The Seductive Impostor (15 page)

“I'm locking you in the south tower and keeping the key around my neck. You're one dangerous lady.”

She wouldn't look at him. Couldn't. Not while her palms still itched to touch him, and definitely not while her whole body still throbbed with erotic sensations.

She was a danger, all right—to herself.

“I wouldn't be there long. There's a tunnel out of the south tower,” she told him, staring up at the dark ceiling that she knew was exactly twelve feet, nine inches away.

His sigh moved through her hair and cooled her sweaty face. He lifted himself up on his hands, straddling her head with his arms and kneeling between her spread legs, replacing her view of the ceiling with his broad chest, powerful shoulders, hard-muscled arms—and his damned arresting blue eyes and a mouth made for driving women crazy.

“If you don't quit looking at me like that,” he said rawly, his eyes narrowed in warning, “we're not going to make it to a bed this time, either.”

Every cell in her body went on full alert. But before she could react, Kee pulled her upright, stood, and swept her into his arms.

Where did the man get his strength? She couldn't even lift her own arms enough to wrap them around his neck.

He headed for the door to the hallway.

“We're naked,” she thought to remind him. “You're not carrying me through Sub Rosa like this.”

He stopped long enough to open the door, and then they were out in the hallway. Rachel blinked at the sudden brightness from the blazing wall sconces set exactly ten feet apart.

Kee carried her into the bedroom across the hall from the tapestry room, headed for the bed, pulled back the covers—God only knew how he could do that without dropping her—then dropped her onto the cool sheets and landed on top of her.

“Are you on the pill?”

“No.”

He whispered a curse, then took her by the chin and made her face him. “When's your period due?”

“In a couple of weeks.”

He swore again, a bit cruder and with even more feeling. Rachel pulled her chin away, but he grabbed it back. He leaned in close and said softly, “You'll tell me the minute you start, because I'll be on you every day until we know if you're pregnant.”

How…chivalrous of him.

The glow of their lovemaking—or rather their wild frenzy—died a quick death. He was actually angry. At her? Hell, he'd started it. He should have left her damned hair alone.

Rachel tried to get up.

But he rolled her onto her back and pinned her to the bed with his weight. “And just where are you going?” he asked softly.

“Home.” She hesitated, thinking she should probably say something else. Something nice, maybe. “Ah, thank you. I had a…a wonderful time.”

The look he gave her was confounded, almost comical, before he suddenly snorted, dropped his forehead to hers, and shook them both with his laughter.

Rachel's temper flared. She shoved at him and was surprised when he cooperated. But instead of rolling off her, he only leaned to the side far enough to reach the drawer in the bedside table. He opened it, pulled out a string of packets, and quickly returned his weight over her.

It was a little late to close the barn door, wasn't it? The cow had gotten out ten minutes ago—twice! Rachel couldn't decide if she was angry or excited.

“We're finishing it, by God,” he growled, setting the packets on the pillow beside her.

“We…we're not finished?”

“Dammit, Rachel. I've come twice and I haven't even touched you yet. Here,” he whispered, tracing one finger down the length of her neck to between her breasts. “And here,” he said, his voice turning raw as he trailed that maddening finger up to one engorged nipple. “And here,” he continued, settling beside her and running his finger down over her ribs, dipping into her belly button, then continuing on.

Her stomach muscles quivered. Her insides clenched. Moisture gathered again between her thighs, and Rachel could only close her eyes as his journey continued even lower.

“And…here,” he whispered gutturally, his mouth tracing the path of his finger.

Rachel gripped two fistfuls of his hair, undecided whether to stop him or help him. But he suddenly found just the right spot, and made just the right sound of appreciation.

With a heartfelt curse of her own, Rachel arched up and said in a near shout, “Okay, we can finish.”

T
he man was insatiable.
The first hint of dawn had crept through the windows by the time they'd used the last of the condoms, and he still wouldn't quit. His tongue was now making its way up her arm, after lavishing kisses over every inch of her right hand—which she was simply too weak to lift away.

She couldn't move.

Didn't want to.

Rachel decided she would just lie in this bed forever and die a happy woman—happy and completely satisfied. Heck, she had actually reached that point somewhere after the fourth time.

That's when she'd quit counting.

“You're going to have to do it without me this time,” she muttered into her pillow, attempting to gather the energy to swat him away. “I'm dead.”

She was answered by a weak grunt from someplace on her left, and a pitiful whine near her now wet right shoulder.

Rachel's brain finally kicked in. Mickey.

She still didn't open her eyes. “I'm locking your wolf in the dungeon, Oakes, if you don't teach him some manners.”

Another grunt from her left, this one sounding pained.

Rachel was proud of herself. It was damned hard work bringing a demigod to his knees.

Mickey finally got Rachel to open her eyes by licking her cheek. She didn't know where she found the strength, but she swatted him away and rolled off the bed, taking the sheet with her, using the momentum to wrap it around herself.

