Til Death Do Us Part (34 page)

Damn, he barely had the energy to breathe. He sure as hell wasn't ready for another wild ride. Not this soon. But his body was telling him that it wanted more.
Hey, you horny bastard, don't you know how old we are?
he asked the part of his anatomy over which he had no control.
We're nearly forty. So act your age, will you?

Sliding off Cleo and onto his side, he brought her into his embrace and placed soft kisses all over her face.

“You've just proven an old adage,” Roarke said.

“What old adage is that?” Snuggling against him, she laid her hand over his belly and caressed the line of dark hair leading down to his manhood.

Easing his hand between her legs, he petted her intimately and savored her small, breathless gasp. “The old adage that dynamite comes in small packages,” he told her. “You, my little darling, are pure dynamite.”

“Oh, that old adage,” she said, moving her hand slowly downward until she encountered his renewed arousal. “I don't disagree entirely, but—” circling him, she stroked him intimately and grinned when he drew in a sharp breath “—I happen to know, firsthand, that a certain type of dynamite comes in a big package.”

The combination of her seductive words and her talented hand brought Roarke's manhood to full readiness. He delved his fingers into her, manipulating her feminine core. She moaned her pleasure.

“You know I want you again, don't you?” he asked.

“Yes, I know.”

“And you want me, too.”

“Yes,” she said.

“You aren't too sore from the first time, are you?”

“No, Simon, I'm not too sore.”

Without saying another word, he lifted her on top of him, placing her gently, allowing her to make the final plunge that would completely unite them. She straddled him as if he were that untamed stallion Pearl had compared him to. And the moment she brought him totally inside, he lifted his hips and hoisted himself to the hilt. With his hands guiding her and his lips feasting on her breasts, Roarke encouraged her wild ride. Her tempestuous release hurled him over the edge into savage fulfillment.

She fell on top of him, their bodies bonded with perspiration and satiation. He stroked her hair, her neck, her back and her buttocks. They fell asleep with his big, dark hand cupping her hip as his body cushioned hers.

 

R
OARKE AWOKE SUDDENLY
, his heart racing at breakneck speed. Damn, he'd been dreaming. Just dreaming. Cleo was all right. She lay snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on his belly. He breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe. Thank God. Easing his arms around her gently, trying not to wake her, he pulled her into his embrace. Her naked body was warm and compliant, and the very feel of her skin against his aroused him. He longed to make love to her again. She had been as hot and wild as he'd hoped she would be, giving herself completely, holding nothing back. And she had tempted him beyond all reason to give equally to her. But both times, in the end, he had held back, afraid to allow himself the freedom to experience the emotions clamoring for release.

No matter how much he wanted Cleo and she him, their time together was limited. Theirs was not a love match, not a lifetime commitment. She might cling to him passionately, giving herself to him as he knew she'd never given herself to anyone else, but nothing could change the fact that he was her employee. She'd hired him for three reasons—to protect her, to keep McNamara Industries a family-run operation…and to impregnate her. Once he'd served his purpose, his job would end and they'd both go their separate ways.

Being Cleo's husband had certain benefits, the least of which was being her lover, and he might be tempted to hang around after the job ended, if the circumstances were different. But they weren't. Once she told him she was pregnant, he'd make plans to leave. Surely by that time they would have discovered who was trying to harm Cleo and sabotage McNamara's.

But what if he'd gotten her pregnant tonight? They had made passionate love twice. Pregnancy was a possibility.

Shimmery moonlight shone in through the French
doors and floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the room with a soft, pale light. He looked at the woman in his arms, the strands of her short hair shiny cinnamon threads against his hard, leather-brown shoulder.

If she was pregnant—this soon—he couldn't leave her and her baby unprotected. But that didn't mean he would have to stay. It wasn't as if he was indispensable. He could easily turn his bodyguard duties over to Morgan Kane, or keep Kane on the investigation and bring in Gabriel Hawk. But could he really leave Cleo's protection to another man, no matter how well-trained that man was? No, of course he couldn't. Not after tonight. Tonight Cleo had become his, in every sense of the word. He'd just have to hope that he hadn't impregnated her already. Hanging around to watch her grow bigger with his child every day hadn't been part of their bargain. He'd made it perfectly clear that this child would be hers and hers alone.

