Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set (13 page)

His kiss was as impatient and demanding as the man himself. His arms surrounded her waist, pressing against her spine and forcing her breasts and abdomen to flatten against the solid length of his body. Through her clothes, she felt male muscles straining, a hard, lean frame moving against hers. Her back was pressed against the bar, and he leaned over, forcing her backward, his heaving chest nearly crushing her as she half lay on the dusty counter.

“Dear, God,” she whispered, her voice rough when he pulled his mouth from hers and stared down into her eyes. “What—what are you doing?”

“Making a point.” His hand moved slowly upward, past her ribs to her breast, which was rising and falling with each of her shallow breaths.

“Don't—”

His fingers caressed the sweet mound as his lips found hers again, and this time the kiss was more gentle, his mouth wet and hot, his tongue quietly prodding.

She sighed, and in that split second he shifted, his legs moving between hers, his tongue gaining entrance to her mouth. A warm whirlpool of desire swept her in its loving current, and all her skin tingled in anticipation. The smell of him invaded her nostrils and she tasted the tangy salt of his skin.

This is sheer madness,
she thought, but couldn't stop the current of passion that carried her without protest as he lifted her sweater over her head and she felt the chill of the old lodge brush against her skin.

“Marnie, sweet Marnie,” he moaned, gathering her close, his face pressed into the hollow of her breasts, the air from his lungs torrid. His tongue was rough and erotic as he licked her skin, skimming the sculpted lace of her bra. Her breast grew heavy and anxious, her nipple tightening into a hard bud of anticipation.

He didn't disappoint her. His lips surrounded her nipple, and his teeth and tongue parried and teased, causing her body to silently beg for more of this sublime torture.

He was all too willing to comply. She felt the heat of his body, the hard thrust of his hips against hers, the exquisite torment of his mouth as he moved lower, unsnapping her jeans, his tongue licking a path of liquid fire around her navel to delve even lower.

Marnie sucked in her breath as he eased the rough fabric of her jeans over her hips, past her thighs, to her knees. Only when his fingers slid upward past the elastic of her panties to caress her buttocks, did reason invade the dreamlike fog of her mind.

Self-respect grappled with passion, and she dug her fingernails into his shoulder. “Please,” she whispered, “I can't…I just can't do this…”

Still he perused her, his hands shifting to the warmth between her legs.

“Adam, please, no!” she cried.

His body stiffened for a second before he drew away, his face contorted as he struggled to rein in his galloping desire. “Sweet heaven,” he whispered, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. “So you're not an ice maiden
after all,” he muttered, his eyes still smoldering. “You're a tease.”

“No, I—”

“You wanted me, damn it!” he thundered, before jamming his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.

“No—I…” His expression accused her of the lie as she struggled back into her clothes. Ridiculously she felt close to tears, but she wouldn't let him see that her emotions were frayed, her nerves strung tight. Her fingers trembled as she zipped her jeans. She could feel his gaze on her, and from the corner of her eye she saw him move to the wall, and crossing his arms over his chest, continue to stare at her. At least he was several feet from her, she thought, finally lifting her head.

“I just want the truth.”

“I don't understand—”

“You wanted me,” he repeated, eyes blazing.

For several heartbeats she didn't answer, couldn't. The truth was more than she could bear. How could she want this man—the very man who had probably cheated her father? And even if he hadn't stolen the money, he'd hidden in her boat and practically forced himself on her. And the lies. She knew that the storm that had been predicted had been fabricated, but why? So he could seduce her?

A tingle of delight skittered along her arms, and she ignored it. She was
not
the kind who enjoyed the thought of men lusting after her…

“Yes,” she finally allowed, her fingers trembling as she snapped her jeans and straightened her sweater. “I wanted you.”

“But you stopped. Why?”

“Things are too complicated between us,” she said, her voice wavering. “You're the last man in the world I should…” She motioned with her hand frantically.

“The last man in the world you should bed?”

She sucked in her breath. “Yes. The
last
man.”

