From the Heart (28 page)

Michael and David. With a brisk shake of her head, she
shut her eyes. No, that part she wouldn't believe. There was a mistake somewhere, and in time the police or the FBI or whoever was haunting her would realize it.

A burglar had been in the parlor. It was as simple as that. Hadn't Betsy grumbled a dozen times about her not using the alarm system? The image of Slade with the gun in his hand came back to her too clearly. That was something she couldn't shut out.

When he came back into the room, Jessica was sitting very still, eyes closed. There were shadows under them. What he'd just learned on the phone wasn't going to make them go away, but perhaps a good night's sleep would.

“Come on,” he said briskly, trying not to soften as her eyes shot open in alarm at his voice. “You're tired. Go up and take a pill if you can't sleep. And you're not going in to the shop tomorrow.”

“But I have to,” she began.

“You have to do as you're told from here on,” he corrected. “You'll be safer here where I can keep an eye on you. Starting now, you don't leave the house without me. Don't argue.” Taking her hand, he hauled her to her feet. “You haven't got any choice at this point; you have to trust me.”

She did. Jessica realized as he pulled her up the steps that if everything else was a maze of confusion, that was clear. That very quick first impression she'd gotten when she'd all but run into him at the bottom of the staircase had been viable. With him she was safe.

“I don't like knowing you're a cop,” she murmured.

“Yeah, I'm not always crazy about it myself. Go to bed, Jess.” He dropped her arm as they came to her door. Before he could move on, Jessica grabbed his hand.

“Slade . . .” She hated what she was going to ask, hated admitting to herself, much less him, that she was terrified of being alone. “I . . .” She looked away from the impatience in his eyes and glanced into her darkened room. “Could you stay?”

“I told you, I've got my orders from the commissioner.”

“No, I don't mean . . .” She moistened her lips. “I mean with me—tonight.”

She looked up at him, pale, soft, vulnerable. He felt the
blood start to pound in his chest. In defense, his voice was blunt and cold. “When I go to bed with a woman, I tend to give her my complete attention. I haven't got time for that now.”

She felt a flutter that was both panic and excitement. “I'm not asking you to make love with me, just not to leave me alone.”

He allowed his eyes to rake down her. Warm flesh, soft curves, and ice-blue silk. “Do you think I'd spend the night with you and not have you?”

“No.” The answer came quick and quiet. The flutter became a throb.

In a quick move calculated to frighten her, Slade backed her up against the door. “You haven't the experience to deal with me, lady.” Not quite gently, his hand closed over her throat. Beneath his palm he felt the wild scramble of her pulse, but her eyes . . . her eyes were tawny and unafraid. He wanted her with a desperation that threatened to drive everything else aside. “I'm not one of your polite country club men, Jess,” he told her in a dangerously quiet voice. “You don't know the places I've been, the things I've done. I could show you tricks that would make your French lover look like a Boy Scout. If I decided I wanted you, you couldn't run fast enough.”

She could barely hear him over the dull thud of her heart. Her eyes had misted over with desire. “Which of us is running, Slade?” Her arms were already heavy, but she lifted them. In one long slow stroke, she ran her hands up his naked back. He stiffened. The fingers on her throat tightened swiftly. She pressed her body to his.

“Damn you, Jess.” On a groan, his mouth came down to savage hers.

Her senses whirled from the onslaught, but she clung. This was what she wanted—the mindless passion he could bring her on the instant of contact. The kiss wasn't loverlike; it wasn't the worshipful merging of lips, the gentle teasing of tongues. It was madness. Jessica abdicated her sanity without a second thought. Let him teach her what he would.

He ripped the robe from her where they stood, then gave into the driving need to let his hands mold every inch of her.
Softer, inconceivably softer than he imagined, her skin seemed to flow under his fingers. Within seconds he had her trembling, one wracking, convulsive shudder after another. Her thighs were slim and strong. Running a hand up them, he found her, then took her gasping to a staggering peak until she swayed helplessly in his arms.

