Wicked Pleasures (32 page)

Cam was almost asleep before he realized it. Drifting in drowsy contentment, his arms locked around Jaci's sleeping form, his legs encasing hers, holding her close and tight against him.

Hell, he didn't want to wake up, he thought drowsily. It was nice right here. Damned nice. She was warm and sweet against his chest, her soft little hand beneath her cheek, curled against him like a little cat.

He stroked her hair, albeit weakly, because he swore she had milked the strength from him with the same force she had milked his seed from him.

His release had nearly destroyed him. He wouldn't be surprised to realize he had sprained muscles with that one, because every muscle in his body had tightened to the breaking point.

He wanted to lie here just a little longer. He'd never done this, he realized—curled a woman into his arms and just lay with her. He had never held a woman. He had been held by them, by monsters who didn't care what they were doing to him, but he had never held.

He held now, and realized he was holding her as though he were terrified someone would try to take her from him.

The information he had found earlier drew a frown at his brow. It terrified him, the thought that some idiot was out there trying to kill her. Because only an idiot would have bungled it this long. And there was the terror part. He was thanking God it was an idiot. But even idiots got lucky eventually.

He pulled the throw over them as he let the information sift through his mind, let himself drift in the curious contentment he found here. With her.

Maybe it was just the bed, he thought. Because right here, on this couch, a little wider than most, it just felt right.

One thing was for sure, he was going to have to do something about Richard Roberts. There was a senator on the punitive committee of the club. Roberts was a threat to Jaci, and Jaci belonged to him. He could petition Ian to have the committee brought together to take action against the Robertses. That would be easier than killing the bastard.

Not that Cam cared if he did kill him, but he knew Jaci. She would just get pissed off over the blood, and she might not let him hold her like this again.

And he did like holding her just like this.

He smiled, curious at the feelings that swept over him, that made him question the long, lonely nights he had allowed her to sleep on the end of the sectional, rather than right here in his arms. Because this was where she belonged.

He kissed her brow, the top of her head, and closed his eyes. He'd try it, just for a little while. Sort through his emotions and his little phobia while he drifted in this lazy contentment.

One thing was damned certain: He wasn't letting her go. And he wasn't going to let her cry over him ever again. He'd make something up if he had to. Hell, he could come up with something that would explain this darkness, while holding the truth back. He just had to think about it, that was all. Then Jaci and Chase would be reasonably satisfied and he could keep the shameful truth to himself. As far as he was concerned, all that mattered was comforting her. He couldn't have her crying for him, not ever again. Hell, he'd survived. He had a few inconsequential issues, but he hadn't turned out too damned bad. He'd turned out good enough for Jaci to love, and that was all that mattered to him.

And she did love him.

He smiled at the thought of that, tucked her closer, and slipped deeper into the warm darkness surrounding him.

"I love you," he murmured against her hair.

Damn, though, the sight of Chase touching her, the pleasure burning inside her. Sanity had flown the hell out the window and there had been nothing left but hunger. A hunger that went deeper, further than mere lust.

Tomorrow night, he told himself, he would have roses and candlelight, candles everywhere. He'd get rid of Chase if he had to knock him out and lock him in the trunk of his car, and he'd tell her then. While he stared in her eyes, while he touched her lips. He'd tell her. He loved her.

Chase stared at the entwined pair and breathed out silently from where he stood just below the entrance to his apartment. He could see them, curled together like two halves to a puzzle, and Cam was drifting off to sleep.

For the first time Chase could remember, there was contentment on his brother's face. For so long, even in sleep, Cam scowled or frowned. He didn't rest easy most nights, and he had never, ever, slept with a woman alone that Chase knew of.

He had known Jaci would affect Cam, had known having her here would break down some of the defenses Chase had erected and strengthened over the years.

His lips quirked as he now felt an echo of the twin bond. The peace that flowed along that bond brought his heart ease. There was no other word for it. He had worried about Cam for so damned long. Seeing him like this, seeing him wrapped around Jaci, it eased him.

