Midnight Jewels (49 page)

The room whirled briefly around Mercy and she clung to Croft to steady herself. When everything settled back down she found herself lying flat on the rumpled bed. Croft was already unfastening his jeans. When he stepped out of them she could see that he was fully aroused. The heavy weight of his manhood throbbed with anticipation. He shuddered as he came down beside her and gathered her into his arms. The teasing light vanished from his eyes and was replaced by a far more intense expression.

"I always seem to need you so much," he said in harsh wonder.

"I think I'm losing the initiative in this assault," Mercy whispered. She felt him, hard and impatient against her thigh.

"That's all right," he assured her thickly as he lowered his mouth to her breast. He kissed the budding crest with gentle adoration and then raised his head again. "I'll take care of everything."

"I had a feeling you would," she whispered dreamily. She put her arms around him, stroking the sleek, muscled contours of his back. "Croft, I love you so much."

"I know," he said, his eyes turning to molten gold. "I can sense it and see it every time I look at you or touch you. You
can't begin to guess how good it feels to know you're there for me. It's like nothing else I've ever known."

"I can imagine exactly how it feels because I know you're there for me. A very unique feeling, isn't it?"

"An incredible feeling." He buried his face against her throat with a soft groan of desire. Mercy shivered delicately as he drew his palm down between her breasts and over the small curve of her stomach. When he stroked lower she murmured his name softly and lifted herself against his hand. Her hand slipped down to his thigh and she sank her fingers into his hard, muscled buttock.

"Sweetheart."

"Oh, Croft." She trembled again when his touch became more intimate. His fingers probed with exquisite care, finding all the secret, hidden places and making them tingle with need. He touched her until she was wet and warm and aching with her need.

He stroked and caressed until Mercy was twisting in his arms. She touched him just as intimately, holding the heavy heat of him in her palm. When he said her name against her skin and urged her legs apart with his ankle, she clung to him.

"Take me inside you," Croft said in a hot whisper. "I need your warmth. I need to feel you all around me. Silky and smooth and strong. It feels so damn good when I'm inside you, honey."

She parted her thighs for him, pulling him to her with an urgency that matched his own. Carefully, fumbling a little, she guided him to her. He groaned and then he was there, seeking the intimate connection with her body. As always she reacted primitively to his bold, aggressive hardness. It was almost as if her body sought first to challenge and then to welcome and conquer the invader.

For an instant the delicate muscles at the opening of Mercy's soft, feminine sheath tightened in resistance. Croft
pushed himself slowly forward, insisting on his right to enter and then, before the resistance could intensify, he withdrew. Her hips lifted immediately in a frantic attempt to retrieve what had been lost. Croft repeated the slow entry, opening the entrance more thoroughly until Mercy cried put at the deliciously exciting sensation. Then he once again withdrew.

The sensual teasing drove Mercy wild. She clutched at Croft, struggling to hold him to her. "Now," she gasped, her teeth at work on his ear. "I need you now."

"You couldn't need me as much as I need you."

Then he was driving slowly and completely into her and she was welcoming him, stretching to encompass him, closing around him, clinging to him. He was locked within her and he held her imprisoned in his arms.

The fierce, driving passion took them to a shatteringly intense climax that seemed to last for endless moments before leaving them adrift in a buoyant sea. Together they floated in each other's embrace as love and morning sunlight warmed them.

It was a long time before Mercy stirred and lifted herself on one elbow to smile down into Croft's eyes. "I mink I know what you mean about closing the Circle."

"Do you?" He lifted his fingers to toy with her hair.

"We're a closed Circle, you and I, aren't we?"

"Yes," he said. He pulled her back down into his arms. "You know something? You might make a better student of philosophy than I would have guessed."

"I've been taking lessons from an expert."

"How good are you at walking dogs?"

A Doberman in the corner whined in anticipation as if he had understood Croft's question.

Two months after their return from Colorado, Mercy stood on a short ladder between two towering aisles of used
books and waved a feather duster over the tops of the books. A bookseller's work was never done.

As she worked she mentally planned the evening ahead. Croft would be returning soon from the two-day visit to one of his schools in California. She wanted to have something special for him. Something besides the scandalously tiny set of see-through baby doll pajamas she had bought the previous month for their honeymoon.