Slade swore again, knowing he couldn't stop. He had told himself he would treat her callously and then walk away—to save her . . . to save himself. Now she was moist and warm and pliant in his arms. Her fragrance clung to the air, seducing him. He shook his head, struggling to clear it, but she pressed her lips to his throat, huskily murmuring his name.

He was with her in bed, not even aware if he had dragged or carried her there.

Jessica twisted under him, answering his kiss deliriously as his hands moved everywhere. He gave her no chance to orient herself. There was a tangle of sheets under her, the soft fabric of his jeans against her legs, but she was only aware of the hurricane. That's where he took her—all speeding wind and black sky. His ragged breathing shivered into her ear before his tongue darted inside.

In a zigzagging journey that had her mind spinning, he ran open-mouthed, nibbling kisses down her throat to the hollow between her breasts. She arched, her nipples hard with need, but he continued down and ran his tongue along the line of her ribs. Half mad, she dug her fingers into his hair, wanting him to take her before she exploded, wanting the agonizing pleasure to go on forever.

Greedily, he came back to her breast, the moist trail his tongue left causing her to shudder with fire and ice by turns. His teeth nipped into the soft swell of flesh while with a fingertip he began a slow, torturous path around the other. Lips and finger circled in until she was writhing beneath him. He drew her nipple into his mouth, catching the other arching point between his thumb and finger. Jessica cried out as the dual pleasure exploded, then was lost in wave after wave of sensation as his teasing became rampant hunger.

She was tugging at his jeans, but he shifted away from her seeking hands. Without the restriction he knew he'd take her instantly. He was far from ready. He'd sensed her passion,
knew it lay smoldering, but now it was engulfing him in a heat he hadn't foreseen. She was wildly responsive, like a thoroughbred mare given her head. He wanted to drive her—drive them both—to the breaking point.

The musky, woodsy scent seemed to emanate from her skin wherever he buried his lips. Her body was slender, almost too slender, but with a seductive womanly softness that made him want to go on touching and tasting until there was no inch of her he didn't know. When his mouth brushed low over her stomach, she moaned, nails digging into his shoulders as she urged him down. He could hear his name trembling out of her lips between raw, gasping breaths. But when his tongue sought and found the center of her pleasure, he lost everything else.

He drove her to peak after peak. Exhausted, Jessica hungered for more. Her skin was fused to his, both hot and damp with desire. Her body was stunningly alive, throbbing from thousands of minute pulses he had discovered and exploited. Even his name wouldn't form on her lips any longer. Together they struggled with the last barrier of clothing that kept them apart. She found his hips, lean and long-boned; his thighs, firm and muscled.

They came together savagely, each gasping from the shock of power.

She couldn't stop the shudders. They continued to race through her long after Slade lay beside her, silent. Her body ached. And glowed. Did we make love or war? Jessica wondered dizzily. Whatever had happened between them had never happened to her before, and she knew with a certainty that it would never happen with any other man.

None of her inhibitions had surfaced—he wouldn't have allowed them to. Was there another man with his strength, his intensity, his . . . savagery? Not for her, Jessica realized, instinctively rolling to him. There had never been, nor would there ever be anyone else for her. She'd lost that vital part of herself to him long before they had ever gone to bed—her heart.

Oh, I love you, she thought, whoever, whatever you are. And the surest way to turn you away from me now is to tell you. Closing her eyes, Jessica rested her head on his shoulder.
You're already wondering how you lost control enough to take me to bed, she concluded with instinctive accuracy. Already wondering how to prevent this from happening again.
But I'm not going to lose you.
The vow formed firmly as she ran a hand over his chest. You're not getting away, Slade; struggle all you want. Lightly, she ran a trail of kisses over his shoulder to his throat.

“Jess.” Slade put up a hand to stop her. He'd never be able to think clearly with her touching him. If he was going to find his way out of the quicksand he was rapidly sinking in, he had to think.

Jessica merely kissed the fingers that got in her way, then trailed her lips to his cheek. “Hold me,” she murmured. “I want your arms around me.”