Relief began to unfold inside him. Each night he had checked on them, each time he had seen them sleeping on opposite ends of that fucking couch, he'd wanted to break something. Foremost, Davinda Morris's neck, because he knew she was involved in whatever had nearly broken Cam. It was too damned bad the fucking bitch was dead.

Shaking his head, he turned and moved back up the stairs and into his office. He still had information to dig up on the Robertses and, unlike his brother, his lust was nowhere near exhausted for the night. But then, his never was. Sometimes he wondered if it ever would be.

He pulled a beer from the fridge and went back to work, if not content, at least breathing easier. Cam might not be sleeping in a bed, but he was sleeping with Jaci. It was a major step, and Chase knew it. Now he just had to figure out the rest of that little mystery.

First things first.

"Come on, now," he whispered, as he began searching through the files he had dug up. "Show me what you've been up to. Just a little bit more here . . ."

It was almost over. Jaci could feel the anticipation, the sense of excitement, and the edge of satisfaction churning inside her the next day. The clock seemed to move at a snail's pace, ticking off the seconds before the meeting with the Robertses.

Moriah had called at least a half dozen times. Though the other girl wasn't half-hysterical anymore, she was still off balance and frightened.

Jaci was feeling a lot of emotions herself, but there was no fear. Maybe that was why the odd feeling of disquiet nudged at her brain. Should she know fear?

She shook her head at the thought as she pretended to work. The only fear she had was the fear of failure, and at this point, failure wasn't an option for her. She couldn't fail, because she had too much riding on it. She had to clear the Robertses out of her life and then she could look forward to a life with Cam.

The thought of that brought the beginnings of a smile to her lips as she checked her watch again. She needed this chance with Cam. Especially after last night.

He had slept with her. For the first time, he had slept with her. Okay, it might have been on the couch rather than in a bed, but she could live with that. Because the feeling of contentment, of complete satisfaction that filled her when she awoke, his arms snug and secure around her as he
slept,
had brought tears to her eyes.

She couldn't lose that. She couldn't let Richard and Annalee destroy it.

But would Cam really kill Richard?
The question skittered through her mind as she moved from the desk and paced to the high window behind it.

Five years ago, that question would have resulted in a resounding
yes.
At that time, Cam would have easily killed Richard Roberts for the terror she had experienced from that night. At the very least, she thought now, he would have made Richard wish he was dead.

Wishing he was dead was okay.

She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared into the sunlit beauty of Courtney's gardens. Jaci had spent so many years locked into the Cam that she had known seven years ago that she hadn't made allowances for the man he was now.

He was controlled, sometimes more so. He was restrained and quiet. She had no doubt he would kill if he had to, but she was starting to realize that he wouldn't kill on a whim, otherwise Richard would already be dead.

She pushed her fingers through her hair and breathed out roughly. God, she had been such a fool, and she hadn't realized it. Because, as she grew closer to him, as the man he was now became apparent, she knew Cam would never lose himself to that extent.

She had told herself all these years that she was protecting him, when the truth was she had been protecting herself. Because she knew her own independence was too fragile, too shaky at the time. It would have been so easy to lean on him, to depend on him, and she couldn't let herself do that then. He would have overwhelmed her at the time.

He didn't overwhelm her now. Now, he made her want to curl up in his arms, made her want to be wrapped by him, held by him.

She would tell him the truth after this meeting. She still needed to do this herself. She needed to know she could take care of herself, that she could defend herself. Otherwise, she would never be certain that she could stand beside him rather than behind him.

Cam was a strong man. Not just physically, but psychologically. He was enduring, and he was a damned good man.

Good men were few and far between, and the best of them had held her through the night as he had never held another woman.

She licked her lips nervously, praying her luck held out for the rest of the afternoon. Cam and Chase were usually busy through the first part of the day investigating potential club members, and meeting with Ian and the head of security.

She had the keys to one of the estate cars, a sporty little BMW waiting beneath the parking awning. And the meeting was set and firm.

Five years. It had taken her five years to get here, to vindicate herself for one night of bad judgment, and maybe to find out why. Why her?

