Love with the Proper Stranger (20 page)

Miller closed them.

He felt her straddle him, felt her kiss him again, her stomach pressed against his erection, the tight beads
of her nipples brushing erotically against his chest. He was on fire, but he wanted to please her, so he did what she asked. He stayed on his back and kept his eyes closed. But he couldn’t keep from touching her, his hands sweeping down the softness of her skin. He filled his palms with her breasts, loving the sound of her breath catching in her throat.

And then she moved her hips, covering him with her soft heat, and he couldn’t help himself. He pressed himself up, wanting more, needing to feel himself inside her. Now.
Now
.

She kissed him again and he groaned. “Mariah, please…”

She shifted her hips again, granting him access, and with one velvet-smooth thrust, he was ensheathed by her.

He held on to her hips, pressing himself more tightly inside her, praying that she wouldn’t move even the slightest bit, sure that if she did, he would lose control. Too soon. It was too soon.

But she didn’t move. She kissed him instead, her lips gentle against his mouth, his cheek, his chin and jaw, his ear.

“You are now in a very special place,” Mariah said softly, laughter in her voice, her breath warm against his ear, “with birds singing and a waterfall trickling….”

Miller opened his eyes to find her smiling down at him, amusement dancing in her whiskey-colored eyes.

“The next time someone tells you to close your eyes and picture yourself in your special place,” she continued, “you’ll have no problem imagining yourself
right
here. And I mean right here.” She moved her hips for emphasis.

Miller had to laugh. And then he had to kiss her. As he claimed her mouth, she began to move slowly on top of him. Each stroke was sheer heaven as she took her sweet time.

She was driving him mad, and she knew it, too. He could tell from the little smile she gave him as she sat up above him.

He reached for her, pulling her down against him, drawing her breasts toward his hungry mouth, pulling hard on her desire-swollen nipples.

She moved faster then, harder, and he moved with her, filling her again and again as she cried out her pleasure. Time seemed to stop as his entire world shrank completely down to this one woman who was touching him, loving him. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. He filled himself with her, all his senses working overtime as he watched his own ecstasy mirrored on her face, as he heard her cries and murmurs of pleasure, as her softness and warmth surrounded him completely.

He felt the shuddering thrill of her climax and he buried his face in the softness of her breasts as he, too, went up and over the edge. The rush of his release engulfed him, rocketing him to a dizzying height.

Mariah collapsed upon him as slowly, very slowly, the roar subsided, leaving him warm and relaxed and peacefully calm.

He became aware of Mariah’s soft hair against his face. He became aware of the way her breath caught slightly as she sighed contentedly. He became aware of birds singing and the sound of water splashing enticingly down a steep hill.

A special place. Yes. This was a
very
special place.

Mariah turned her head and brushed her lips against his neck. She didn’t say the words, but she didn’t have to. He knew that she loved him.

This was what it was like to make love with someone who really cared. It was incredible—being loved so completely, on so many levels. It made the rather ordinary act of sex seem a miracle. It heightened all his senses and made his heart seem ten times as big. It took his breath away and filled his lungs with sheer joy and laughter. It made him want to smile—all the time.

Miller wondered if Mariah felt the wonder of this miracle. He wondered if she knew, if she felt it, too.

He didn’t say the words, either. He didn’t know how.

But he knew without a doubt that he loved her.

* * *

S
HE LEFT THE PHOTO LAB CARRYING
the box of negatives.

The nice man had seen no problem in letting her take them to her friend.

Once inside her car, she lifted the lid and looked inside. One by one, she held the strips of film up to the windshield, using the sunlight to illuminate them. She went through about twenty of the plastic-encased strips before she gave up.

She was going to have to burn the entire box.

She looked down into the box and saw there was a paper folder—the kind that drugstores use to enclose color prints. She pulled it out, almost on a whim. There were no photos inside, but there were several smaller strips of negatives.

She held one to the light and…

Quickly, she pulled out another and another.

