Relative Strangers (22 page)

After donning the T-shirt and shorts Ryan had helped her shed the night before, she went in search of him.

She found him above deck. Kelsey Sumner sat across from him, gripping a glass of iced tea, her face turned to the sun. "Ah, Ryan, I envy your life on this yacht. You know how to live."

"You didn't used to think so," he said.

"I didn't know what was important then." She gave him a significant look, one brow arched. "I think I'm learning."

Ryan, as if sensing Meg's presence even though she had not made a sound, shifted in his chair and saw her. "Good afternoon, you." Going to her, he pulled her into his arms without an ounce of self-consciousness. His kiss was so thorough that she forgot they weren't alone. When he pulled back, he tucked hair behind her ear and smiled into her eyes. "You've been sleeping for fourteen hours. Doing okay?"

She returned his smile, delighting in the flutter in her stomach. She couldn't recall ever feeling so calm, so certain that what was happening was right. "Guess I needed it."

His thumb grazed the skin under her eyes that was still bruised with exhaustion. "You need more."

"We're being rude," Meg said.

He gave her a puzzled look. "What?"

"We have a guest."

"Oh." Ryan turned back to Kelsey. "Sorry about that, Kelsey."

The lawyer rose and crossed to them, smiling. "Looks like you two are getting along better. Meg, you look stunning. The sun, or something, agrees with you."

"Kelsey called earlier and asked to drop by to check up on you," Ryan said. "I told her you were doing fine, but she had to see for herself."

"Yes," Kelsey said. "I know what an ogre this man can be when you spend too much time alone with him."

Meg laughed. "Oh, he's definitely an ogre."

"If you two are done tarnishing my reputation, I'm going to throw some grouper on the grill for lunch," Ryan said. "Care to join us, Kelsey?"

"I'm afraid I can't," she said. "I have a full slate this after-noon, and I'm already running behind. I really just wanted to check in on Meg." She grasped Meg's hand. "From what Ryan tells me, I'm thinking we'll cross paths again."

"Thanks for everything," Meg said. "I appreciate what you did for me."

"Oh, I brought you some clothes. Ryan put them some-where for you." She gave a quick, easy smile. "Not that
you
're going to need them."

As soon as Kelsey was gone, Ryan turned Meg into his arms and nuzzled her neck. He would tell her later, when she was stronger and more rested, what Nick had told him last night. For now, he wanted to enjoy her and her to enjoy him. "You smell incredible," he murmured.

She dropped her head back on a sigh. "She's still in love with you."

The quick flick of his tongue on her skin raised goose bumps. "Who?"

She smiled. "Good answer."

His lips curved against her throat as he felt the rapid beat of her pulse under his lips. "If you're talking about Kelsey, it's been over between us for more than a year."

"What happened?"

Slipping his arms around her, he pulled her close. "We had a scheduling conflict. She didn't have the time or the energy for me. She always had one more case to take care of, one more commitment, before we could get away for a few days, a long weekend, whatever. It never happened."

She clasped his face between her palms. "She was stupid."

He chuckled. "The things you do to my insides. You can't imagine how much I want you right now."

Sliding her hand to the back of his neck, she brought his mouth to hers. When they parted, breathless, she said, "Then take me."

"Come with me."

He led her below deck. Beside the bed, he lifted the T-shirt over her head and watched strands of curls tumble over her shoulders. Pressing his lips to the curve of her neck, he felt her sigh against his shoulder, then lightly nip his flesh.

His mouth moved against her throat and downward. She let her hands slide over his body, digging her fingers into him as he found and played her pleasure spots. Tumbling her back onto the bed, he seared kisses from the tops of her thighs down to her ankles and back up, planted damp caresses across her belly, his tongue dancing around the pink pucker of flesh on her lower abdomen where the bullet had struck her.

Meg squirmed on the sheets, caught in a whirl of sensation that was wonderful—and frightening. God, he'd just begun, and she was already writhing. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she urged him up until their mouths fused together. They rolled across the bed, Ryan trying to fumble out of his shorts without breaking the embrace.

When her tongue flicked his nipple, his hands tightened in her hair. He pulled her head back to the pillow and watched her face as his fingers stroked down her stomach, smiled as her eyes slid out of focus and her head arched back on an intake of breath. Her fingers sank into his shoulders, her body tensing.

"Please," she whispered.

"Not yet." He paused when he knew she was on the edge. She clutched at his wrist, pushing at his hand, desperate for release. When he allowed her to leap off the edge, he put his mouth on hers, his tongue imitating the intimate caress of his fingers. For a long moment, she wasn't aware of anything but the pleasure that shuddered through her.

When reason returned, she pinned his shoulders to the bed and straddled him. He reached up to caress her breasts, but she captured his hands. "No, it's my turn."

She made love to him with her mouth and hands until he was groaning beneath her, straining toward the edge of the abyss that she wouldn't allow him to dive into. Each time she felt his body tense to steel-hardness, she stopped and smiled at him, her hands braced on his shoulders, her legs tangled around his as her hair swayed above him.

He was gasping for breath, and it seemed that every move she made snatched from him the air, and control, he needed. He concentrated to hold himself in check, certain that he would hurt her if he took what he wanted as violently as he wanted to take it. Instead, he let her set the pace and hoped he could keep track of his wits long enough to make her pay for it later.

When she allowed him the pleasure, her own body tensed with spasms that left her breathless against his chest. His hands played against the slippery skin of her back, his heart hammering under her ear.

Nothing could have been more perfect than this moment so close to him.

"I can't move," she said, laughing.

He loved the sound of her laugh and vowed to hear it often in the years ahead. "We'll kill each other if we keep this up."

