The Lottery Winner (21 page)

“I'm not meddling,” she protested and earned an are-you-kidding-me face.

“Moot point anyway. The trail's colder than a polar ice cap. I've never seen people disappear as cleanly as those two have. From what the previous investigators gleaned from Elizabeth's and Trent's computers, they'd spent months plotting and left a lot of red herrings. I've exhausted every lead.”

She thought of the letter. “Finding Elizabeth and Trent could do more harm than good. It would reopen the case and put Logan's name back in the news. It was a horrible time. His friends abandoned him. Even his own father acted like he didn't know Logan. Not once did that jackass come to court to support his own son.”

“Or finding them and bringing them back could clear him.”

He stated it so matter-of-factly. “You said he'd never regain public trust.”

“Even with a full confession, there would always be a cloud of suspicion. In my opinion, Logan needs this more for personal satisfaction than public forgiveness. He's happy with his job here. I don't think he'll leave it—even if he hasn't admitted that to himself yet.”

“You think he's happy here? And that he won't go back to Charleston?”

“Yes, I do. He enjoys being on the water. He has my boat out today, in fact. You can take the boy out of the Keys, but you can't take the Keys out of the boy.”

If Ignatius was right, then the letter from Logan's ex-wife might help.
Or
it could cause him tremendous harm. Why hadn't she destroyed it? If she had, she wouldn't be so torn about giving it to Ignatius.

She'd accused Logan of meddling in her life and smothering her. Was she any less guilty of trying to manipulate his life? No. She pushed away from the table.

“Aren't you going to finish your dinner?”

“In a minute. Maybe.” She wheeled into her bedroom, reached under her mattress and dragged out the letters. When she turned around, Ignatius stood in her doorway.

“You okay, Miri? You got mighty pale.”

His concern was touching. And she didn't deserve it. “I've been impeding the investigation.”

She held out an envelope. He came forward and took it from her and scanned the front. “This is addressed to you.”

“There are two letters. The first is to me from Elizabeth. She sent it six months ago and asked me to forward the enclosed second letter to Logan. He'd sold their old house and she didn't know how else to reach him.

“I opened his letter and read it, then decided not to give it to him because I didn't want that selfish bitch to hurt him again. I want him to quit living in the past and forget Elizabeth and the heartache she caused. But maybe I'm the one who's being selfish.”

“May I?” he asked. She nodded and he opened the envelope, unfolded then scanned the first set of pages. When he was done, he opened and read the second. Then he whistled, refolded both exactly as he'd found them.

“An apology and a full confession. She wants to come home and wants him back. No wonder you kept it. You're sure this is her handwriting?”

“Yes. She used to address all their Christmas cards. I saved them because they were all we ever got of Logan after he hooked up with her. Will I be in trouble for interfering with mail delivery and concealing evidence? Will I get arrested?”

“Don't worry about that. What do you want to do with these?”

“You mean you're not going to rush to give them to Logan?”

“Your letters. Your decision. I can pretend I never saw them.”

“You'd do that?”

“For you, yes. Do I think it's the right thing to do? No.”

What
did
she want to do? If there was any chance of Logan finding the happiness she'd found with Jack, she wanted that for him. A girl like Jessie was exactly what he needed.

“I'll pay you to find her. I want this over with once and for all. You're right. Logan will never completely be free of the past until he confronts it.”

“Good choice. But you don't have to pay me. This one's on me. I'm good at what I do, and it's bugged me that I couldn't crack this one. But if you don't mind, let's keep this between us until I have answers. Postmark is six months old. She's likely moved on. No need to get Logan's hopes up.”

She searched his face and realized he was on her side. They both wanted what was best for Logan. And that mattered. A lot.

* * *

E
ARLIER
, L
OGAN
HAD
been certain how this day would end. Now he wasn't. His arousal and anticipation had turned to confusion.

At Jessie's request he'd taught her how to fillet their catch. Then she'd invited him into the house to shower. He'd been disappointed when she showed him to the guest room and left him, but he'd handled it without complaint. He accepted that women had rituals of preparation he'd never understand. After cleaning up, he'd put on the spare clothes he'd packed in a duffel bag and stowed on I's boat and rejoined her in the kitchen.