He'd already been given one chance at fatherhood and he'd screwed up royally. Cleo's child deserved better. And so did Cleo. She deserved a man capable of loving her and committing himself to her for the rest of their lives. He wasn't that man. He knew himself too well. Inside, where it really counted, he was a burned-out shell. The fire of guilt and remorse and self-hatred had gutted his soul years ago. That fire had begun the day he'd received the news that Laurie had died. It had blazed inside him at his little girl's funeral. And the day he'd said goodbye to Hope at the private mental hospital where she'd been committed, that internal fire had raged. Day by day, week by week, year by year, the inferno had slowly destroyed him, destroyed any ability he'd ever had to love.

Cleo roused, opening her eyes and looking up at Roarke with tenderness. She smiled.

“You're awake,” she said. “Couldn't you sleep?”

“I slept like the dead for several hours after…” Pausing, he stroked her cheek. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Whoever is playing these deadly games is going to lose. I'll see to it.”

Stretching far enough for her lips to reach his, she kissed him, then pulled away. “I know you will.” Bracing her elbow on the bed, she supported the side of her face with her hand and gazed adoringly at Roarke. “We both know that someone deliberately planted those spiders in the bathroom.”

“Yeah. And tomorrow I'll have to call the local authorities. We'll have to bring them in on this and on the problems at McNamara Industries.” He liked the way she looked at him, her eyes filled with tenderness and just a hint of passion. He supposed a lot of women got mellow after sex, and some, like Cleo, would get sentimental. He usually didn't hang around long enough to find out. He hadn't slept the night through in a woman's bed in a long, long time.

“This is just the beginning, isn't it? If I continue refusing to sell McNamara's, my life will remain in danger and the problems at the plant will only escalate.”

“If you're having second thoughts, Boss Lady, now's the time to say so.”

“No second thoughts,” she said. “No second thoughts about any of my decisions.”

He understood her meaning. She was telling him that she wasn't sorry she'd hired him as her bodyguard and her husband. Right now, he was glad Cleo McNamara had walked into his office and made him a proposition he couldn't refuse. But he knew that in a few months, when this job ended and he left River Bend, he
would
have second thoughts. For the rest of his life, he would wonder if
he'd done the right thing, fathering a child and then deserting it.

He had deserted a child once before, giving his military career greater precedence in his life than he'd given his daughter's welfare. But this time, he was thinking of the child first, knowing that the best thing he could do for Cleo's future baby was to get out of its life and stay out.

“What's wrong?” Cleo asked. “You seem to be a million miles away.”

“Fifteen years in the past.” He'd spoken before he'd thought, but covered his slip by saying, “I was just considering how much my life has changed over the years. I've gone from a gung ho young soldier to a middle-aged warhorse who wants to retire to a farm somewhere.”

“And the money I'm paying you will buy you that farm.”

“Yeah.”

The sheet that had barely covered Cleo's breasts slipped downward. When she reached out to grab it, Roarke jerked her hand away. The sheet drifted slowly to her waist, leaving her breasts exposed to the cool air and Roarke's hot appraisal. Her nipples puckered. He ran the tip of his finger over one jutting point and then the other. Cleo held her breath as shivers of awareness rippled through her.

“I didn't know it would be this way,” he admitted, lifting himself up and over her, bracing his body with his hands planted, palms down, on the bed.

“What way?” she asked, her breathing quickening, her body straining upward pleadingly.

“I didn't know that once we made love, we wouldn't be able to keep our hands off each other.”

“It's crazy, isn't it?” Cleo placed her arms around his neck and brought his head downward, his lips closer to
hers. “I didn't realize that I could ever feel like this. It's a raging hunger, isn't it?”

“Yeah, that's exactly what it is.” He parted her thighs and slid between them. “And I want to feed that raging hunger again right now.”

“So do I.” Spreading her thighs, she opened herself up fully to his invasion. The moment he entered her, she lifted her hips and draped her legs around his waist.

