Higher Than Eagles (Donovans of the Delta) (7 page)

Louie loved hearing the animals referred to as his. He took great pride in turning everything he touched into a success, and it pleased him that every stray animal in Biloxi was now referred to as Louie’s cat or Louie’s dog. Volunteers flocked to help him get the strays into his adoption home.

He turned and smiled at one of his all-time favorite people. “At two hundred dollars a head, and with twenty-five couples here, that’s an easy ten thousand dollars raised for the home in one night.” He shifted the cigar in his mouth and moved his hand down to pat Rachel’s arm. “That’s not counting the large donation I got this afternoon.”

“That’s wonderful, Louie. Do I know the donor?”

“Could be. He just walked through the door.”

Jacob Donovan stood in the doorway, tight jeans encasing his legs, white shirt open at the throat, leather bomber jacket worn with as much panache as any movie hero Rachel had ever seen. His casual clothes were as out of place among the tuxedos and glittering ball gowns as sin at a tent revival, but he was easily the most commanding presence in the room. There was a fierce wild charm about him, as if he had found secrets in the skies that ordinary people only dared dream of, as if those mysteries were stored, shining and bright, in his soul.

He scanned the crowd. When he saw Rachel, he smiled. It was a smile that could topple kingdoms. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she tasted fear and excitement.

He crossed the crowded room with an ease that had always been his trademark. Everything came easy for Jacob Donovan, she thought, everything except giving up.

“Hello, Rachel. Mr. Vincetti.” Although he acknowledged Louie’s presence, he had eyes only for Rachel.

“Jacob.” She made herself smile, forced herself to extend a cool hand. She wanted to rant and rave. She wanted to pull a pot of gardenias down on his head. “Thank you for your generous contribution. Louie told me about it.”

“I’m an animal lover myself.” As he spoke, he undressed Rachel with his eyes. Bit by sizzling bit, he peeled away the diamond, sapphire, and pearl clip earrings, tossed aside the matching necklace, raked her bare shoulders, then ripped away the black evening gown.

 
Lord
, she was easily the most stunning creature he’d ever seen. Some women got more beautiful with maturity, and she was one of them. The dress was classic and simple, strapless to show off her shoulders, the bodice tightly fitted to enhance her small breasts, and the skirt flowing to billow against her incredible legs and tease a man to distraction. Not that she needed a fancy dress to make her lovely. Her face alone was enough to make his knees weak.

He began talking, more to distract himself than anything else. “When I read in the afternoon paper that your benefit was sold out, I contacted Mr. Vincetti. He agreed to let me come, for a price.”

“Five thousand,” Louie said.

“Five thousand?”

The size of the contribution struck new terror into Rachel’s heart. When Jacob had sworn to be her shadow, she’d expected that he would be at all her performances, had even expected he would connive his way into her home. What she hadn’t known was that he was willing to pay so much to be with her. Not to be with her, she corrected herself, to find out her secret.

“He’s a generous man. Too bad he missed hearing you sing.” Louie pocketed his well-chewed cigar. “She’s already done the benefit show, Donovan.”

“That’s all right. For my money, I expect a private performance.”

Rachel’s chin came up, and her gaze locked with his. “You’ll get no private performances from me, Jacob Donovan—singing or otherwise.”

He lifted one wicked eyebrow. “Singing is your only performance that interests me now.”

“Damn you, Jacob Donovan.”

The minute they had laid eyes on each other, no one else in the room existed for them. The old man standing at their side, avidly taking in every word and every gesture, was completely forgotten.

“Rachel, Ra-chel,” Louie chided in singsong rhythm, “the boy paid a king’s ransom to hear you sing. One more song.” He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “For me, sweetheart, then we’ll call it a night.”

She turned to Louie. “For you.”

Then she swept toward the bandstand without looking back. She knew Jacob was watching every move she made. She could feel his gaze on her.

Leaning down, she whispered to the band leader. When he had finished the dance number, he walked to the microphone. “Rachel Devlin has graciously consented to honor us with one more number—
As Time Goes By
.”