That question plagued her. The Robertses were exactingly particular about who they played their games with. They weren't so stupid as to allow their dirty laundry wave in the public winds. So why decide to take a chance on an interior designer they barely knew?

That question kept her up at night, because it simply did not make sense.

She pushed her fingers through her hair, then rubbed at her arms, trying to chase the chills from her body. It was the normal reaction. A warning, or a premonition? There had always been a feeling that the unanswered questions were the most dangerous ones, where the Robertses were concerned.

Her cell phone chimed, drawing her out of her thoughts, and she pulled it from the clip at her side and checked the number.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

Moriah was becoming more nervous by the hour.

"Everything's set."

Jaci's brows lifted at the quiet tone. Moriah had been freaking out since the night before; now, other than a slight nervous quiver to her voice, she was calm, steady.

"Have they called?"

"Annalee just called to make certain you're going to be here. I'm to leave the apartment after you arrive. I'll slip back in the back door and make certain everything's going smoothly."

Jaci nodded slowly, checked her watch again. "I'm leaving early. I don't want to give Cam a chance to get out of his meetings early."

"You can't show up early," Moriah hissed. "They'll be suspicious."

Jaci nodded at that. "I'll drive around for a while. I'll be right on time, Moriah. Make sure everything's ready on your end, and I'll do my part."

"Yes, you will." Moriah seemed to breathe in harshly. "I'll call Annalee and let her know everything's ready to go. She and Robert will be here a little early. I know them." Silence filled the line.

"It's almost over, Moriah," she promised.

"Yes, it is." Satisfaction filled Moriah's voice now. "It's finally almost over."

Jaci disconnected, gathered up her purse and the keys, and moved quickly from her office to the residential wing and out the door to the back parking area.

The BMW was sitting right where Matthew had promised it would be, waiting for her.

Five years of dodging the Robertses' threats, their destructive stories, and the frustration of being unable to fight back, was over. Within a few hours, she and Moriah both would have what they needed to force the Robertses back, to end the subtle, destructive war they were waging.

And she would have done it on her own, without help. She would have protected herself, secured herself. That was important to her, to know she could do what she had to do alone, if necessary.

No doubt, Cam would have a fit when he found out what had been going on, what had happened, and what she had done to stop it. He would rage and probably end up hitting Richard next time he saw him.

Jaci could tolerate him hitting Richard, she decided with a smile. She'd cheer him on. Hell, she'd help him.

As she pulled out of the Sinclair estate, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief and headed to Moriah's apartment on the other side of the city.

It was almost over. She should be relieved. Instead, she couldn't seem to stamp back the heavy feeling of dread growing inside her gut. She had been poised on the edge of this for too long. She had fought for it for too long. Now that the end was so near, she couldn't seem to convince herself it was going to work.

She had planned it meticulously. She had laid all the groundwork, she had made herself hold back, kept her silence when she wanted nothing more than to inform the world of the depravity of those two, each time they or one of their friends sliced at her.

She wasn't a woman to sit back and take everything someone wanted to dish out to her. Doing so had torn at her pride more than once. But she'd had a plan. A plan that had formed the moment she realized the Robertses had managed to nearly destroy her reputation.

She could have told Cam. She probably should have told Cam. But she knew him. He would have insisted on handling it his way and taking over. He would have beat the hell out of Richard and probably terrified Annalee. He would have had the satisfaction, Jaci wouldn't have. And she needed it.

She pulled her cell phone from the clip on her jeans and turned it off before placing it in her purse. Before she entered Moriah's apartment, she'd set it to record. A backup. Insurance, just in case.

She trusted Moriah implicitly, but the other girl was too nervous, too shaky. There was always the chance that she could have miscued the video recorder, or that the Robertses were smart enough to find it.

Backup was always a good plan, her father had told her once. And on her desk was the letter she had left for Cam just before she left. Why the hell she had written it she couldn't figure out. She had been compelled to leave something, though. To prove she trusted him? She wasn't certain.

She gripped the steering wheel, breathed in slowly, and forced back that edge of panic. This was going to work. She had no choice but to make it work.