Roarke took control of their mating until the final moments when Cleo's body dictated the rules of release for both of them. She moved against him, taking his thrusts and returning them, bringing them both closer and closer to completion. When she tightened around him and cried out in earth-shattering pleasure, his body took its cue from hers and spiraled out of control into a jetting explosion.

“W
AKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD
.”

Cleo opened her eyes and stared up into Roarke's handsome face. Smiling, she stretched like a contented cat, then reached up and draped her arms around his neck, bringing his mouth down to hers for a morning kiss.

Roarke took charge of the kiss immediately, knowing how easily it could get out of control if he didn't end it quickly. He wasn't sure he liked the way Cleo could turn him inside out, the way she could make him want her so desperately. He wasn't used to a woman having that much power over him.

He removed her arms from around his neck and sat down on the edge of the bed. She snuggled against him.

“Good morning, Simon.”

“Good morning, Cleo.”

She eased away from him and sat up straight. Allowing the sheet to slide down to her waist, she stared at him and smiled. “You've already showered and dressed. How long have you been up?”

He tried not to look at her full, round breasts that beckoned to him, pleading for his touch. Damn, if she didn't cover herself, he'd be lost. And this morning wasn't the right time to fall back into bed and make love to Cleo. This morning was the time for business—serious business.

He shot up off the bed, crossed the room and went into
the closet. Emerging with a blue satin robe, he tossed it to her. “Put that on. You're far too tempting the way you are right now, Cleo Belle.”

Lifting the robe from where it had fallen over her lap, Cleo grinned at her husband, then slowly slipped into the robe. “There, is that better?”

“Much.” Roarke sat back down on the edge of the bed. “We have a lot to accomplish today. I've been up a couple of hours.”

Scooting to the edge of the bed beside Roarke, she laid her hand on his arm. “What have you been doing during the two hours you've been up?”

“I made some phone calls—” he nodded toward the sitting room “—from in there. I didn't want to disturb you. You were sleeping so soundly.”

“I was exhausted. Your wore me out,” she said teasingly as she stroked the inside of his wrist with the tip of her index finger.

He grinned, but quickly forced his mouth into a sober line and grasped Cleo's shoulders. “There's nothing I'd like more than to make love to you again right now, honey. But we're expected downstairs for breakfast in about twenty minutes, so unless you want to greet your family looking the way you do right now—”

“Why are we having breakfast with my family this morning?”

“Because it's time.”

Standing, Roarke dragged Cleo up and out of bed, then gave her a gentle shove toward the bathroom. When she halted, turned around and gave him a questioning stare, he shook his head.

“Hey, do you believe I'd send you in there if I thought there was any danger? I checked the bathroom out thoroughly before I took my shower.” Gently clamping his
hands down over her shoulders again, he guided her forward. “Just ignore the mess.”

She hesitated at the closed door. “Why is it time for us to have breakfast downstairs? And who did you call this morning?”

“I called the police and spoke to a Sheriff Bacon. He was very accommodating. Seems he knew your uncle George and thought highly of him. He's going to check into a few things for me.”

“I see.” When he gave her another shove, she balked. “Who else did you call?”

“I phoned the exterminator who regularly services the house. Someone named Roy Bendall. He'll be out this morning.”

“Neither phone call explains why we're eating breakfast with the family,” Cleo said.

“I remembered something from when I read over the information about the members of your family that I asked you to compile for me.”

“What did you remember?”

“That your uncle Perry is a retired college professor, whose background was in entomology. He'd know everything there is to know about the brown recluse, wouldn't he?”

“You're planning to tell my family what happened last night and then watch how they react, aren't you? You're going to cross-examine Uncle Perry and see if you can make him sweat.”

“Something like that.”

“Do you think Uncle Perry is behind the threats on my life and the problems at the plant?” Cleo asked.

“It's possible, isn't it? He and his entire family would benefit if you were out of the way.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right. Uncle Perry and I have never been close. He's always seemed to resent me.”