With an effort, Slade resisted the husky demand and the soft lips that insisted on clouding his brain. “Jessica, this isn't smart. We've got—”

“I don't want to be smart, Slade,” she interrupted. She shifted so that her head was just above his, her lips just above his. “Don't talk, not tonight.” When her fingers ran down his side, she had the satisfaction of feeling his quick, involuntary tremor. “I want you.” Her tongue traced his lips. She felt the sudden thunder of his heart against her breast. “You want me. That's all there is tonight.”

In the darkness he could see the pale clouds of hair, the moonlit skin shadowed by the slash of cheekbone. He saw the amber fire of her eyes before her mouth took his and captured him.

S
lade woke beside her. She was deep in an exhausted sleep, her breathing slow and regular. There were shadows under the sweep of lashes, dark smudges against pale skin. His arm was around her slim waist; in sleep he'd betrayed himself by wanting her close. They shared the same pillow. He spent several minutes cursing himself before he rolled out of bed. Jessica didn't even stir. He grabbed up his jeans and went to his own room and straight to the shower.

Deliberately, Slade turned the cold on full. Hadn't he saturated himself enough with her last night? he asked himself furiously as the icy spray hit his body like sharp pinpricks. Did he have to wake up wanting her? Need for her, this kind of consuming need, was going to interfere with his job. Slade had to remind himself again and again that Jessica was a job, only a job.

And in the brief phone conversation the night before, he had been told enough to make him realize that her position had become only more delicate. Someone wanted something in her house—someone she trusted. Knowing who it was wouldn't be enough. Slade had to find out what it was. Or rather the Feds had to find out what, he corrected grimly. He had to stick to her like glue until it was all over.

Why the hell don't they let me get her out of here? he thought on a fresh burst of fury. The order over the phone had been firm and unarguable. Jessica stayed. The investigation
couldn't be jeopardized by letting her walk. She stayed, Slade repeated silently. And he wasn't to let her out of his sight for the next forty-eight hours. That didn't include sleeping with her, he reminded himself as he let the cold water sluice over his head. It didn't include getting so caught up in her that he forgot what he was doing there in the first place. And how the hell was he supposed to live in the same house with her now and not touch her?

He grabbed the soap and lathered himself roughly. Maybe it would wash away the woodsy scent that seemed to have crept into his own skin.

 

Waking, Jessica reached for him. He was gone, and so, instantly, was her peace. The few hours of sleep had left her tightly strung instead of relaxed. If he had been there, if she could have turned to him on wakening, she wouldn't have felt the sick sense of loss.

David and Michael.
No, she couldn't even allow herself to think it. Covering her face with her hands, Jessica struggled to block it out. But then she could see the icy look in Slade's eyes when he had aimed the gun on her. It's madness, it's a mistake. A quarter of a million in diamonds. Interpol.
David and Michael.

Unable to bear it, she sprang out of bed. She needed to clear her brain, to think. The house felt like an airless prison. She threw on her clothes and headed for the beach.

When he came by her room to check on her ten minutes later, Slade found the bed empty. The quick panic was as uncharacteristic as it was unprofessional. Hurriedly, he checked the bath and her sitting room before going downstairs. He didn't find Jessica in the dining room, but Betsy.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

Betsy cleared off the place she had set for Jessica, then scowled at him. “So you're in a chipper mood too.”

“Where's Jessica?”

Betsy sent him a shrewd look. “Looks sick this morning, wonder if she caught David's flu. Down at the beach,” she continued before he could snap at her.

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone. Didn't even take that overgrown mutt with her.
Said she's not going into work today, and . . .” Betsy placed her hands on her hips and scowled at his retreating back. “Well,” she muttered and clucked her tongue.

It was cold. Concealing his shoulder holster under his jacket was simple. By the time Slade had reached the beach steps, he'd nearly run out of curses. Hadn't anything he'd said to her the night before gotten through? He spotted her standing near the breakers and tore down the steps and across the sand.

Jessica heard his approach and turned. Whatever she might have said slipped back down her throat as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

“
You idiot!
What are you doing down here alone? Don't you know the position you're in?”