“That's probably why you want me.”

“I don't think—”

“Well, it's certainly not love, is it?”

“No, but…”

He advanced slowly on her, and it took all her willpower to stand her ground. “You know what I think?” he asked, his eyes deepening to the color of dark chocolate.

“I'm not sure I want to.”

“I think you'd like to let loose, I mean really let loose. That's what your journey into the storm was, wasn't it? So why not take it all the way?” He touched her hair, his fingers groping beneath the pale strands to capture her neck and draw her face next to his.

She swallowed and stared into his eyes, her heart racing, her pulse throbbing all over again.

“Come on, Marnie,” he whispered, “take a chance.” He kissed her then, and this time she wound her arms around his neck. Nothing that felt this wonderful could be wrong, she told herself, kissing him back and drinking in the smell and feel of him.

His weight pushed them both to the floor, and this time there was no holding back. As he stripped off her clothes, she worked on the buttons of his shirt and shoved it off his shoulders. Her fingers explored the sinewy strength of his arms and chest, flexing in the springy hair that covered his sleek muscles. Groaning, he kicked off his jeans and rolled over her, his tense male body gleaming and naked in the growing shadows.

“That's better,” he whispered as she twined her hands in the thick strands of his hair, kissing him with all the passion that ripped away her pretenses. He moved, slowly at first, letting her feel the length of him against her sensitive skin.

Instinctively, she dragged him closer, and he kissed first her lips, then her closed eyes and then her breasts. Her nipples ached until he suckled, and a molten heat swirled deep in her core, causing an ache to burn between her legs.

A final protest deep in a dark corner of her mind told her that she was dancing with the devil, that only heartache would come of this, but she was past the point of caring, teetering on the brink of sensual fulfillment. His knees wedged her legs apart. She moaned low in her throat, waiting, wanting and feeling every inch of him as, with one swift thrust, he entered her and a blinding light flashed behind her eyes.

“Adam,” she cried, her voice as raw as the sea.

“I'm right here,” he whispered against her ear.

She moved with him, feeling each glorious stroke as he claimed her for his own with ever-increasing tempo. Her body fused with his, his skin sliding against hers, as the explosion rocked them both, sending her over the edge of desire and into the sweet oblivion of afterglow.

“Marnie,” he whispered over and over again, as his breath slowed and the beating of his heart echoed her own. “Oh, Marnie.” Strong arms surrounded her, and again she felt tears prick her eyelids, but she fought them back. She'd have no regrets, she told herself, not ever. This one moment of passion, be it forever or fleeting, she would treasure. Nothing could destroy it.

A
DAM SPENT A GOOD PART
of the night making love to Marnie. In the hours between their passionate bouts of lovemaking, he lay on his back, listening to her breathing, and wondered if he was losing his mind. Though physically he wanted her as he'd never wanted another woman, he knew that loving her so intensely was a mistake. But he couldn't stop himself. Her luscious body called out to his baser instincts, and her soft blue eyes touched his intellect.

He'd known more than his share of women in the past. Hell, he was no saint. But no woman had confused him so.

Marnie was different. Sometimes utterly naive, other times fiercely self-sufficient, she was a sensual enigma that, had he more time, he might be inclined to unravel.

But she's Montgomery's daughter,
he kept reminding himself as he stared down at her. Sunlight was streaming through the windows of the lodge, and Marnie, curled next to him, looked almost angelic.

A very sexy angel. After her initial reluctance, Marnie had turned out to be a willing and responsive lover, as insatiable as he was.

He rubbed his chin impatiently. What the hell was he going to do with Victor's willful daughter? Make love to her until he was satisfied and had his fill of her? Or lie to her and use her in his quest for absolving himself of all blame in the embezzlement? Or let himself get involved with her and see just how far it would go?

Seeing her sleeping peacefully, her pale hair falling over her cheek, her dark blond lashes lying against her creamy white skin, his gut reaction was to stretch out beside her and start kissing every inch of that perfect, delicious body. Let the future bring what it would. Right now, all that mattered was Marnie.

