Seducing an Heiress (6 page)

Glancing behind them, she noted the flock of tiny beat-up cars darting and weaving through traffic as the paparazzi gave chase. 

"Is that why I'm risking my neck trying to get you away from them?" Trey asked as he changed lanes, causing the driver he cut off to lay on the horn.

She looked at him, aware that the tension in his voice sounded very real. Red, blue, and yellow-white lights from the passing city slid over his profile like water colors, tracing the worry etched there. Was she wrong? Had this fiasco caught him by surprise, too? 

 "Why else would Aines be in Cincinnati?" she asked, not quite ready to let her suspicions go.

"
Autumn's First Cut
ring a bell? You're not the only celebrity hanging around the city this weekend, you know."

She'd forgotten about the off-season fashion weekend hosted by the Art Institute. That explained Richard's presence in the city, too.

But how could she trust that was all there was to it? "It's hard to believe you're innocent," she said, her tone sharp.

"I never said I was innocent."

"So you did sic the press on me."

"Nope."

"Can you prove it?"

"No. But think about it. I have no reason to. If I spook you, you run again. It was hard enough finding you the first time."

Yet he had found her. And Aines had recognized her easily, despite the disguise. An ache of sorrow slipped through her chest, cooling her anger. Her new peace and happiness was much more fragile than she'd ever realized. 

"How did you find me?" she asked, quietly.

"Pure dumb luck. Hold on." Trey's knuckles gleamed white as he gripped the steering wheel and took the car into a tight, fast turn around a corner. Dakota grabbed the handle above her to keep from careening into him.

"That was a red light," she said.

"No kidding." He glanced in the rear view mirror. "I think we lost them. For now."

Her stomach knotted into a ball of anxiety at how close she'd come to disaster. A disaster that could still crash down on her. What had she done wrong? "What pure dumb luck are you talking about?"

"A friend of mine knows I'm a sucker for home-cooked meals. Especially pastries."

"So?"

"He sells pharmaceuticals and his territory's around Dayton. He stumbled onto your place one afternoon on his way home. Best cinnamon rolls he'd ever had, he said. Next time I came to this part of the country I checked it out."

Dakota pulled in a deep breath and tried to control the despair sweeping over her. She remembered that salesman. Remembered how much his praise had pleased her and how excited she'd felt when he said he was going to tell all his friends about her place.

"Five months of tracking down dead ends and my stomach broke the case." Trey changed lanes, and then changed again, glancing in the rearview mirror several times. "I knew it was you the minute I saw you."

If Trey and Aines had recognized her, other people might too. Instead of peaceful anonymity, she'd have judgment and ridicule again. 

She didn't want to start over. She couldn't really afford to. "How did you know it was me?" 

He expelled a quiet breath of air. "I don't know. I just did." Trey glanced at her, his expression unfathomable. "Just like I know it's you under that getup you're wearing tonight." 

Her heart fluttered unexpectedly at the puzzled melancholy lacing his voice. She rallied her defenses as best she could. Liking the enemy was a quick way to get tromped on. 

"None of it matters, anyway. Now that I've been spotted by the press, it's all over," she said.

Trey slowed the car. With a quick movement, he guided the Jaguar into a gated parking garage, rolling down his window as he braked to a stop. A sharp swipe through the scanner with a key card he whipped out of nowhere, and they were in, the heavy iron gate gliding closed behind them.

"What are you doing?" Dakota demanded. 

He cruised through the quiet garage until he found a spot in the back that was near the elevator and out of sight of the street. He turned to face her, his eyes dark and inscrutable in the shadows cast by the lights along the wall of the garage. 

"You still don't believe that I had nothing to do with those reporters," he said.

"Like I said, the damage is done whether you orchestrated it or not." She crossed her arms and stared out the dark window.

"Now you don't trust me. I can see it on your face."

"I never trust someone better looking than me who offers me lobster."

"I promise to get you out of this."