Rachel thought she could sing the entire song without looking at Jacob. But she was mistaken. The magnetic pull of his blue eyes was irresistible. One look and she was hooked, yearning for him, crooning to him, singing only for him, only for Jacob.

He knew. She could tell by the satisfied look on his face. Why? Why did he want to torture her? He’d said he wanted the truth, but why did he keep resurrecting the passion?

She closed her eyes, trying to shut him out as she finished her song. But he was there, imprinted on her mind. His face haunted her, taunted her, making the song so bittersweet a tear trickled down her cheek.

When it was over, the audience went wild. They rushed the bandstand, congratulating her over and over again, praising her singing, the party, the animal shelter. Louie edged his way to her side, taking in his share of the praise.

Jacob waited patiently beside the French doors. His time would come. Soon. As soon as the crowd left. He leaned against the door frame, drowning in the presence of Rachel and the fragrance of gardenias suspended from the ceiling beside his head.

As the crowd began to leave, Louie pulled Rachel aside for a private word.

“That man, Rachel—Jacob Donovan. You two have been lovers?”

“How did you know?”

“A man sees these things.” He shook a cigar from his pack and clamped it between his teeth. “Something’s burning a hole in his heart. Yours, too. You want to tell old Louie about it, sweetheart?”

Rachel put a hand on his arm.

“Thanks, Louie, but not now. Maybe sometime, but not right now.”

She let herself scan the crowd. Jacob was still there. She’d known he wouldn’t leave.

“I’ve had three wives, Rachel. Loved them all in my own way. I know about love. When you need good, sound advice, you come to old Louie, huh? You come to me, sweetheart.”

She kissed his cheek. “How would I get along without you?”

“Very well, my dear. Very well, indeed.” Louie patted her shoulders, her arms, and her cheeks in his fatherly way, clucking and murmuring in Italian. “You come to old Louie, you hear?” With those final words, he followed the last stragglers out the door.

Rachel leaned against the piano, seeking its solid support, while the band packed to leave. The room was silent except for the rattling of cymbals, the shudder of the drums, and the snapping of locks on the instrument cases.

And then, she was alone with Jacob Donovan.

Peeling off his bomber jacket and slinging it over his shoulder, he walked toward her. She pressed against the piano.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“About tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Vashti told me this morning in the park. Then I read it in the afternoon papers.” He put one foot on the bandstand, propped his arm on his knee, and looked deep into her eyes. “You’re a busy lady.”

“I try to be.”

“I admire a person who is not selfish with her talents.”

“You admire me, Jacob?”

Their gazes clashed. They were playing a game, and both of them knew it.

“I admire your voice. Were you singing to me tonight, Rachel?”

“No.”

“You once said you sang all your songs for me.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Six years.”

“Yes.”

They were silent a while, their breathing a harsh sound in the room. Jacob leaned closer, his penetrating gaze making Rachel flushed and hot.

“You’re wearing pearls again, Rachel.”

Her hand went to the choker of twisted pearls and diamonds, brushed over the three large sapphires set in the center.

“Not just pearls.”

“But pearls, nonetheless.”

She thought she would drown in his blue eyes as memories washed over her. Pearls. She remembered so well. . . .

 o0o

It had been seven years ago. Jacob had bought her a single strand of perfect pearls for her birthday. Standing in the bedroom of her apartment in Greenville, he’d lifted her hair, fastening them on her neck.

“Pearls become you, Rachel. You should always wear them.”

She turned in his arms and gave him a long, leisurely kiss. “For you, I’ll always wear pearls.”

He laughed. “One kiss always makes me hungry.”

“For food?” she teased.

“For more.” He bent her over backward, nuzzling her neck, nudging the top button on her cashmere sweater.

“Jacob . . . Jacob . . . .” One touch from him, and she was liquid with need.

In answer to her pleas, he unbuttoned her sweater and cast it aside. Still without speaking, his eyes burning into hers, he unfastened her skirt and let it drift to the floor. Her satin slip whispered as he slipped it over her head. His fingertips dragged slowly over her skin, sending shivers through her body. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her panties, he slid them down her legs.