Her agitation had been palpable. He'd parked her on a bar stool to watch while he prepared the lobster, hush puppies and lemony asparagus. The meal had lacked this afternoon's easy camaraderie, then after dinner she got to her feet and hadn't quit flitting around the kitchen since.

While he'd been relishing the prospect of learning every inch of her front the way he had her back while applying sunscreen this afternoon, she'd loaded the dishwasher, wiped counters so hard she'd nearly rubbed a hole in the marble and checked and rechecked the clock. It currently read 9:00 p.m.

Even with running lights and spotlights, he'd prefer not to try to maneuver the boat down I's tricky canal at this time of night. It was doable, but with so little moon, risky.

He stepped into Jessie's path, blocking her forward momentum. But he resisted the temptation to touch her soft, fragrant skin. It wasn't easy.

She wet her lips and met his gaze. The pulse at the base of her neck fluttered wildly. “Should I drive you home or...?”

Back in Charleston, he'd excelled at reading clients, anticipating their needs before they voiced them. He wasn't having that kind of success interpreting Jessie's mixed signals. “That's your call.”

She blinked. “I—I—”

Did she want him to stay? Or go? He'd have to lay his cards on the table. “Jessie, there's nothing I want more than to pick up where we left off this afternoon and not stop till we are both satisfied and too weak to move.”

Her breath hitched, and her pupils expanded. Damn, her eyes were beautiful. He couldn't imagine why she'd want to change the pale silvery blue to brown.

And then because he couldn't help himself, he lifted a hand and brushed back her still-damp hair. She shivered. Encouraged, he dragged a fingertip down her cheek, her neck, her arm, then he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed.

“I want more days like today, and if rushing you is going to mess that up, then I'll wait till you're ready. But make no mistake about it. We will make love, Jessie. The only question is when.”

Her hand trembled in his. Emotions chased across her face too fast for him to interpret. She inhaled then exhaled, taking so long to respond that his hunger turned to frustrated, reluctant acceptance. “I'll sleep in the guest room and be out of your hair at first light.”

“No!” Her eyes rounded and her fingers tightened on his. She looked as surprised by her protest as he was. “Logan... I w-want you to s-stay...with me.”

Elation flooded him despite the uncertainty in her voice. If she was nervous, he'd put her at ease. He gently cupped her waist and tugged her closer. Her breasts brushed his chest like live wires. He whistled through clenched teeth then dotted a kiss on her forehead. He added a second one to the tip of her nose. “Are you sure?”

She quivered then gulped and nodded.

But still, he sensed reservations. His next kiss flirted with the left corner of her mouth. He relished the faster tempo of her breathing and the way she leaned into him. “Be very sure, Jessie.”

He slanted his head to sip from the opposite side of her exquisite mouth, but before he could make contact, she shot to her toes and awkwardly bumped her lips and nose against his. Hallelujah. That response he understood.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I—”

He wrapped his arms around her, capturing her apology with his mouth and crushing her breasts to his chest. She felt good in his arms, and he'd been aching for this all day. Her words turned into an
mmm
that he silenced by parting her lips to tangle with her tongue.

Her hands gripped his hips and then her short nails skimmed up his spine to loop around his neck, eliciting a groan from him. Because he ached to go fast, he forced himself to go slow, to concentrate on her pleasure more than his.

He slid his palms upward, stopping just below her breasts to buff his thumbs back and forth beneath the soft swells. He hadn't thought the thin straps of her sundress allowed for a bra—he'd been right. Just a single thin layer of flowered fabric between him and her. She shuddered and leaned back, inviting his touch.

He skimmed the pads of his thumbs over the curves, locating and caressing the tips. She broke the seal of their lips to gasp.

“Feel good?” he asked even though her stiff nipples, flushed cheeks and panted breaths gave him his answer.

“Yes.”

“I want to taste them.”

