Heartbreaker (22 page)

“John Patrick Rafferty, you aren't in any shape to begin carrying on like that.”

“Aren't I?”

She refused to look at his lap. “You shouldn't be jostled.”

“I don't want to be jostled. I just want a kiss.” He gave her a slow, wicked grin despite the swelling in his face. “The spirit's willing, but the body's tired as hell.”

She bent to kiss him, loving his lips gently with her own. When she tried to lift her head he thrust his fingers into her hair and held her down while his mouth molded to hers, his tongue making teasing little forays to touch hers. He gave a sigh of pleasure and let her up, but shifted his hand to her bottom to hold her beside him. “What've you been doing while I've been lying in cold halls in between bouts of being stuck, prodded, x-rayed and prodded some more?”

“Oh, I've been really entertained. You don't realize what an art mopping is until you've seen a master do it. There's also a four-star cafeteria here, specializing in the best stale crackers I've ever eaten.” She grinned, thinking he'd never realize the truth of that last statement.

He returned the grin, thinking that once he would have accused her of being spoiled. He knew better now, because he'd been trying his damnedest to spoil her, and she persisted in being satisfied with far less than he would gladly have given her any day of the week. Her tastes didn't run to caviar or mink, and she'd been content to drive that old truck of hers instead of a Porsche. She liked silk and had beautiful clothes, but she was equally content wearing a cotton shirt and jeans. It wasn't easy to spoil a woman who was happy with whatever she had.

“Arrange to have a bed moved in here for you,” he ordered. “Unless you want to sleep up here with me?”

“I don't think the nurses would allow that.”

“Is there a lock on the door?”

She laughed. “No. You're out of luck.”

His hand moved over her bottom, the slow, intimate touch of a lover. “We need to talk. Will it bother you if I lose this eye?”

Until then she hadn't realized that he might lose the eye as well as his sight. She sucked in a shocked breath, reaching blindly for his hand. He continued to watch her steadily, and slowly she relaxed, knowing what was important.

“It would bother me for your sake, but as for me… You can be one-eyed, totally blind, crippled, whatever, and I'll still love you.”

There. She'd said it. She hadn't meant to, but the words had come so naturally that even if she could take them back, she wouldn't.

His right eye was blazing black fire at her. She had never seen anyone else with eyes as dark as his, night-black eyes that had haunted her from the first time she'd met him. She looked down at him and managed a tiny smile that was only a little hesitant as she waited for him to speak.

“Say that again.”

She didn't pretend not to know what he meant, but she had to take another deep breath. Her heart was pounding. “I love you. I'm not saying that to try to trap you into anything. It's just the way I feel, and I don't expect you to—”

He put his fingers over her mouth. “It's about damn time,” he said.

 

Chapter Twelve

“Y
OU'RE VERY LUCK
Y
,
Mr. Rafferty,” Dr. Norris said, looking over his glasses. “Your cheekbone seems to have absorbed most of the impact. It's fractured, of course, but the orbital bone is intact. Nor does there seem to be any damage to the eye itself, or any loss of sight. In other words, you have a hell of a shiner.”

Michelle drew a deep breath of relief, squeezing John's hand. He winked at her with his right eye, then drawled, “So I've spent four days in a hospital because I have a black eye?”

Dr. Norris grinned. “Call it a vacation.”

“Well, vacation's over, and I'm checking out of the resort.”

“Just take it easy for the next few days. Remember that you have stitches in your head, your cheekbone is fractured, and you had a mild concussion.”

“I'll keep an eye on him,” Michelle said with a note of warning in her voice, looking at John very hard. He was probably planning to get on a horse as soon as he got home.

When they were alone again John put his hands behind his head, watching her with a distinct glitter in his eyes. After four days the swelling around his eye had subsided enough that he could open it a tiny slit, enough for him to see with it again. His face was still a mess, discolored in varying shades of black and purple, with a hint of green creeping in, but none of that mattered beside the fact that his eye was all right. “This has been a long four days,” he murmured. “When we get home, I'm taking you straight to bed.”

Her blood started running wild through her veins again, and she wondered briefly if she would always have this uncontrolled response to him. She'd been completely vulnerable to him from the start, and her reaction now was even stronger. Her body was changing as his baby grew within her, invisible changes as yet, but her skin seemed to be more sensitive, more responsive to his lightest touch. Her breasts throbbed slightly, aching for the feel of his hands and mouth.

She had decided not to tell him about the baby just yet, especially not while his eyesight was still in doubt, and had been at pains during the past four days to keep her uneasy stomach under control. She munched on crackers almost constantly, and had stopped drinking coffee because it made the nausea worse.

She could still see the hard satisfaction that had filled his face when she'd told him she loved him, but he hadn't returned the words. For a horrible moment she'd wondered if he was gloating, but he'd kissed her so hard and hungrily that she had dismissed the notion even though she'd felt a lingering pain. That night, after the lights were out and she was lying on the cot that had been brought in, he had said, “Michelle.”