She stood on rubbery legs, wonderfully numb from the neck down, and stared back at the bed. She blinked…once…twice…but still couldn't focus. She ran a shaky hand over her face only to have to brush a tangle of hair out of the way. Ah, now she could see, and the view was magnificent.

Her demigod was sprawled on his back, either shamelessly comfortable or dead. Rachel started her eye's journey at his toes, deciding to drink in the vision of him in an orderly fashion so she could tuck the memory away for a rainy day.

The bottoms of his feet were callused, his knees—ahem—looked a bit rug-burned, and his thighs were long and sinuous and wonderfully muscled. She continued higher, and his—ahem—well, he was definitely sated. She quickly moved on to his stomach, which had more ripples than a whole bag of potato chips. His chest was covered with soft curls, and his thick neck had a couple of red spots she hoped he had enough manners to pass off as razor burns.

Rachel continued onward and upward, eager to feast on his arresting face, only to find him silently watching her. She hoisted her sheet higher and lifted her chin.

He waggled two fingers at her, not even able to lift his hand off the bed. “Come here, so I can wipe that look off your face,” he said hoarsely.

“You can't even wipe your own face.”

“Come back to bed, Rachel, before you fall down.”

She noticed the watch on his arm then. “What time is it?”

“I don't know,” he said, trying to lift his arm but failing. “You got a hot date to get to?”

She made the mistake of leaning over to look at his watch. He suddenly bolted upright and dragged her down beside him. “That's better,” he said, tucking her firmly against his side.

“You faker. You're not dead.”

“I am now. That finished me,” he muttered, flopping an arm over her so she couldn't escape. “Go to sleep, Rachel. It can't be noon yet.”

Noon…noon…she needed to do something at noon.

“Willow!” she cried, sitting up. “She's going to call!” She turned and pushed at his arm still holding her. “If I'm not home, she'll come here, and God save us then!”

He threw his flopping arm over his face with a pitiful groan. “Mickey will have to save us. God's busy watching my boat.” He moved that arm up to his forehead and gazed at her curiously. “Are you afraid of your sister?” His eyes widened. “Should I be afraid of your sister?”

Rachel nodded. “She can be a terror when she's mad.”

“And she'll be mad…why? You're a big girl, Rachel. You can spend the night at a guy's house if you want.”

“Not this house. And not with you.”

With another groan and what seemed like a rather heroic effort, he sat up, scrubbed his face with his hands, twisted his shoulders as if trying to get the kinks out, then softly cursed.

Rachel gathered up the ends of her sheet and turned and hobbled to the door. She stopped, leaned past the doorjamb, and peeked down the hall in both directions. “Ah, where do you suppose everyone is?”

“If they're smart, they're not in this wing,” he said, coming up behind her, totally naked, completely shameless.

Rachel scooted across the hall, tripping into the tapestry room when Mickey rushed in ahead of her. Kee stepped on her trailing sheet, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

“I am capable of getting dressed without helpers,” she snapped, tugging the sheet free and going in search of her clothes.

She could see her blouse crumpled against a table, her pants—in a fireman's heap, ready for her to step into—on the floor by the wall, and her bra was a good six feet past her blouse. She could only see one sock beside both sneakers, and couldn't find her panties anywhere.

“Mickey has something for you,” Kee said.

She turned and looked at Kee first, heat instantly flushing her cheeks. He was standing in the middle of the room, still shamelessly naked, holding his pants.

She looked for Mickey then and found him sitting by the door, his tail kicking up a cloud of dust and her panties dangling from his mouth.

She limped over to the wolf, and after a brief tug of war got her panties back, along with a bit of canine slobber. She pulled the sheet up over her shoulders, faced away from Kee, and awkwardly slipped into them.

She picked up her bra next, turning again and slipping it on under the sheet. Mickey brought her blouse over, and Rachel wiped away a bit of drool and then slipped it on and finally let the sheet fall to the floor.

Kee finally had his pants on and was just reaching for his shirt when a small thud sounded by the wall.

Mickey had her pants in his mouth—and sitting on the floor in front of him was that damned emerald necklace.

Rachel stared at the necklace, unable to move.

Kee had no such problem. He walked over, patted Mickey on the head, picked up the necklace, and silently turned to Rachel.

Rachel grabbed her pants from the wolf and put them on. She gave up on her lost sock and sat down in a chair and put on her sneakers, tucking the one sock in her pocket as she stood.

Her hand came out with the remaining emerald earring. She walked over to Kee, dropped it in his palm beside the necklace, then continued over to the wall she'd come through last night. She twisted a piece of molding, and the panel popped open.

“Whenever you come to a panel in the tunnels, just push on the edge and it'll open,” she told Kee, watching Mickey disappear through the wall. “The best way to find them is from the tunnel side. From the room side, most open with either a twist of the molding or a push on something nearby.”