When she was wearing only pearls and high heels, he made love to her. There on her brass bed with the moonlight filtering through the curtains. . . .

 
o0o

She still remembered how the pearls had felt against her skin, warm and alive. Sensual.

She shook her head and raked her hair away from her hot face.

“The past is always with us, isn’t it, Rachel?”

“Damn you for knowing, Jacob.”

Laughing, he reached for her hand. “Come.”

She tried to jerk her hand away, but he kept it in a tight grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Jacob. Who do you think you are to come barging into my house, ordering me around?”

“I’m the man you once loved.” His face tightened. “And I don’t intend to spend the rest of the evening standing here arguing with you.”

He swept her off her feet and tossed her casually over his shoulder.

“Put me down, you pirate.”

He swatted her fanny and continued his march to the door. “Behave.”

“Just where do you think you’re taking me?”

“Down memory lane.”

The French doors clicked shut behind him, and he began to whistle
Waltzing Matilda
.

CHAPTER FIVE

The plane stood on a deserted private runway ten miles east of Biloxi. It was Jacob’s twin-engine Baron, and the private strip belonged to Captain Mark Waynesburg. When Jacob had called that afternoon, he’d been happy to allow another flyboy to use it.

Jacob parked the rental car, opened the door, and lifted Rachel out. Slinging her over his shoulder again, he walked toward the plane.

“Put me down. I can walk.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

“Look, I’ve given in to this kidnapping graciously—”

“Graciously! You call all that ranting and raving gracious?” He patted her bottom and kept on walking.

“I never rant and rave. I merely express my opinions.”

“The way you express your opinions is enough to make the United Nations sit up and take notice.”

“You used to call it spirit. You used to love it.”

He still did, but he wasn’t about to tell her. Things were already bad enough for him, with Rachel’s body pressed against him front and back and her fragrance drifting around him like an aphrodisiac. The sooner he got her off his shoulder, the better.

When they were beside the plane, he lowered her to the ground, but he kept his arm around her waist, holding her close against his chest. The wind caught her hair and blew it back into his face. The soft scent of roses nearly drove him wild.

“Rachel.” Her name was a sigh on his lips.

She looked up at him with eyes filled with passion. From the moment he’d walked into her ballroom, she’d known they were fated to come together. Heated by the love song she’d sung to him, spurred by the flame in his eyes, melting from the contact of being flung over his shoulder, she laced her arms around his neck.

“Kiss me, Jacob.”

His expression was fierce, then his lips claimed hers. Holding nothing back, she let herself be vulnerable to him. He caught her hips and dragged her closer. Through his jeans, through the heavy satin of her skirt, she felt the heat of him, the size of him.

“Jacob, Jacob,” she murmured.

“Ahhh, Rachel. . . .” His mouth seared her skin. “I can’t resist.”

“Don’t try.” Her head dropped back on her limp neck as he aimed his kisses lower. His tongue found the hollow where her breasts pushed up above the top of her strapless gown. The heat consumed her.

She caught his shoulders, digging her fingers into the soft leather of his bomber jacket. She wanted him. She was bursting with the need to feel him, to
know
him once again.

He kissed every inch of her exposed skin until even the pearls and diamonds at her throat burned her. When he took possession of her mouth, she leaned into him, as eager for him as she’d been six years ago -- before the fight, before her letter, before Bob.

“Rachel. . . .” He tried to pull away, then found himself drawn back to the mindless madness of her kiss. She was a sorceress, a beautiful alchemist who was changing him, turning him from his purpose.

With more than a little regret, he put his hand on her shoulders and gently separated them.

“It’s the heat,” he said, “the damned Biloxi heat.”

They both knew better. It was not the heat of the night that had them under a spell: It was the heat of passion.

Rachel saw her advantage and took it.

“You were never a coward, Jacob,” she taunted.

“I was never a fool, either.” He jerked off his bomber jacket and slung it around her shoulders. “Here. Wear this. You’ll get cold.”