She turned toward him, about to tell him that she'd get herself out of this and to mind his own business. His hand swept around the back of her head and he pulled her into him. 

The caress of his lips across hers surprised her into opening them and Trey's tongue swept inside her mouth. The explosion of fever from the contact incinerated all needs except one--she wanted him.

When his other hand swept up her waist to cup her breast, she arched into it, into the weight of his palm and the heat of his caress. His thumb found her hardening nipple and brushed across it through the thin fabric of her dress. Dakota gave a purring moan far in the back of her throat.

He broke the contact and gently bit the tender skin of her neck, following with a soft kiss to ease the mild sting. The desire building low in her belly fragmented into fissures of fire that ran through her body, melting her, making her want to lie back and open everything to his exploring hands and mouth.

The image jolted her out of her stupor. What was she doing? He was ruining her life and still every cell in her body screamed 'do him! Do him now!' Had she lost her mind?

Dakota shoved his hand off her breast and pushed him away from her. "Stop doing that."

He leaned back against his door, his lids heavy over eyes that were black with only a rim of green. He gave her a slow, knowing smile. "I can't seem to help myself."

"Try harder." Snatching her purse from the floor, she fumbled with her door handle.

"Where are you going?" he said in that silky, hot way he had.

"Home. While I still have one."

"They're out there, you know."

"They're starting to look tame."

"I keep a small apartment here for when I have to do business in this part of the country."

An image of a string of beautiful women trailing in and out of his apartment broke into her thoughts. "No thanks. I'd rather not be your latest business."

His expression sobered. "I've never brought a woman here before."

 She frowned at him.

"I feel obligated to set things right," he said.

"Your feelings of obligation are what got me into this in the first place."

His gaze trailed over her face. "From now on I'll keep my distance."

But could she?

"I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me." Dakota opened the car door and jumped out. Her bare foot hit the pavement and the cold shock of it pushed a squeak out of her.

He leaned across the seat and gazed up at her, looking incredibly sexy in his boyish contriteness, damn him.

"In the morning you can go back to frumpy redhead and we'll sneak back to Harts Creek without the vultures ever knowing."

Frumpy redhead? He had a lot of nerve. "You forget that it was you they spotted in the first place."

He grinned at her and his blasted dimples made her insides melt all over again. "You're not the only one with a few tricks up your sleeves."

She glared at him and debated the situation. On her own the chance of escaping the paparazzi was slim. With him...? The odds might improve slightly, but he also added a whole new layer of complexity. 

What choice did she have? Go out into the city and limp away at top speed from the press? Hardly.

"I want a room with a door I can lock," she said, sternly.

"No problem."

"You keep a distance from me of at least three feet at all times."

"Whenever possible."

"As soon as we get back, you pack up and go."

"No."

She blinked. "No?"

"I made you a promise. Until I'm convinced your secret is safe, I'm sticking around."

"How cheering." Dakota turned to march away, took one hopping step and gave it up.
Well hell
. 

She sighed. By her estimate it was nearly midnight. She'd been up since four-thirty that morning. To say she was beginning to ache with exhaustion was putting it mildly. 

She needed a place to crash and a way out of town. Trey was offering her both.

It galled her to give in, but one battle at a time as Dad always said. At least he'd taught her one useful thing.

"I call dibs on the shower in the morning. Single occupancy." She looked back at Trey pointedly, and did her best to ignore the triumph lighting his eyes. 

*  *  *

Trey pushed the brim of his ball cap up and rubbed his hand across his face hoping to wipe the fatigue from his brain. Even the noise of the coffee maker grinding beans didn't make a dent. 

Things were not going according to plan. 

After he'd made arrangements for getting himself and Dakota out of town, he'd spent the few hours he had to sleep tossing and turning. He wanted to lie to himself and claim it was because a beautiful woman he wanted slept in the room next to his and he couldn't do anything about it. But that wasn't true.

At least not entirely.