These were other photographs of
her
. Somehow that bitch had taken more pictures of
her!

Her rage was laced with fear. If there were negatives, then somewhere there were photographs.

She was going to have to go back.

She took a deep breath, calming herself. It didn’t matter. She was smarter than they were. She could get the photos. She
would
get the photos. She would destroy the evidence and punish the bitch who had brought her this trouble.

Her calm soon turned to anticipation. She
was
smarter than they were. She could do all that, and more.

She put the lid back on the box and threw her car into gear. She had lots to do.
Lots
to do.

CHAPTER TEN

M
ARIAH FOCUSED THE LENS
of her camera on John. “Smile,” she said.

He laughed as he glanced over at her. “You’re taking a picture of me doing the dishes?”

She snapped several photos in rapid succession before looking up from the camera to smile at him. “No, I’m just taking pictures of you. The doing-the-dishes part isn’t important. You know, I really wish I’d developed those pictures of you I took that day we first met.”

He lifted an eyebrow as he drained the soapy water from the sink and dried his hands on a dish towel. “What? You mean you took pictures of me when I was lying with my face in the sand?”

She had to laugh. “No. I took pictures when I first saw you—when you were out on the beach with Princess. I wonder what I did with that roll of film. It’s probably around here somewhere. But I wish I had those pictures to show you for comparison. It’s amazing—you look so different now. You look so relaxed and… happy.”

“That’s because I got lucky this morning.” John pulled her close and kissed her below the ear. “And I happen to know that the esteemed Dr. Gerrard Hollis recommends that particular activity we took part in as
his number one means of relieving stress. So, yeah, I’m extremely relaxed.”

“I’m not sure Dr. Hollis put it in quite those words,” Mariah said, laughing in dismay. “Getting lucky.”

He kissed her again, on the mouth this time, so sweetly she felt herself start to melt. “I got lucky all right,” he said, searching her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this lucky in my entire life. I really hit the jackpot when I met you, Mariah.”

Mariah’s throat felt tight as she gazed back at him. What was he telling her? There was a softness, a gentleness in his eyes that, were she feeling foolhardy enough, she might interpret as love. But she didn’t want to interpret it. She didn’t want to hope or wish or even
think
about it.

The telephone rang, and she pulled away from him, grateful for the interruption.

It was the doctor’s office, finally returning yesterday’s call. The doctor seemed to think she could resume normal activities—provided she didn’t push herself too hard.

Miller poured himself another cup of coffee as he watched Mariah talk on the phone. He wished he could take
her
picture. Dressed the way she was in only her silk robe, her hair still rumpled from the time they’d spent in bed, she looked incredible—as warm and welcoming and as satisfying as the breakfast they’d made together and shared out on the deck in the soft morning sunlight.

Normally, he resented anyone’s intrusion into his morning routine. The morning was his private time. But as he gazed at Mariah, he knew he would enjoy having all of this on a regular basis—breakfast, watching her
across the table, even doing the dishes. It was relaxed and easygoing. It felt right. Even the silences were comfortable.

He could easily imagine seeing Mariah’s beautiful face first thing every morning, feeling her luscious body next to his every night. He could imagine coming home each evening and losing himself,
submerging
himself in her sweet warmth and love.

That was a dangerous way to be thinking. Mariah had done and said nothing to let him believe she was interested in anything more than a vacation romance. And before they could progress to anything beyond a casual love affair, they both had to come clean and confess as to why they were using false names.

Miller smiled wryly. It was only a matter of time before this investigation was declared defunct. But what was the best way to tell a lover that she didn’t know his real name? When was the best time? Right after making love? Or maybe over a quiet dinner?
By the way, darling, you don’t really know who I am…
.

And he wasn’t the only one working under an a.k.a. Mariah, too, had something of her own to share during show-and-tell. Marie Carver. Former CEO of Carver Software out in Phoenix, Arizona.