His voice was low, and he hadn't moved. She'd lifted her head to stare through the darkness at him. “Yes?”

“I love you,” he had said quietly.

Tremors shook her, and tears leaped to her eyes, but they were happy tears. “I'm glad,” she had managed to say.

He'd laughed in the darkness. “You little tease, just wait until I get my hands on you again.”

“I can't wait.”

Now he was all right, and they were going home. She called Nev to come pick them up, then hung up the phone with hands that had become damp. She wiped them on her slacks and lifted her chin. “Have you heard if Deputy Phelps has found a lead on Roger yet?”

John had been dressing, but at her words his head snapped around and his good eye narrowed on her. Slowly he zipped his jeans and fastened them, then walked around the bed to tower over her threateningly. Michelle's gaze didn't waver, nor did she lower her chin, even though she abruptly felt very small and helpless.

He didn't say anything, but simply waited, his mouth a hard line beneath his mustache. “I eavesdropped,” she said calmly. “I had already made the connection between the phone calls and the guy who forced me off the road, but how did you tie everything together?”

“Just an uneasy feeling and a lot of suspicions,” he said. “After that last call, I wanted to make certain I knew where he was. There were too many loose ends, and Andy couldn't find him on any airline's overseas passenger list. The harder Beckman was to find, the more suspicious it looked.”

“You didn't believe me at first, about the blue Chevrolet.”

He sighed. “No, I didn't. Not at first. I'm sorry. It was hard for me to face the fact that anyone would want to hurt you. But something was bothering you. You didn't want to drive, you didn't want to leave the ranch at all, but you wouldn't talk about it. That's when I began to realize you were scared.”

Her green eyes went dark. “Terrified is a better word,” she whispered, looking out the window. “Have you heard from Phelps?”

“No. He wouldn't call here unless he'd found Beckman.”

She shivered, the strained look coming back into her face. “He tried to kill you. I should have known, I should have done something.”

“What could you have done?” he asked roughly. “If you'd been with me that day, the bullet would have hit you, instead of just shattering the windshield.”

“He's so jealous he's insane.” Thinking of Roger made her feel sick, and she pressed her hand to her stomach. “He's truly insane. He probably went wild when I moved in with you. The first couple of phone calls, he didn't say anything at all. Maybe he had just been calling to see if I answered the phone at your house. He couldn't stand for me to even talk to any other man, and when he found out that you and I—” She broke off, a fine sheen of perspiration on her face.

Gently John pulled her to him, pressing her head against his shoulder while he soothingly stroked her hair. “I wonder how he found out.”

“Bitsy Sumner,” Michelle said shakily.

“The airhead we met in the restaurant?”

“That airhead is the biggest gossip I know.”

“If he's that far off his rocker, he probably thinks he's finally found the ‘other man' after all these years.”

She jumped, then gave a tight little laugh. “He has.”

“What?” His voice was startled.

She eased away from him and pushed her hair back from her face with a nervous gesture. “It's always been you,” she said in a low voice, looking anywhere except at him. “I couldn't love him the way I should have, and somehow he…seemed to know it.”

He put his hand on her chin and forced her head around. “You acted like you hated me, damn it.”

“I had to have some protection from you.” Her green eyes regarded him with a little bitterness. “You had women falling all over you, women with a lot more experience, and who were a lot prettier. I was only eighteen, and you scared me to death. People called you ‘Stud!' I knew I couldn't handle a man like you, even if you'd ever looked at me twice.”

“I looked,” he said harshly. “More than twice. But you turned your nose up at me as if you didn't like my smell, so I left you alone, even though I wanted you so much my guts were tied in knots. I built that house for you, because you were used to a lot better than the old house I was living in. I built the swimming pool because you liked to swim. Then you married some fancy-pants rich guy, damn you, and I felt like tearing the place down stone by stone.”

Her lips trembled. “If I couldn't have you, it didn't matter who I married.”

“You could have had me.”

“As a temporary bed partner? I was so young I thought I had to have it all or nothing. I wanted forever after, for better or worse, and your track record isn't that of a marrying man. Now…” She shrugged, then managed a faint smile. “Now all that doesn't matter.”

Hard anger crossed his face, then he said, “That's what you think,” and covered her mouth with his. She opened her lips to him, letting him take all he wanted. The time was long past when she could deny him anything, any part of herself. Even their kisses had been restrained for the past four days, and the hunger was so strong in him that it overwhelmed his anger; he kissed her as if he wanted to devour her, his strong hands kneading her flesh with barely controlled ferocity, and she reveled in it. She didn't fear his strength or his roughness, because they sprang from passion and aroused an answering need inside her.