When Roarke gave her another nudge, she opened the bathroom door and disappeared inside, closing the door behind her. She stood perfectly still for several minutes as she surveyed the area, noting the total disarray. There didn't appear to be an inch of her private bath that Roarke hadn't examined. She shivered as she remembered that there wasn't an inch of her own body that Roarke hadn't examined. Shutting her eyes, she leaned her head back against the door and sighed deeply. The moment she thought about their passionate lovemaking, Cleo's body responded to the memory. Her nipples puckered; her femininity throbbed. How was it possible to want him again so soon?

Making her way carefully across the cluttered tile floor, Cleo watched for any movement, the slightest sign that even one spider might have escaped annihilation. With an unsteady hand, she reached down and picked up one of the scattered clean towels from the floor. Reaching inside the glass-enclosed shower, she turned on the brass faucets and started the water flow.

Taking one final look around the room, she stepped inside the shower enclosure. Filling the net body scrub with scented liquid soap, Cleo washed her arms and shoulders, then hesitated at her breasts. They were a little tender, her nipples sore from Roarke's diligent attention. As she rubbed the lather over her breasts, she sucked in her breath as a tingling sensation spiraled outward and downward, reaching her feminine core.

She had never known that making love could be so all-consuming, so totally, completely, earth-shattering. Paine Emerson had been her first and only lover, but he'd been a boy of twenty-two, and she now realized that he'd
been an inexperienced, inept lover. If she hadn't been so infatuated, so youthfully, foolishly in love with him, her intimate moments with him would have been a great disappointment.

Having had Simon Roarke as a lover, Cleo now understood how sexual desire could dominate a person's life. And if that desire was combined with other equally strong emotions, the results could be explosive. And that's exactly what her feelings for Roarke were—explosive. With each passing day she grew to like and respect her husband more and more. He was, as Pearl had told her, a fine man.

Yes, that's exactly what Simon was. A fine man. A man she not only needed in her life, but very much wanted.

As rivulets of water cascaded over her, Cleo circled her belly with the nylon net scrub. Was she already pregnant? Had her husband given her a child during their hours of hot, passionate lovemaking?

The thought of being pregnant, of carrying Roarke's baby inside her, created a warm happiness deep in her heart. Someday she could tell their child what a good man his father had been, could honestly say that their union had meant more to her than a business deal. But how could she ever explain why Roarke wasn't a part of his life? Why the child's own father hadn't wanted anything to do with him?

Stilling the circling motion of her hand, Cleo clutched the net scrub, then tossed it onto the floor. While she rinsed the foam from her body, she tried to stop thinking about being pregnant, about the possibility that Roarke's son—or daughter—could have taken root in her womb.

The longer it took her to become pregnant, the longer Roarke would remain a part of her life. He couldn't leave her until he fulfilled all his obligations. As much as she longed to be pregnant, she hoped that she wasn't. Not yet.
Not until she found a way to persuade Roarke to stay with her during her pregnancy and afterward help her bring up their child.

 

“T
HEY'RE EATING OUT
on the patio, by the pool,” Pearl said. “I'll bring your plates out directly. We're having blueberry pancakes this morning. Coffee and juice are on the serving cart out there, Mr. Roarke.”

“Has everyone come down?” Cleo asked.

“Everyone,” Pearl said. “Y'all are the last ones, but folks understand your being late, since y'all are still honeymooners.”

Cleo willed herself not to blush. Before this morning there had been no truth to the charade they'd been enacting as happy newlyweds. But after last night, she felt quite a bit like a deflowered virgin bride, and was afraid the aftereffects of sexual pleasure hung over her like a bright, shiny halo, proclaiming her wedded bliss to the whole world.

“Pearl, I'm expecting several visitors this morning,” Roarke told the housekeeper. “I believe all three of them will arrive while Cleo and I are at breakfast. I want you to be sure to announce each gentleman and bring him directly out to the patio.”

“Three visitors this morning?” Narrowing her gaze, Pearl stared quizzically at Roarke. “Just what's going on?”

“Cleo had some unexpected guests in her bathroom last night.” Roarke took Cleo's hand in his. “Someone planted half a dozen brown recluse spiders in her bath towels.”

“Oh, my dear Lord!” Reaching out, Pearl patted Cleo's cheek. “Them little creatures are dangerous. My baby brother nearly died from one of 'em's bite. Are you all right, Cleo Belle? Why didn't—”

“I'm fine. Roarke killed all of them,” Cleo said.

