Against the Wind (9 page)

Sarah wasn't ready for any kind of commitment. Her one-night stand with Jackson—the first ever for Sarah—had perfectly filled her needs. Of course she wanted him again already—which could only be expected. Jackson was exactly the sort of lover every woman wanted: passionate, considerate and tireless. Sarah was thirty-two, at the height of her sexuality. It was only normal that she was attracted to such a virile male.

Still, she knew the terrible consequences of falling under a man's spell—even one who, on the surface, appeared to be exactly the sort a woman would want.
Sarah had learned the hard way how deceiving appearances could be.

One thing she knew for certain, the closer she allowed herself to get to Jackson, the more difficult it would be to end the affair.

No more hot, unbridled sex,
she told herself.
No more fierce kisses and heated embraces, no more touching, aching, wanting.

She had to stop now—before it was too late.

 

Jackson didn't notice Sarah standing in the bedroom doorway until she walked barefoot into the living room, wearing the same sexy, flowered silk robe she'd had on the night before. As she made her way toward the coffee pot, he went hard beneath his white terry robe.

She poured herself a cup of coffee but never once did she look at him, and right then, he knew he was in trouble. “You might as well say it. I kind of thought you would.”

She added cream to her coffee, carefully stirred it in, then turned toward where he sat on the sofa. “All right, I'll say it. Last night was great—fantastic, in fact—but…”

“But it was a mistake.”

She sighed, unnecessarily stirred her coffee a few more times, set the spoon back down on the tray. “It was my idea, so if it was a mistake, I'm the one who made it.”

“That so? Maybe it wasn't a mistake. Maybe it was just great sex and we both enjoyed it.”

She smiled at that, seemed a little relieved. “Yeah, maybe it was. It's been years for me. I suppose I'm entitled.”

That was exactly what he wanted to hear. Great sex, no strings. So why did hearing it make his insides draw into a knot?

“Actually, I've been wondering about last night…” he said.

“Wondering?”

“Yeah. Wondering why you weren't cowering in fear. I'm a man, after all, and a fairly demanding lover. After what your husband did—”

“Fairly demanding?”

“All right, I like sex. I like a partner who enjoys it, too.”

“So you thought that after Andrew, I'd be afraid of you, afraid of your passion?”

He nodded. “I'm surprised you didn't run screaming from the room.”

Sarah sighed, shoved back a lock of her heavy dark hair. “The truth is, for a long time, I was the coward you expected me to be. I was terrified of Andrew. I did whatever he told me to.”

“Considering he beat you so badly he put you in the hospital, I can understand that.”

“You know about that?”

“My brother's fairly thorough.”

She walked toward him but sat down in the chair instead of taking a seat beside him on the sofa. “I was afraid to leave him. I was sure he'd wind up with custody of Holly—one way or another. And I was terrified that if he did and I wasn't there to take the brunt of his wrath, he would take it out on her.”

“You thought he would kill you and then hurt your daughter.”

“Yes.” She glanced away, staring out the wide glass
sliding doors as if she could see into the past. “Three years ago, I found a site on the internet, a support group for abused women—SBW. It stands for Support for Battered Women. I had my own laptop—something Andrew gave me so he could email me from wherever he happened to be, make sure I stayed close by.”

“Kind of like Big Brother.”

“Exactly. But it worked against him. Once I was in the chat group, little by little the women made me understand that I didn't have to let him break me, that I could find ways around him, ways to be my own person, even if I stayed.”

“Do you still interact with the group?”

She nodded. “As soon as I get home, I'm hooking up to a server. Some of the women have become close friends. I've missed talking to them.”

“I see.” And he did. She had endured and become stronger, found ways to protect her daughter and herself. He couldn't help admiring her for it.

“So what about the disk?” she asked. “Where should we begin?”

He moved the paper lying open on the coffee table and she spotted the probate documents he had been reviewing. “I read through the paperwork this morning. I didn't see anything that rang a bell. Like we figured, Kozak's our primary lead. He wants the disk and he's willing to go to extreme lengths to get it.”

