for such a fool to believe that
she had feelings beyond the pleasure we gave each other. Obviously, I’d been
dead wrong.

Furious as much at myself as at her, I crumbled the note in
my fist. I’d never cared for any woman remotely as I did for Emma. For sure,
I’d never opened up to anyone the way I had to her. And this was the result?

Pain made me almost double over. I would have if not for the
small part of my brain that refused to be overwhelmed by the sense of betrayal
and loss. It kept yelling that this wasn’t Emma, not the woman I knew. That
woman was kind, brave, and far too honorable to take the coward’s way out and
sneak off without leaving anything except a few words that amounted to a kick
in the balls.

Slowly, I smoothed out the note and studied it. I couldn’t
be sure, and maybe I was just seeing that I wanted to, but the small blotch
down toward the bottom looked like it could have been made by a tear.

Oh, fuck!
While I was busy feeling sorry for myself,
Emma was trying to do something she no doubt thought was right and necessary
but which was probably only going to land her in a shit pile of trouble.

And I had no idea how to stop her.

There had been times before in my life when I’d been scared
but nothing came close to this. Not even when my father died and I was faced
with losing everything he had built simply because ruthless men thought I
wasn’t strong enough to hold onto it. This was completely different. The
feeling of helplessness that swept over me was nothing less than nauseating.

Rather than give into it, I acted.

I was out of the apartment and in the elevator before I
could do much more than draw a breath. The moment I reached the lobby, I moved
fast.

I recognized the doorman on duty, a nice guy, the kind who
didn’t miss much but didn’t go around yapping about it either. He frowned when
he saw me coming. I couldn’t blame him. If I looked half as wild and out-of-control
as I felt, I wasn’t a pretty sight.

Searching my memory, I fetched up a name.

“You’re George, right?” I asked. “I’m Lucas Phelps. I’m
staying in the tower apartment. A young woman has also been staying there, Emma
Whittaker. Did you see her leave this morning?”

He didn’t answer right away. I got the impression he was
sizing me up, deciding whether or not to break the Doorman’s Sacred Oath of
Silence. I thought about dragging out my wallet but I hesitated. Something
about George made me suspect that wouldn’t go down well.

Finally, he must have decided that I wasn’t a crazed stalker
because he nodded and said, “Miss Whittaker came down about twenty minutes ago.
A black SUV picked her up. There were two guys in it, both looked like hired
muscle. One of them searched her bag before she got into the vehicle.”

From the way he said this--calm but tense--I realized that
he was worried about Emma. Maybe even glad to have someone to tell who might be
able to help.

But all I could really think of was that this was even worse
than I’d feared. The muscle eliminated any possibility that her father wasn’t
involved. Who else would have that kind of resources? Or feel the need for
them?

 I’d sensed that John Whittaker was behind Emma’s obvious
anxiousness and concern. Why hadn’t I pressed her on it? Hell, why hadn’t I
left her safely locked up in the bedroom while I took care of the bastard
myself?

Every ounce of self-control that I possessed went into
resisting the firestorm of fear and self-recrimination that threatened to
engulf me.

Gritting my teeth, I asked, “Did you see which way they
went?”

George nodded. “Three blocks north, then they turned west.”
He shrugged a little apologetically and added, “My eyes aren’t as good as they
used to be but I got a partial plate.”

When this was all over, I was going to find a way to thank
George. Maybe buy him a nice little island somewhere.

He told me what he had--New York license starting X42C. As
he did, I yanked out my phone to call Feeney.

I was about to push the button when I hesitated for a
moment. What if I brought down the Feds on Emma and it turned out that she
really was in league with her father? She could go to prison.

As soon as the thought occurred to me, I dismissed it.
Whatever Emma was doing, she wasn’t remotely a criminal. At worst, she was
acting out of a misguided sense of loyalty to a man who deserved none.

Whatever the consequences of that turned out to be, we’d
deal with them together.

Provided that she was willing to still have anything to do
with me.

Shoving down that fear, I punched the phone. Feeney answered
on the first ring. Without bothering to identify myself--he’d have Caller IDed my
number anyway--I blurted, “I need your help.”

 Quickly, I filled him in on what had happened. Before I
finished, I could hear him moving around, pulling on clothes.

“You must know someone here in New York who can put together
resources fast and figure out where Emma’s gone,” I said.

“Yeah,” Feeney replied. “Me. I came up yesterday after we
talked. If there really is any chance that Whittaker has returned to the city,
I wanted to be on the scene.”

The vise-like grip on my chest eased a little. I took a
breath and said, “Okay, good. The doorman says they went north a couple of blocks,
then west. There must be traffic cams along that route. Can you get access to
them?”

“Sure, but you have to know that direction would take them
to the Henry Hudson Parkway. From there, it’s a straight shot out of the city.
They could be heading anywhere. We’ll need to organize resources from different
jurisdictions. That’s going to take time.”

“What about the license plate?”

“Running it as we speak,” Feeney said. He sounded calm and
highly focused. “The vehicle is registered to a private security company…” His
voice trailed off as he studied whatever he’d just discovered.

“That’s interesting,” he murmured.

I tensed. In my experience, ‘interesting’ never meant
anything good. It was just a polite way of saying that something looked
dubious, if not flat out illegal.

“What did you find?” I demanded.

“The company is flagged for possible ties to the Albanian mob,”
Feeney said. “Nothing that we’ve been able to make stick. But it looks as
though they’ve carved out a profitable niche for themselves providing high-end muscle
that doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“Whittaker must have hired them for protection,” I said.

“That would be my bet,” he replied. “And maybe not just
while he’s here in the city. Someone’s been helping him stay off the radar these
past three years. If he’s running out of money, the way we think he is, he has
to be desperate to keep them from turning him in for the reward.”

The feeling of dread that had awakened in me the moment I
realized that Emma was gone crystallized into the rock hard certainty that she
was in danger.

I didn’t trust her bastard of a father to give a rat’s ass
about her welfare. Whittaker had abandoned her once and he’d do so again in a
heartbeat. I wouldn’t even draw the line at him doing worse if he thought for a
second that she was a liability to him.

Feeney must have guessed what I was thinking because he
said, “Sit tight. This is no time to go off on your own. I’m getting people on
this. You’ve got to let us take care of it.”

On some level, I knew that he was right. But when it came
down to it, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I was going to stand
around twiddling my thumbs while Emma was confronting god-only-knew-what.

If she and the Albanian goons were on the parkway, there was
nothing I could do except pray that Feeney and his pals could find them. But
what if they’d gone somewhere else?

“What was it you said,” I asked, “back when you told me how
Whittaker faked his death? You thought he might have gotten out through the
marina that’s near here?”

“Yeah,” Feeney said cautiously. “The Seventy-Ninth Street
Boat Basin. But he’d be smart not to try the same escape route again. Going
north out of the city takes him toward no fewer than half-a-dozen private
airports. He’d have a lot more options that way.”

I didn’t disagree but I also couldn’t shake the conviction
that Whittaker had to be running scared. Frightened people don’t make the best
decisions. Given the situation that he was in, he might very well opt for what
he already knew worked.

Or at least I had to pray that was the case.

“I’m heading over to the marina,” I said.

“Fuck, no!” Feeney yelled. “You’re a civilian. If Whittaker
and the Albanians are there, you’ll be walking into a ton of trouble.”

“Let me worry about that,” I said.

He was still cursing when I clicked off the phone and stuck
it back in my pocket. The distance from the Arcadia to the Boat Basin was a
little over a mile. I could have snagged a cab but that would have meant
dealing with red lights and traffic.

Instead, I took off running harder and faster than I’d ever
done in my life.