Her hand swung out, connecting sharply with his cheek. The slap stunned both of them, causing angry eyes to meet angry eyes in quick surprise. His grip loosened enough for Jessica to step back. “Don't you shout at me,” she ordered, automatically soothing the flesh his hands had bruised. “I don't have to take that from anyone.”

“You'll take it from me,” he said evenly. “I'll give you that one, Jess, but remember, I hit back. What are you doing out here?”

“I'm taking a walk,” she snapped. “I arranged for David to take over the shop today, as per your orders, Sergeant.”

So we're back to that, he reflected and dug his hands into his pockets. His hair whipped unheeded around his face. “Fine. My next order is that you're not to leave the house until I say so.”

The fire in her eyes was suddenly misted with tears. Hugging herself, she spun away from him. She'd show him anger, she'd show him passion, but she refused to show him weakness. “House arrest?” she said thickly.

He'd rather have had her slap him again than cry. “Protective custody,” he countered. With a sigh, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Jess . . .”

Swiftly she shook her head, knowing that kind words would undermine her completely. When she felt his brow drop to the top of her head, she squeezed her eyes tight.

“Don't fall apart now,” he murmured. “It won't be for very long. When it's over—”

“When it's over, what?” she interrupted in swift despair. “Will one of the people closest to me be in jail? Am I supposed to look forward to that?” On a long breath, she opened her eyes and looked out to sea. The water was choppy, white-capped and gray. A storm was coming in, she thought dispassionately. The sky was beginning to boil with it.

“You're supposed to get through today,” he told her, tightening his grip. “Then you're supposed to get through tomorrow.”

Life, she mused. Is that really how life's supposed to be? Is that how he felt about his? “Why did you leave me alone this morning?”

His hands dropped away from her shoulders. Without turning, Jessica knew he'd stepped back. Gathering her courage, she faced him. All the guards were back. If her body had not still ached from the fury of lovemaking, she might have thought she'd imagined all of the night before. The man staring at her showed no hint of emotion.

“You're going to tell me it was a mistake,” she managed after a moment. “Something that shouldn't have happened and won't happen again.” Her chin came up as love warred with pride. “Please don't bother.”

He should have let her go. He intended to let her go. Before he could stop himself, Slade took her arm, carefully wrapping his fingers around it as if measuring its size and strength. “I'm going to tell you it was a mistake,” he said slowly. “Something that shouldn't have happened. But I can't tell you it won't happen again. I can't be near you and not want you.”

 

The man shifted his position in the cover of trees. With businesslike movements, he opened the briefcase and began to fit the pieces of the rifle together. For the moment he paid little attention to the two figures down on the beach. One thing at a time. That was one of the reasons for his success in his field. He'd only had the contract for four hours and was relatively pleased that it would take him little more than that to complete it.

After snapping on the sight, he pulled out a handkerchief.
The brisk wind wasn't doing his head cold any good. But then, ten thousand dollars bought a lot of antihistamines. After sneezing softly, he replaced his handkerchief, then drew a bead on the figures on the beach.

 

Jessica felt some of her strength returning. “Why was it a mistake then?”

Slade let out an impatient breath.
Because I'm a cop from the Lower East Side who's seen things I could never tell you about. Because I want you so much—not just now, this minute, but tomorrow, twenty years from now—and that scares me.

“Oil and water, Jess, it's as simple as that. You wanted to walk, we'll walk.” Slipping his hand from her arm, he interlaced his fingers with hers, then turned away from the shore.

 

He lowered his rifle as Slade blocked his clear shot of Jessica. The contract was for the woman only, and business was business. The wind fluttered at his drab-colored overcoat and snuck underneath it. Sniffling, he brought his handkerchief out again, then settled down to wait.

 

Jessica kicked a pebble into a clump of rocks. “You are a writer, aren't you?”

“So I tell myself.”

“Then why do you do this? You don't like it—it shows.”

It wasn't supposed to show. The fact that she could see what he'd successfully concealed from everyone—including himself from time to time—infuriated Slade. “Look, I do what I have to, what I know. Not everybody has a choice.”

“No,” she disagreed. “Everyone has a choice.”