“Which means there's something on that disk he doesn't want anyone to see.” Sarah took a sip of her coffee. “Kozak is linked to Andrew through Hollister Equipment. Their main office is in West Covina. I'm sure they'll let me in—I'm Andrew's widow, after all.
Let's go down there and dig around, see what we can find out.”

“What about your husband's personal office?”

“The office was closed after Andrew died. It was only for show, anyway. Each of the companies he owned ran independently. Andrew liked to play, not work. He liked to keep things simple.”

“Then we'll go out to West Covina, take a look at Hollister Equipment.”

She nodded. “I'd better shower and get dressed.” She rose from the chair, the flowered silk parting, showing a long length of her sexy legs. Jackson felt a jolt of heat that went straight to his groin.

He watched her refill her coffee cup then disappear inside the bedroom she had claimed but not slept in. He wondered where their relationship was headed—wondered if there would be any sort of relationship at all or just the memory of a heated night of sex.

Whatever happened, it was going to take patience on his part, patience and a will of steel. As he rose from the sofa, his erection hard as granite, it was all he could do not to walk through that bedroom door, join her in the shower, and make love to her until neither of them could move.

For the second time that morning, common sense prevailed, and he went in to shower and change.

S
arah turned off the water and toweled herself dry. She blow-dried her hair and dressed in a beige skirt, turquoise silk blouse and sandals. When she returned to the living room, she found Jackson in a yellow short-sleeved shirt and dark chinos, drinking a cup of coffee.

God, he was handsome. She knew the iron-hard body beneath those clothes, knew the scent of him, the texture of his skin, the exact feel of the roughness along his jaw. Memories of last night did ridiculous things to her body.

“Ready?” he asked, setting the coffee cup down and striding toward her.

“I'm ready.” She forced herself not to take a step backward as he approached. He was a powerful force and ignoring his sexual appeal wouldn't be easy.

They left the hotel and took the 10 Freeway out to West Covina. Hollister Equipment was in a gray stucco
building on a huge open lot where a variety of heavy equipment was stored. Sarah didn't know the name of each piece, but there were heavy earth movers and gigantic dump trucks with wheels the size of a small house, big yellow Caterpillar graders, steamrollers and dozens of miscellaneous trucks of every size.

“Big operation,” Jackson said.

“I've only been here once. I'd forgotten it was so impressive.”

“Let's go inside, take a look around the office.” His hand settled at her waist and she ignored a little spark of awareness, waited while he opened the door, then walked inside.

There were two women working, each at a beige metal desk. One of them got up and walked over.

“What can I do for you?” She was short, late thirties, blond hair teased and pulled into a twist. She stuck a pencil into her hairdo and used it to scratch her head.

“I'm Sarah Hollister.” At least she was for as long as it was necessary. “The probate on my late husband's estate is moving forward and I need to take a look at some of the company files.”

The blonde flicked a glance at the other woman, older, with silver streaks in her short brown hair.

“It's all right,” the older woman said. “Mr. Hollister is certainly not going to protest.”

“Go ahead,” the blonde said. “The records are all in the manager's office. It's right through there.” She pointed toward a closed door. “Mr. Wallace is out on a job.”

Good news, Sarah thought. At least she wouldn't have to concoct a story for him. Jackson followed her into the office and closed the door behind them.

“I wonder if they searched this place,” he said. “If they did, they were careful not to leave any traces.”

“It's one thing to tear up a cottage in Wyoming or vandalize an empty condo. Hollister is a big company that employs a number of people. They would have been worried about bringing in the police.”

Sarah sat down at the desk and began to pull open the drawers while Jackson walked over to the file cabinets.

Finding nothing but the manager's personal items, she left the desk and joined him, saw him open the drawer marked J–M and begin to skim the records, searching for Martin Kozak's name.

“Here it is.” He pulled out a manila file and they both read the information as he turned the pages.

“These look like mostly highway projects,” Sarah said. “Kozak rented big pieces of machinery from Hollister to complete the jobs.”

“Nothing here that looks suspicious.”