He did want her, with a deep sizzling ache that drove him nuts. But it was more than that. She made him laugh...and think. She challenged him...and surprised him.

For the first time ever he felt a little sorry about what he had to do.

Was he finally getting a conscience after years of not giving a rat's ass about anyone but himself and his goals? Something like this could ruin everything.  

She was just another woman. A means to an end. The bargaining chip for getting Jamison's help so he could finally get Rosie's adoption records opened. 

Dakota could never be more than a tool to him and he could never be anything real for her, although he had to convince her he was. Otherwise she'd never accept his pitch. 

That's what every job required. That was the game he had mastered--a skillful way of fracturing himself so he could feel what he didn't feel and be what he wasn't and convince the mark that he had their best interest in mind, please sign here. 

As he watched the sun come up over the city that morning, he wasn't sure he could do it anymore.

Trey heard Dakota's light footsteps coming down the hall and looked up. She'd pulled her hair back, put her glasses on, and scrubbed off the heavy makeup. The clean New York Yankees sweatshirt, blue jeans and running shoes he'd left by her door suited her. She looked approachable. Appealing. 

His groin tightened, increasing the pressure against the zipper of his jeans to an uncomfortable, and demanding level. He struggled to tone down his reaction to her, but it was no good. There was only so much a guy could do when a woman drove him nuts.

It would be so much easier if he could just hand her off to Jamison, but without compliance, without her wanting to go back, there was nothing to stop her from running again. She had to be willing. Wasn't that always the catch? 

Dakota came into the small kitchen and planted her butt on a bar stool. "You said you never brought a woman here." She plucked at her sweatshirt and gave him a pointed look. 

Trey gathered his charm around him like a shield and reached up into the cabinet for two glass coffee mugs. "I haven't."

"Where'd the clothes come from, Trey?" 

Was she jealous?  A smile tugged at his mouth. "I have connections and my connections have sisters." 

She eyed him suspiciously. "What connections?"

He snagged the other Yankee's hat off the counter and slid it down the bar to her. "I got you a matching hat."

She glanced at the ball cap that was a duplicate of his, then nailed him with a challenging look. "I know what you're doing, you know."

"I'm glad somebody does. How do you like your coffee?"

"Black."

Amusement feathered through him. "Figures."

"What does that mean?'

"I have a theory," he said, pouring coffee into the mugs.

She picked up the hat and settled it on her head, pulling her pony tail through the space in the back the way women did. "Do tell."

"You can learn a lot about a person by how she likes her coffee." He grabbed a spoon and moved to the bar stool one down from her--no need to torture himself unnecessarily. After handing Dakota her mug, he pulled the jar of sugar toward himself and started loading up.

Her eyes widened as she watched him. "Enlighten me."

"People who drink it black want to be seen as powerful. Nothing bothers them. They can handle anything. They're out to prove that the hardships of life mean nothing to them."

"And the ones who take their coffee sweet enough to cause instant diabetes?"

"They're secure in their power. They know life is a game and they know how to enjoy themselves. They know how to get the most out of what the world has to offer."

She took a sip from her cup. "I have another theory."

Trey stirred in the sugar, trying not to enjoy the way she challenged him. A tall order. "Enlighten me."

"People who drink it black like it that way."

He took a long swallow from his mug, letting the thick sweet-bitter taste of it roll over his tongue. "And?"

"The ones who pollute a perfectly acceptable beverage with other crap are the kind of people who jump from one cheap thrill to the next never amounting to anything." 

If she only knew. "I'm starting to like you Dakota Jamison. Is that what you want?" He took another swallow of coffee.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "That's the best you have? No witty comeback? No quick unwelcome grope?"

Was she trying to provoke him?
Amateur
. She had no idea the level of skill she was up against. "Shallow thrill seekers have no problem being labeled shallow thrill seekers." 

He smiled and slid off his stool. She pulled back a little like she thought he was going to pounce on her, again. Her eyes swept down his body, settling briefly on his crotch before moving back up.