“I've got a mother waiting tables and living off a dead cop's pension.” The words exploded from him, stopping her. “I've got a sister in her third year of college who's got a chance to be something. You don't pay tuition with rejection slips.”

Jessica lifted both hands to his face. Her palms were cool and soft. “Then you made your choice, Slade. Not every man
would have made the same one. When the time comes, and you publish, you'll have everything.”

“Jess.” He took her wrists, but held them a moment instead of pulling her hands from his face. Her pulse speeded instantly at his touch, drawing an unwilling response from him. “You get to me,” he muttered.

“And you don't like it.” She leaned toward him, lashes lowering.

He crushed her to him, devouring the willing mouth. It was as cool as her hands but heated quickly beneath his. Already frantic, he grabbed her hair, drawing her head back farther so he could plunder all the sweet, moist recesses. Her arms went around his neck, imprisoning him in the softness, the fragrance, the need.

The back of his head was caught in the crosshairs of the scope of a high-powered rifle with a sophisticated silencer.

“Jess.” His lips moved against hers with the sound of her name. He broke away only to catch her close to his chest, holding her there while he tried to steady himself. “You're tired,” he said when he heard her sigh. “We'll go in. You should get some more sleep.”

She allowed him to shift her to his side. Patience, she told herself. This isn't a man who gives himself easily. “I'm not tired,” she lied, matching her steps to his. “Why don't I give you a hand in the library?”

“That's all I need,” he muttered, casting his eyes up. In his peripheral vision, he caught a quick flutter of white among the thinning leaves in the grove. He tensed, muscles tightening as he strained to see. There was nothing more than a rustling, easily caused by the wind. Then the flutter of white again.

“I'm terrific at organizing if I put my mind to it,” Jessica claimed as she stepped in front of him. “And I—” The breath was knocked out of her as Slade shoved her to the ground in back of a small outcropping of rock. She heard a quick ping, as if stone had struck stone. Before she could fill her lungs with air, he'd drawn out his gun. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“Don't move.” He didn't even look at her, but kept her pinned beneath him as his eyes swept the beach. Jessica's eyes were locked on his gun.

“Slade?”

“He's in the grove, about ten feet to the right of where we are now,” he calculated, thinking out loud. “It's a good position; he won't move—at least for a while.”

“Who?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”

He brought his eyes to hers briefly, chilling her with the hard, cold look she'd seen before. “The man who just took a shot at you.”

She went as still and stiff as a statue. “No one did, I didn't hear—”

“He's got it silenced.” Slade shifted just enough to get a clearer view of the beach steps. “He's a pro, he'll wait us out.”

Jessica remembered the odd sound she'd heard just as Slade had shoved her to the ground. Stone hitting stone. Bullet hitting rock. A wave of dizziness swept over her, clouding her vision until she saw nothing but a gray mist. From a distance she heard Slade's voice and struggled against the faintness. Heart pounding in her ears, she focused on him again. He was still looking beyond her to the beach steps.

“ . . . that we know he's there.”

“What?”

Impatiently, Slade looked down at her. There wasn't a trace of color in her face. Against the pallor, her eyes were dull and unfocused. He couldn't allow her the luxury of going into shock. “Snap out of it and listen to me,” he said harshly, catching her face in his hand. “Odds are he doesn't know we've made him. He probably thinks we're back here making love. If my cover was blown, he'd have taken care of me instead of waiting to get a clear shot at you. Now you've only got to do one thing, Jess, understand?”

“One thing,” she repeated with a nod.

“Stay put.”

She nearly gave way to a hysterical giggle. “That sounds like a good idea. How long do you think we'll have to stay here?”

“You stay until I get back.”

Her arms came around him quickly and with desperate strength. “You're not going out there! He'll kill you.”

“It's you he wants,” Slade said flatly as he pried her arms away from his neck. “I want you to do exactly as I say.”

He wriggled on top of her and managed to shrug out of his jacket, then the shoulder holster. After tugging his shirt out of his jeans, he tucked the gun in the back waistband. “I'm going to stand up, and after a minute I'll walk over to the steps. He'll either think you wouldn't play games or that we're finished and you're staying out for a while.”