T is for Temptation

Witchy Women 1

JIANNE CARLO

Copyright © 2008

A Dolphin’s Trust

Port of Spain
;
T
rinidad

Tallulah Trent. Tee.

Island siren.

Tortuous temptation.

Recent widow of his bat-slime, criminal partner Tony Trent.

How the hell did he break the news to her?

Even as the sight of Tee deep-sixed his senses, Jake Mathews noted the three parked police cars blocking the cul-de-sac, their blue lights flashing, and the knot of angry uniformed men cordoning
Trent
and Mathews’ Trinidadian office. A sweeping survey yielded a television camera unit and a reporter wearing an earpiece.

He groaned.

Every muscle bunched, and dormant nerves sizzled, sending a shooting lance to the base of his skull.

Why were the police here?

He had two goals on this spur of the moment trip from his corporate headquarters; close down the local office, and seduce Tee. Already in trouble with the
IRS
in
Florida
, he didn’t need any added pressure in
Trinidad
, and a huddle of six uniformed cops could only mean one thing, trouble.

Imminent scandal loomed, not to mention financial catastrophe, if the pending charges against his firm had become public knowledge. Between Tee’s father’s political aspirations and the conservative, stodgy petroleum industry his business relied upon, media exposure had to be avoided at all costs.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Jake elbowed the policeman who gesticulated at Tallulah out of the way. He planted his solid form in front of her.

“And who be you?”

The man’s pugnacious, hostile tone took Jake aback, especially when his thick lips bared large rabbit teeth with their gold caps glinting a blinding reflection of the tropical sun.

If anything, Jake’s protective stance ratcheted the cop’s animosity, and the officer’s wrestler-built form angled forward, the veins in his corded neck bulging. He shook a tight, meaty fist at Tee.

“Don’t you go anywhere, Mrs. Trent.” Contemptuous malice laced the detective’s low rumble.

That did it.

Jake’s mouth curled into an automatic belligerent sneer, a reflexive action honed from an adolescence mired in defending the younger boys in his care. At thirty-four, his daily workout alternated between weightlifting, boxing, and martial arts. His obvious fighting expertise, plus the fact he topped the cop by a good six inches, made the man scowl and lean back.

He shifted right so his body blocked Tee from the line of uniformed men that materialized behind the figure he confronted.

“I’m Jake Mathews,” he said, keeping his voice even, but telegraphing promised damage should any one of the policemen decide to become aggressive.

Jake waved a hand at the house to their right, once a family residence, but now converted to a business office because of the Trinidadian oil boom and the lack of space in its capital,
Port of Spain
.

“This building belongs to my company. Mrs. Trent’s husband was my partner. He died four months ago. What’s the problem?”

“Oh yeah? You were
Trent
’s partner?” The policeman’s drawled question held derision and a gruesome anticipatory delight. He slapped his hands on ample hips. “You’re American. You can’t own property here.”

The tropical early morning sun warmed Jake’s back, and he cursed the business formality, remnants of British colonial rule, which insisted on a jacket and tie in a country ten degrees above the equator. He twisted around and shot Tee a glance, anxious to protect and shield her from the obnoxious authority figures.

As usual, the sight of Tallulah Trent heated his blood and prickled awareness across every inch of flesh, setting his randy shaft into action. He swallowed and drank her in.

Seven years younger, Tee radiated a contradictory, intriguing combination of aristocratic confidence and ingénue, comfortable in diplomatic circles and with royalty, yet retaining a little-girl-lost kind of innocence. She wore a creamy halter dress in a gauzy material.

A warm wind circled the cul-de-sac, and the fabric caressed her athletic body, shaping her slim curves, and her nipples stiffened, straining delicious points against the thin textile. Long, tawny ringlets teased at her bare gold-dusted shoulders framing arms muscled from her Equestrian training. Tee’s mere presence always drew his cock to half-mast, and now his blasted organ saluted to military attention, aching with want, need.

His dazed mind didn’t allow the peculiar circumstances to sink in until his gaze reluctantly left Tee and swung back to the immediate problem. He noticed the revolvers strapped to the sides of the gray-clothed men crowding her from behind.

They moved forward in unison, wide-legged stances inches away from contact with Tee’s rear end. The contentious posturing drove Jake’s every chivalrous instinct to the forefront. Fury sent him into a long-legged step when one of the men grabbed Tee by the elbow and yelled an obscenity, the man’s snarling features inches away from her profiled nose.

He snagged the man’s hand, clamping a fist around flabby flesh, and squeezed. “Touch her again, and you’re a dead man. Step back.”

“You can’t do that, Yankee. This is our country.”

Even though the man shouted the words, he retreated, wrenching his forearm out of Jake’s purposeful, painful grip. He rubbed the injured area and glared, careful to maintain a wide berth.