She finally turned and faced him. “As you explore the passageways, you'll find some fairly fresh footprints. Most lead from the cliffs below up to this room. I found prints of both a man and a woman. The small sneaker prints are mine.”

She waited, but Kee had nothing to say, so she continued. “Obviously others know about the tunnels, and have been coming and going for quite some time now. I suggest you padlock the gate down by the cliffs. Or dynamite it shut,” she added, heading for the hallway.

Kee stepped in front of her, still holding the emeralds. “Do you really expect to just walk out of here without explaining these?” he asked, holding them toward her.

“Yes, that's exactly what I expect to do.”

“Dammit, Rachel. They were locked in the vault. In safe number sixteen.” He stepped closer, shoved the emeralds in his pocket, then took hold of her shoulders.

“But now the set in number sixteen is worth over one million dollars.”

She smiled up at him. “Congratulations. Your inheritance is growing by leaps and bounds.”

He shook her, his face darkening around his narrowed sea-blue eyes. “They were stolen from an estate in France almost seventeen years ago. I want to know where you got them.”

“But I don't ‘got' them. You do.”

He shook her again, a bit more roughly, then suddenly stopped, let her go, and stepped back. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, eyeing her speculatively, then let out a sigh so harsh that her own mess of curls actually moved.

“It's grand larceny, Rachel,” he said softly.

“I am not a thief.”

“Where did you get them?”

Rachel sighed. “You can ask me a thousand times, and my last answer will be the same as the first one. I can't tell you, Kee. I have no idea who stole them originally, nor do I care.”

“Just tell me where you got them.”

“No. Final answer. End of discussion. So either let me leave or take me to the police station and press charges.” She lifted her chin. “Although I can't think what those charges would be, since the stolen emeralds are sitting in your vault.”

He took her chin in his hand and leaned his face into hers. “This isn't a game, Rachel. And walking out of Sub Rosa won't make your problem go away. Whomever it is you're protecting isn't worth the trouble I'm going to cause you. Instead of fighting me, let me help you.”

Rachel said nothing.

Kee tightened his fingers on her chin. “I know you had nothing to do with stealing the originals. You would have been—what?—fourteen at the time? But if those footprints belong to the people who did, shutting me out could be dangerous.”

“I'm not shutting you out, I'm shutting myself out. I'm done, Kee. I'm going home and getting on with my life.”

“I'm part of your life now,” he said softly.

Rachel's eyes widened. “Because of last night?”

He nodded.

She reached up and took hold of his chin in an exact parody of his hold on hers and squeezed. “Last night was remarkable. In fact, it was the best night of my life. But it was not a commitment of any kind, for either of us.”

He stepped out of her grasp and slipped his sweatshirt over his head, then stood staring at her for several seconds, not saying anything. He suddenly bowed at the waist and swept his hand toward the door in dismissal.

Rachel didn't wait for him to change his mind and quickly headed for the hallway.

“Rachel,” he said, just as she reached the door.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“If you turn up pregnant, we're both committed.”

 

Kee emerged from the tunnel into early afternoon sunshine, moving out of the way so Jason could also step through the iron gate. They joined Duncan and Luke, who were already standing on the cliff, Duncan facing Sub Rosa and Luke scanning the rocks below.

“I can't see how anyone could land a boat here,” Duncan said, turning to Kee. “They had to have come in on foot.”

“Maybe there's a lower tunnel that reaches the tide. It'll take weeks to explore all these passageways,” Jason said, shaking his head. “It's quite an elaborate system.”

Kee stared at the pine-studded bluff the mansion stood on. “But the tunnels do have a certain methodology. They seem to be laid out with one major artery and several side tunnels leading to various points in the house.”

“These look like skid marks,” Luke said, hunched down about ten feet away, examining the ground. “Here,” he added, pointing to the base of a young pine tree. “Someone fell right here.”

Kee walked over to Luke and saw where the moss had been scraped off the granite in several places, rosebushes were broken, and patches of sea grass had been pulled up by the roots.

He walked farther down the cliff, following the skid marks as they continued right up to the edge. He leaned forward and silently stared down at the churning water a good thirty feet below, and his insides suddenly turned cold.

Rachel had fallen.

She had nearly slid off the cliff in her flight from the library that first night. Dammit, she could have drowned—assuming the fall wouldn't have killed her first.

Kee turned hard eyes on Duncan, who had come to stand beside him. The look on Duncan's face said he understood the markings as well as he did.

“Rachel Foster needs a keeper,” Kee said. “And starting now, she's got six. I want her watched around the clock. If that suicidal woman so much as chips a fingernail, I want to know about it.”

He turned to include Luke and Jason. “The plan has changed. I thought we were coming here to search for a dead man's stash of stolen goods, but the footprints we found in the tunnels just turned this little treasure hunt into a man hunt.”