“Let's take the file anyway,” she suggested. “Just in case there's something in it we might need later on.”

They made a cursory examination of the rest of the files, but saw nothing that might indicate a blackmail scheme. They left the office, the file under Jackson's arm. None of the women seemed to notice—or maybe they just didn't care.

“Where to now?” Sarah asked.

Seated behind the wheel of the Infiniti, Jackson opened the file. “Here's a project Kozak started last year. Leased a lot of equipment from Hollister. Looks like his company's still working on it.”

Sarah leaned over and read the information. “They're
building an overpass on Highway 91. I'll show you how to get there.”

Jackson cranked the engine and they drove out of the parking lot. With the congested L.A. traffic, they didn't reach the site until almost an hour later.

Work crews were everywhere, dust flying, engine noise so loud Sarah had to shout to be heard. Jackson pulled the car off onto a dirt road that led into the construction zone and turned off the engine, staying some distance away.

“I don't want them to come over and make us leave. I think if we stay back here, we'll be all right.”

A gusty afternoon breeze whipped powdery dust into the air as each piece of Hollister machinery did its job. “What do you suppose Kozak could be doing that's illegal?”

They watched the equipment moving vast loads of dirt, flatbed trucks hauling long lengths of rebar to reinforce the concrete used to support the bridge. Huge chunks of earth were being scooped out then dumped into piles that provided the height necessary to cross the road below.

“I've read about companies using inferior grade products,” Jackson said, “substandard concrete or rebar they bought for a song. Ultimately the structure failed and cost lives. Could be that kind of thing.”

“I remember something like that happened in a hotel in Kansas City, though I think it might have been faulty design. Walkway gave way. Killed more than a hundred people.”

“Or it could be faulty compaction. It's a lot cheaper to do a half-assed job than to spend the time necessary to compact the earth just right.”

“Andrew might have stumbled across the truth. Or he might have paid someone to keep track of what was going on.”

“The trick is to figure out what it was.”

“And what to do with the information once we find out.”

Jackson cast her a glance. “Use it to get Kozak off your back.”

That sounded like a very good idea. She looked back at the massive building project. “If Kozak was doing anything that might affect the quality of the construction, wouldn't he have to deal with an inspector, someone in charge of checking to be sure the project was built to code?”

“Yeah—and that's damned good thinking. The only way Kozak could get away with substandard construction of any kind is if the highway inspector was on the take.”

“How can we find out?”

“Let's go back to the hotel and make some calls, see if we can come up with a little more information.” Jackson started the engine.

“Do you really think it could be that simple?”

“There's nothing simple about it. The only reason we're following this line of thinking is that we're pretty sure something crooked is going on.”

Sarah fell silent, her mind spinning with possibilities. She had known Andrew was involved in shadowy activities. She had always worried that somehow his dealings might affect her and Holly.

She shuddered, afraid to consider the price she might yet have to pay.

 

The suite had been cleaned and fresh sheets put on the beds. No evidence remained of their heated lovemaking last night. Still, just a glimpse through Jackson's open bedroom door sent a ripple of heat into Sarah's stomach. She quickly glanced away, then flushed to find his dark eyes watching her.

He crossed the carpet to where she stood, came up behind her, set his hands around her waist and pressed his mouth against the back of her neck. “So you just want great sex, nothing more.”

“No, I…”

“It's been years, you said. If that's so, one night isn't going to be enough.” His warm breath fanned her nape. He slid her hair aside and kissed her just below her ear, bit down lightly on the lobe.

She moistened her trembling lips, felt his fingers working the buttons at the front of her blouse, pulling it open, sliding inside the lacy cups of her demi-bra. He grazed the tips of her breast as he pressed more kisses along her throat, kissed the shoulder he bared, unhooked the front of her bra and filled his hands with her breasts.

Sarah's knees went weak. “Jackson…”

“You want this, don't you? Just as much as I do?”

She swallowed, told herself to pull away, to ignore the hot little tremors that came with each tug of his skillful fingers on her nipples.

His teeth grazed her shoulder. “Tell me you want me. Say it out loud.”