The Trinidadian police force had a notorious reputation for avid participation in both drug running activities and local kidnappings for ransom. Once in their custody, it could be difficult to effect release.

“And you’re supposed to uphold the law, not abuse innocent women.” Jake’s growled, menacing tone gave the officers pause. He read it in their wary repositioning several steps away from Tee. Satisfied he held any threat at bay, he snatched her hand and swung around, careful to shield her with his bulk. “I didn’t say I owned the building. My business leases it.”

He faced the original offender, raking a quick assessment. The man suffered from a Napoleon complex; that much seemed clear. Short, stocky, and pig-snout ugly, his complexion darkened to an odd purple hue.

“Mrs. Trent is Mr. Henry Inglefield’s only child. I’d tread warily if I were you.”

“Yeah? We found cocaine on the premises, and that means I can take her into custody if I feel like it.” The man, an inspector by the insignias decorating his drab uniform, jabbed a finger at his own chest.

“Try it,” Jake said. “I’ll have the American ambassador here before you can blink.” He added, “And I have direct access to the prime minister.”

A blatant lie, but a knockout punch nonetheless as none of them could question his statement. Since the Trinidadian prime minister was the equivalent of the leader of the
United States
, and Tee’s father rumored to be the next president of the small republic, the men backed down, defeated by Jake’s combination of innuendo and vehemence.

“Jake,” Tee pleaded, and she tugged the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s all right. I called Dad’s lawyer. He told me to leave right away and go about my normal activities.”

He glanced at her, and the concern in her light brown eyes held him entranced for a brief moment. “I’ll handle this, Tee.”

She tiptoed, cupped a hand over his ear, and whispered, “Please, don’t antagonize the policemen. They terrorized the staff, and I only just got them to promise not to take anyone into custody.”

Her warm breath streamed over his earlobe, and he had to tamp down the automatic tightening in his nether regions. They sallied back and forth, her whispering, him growling, until he surrendered to Tee’s entreaties and led her out of range of the still-quarreling police squad.

“What’s going on? What’s this about cocaine?”

Tee’s eyelids squeezed shut, and the strong line of her jaw moved. She sighed, and the rise and fall of those firm breasts mesmerized him for spellbound seconds.

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

To his surprise, she covered his hand with both of hers and met his gaze, but he couldn’t read her expression.

“I’m sorry partnering with him has done nothing but cause you problems.”

The bitter emphasis on the word
him
only served to reinforce Jake’s growing conviction Tee knew of Tony’s infidelities and she held no grief over his death.

On the plane ride to
Florida
after his visit last week, the fact she never referred to Tony by his name or with anything but revulsion had hit Jake like a hurricane. That plus their first kiss, his first taste of her sweetness, had convinced him he stood a chance, could persuade her into an affair. Hope had transformed his hunger into pulsating, fervid desire, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to return and test the waters.

Her waters and her deep, hot glove.

The thought of being inside Tee consumed him, compelled every action.

His breath hitched, and he thought of his mad scramble to cancel days of business meetings simply to have more time with her, two more days. It’d been four eternal months since Tony’s death; surely he’d waited long enough.

“And now they’ve confiscated his SUV, and Tricia’s going to be angry with me.”

Always bemused and beguiled in her presence, her words only added to his confusion. “What? Why on earth did they do that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had a policeman treat me so, so . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she crinkled her nose. “With so little respect.”

Unsaid words filled in the rest of her meaning. As the daughter of the possible president of
Trinidad and Tobago
, the authorities treated Tallulah Trent with kid gloves.

“I called Dad, but he’s up to his ears in meetings, and I couldn’t speak with him. It’s Bastille Day, and Henry and Tricia are having a dinner party for the French ambassador and twenty of their intimate friends. You know how my parents are.”

Tee rolled her cat-gold eyes.

“Tricia sent me down the islands to fetch her hibiscus crystals for the occasion. On the way there, I got a phone call about the robbery, and now they’ve taken the jeep, and I’m stuck.”

“Okay, Tee. Slow down a bit.”

He realized jangling nerves had her babbling.

“The office was burglarized?”

“Yes. That’s why the police are here. When the staff came in this morning, they found the offices torn apart. They called me and then the police and tried to figure out what was taken. The computers were stolen, of course, as were all the printers and the fax machine.”

Three puzzled lines drew her tawny brows together.

“The police chucked the staff out and taped off the area. They won’t let anyone in, so how on earth are we supposed to know what’s missing?”

She threw her hands up in the air and rolled her eyes again.

“Why did they confiscate Tony’s car?”

As time ticked by, the sun rose higher in the sky, and the growing intensity of its rays prompted him to shrug off his jacket and loosen his tie. The low murmur of cruising automobiles on the busy main street fronting the quiet cul-de-sac ebbed and flowed.