“One of our visitors this morning will be the exterminator,” Roarke said.

“Good. You called Roy Bendall. We don't want to come across one of them spiders that might have escaped.” Pearl grabbed Roarke's arm. “If somebody planted the brown recluses in Cleo's bath towels, then my guess is one of your other visitors will be a lawman.”

“Sheriff Bacon,” Roarke said. “I understand he was on friendly terms with the late Mr. McNamara.”

“Phil Bacon's daddy used to be sheriff before him,” Pearl said. “The McNamaras have always taken a friendly interest in local politics, if you know what I mean.”

“Pearl, you make it sound as if Uncle George had the local law in his hip pocket.” Cleo shook her head. “And you know that isn't true. Phil Bacon is as honest as the day is long.”

“I suppose he's as honest as a politician gets, and that's what a sheriff is. Part lawman and part politician,” Pearl said.

“You've got an opinion on everything and everyone, haven't you, Pearl?” Roarke squeezed Cleo's hand, then lifted it to his lips.

Pleased with her husband's genuine affection, Cleo shivered inside and the tiny shivers radiated pleasure through her whole body.

Pearl fixed her gaze on Cleo's and Roarke's clasped hands. “You're right about that. I'm an opinionated old woman. And with every passing day, my opinion of you gets better and better.” She stepped directly in front of Roarke and looked up at him. “Who's this third visitor we're expecting this morning?”

“Morgan Kane,” Roarke said. “He flew into Huntsville from Atlanta and is driving here. He's a private security agent and an investigator.”

“Looks like it's going to be a busy morning around here.” Pearl planted her hands on her hips. “I'm sure going to be close by so I can see how the Suttons deal with all the excitement.”

Hand in hand, Roarke and Cleo walked through the double French doors and outside onto the patio area, near the pool. The entire clan quieted instantly when he and Cleo approached. Only Aunt Beatrice seemed pleased to see them. Cleo leaned over and kissed her aunt on the cheek. Roarke seated her at the far end of the table, then poured two glasses of juice and placed them side by side. After filling two cups with hot coffee, he put one in front of Cleo and the other next to her, then seated himself beside his wife.

He had deliberately placed himself where he could watch the others. Even the cleverest person sometimes gave himself away with a word or a look, a reaction to something unexpected. Three unexpected visitors might trigger a suspicious response in one of the Suttons. But which one? Roarke wondered as he surveyed the length of the heavy glass-and-metal table and he paused briefly to study each person.

Even though he automatically excluded Beatrice McNamara from his list of suspects, he let his gaze linger on her. Looking at this woman gave him a preview of what Cleo would probably look like thirty years from now. There was a strong family resemblance. From their red hair and green eyes to their petite bodies and small, delicate bone structure. Cleo could have easily been the child Beatrice never had.

“We're simply delighted that y'all decided to finally join the family for a meal,” Oralie said as she lifted the Haviland china cup to her lips.

“I can't say that I blame Cleo for wanting to keep her
new husband all to herself.” Daphne licked a drop of syrup from the side of her mouth. “I know if I had a husband like Roarke, I'd keep him locked in my bedroom for a month.”

“Daphne!” Oralie scolded. “I will not tolerate such disgraceful talk at my breakfast table.”

“Don't upset yourself, Mother.” Trey folded the newspaper behind which he'd been buried and laid it on the table between his plate and Marla's. “You know as well as I do that Daffie loves to shock you almost as much as she loves to needle Cleo.”

“What a thing to say.” Oralie smiled faintly. “You'll give Mr. Roarke the wrong impression of our family, dear.”

“I imagine Mr. Roarke has already formed an opinion of us, and our pretending to be anything other than what we are won't fool him,” Daphne told her mother, then stared directly at Roarke. “Aren't I right about that, Simon?” She spoke his name in a sultry drawl, turning the pronunciation of his name into an invitation. “You've got us all sized up, haven't you? I'll bet you've even narrowed down the suspects, eliminating Aunt Beatrice because she adores Cleo so, and Pearl and Ezra for the same reason. And of course, no one would suspect sweet, mousy little Marla.”