“God help me,” he muttered, knowing that she was bound to get hurt, as he overcame the urge to slowly drag the sheet from her shoulders and see the morning light against the perfect skin of her breasts. Just thinking about her rosy nipples, hidden coyly by the sheet, caused a hardening in his loins all over again.

You're the bastard,
she'd accused him yesterday, and damn it, she'd been right. He couldn't get enough of her, and yet that's exactly what he would have to do, get his fill of her before he dropped the bomb: he was only using her to get back at Victor. Inside he winced at his own cruel calculations, but he overcame his squeamishness where Marnie was concerned. After all, using her had been part of his plan—hadn't it? And maybe some small part of him had thought that by bedding Montgomery's daughter, he would gain some sort of convoluted revenge against Victor, a man who had scorned his loyalty.

Adam had been the fool, of course. The military had instilled in him a sense of loyalty, and he, upon joining Montgomery Inns, had transferred that loyalty to Victor Montgomery. Talk about misplaced faith!

So he'd planned to use Marnie, and maybe even had started his sexual advances with thoughts of revenge. His strategy had backfired, of course. Now he didn't want to hurt Marnie, and yet he saw no other alternative. She was in the way. Again he glanced at her, and it was all he could do not to touch her hair and smooth her cheek with his palm.

When she'd challenged him yesterday, he'd planned to
prove to her that she was no better than other women, that she, too, had emotions and feelings and passion, that just because she was Victor Montgomery's daughter didn't make her any different.

And he'd proved his point—very well. Too well.

He felt like the proverbial heel, but there was nothing he could do to rectify things. What would the next step be? Offer to marry her out of some misguided sense of duty? No, that was too Victorian. Besides, Victor would only claim that he was a fortune hunter, bent on ruining everything he cared about. And truth to tell, Victor would be right. Because he didn't love Marnie. He couldn't. And she didn't love him. Oh, sure, they cared about each other…at least a little. But what had transpired between them was pure animal lust.

They were trapped, forced into intimacy, and they found each other darkly alluring. All that sexual tension had exploded into unbridled passion, and there was nothing more to it—no complicated emotions, no need to make promises for a future that didn't exist.

He buttoned up his shirt and stared down at Marnie—the princess. What he was planning to do to her was brutal, but he had no choice.

Swearing under his breath, he finished dressing and walked outside. Victor hadn't taken the bait yesterday, so Adam would have to make sure that this time Marnie's old man had no options.

* * *

V
ICTOR
M
ONTGOMERY
didn't like being manipulated. Not by anyone and especially not by Adam Drake. Nonetheless, that's exactly what had happened, he thought angrily. So here he was, feeling totally helpless, about to jeopardize his daughter's trust by playing into Adam Drake's hands. He strapped himself into his seat in the company's helicopter and noticed his companion, Kent Simms, doing the
same. The pilot was already checking gauges and flicking switches, and the chopper's huge rotating blades picked up speed.

“I told you we shouldn't have just sat on our butts,” Kent complained over the noise of whirring blades as the chopper lifted off.

The pilot steered the craft upward before heading north, flying over tall skyscrapers and the vast waters of the sound. “The minute I heard Drake was involved, I knew there would be trouble,” Kent continued, fiddling with his seat strap and trying to get comfortable.”

“I only did what Marnie wanted.” Even to his own ears, the excuse sounded lame.

“The only way to deal with a man like Drake is to take the offensive. Once he's got the upper hand, it's all over.”

“Marnie doesn't want my interference.”

“You don't know that. We haven't heard from her, have we?” When Victor shook his head, Kent rubbed his chin nervously. “Yeah, right. For all we know, she's being held hostage by Drake—”

“He wouldn't go that far,” Victor intervened. “There are laws—”

“He got off scot-free once before, didn't he? A viper like Drake always slithers out of the trap. As for Marnie, she's a woman. And I don't have to tell you that sometimes she doesn't make the right decision.”