Her nails dug into his bare shoulders as her head fell back, baring her throat for his mouth. His hips moved rhythmically, rubbing the hard ridge of his manhood against her as his self-control slipped. Only the knowledge that a nurse could interrupt them at any moment gave him the strength to finally ease away from her, his breath coming hard and fast. The way he felt now was too private, too intense, for him to allow even the chance of anyone walking in on them.

“Nev had better hurry,” he said roughly, unable to resist one more kiss. Her lips were pouty and swollen from his kisses, her eyes half-closed and drugged with desire; that look aroused him even more, because he had put it there.

M
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of the bedroom, her clothes in her hand. She didn't
want to take a chance on waking John by dressing in the bedroom; he had been sleeping heavily since the accident, but she didn't want to push her luck. She had to find Roger. He had missed killing John once; he might not miss the second time. And she knew John; if he made even a pretense of following the doctor's order to take it easy, she'd be surprised. No, he would be working as normal, out in the open and vulnerable.

He had talked to Deputy Phelps the night before, but all Andy had come up with was that a blue Chevrolet had been rented to a man generally matching Roger's physical description, and calling himself Edward Walsh. The familiar cold chill had gone down Michelle's spine. “Edward is Roger's middle name,” she had whispered. “Walsh was his mother's maiden name.” John had stared at her for a long moment before relaying the information to Andy.

She wouldn't allow Roger another opportunity to hurt John. Oddly, she wasn't afraid for herself. She had already been through so much at Roger's hands that she simply couldn't be afraid any longer, but she was deathly afraid for John, and for this new life she carried. She couldn't let this go on.

Lying awake in the darkness, she had suddenly known how to find him. She didn't know exactly where he was, but she knew the general vicinity; all she had to do was bait the trap, and he would walk into it. The only problem was that she was the bait, and she would be in the trap with him.

She left a note for John on the kitchen table and ate a cracker to settle her stomach. To be on the safe side, she carried a pack of crackers with her as she slipped silently out the back door. If her hunch was right, she should be fairly safe until someone could get there. Her hand strayed to her stomach. She had to be right.

The Mercedes started with one turn of the ignition key, its engine smooth and quiet. She put it in gear and eased it down the driveway without putting on the lights, hoping she wouldn't wake Edie or any of the men.

Her ranch was quiet, the old house sitting silent and abandoned under the canopy of big oak trees. She unlocked the door and let herself in, her ears straining to hear every noise in the darkness. It would be dawn within half an hour; she didn't have much time to bait the trap and lure Roger in before Edie would find the note on the table and wake John.

Her hand shook as she flipped on the light in the foyer. The interior of the house jumped into focus, light and shadow rearranging themselves into things she knew as well as she knew her own face. Methodically she walked around, turning on the lights in the living room, then moving into her father's office, then the dining room, then the kitchen. She pulled the curtains back from the windows to let the lights shine through like beacons, which she meant them to be.

She turned on the lights in the laundry room, and in the small downstairs apartment used by the housekeeper a long time ago, when there had been a housekeeper. She went upstairs and turned on the lights in her bedroom, where John had taken her for the first time and made it impossible for her to ever be anything but his. Every light went on, both upstairs and downstairs, piercing the predawn darkness. Then she sat down on the bottom step of the stairs and waited. Soon someone would come. It might be John, in which case he would be furious, but she suspected it would be Roger.

The seconds slipped past, becoming minutes. Just as the sky began to take on the first gray tinge of daylight, the door opened and he walked in.

She hadn't heard a car, which meant she had been right in thinking he was close by. Nor had she heard his steps as he crossed the porch. She had no warning until he walked through the door, but, oddly, she wasn't startled. She had known he would be there.

“Hello, Roger,” she said calmly. She had to remain calm.

He had put on a little weight in the two years since she had seen him, and his hair was a tad thinner, but other than that he looked the same. Even his eyes still looked the same, too sincere and slightly mad. The sincerity masked the fact that his mind had slipped, not far enough that he couldn't still function in society, but enough that he could conceive of murder and be perfectly logical about it, as if it were the only thing to do.

He carried a pistol in his right hand, but he held it loosely by the side of his leg. “Michelle,” he said, a little confused by her manner, as if she were greeting a guest. “You're looking well.” It was a comment dictated by a lifetime of having the importance of good manners drilled into him.

She nodded gravely. “Thank you. Would you like a cup of coffee?” She didn't know if there was any coffee in the house, and even if there were, it would be horribly stale, but the longer she could keep him off balance, the better. If Edie wasn't in the kitchen now, she would be in a few minutes, and she would wake John. Michelle hoped John would call Andy, but he might not take the time. She figured he would be here in fifteen minutes. Surely she could handle Roger for fifteen minutes. She thought the brightly lit house would alert John that something was wrong, so he wouldn't come bursting in, startling Roger into shooting. It was a chance, but so far the chances she had taken had paid off.