Fresh shrimp might be nice. With a Caesar salad, perhaps. And a bottle of Chardonnay.

The plans for dinner were falling into place nicely when Mercy sensed she was no longer alone in the shop. The bell over the door hadn't rung, but her feather duster stilled on top of the shelf of books. Mercy smiled to herself.

Croft was back.

She turned her head and there he was, standing at the end of the aisle. Dark and lean and potentially dangerous, but never a threat to her. As usual, he had materialized without a sound, but she knew he was very, very real. He held a package in his hand.

"Croft! I wasn't expecting you for another couple of hours."

He smiled and opened his arms as she clambered down off the ladder and raced toward him with a smile of eager welcome. "I got away early." He kissed her thoroughly before pushing the package into her hands. "Here. This is for you."

"What is it?"

"A gift from Ray Chandler;"

"Chandler?" She wrinkled her nose as memory returned. "Oh, yes, your friend. The man whose daughter you rescued from that island. How did you happen to see him?"

"I told you he worked for the government. Not being on overly familiar terms with the various and assorted government authorities, except for Ray, I decided to send him that strip of microfilm you found in
Valley
."

"I wondered what you'd done with it." Mercy was busily unwrapping her package. "But why would he send me a gift? He doesn't know me."

"No, but he's grateful for the gift you gave him."

"The film?" Mercy looked up. "What was on it?"

"A list of names. Some of them were powerful drug merchants with whom Gladstone did business in his earlier incarnation as Graves. The rest were the names of some interesting users."

"Users?"

"Very highly placed people in this country who apparently have a drug habit. It was more than just a list of names. It contained a variety of incriminating evidence against his business associates and the important buyers. Apparently Gladstone had developed the information while he was still known as Egan Graves and kept it as both an insurance policy and a potential source of blackmail. Most of the people on that slip of film are very powerful and virtually untouchable. But the information about them that Gladstone put together might make it possible for the various governmental authorities to identify and neutralize at least some of them."

"Gladstone was trying to rebuild his kingdom."

Croft nodded. "Having that list back would have given him a quick boost up to the status he had once enjoyed."

Mercy finished unwrapping the package. When the nearly perfect first edition copy of Mrs. Beeton's
Book of Household Management
appeared, she laughed aloud. "An appropriate wedding gift for the bride."

Croft frowned. "It's not exactly my field of interest, but I was told it was rare. Something
that would attract a lot of interest in a catalog."

"Oh, it definitely will," Mercy said quickly, examining the title page. "It's a first edition, 1861, and it's still in its original cloth binding. Fine condition, too. It's a lovely item. I can't wait to thank your friend Mr. Chandler."

Croft relaxed, smiling indulgently. "He asked how he could thank you and I told him to find you a book you could use to restart your short-lived career as an antiquarian book dealer."

Mercy laughed. "Mr. Chandler must have some interesting resources available to him."

"He does." Croft glanced at his watch. "Ready to go home?"

"I'm ready. We'll have to stop at the store on the way. I want to pick up some fresh shrimp and we need more dog food."

He nodded. "Sounds fine. But then, everything sounds fine around you. Let's go."

"Here, you can lock up." Mercy clutched her new treasure carefully and handed him the keys to the shop. Then she retrieved her purse from behind the counter, opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk to wait for him. The bell tinkled cheerfully as the door closed behind her.

Croft looked at her through the glass as he finished checking the back door locks. He still couldn't get over the fact
that she was his wife. It sent a wave of elation through him that couldn't be equaled by any other kind of knowledge.

When he finished checking the back door, he opened the front door and walked outside to join Mercy.

As usual, when Croft entered or exited the shop, the bell overhead didn't make a sound.

Croft turned back with a frown. Some old habits were hard to break. "Just a minute, Mercy."

He unlocked the door, went back inside the shop, closed the door and smiled at Mercy through the glass. Then he reopened the door and stepped outside again.

This time he made sure the bell chimed loudly.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, you know," Mercy told him with loving laughter in her eyes. "I never
did believe you were a ghost. Just a little hard to pin down at tunes."

Croft grinned at her and threw an arm around her shoulders to pull her close to his side. Then the grin became a roar of full, masculine laughter that filled the street and Mercy's heart.