Her lids fluttered upward, and the passion in her eyes and the sight of her wet, swollen, parted lips nearly snapped his control. If he blew this in an adolescent rush, there'd be no follow-up. And he wanted follow-ups. A lot of them.

“Let me, Jessie.”

Her chin dipped in agreement.

He caught her hand and led her to the guest room where he'd showered—and where he'd left his bag and the protection he'd had the good sense to pack. She paused in the doorway, looking around as if she'd never come in here. Then she let him tow her to the bedside.

He yanked back the covers, turned and spotted white teeth pinching her tender flesh. He rescued her bottom lip with his finger, then soothed it with his tongue before her second thoughts could derail them. It took three seconds for her to relax into him. He savored her mouth, her tongue, then her jaw, her earlobe and the soft skin behind it. Her quiet whimper set him ablaze. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him close and tilting her head to give him better access.

He bunched her sundress in his fists and swept it over her head in a quick motion. She stood frozen in front of him, wearing only tiny pink panties. Her hands hovered self-consciously at her waist as if she didn't know what to do with them. Her breasts were round, the perfect size to fill his palms, and crowned with puckered dusky peach tips. His mouth watered. He captured her wrists and pulled her hands out of the away.

“You're beautiful, Jessie.”

Something flickered across her face, but he was too far gone to decipher it. He bent to outline one perfect circle with his tongue. Her head fell back, arching her spine and lifting her breasts to his mouth. He took her inside, licking and suckling until she whimpered again. Then he lifted her and laid her in the center of the white sheets and followed her down. He kissed her mouth again then sampled the neglected nipple, sipping then grazing it gently with his teeth.

Her heels dug into the bed and her back arched. He smiled against her. She'd liked that. He repeated the process, dividing his attention between the perfect pair. All the while he traced the length of one leg then the other, drawing closer to her panties with each agonizingly slow pass. He wanted her as near to the edge as he was.

He traced the elastic leg opening, first the right, then the left. She squirmed, lifting to his hand, asking without words for him to touch her center. Instead, he traced the band around the top, dipping slightly behind it and finding curls. He swirled his finger in them and her muscles clenched. He had to know her natural hair color.

He hooked a finger over the edge and tugged them down to expose golden-blond whorls. Why color her hair and wear contacts, his subconscious nagged. But he was too aroused to pursue the thought. He pitched her panties onto the floor and leaned closer to inhale her scent.

She stilled. He stroked her. Finding her folds slick and ready made him impatient to be inside her. But he forced himself to wait and allow her time to get used to the intimate caress of his fingers before he took what he wanted. When she relaxed her legs, letting them fall open, he tasted her. Her body jerked and a gasp rent the silence of the bedroom. He didn't give her the chance to roll away, but gently held her while he licked until she trembled. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Moments later an orgasm shuddered through her. At her cry, pressure built in his groin until he thought he'd lose it solo. He slowed his strokes, giving her a moment to regroup before increasing his tempo and sending her over the edge again.

He worked his way up her body, leaving a trail of damp kisses across her belly, her breasts and her neck before brushing his mouth over hers. He looked into her passion-glazed eyes. “Don't go anywhere.”

Then he swung around, shed his clothes and retrieved a condom. Seconds later, he returned to her. She lifted her arms and welcomed him. He sank into her damp curls, into the hot, slick sleeve of her body, and pleasure so intense he thought the top of his head would explode overcame him. He withdrew, plunged again and again. Her nails lightly scored his back as she pulled him closer—to her body and to climax.

He groaned and shook, fighting to make it last. But when she nipped his earlobe, he lost it and went off like a Roman candle. Too soon. Too intense. His release seemed to last forever. And then he was done. Empty. Drained.

He eased down beside Jessie and tried to fill his burning lungs. When he regained control of his spent muscles, he rolled to face her. She lay beside him, eyes closed and a blissful smile on her face. He wanted to believe his over-the-top response to her was due solely to his long abstinence. But he knew better. The craving for her company, the urgent need for her smiles was more than horniness, otherwise any of the happy hour women would have sufficed.