He’d checked the files. The company was doing fine. There’d been no reports of embezzlement—and no reasons for it either. Marie—Mariah—had inherited her father’s share of the company when he had died and under her hand it had thrived. Even though she was no longer CEO, she still owned a large percentage of the business—which, if it was sold right here and now would easily put fifteen million dollars into her personal bank account. No, Mariah had no reason to turn
to embezzlement. And according to the IRS, both her personal and business taxes had all been paid both accurately and on time.

So what was she doing, living under an alias, all these thousands of miles away from her home?

Miller had tried to find out during breakfast. Asking leading questions, giving her a clear opening to tell him the truth. But she’d sidestepped all his questions about her business, and somehow they’d ended up talking about Princess instead.

As she hung up the phone, he tried again.

“Mariah is such a pretty name,” he told her, leaning back against the counter as he sipped his coffee. “What made your parents name you that?”

“Actually…”

Here it came. She was going to tell him the truth.

“Actually, my parents didn’t name me Mariah,” she said. “My grandmother did.” She took his mug from his hands and set it down on the counter, then slid her arms around his waist.

Miller closed his eyes as she held him tightly, as his body leapt in response to her sweet softness.

“Mariah was
her
grandmother’s name,” she told him between dizzyingly delicious kisses. “My great-great-grandmother. She was born not far from here, in Georgia, before the Civil War. According to my grandmother, by the time Mariah was twelve, she was an active member of the Underground Railroad. That’s partly why I came to Garden Isle. To see where she lived. I’ve always been fascinated by the stories Grandma told about her.”

Miller was wearing only his jeans, and her silk-covered breasts felt incredibly smooth against his bare
chest—but not as sinfully good as her skin would feel. Her belt was already loose and it opened easily as he parted the front of her robe and slipped his hands against the softness of her skin, pulling her against him.

She pulled his mouth down to hers and Miller lost himself in her kiss.

He felt her fingers on the button of his jeans and experienced a wave of euphoria. Was this great, or was this great? She wanted him again. Her own attraction to him was clearly as insatiable and intense as his was for her. Mutual overpowering lust.

True, undying love
.

That thought came from out of nowhere, and Miller shook it away, unwilling to think about the way he’d felt as he’d held Mariah in his arms after making love.

But it was the way he still felt. It hadn’t faded. It hadn’t disappeared.

He kissed her harder, wanting only to feel the intense physical pleasure she gave him. It was overpowering, unlike anything he’d ever felt—desire of a caliber he’d never really thought existed. He’d heard people talk about the sensation of being hit by a truck, of being blinded to everything but need, but he’d always thought they were weak. They were weak, and he was strong, except here he was, unable to see anything but Mariah, unable even to catch his breath from the weight of the desire that bore down upon him like a runaway train.

He thought his need for this woman would be abated by making love to her, but that had only served to make him want her more. He’d had a taste of her heaven, and he was shamelessly addicted now.

He lifted her right onto the counter, and she willingly opened her legs to him as he kept on kissing her,
his mouth trailing down her neck toward her luscious breasts, one hand working to free himself from his pants and…

Mariah pulled back. “John! We need to get a condom.”

What the hell was he doing? He had been mere seconds away from thrusting deeply inside of her with absolutely no protection—without one single
thought
of protection. God help him, this woman drove all sane thoughts clear out of his head.

Mariah looked at the expression on John’s face and started to laugh despite the adrenaline that passion had kicked into her system. He looked thoroughly, adorably stunned. “I don’t want you to stop,” she told him. “I just want you to get a condom.” She slid down off the counter, pressing herself against him, loving the sensation of his arousal hard against her stomach. She kissed him quickly. “I’ll get one. You wait here.”

Mariah’s heart was still pounding as she ran down the hall to her bedroom. Her bedside-table drawer was still open, the box of condoms on the top. She grabbed one and the phone rang.

Damn! The cordless phone was there in her bedroom, so she quickly picked it up, praying it wouldn’t be one of the ladies from the Garden Isle Historical Society, wanting to talk on and on for fifteen or twenty minutes about the latest event at the library. “Hello?”