"Definitely, if we don't have food very soon," she said.

"Good God, you haven't eaten since—"

She grinned down at him.

"What?"

"You're so cute when you worry," she said.

"Cute. I suppose there are worse things."

"Oh, would you prefer devastatingly handsome?"

"Hmm. Yes, that would be most flattering," he said.

"Well, you're that, too. Unfortunately, I'm starving, and at the moment food is far more important to me than—" She broke off on a hitch of breath. Her eyes slid closed as a fresh wave of sensation swept her up. "Except that. How did you—" The thought was driven away. "God."

Shifting their positions, Ryan smiled as she arched her head back into the pillow. "Open your eyes, Meg. I want to watch you."

Her hands clutched at his shoulders as if she had to hang onto him or fall into oblivion. "What? Oh, Ryan." Gasping, she buried her face in his neck and clung to him.

He didn't mind that she kept her eyes closed.

Later, while he showered, Meg rummaged through the cupboards in the galley. She found chicken noodle soup, a box of crackers and a bag of pretzel rods. Ripping into the pretzels, she munched and searched drawers until she unearthed a can opener and went to work on the soup.

Hearing herself humming, she paused. She was humming, smiling like a goof and feeling better than she had in months. Because of a man. That was something new.

She went back to opening the can and humming. The lid popped up. For a moment, she thought the can was defective because there was no soup inside. Instead, black velvet lined the aluminum, and a ring lay in the bottom. She dumped it into her palm.

Ryan ambled into the kitchen, buttoning a clean shirt. She looked damned sexy in just his T-shirt, her long legs tan and firm. He had to tamp down the instant desire, ordered himself to wait until she ate something first. "Find anything good?"

Turning, she held up the ring. "How's chicken noodle and emerald soup?"

He didn't laugh as she had expected. He reached for the ring. "I forgot to warn you about that."

"About the ring?"

"No, the fake soup can." He stared at the ring grasped between his fingers, his face serious.

"I'm afraid I used the opener on it."

He didn't respond, and she started to worry about who the ring belonged to. Perhaps there was someone in his life. Perhaps it had been meant for Kelsey. Damn it, she'd

started humming too soon. "Whose is it?"

He blinked at her. "What?"

"The ring. Who's it for?"

"Beau had it made for Margot with one of the Kama emer-alds."

Relief made her feel lightheaded. "The ones she stole?"

He gave her a humorless smile. "He never got a chance to give it to her before she helped herself to the other eleven."

"How did you get it?"

"It was in his pocket the night he was found dead. I didn't know what to do with it, so I put it in here until I could de-cide."

"It's gorgeous. I've never seen anything like it. May I?"

He handed it to her. "He loved her. I hope he never knew what she really wanted from him."

"The stone, the setting, is fabulous. There's an inscrip-tion. 'Happy twenty-eighth birthday. Love you always. Oc-tober fifteenth—' " She broke off.

Ryan, caught by memories, wasn't paying attention until she put a hand on the counter as if for balance. He saw that the blood had drained from her face. "Meg?"

She shook her head, trying to think rationally. She'd sus-pected it after she'd seen the security tapes. They'd looked so much alike. But to actually know . . .

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked. "Are you sick?"

"We have the same birthday."

Her voice was so low that he didn't hear her. "Come sit down." He led her into the bedroom where he sat beside her on the bed and took her hands into his. "Your hands are like ice. Tell me what's wrong."

She pulled her hands free, unable to think with him touching her. "We have the same birthday. We're the same age." Her heart was slamming against her ribs.

Ryan rubbed his hands over his face. Too soon. He had wanted her to have more time to heal. "Damn it. I was going to tell you—"

"You knew?"

"Nick said the FBI profile mentioned Margot's adoption, and you told him about yours. He cross-referenced your per-sonal information, and the birth dates came up a match."

Pushing herself off the bed, she began to pace. She fo-cused on the anger. That was easier to deal with at the mo-ment. The larger, more important, issue was too overwhelming. "You knew, and you didn't tell me?"

"Nick told me last night while you were sleeping. I wasn't going to drag you out of a sound sleep that you desperately needed to turn your world upside down all over again."

Facing him, her eyes snapped with green fire. "When were you going to tell me, Ryan?"

"Today. I was going to tell you today." He went to her, put his hands on her shoulders, felt her shaking. There wasn't a hint of color in her cheeks. "I was going to tell you. You have to believe that."

She shrugged away from him, holding her hands up to keep him back. "Margot is my twin."

The questions tumbled faster than her brain could process them. Had her parents known she had a sister? Was that why they hadn't told her she was adopted? Had they not wanted her to know they had separated twins? Were they that selfish? Certainly they could have afforded to adopt twins. So why hadn't they? She would never know. Never.

And
Margot Rhinehart
was her sister. A thief. An accomplice to murder. And not just any murder, but Ryan's brother's. What was the irony in that? A long-lost sibling on a one-way road to prison for helping slay the brother of the only man she had ever felt passion for. And if that wasn't enough,

Margot was also indirectly responsible for whatever had hap-pened to Dayle.

Ryan watched the emotions lurch across her face. Disbe-lief and a grief so tangible he could almost taste the tears she wasn't shedding. He wanted to hold her until the pain in her eyes faded, until he could recapture the laughter they had shared for so short a time. But he kept his distance because that's what she wanted. The helplessness made him ache. "I'm sorry, Meg. God, I'm so sorry."

She knew he was. She heard it in his voice, saw it in the gray eyes that begged her to lean on him. But she couldn't. If she allowed him to touch her now, she'd crack. Pulling in a long breath, she forced the shock away. "This changes every-thing."