She whimpered.

“Say it.”

She could feel his erection pressing against her
bottom, remembered how good it felt to have him inside her. “I…want you.”

She started to turn but he held her in place, leaned around and kissed her on the mouth. She sucked in a breath at the feel of her skirt sliding over her hips, exposing her bottom and the white lace thong that matched her bra. At least the expensive underwear, one of the few remnants of Andrew's money, was being put to good use.

“Very pretty,” he said, running a hand over the rounded globes, bending down to press soft nibbling kisses against her skin. “The panties, too.”

He slid the thong aside, found her softness and began to stroke her. Sarah squirmed, arched into his hand. She was trembling all over, any thought of resisting a memory. She was wet. Dear God, the man could make her wet. She heard the buzz of his zipper, felt the thickness of his heavy erection. Her palms flattened on the wall as he tipped her forward, parted her legs and filled her.

Sarah gasped at the rush of pleasure, at the heat and need pouring through her.

Jackson was a fiercely demanding lover, she had learned, but as he eased himself out and filled her again, as his fingers found her cleft and stroked her to the very edge of climax, she understood that here was a man who demanded but also gave, a man who could satisfy her as no man ever had.

A man even more dangerous than Andrew.

A hot climax shook her and sweet pleasure rolled through her, filling every cell in her body. Sarah cried out Jackson's name as he surged deeply, pounded into her and brought her to fulfillment again. Then his hard
body tightened, he drove into her one last time and reached a powerful release.

For long seconds they just stood there, Sarah's eyes closed, her insides still tingling, a soft smile on her lips. Jackson eased himself out of her body and disposed of his condom while she worked to straighten her clothes.

Her smile remained in place, but as she continued to spiral down and the pleasure began to fade, warning bells went off in her head and the old fear returned. Jackson was a man with the power to reach her as no man ever had—and therein lay the danger.

Silently she vowed to find the courage she would need to resist him.

 

Jackson sat in the living room, poring over the equipment leases and notes in the Kozak file, then he went over the probate papers again. Sarah had showered and at his insistence lay down for an afternoon nap.

She'd had little sleep last night, thanks to him. And though she had made it clear she wanted to put some distance between them, he had beaten down her defenses and taken her again.

It hadn't been difficult. All day, sparks of sexual tension had crackled between them, sparks ready to burst into a roaring blaze. Sarah was a far more sensual woman than she realized. She had been without a man for years, and it was clear the two of them were good together, that they could satisfy each other's needs.

Jackson frowned. He wanted Sarah Allen. He couldn't seem to get his fill. And yet he wasn't sure, beyond sex, what he expected of her—or what she expected of him. He wasn't sure how deeply he should get involved.

He remembered the old Sarah, driven by a fierce desire for money and social position. Maybe that hadn't changed and the attraction she felt for him came from the money and influence he now commanded.

A line from a country song popped into his head— “How do you like me now?” Now that he was wealthy and successful. Now that he was no longer just a boy from the wrong side of the tracks.

His gut was saying it wasn't so, but he didn't know her well enough to be completely sure.

And even if he decided a relationship with Sarah was what he wanted, he wasn't sure how much involvement she would allow. After ten years with an abusive husband, she might not be ready to jump back in.

He only knew he didn't want to hurt her. Whatever her thoughts and motives, Sarah and her daughter had been hurt more than enough already.

It was half an hour later when she walked into the living room in one of the hotel's fluffy white terry robes, her hair damp from the shower and curling softly around her face, looking so damned sexy he wanted to tumble her again.

“You want a Coke or something from the minibar?” he asked, careful to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Diet Coke, if there is one. That would be great.”

He filled a glass with the ice he'd retrieved from the machine down the hall, walked over to the minibar and took out a Diet Coke, poured it into the glass.

Sarah was on the phone as he approached, seated on the sofa with her legs curled up beneath her, the receiver pressed against her ear. She held up the message pad and he read the words she'd written,
highway dept.

“Yes, well, my name is Carrie Johnson,” she said, making up the words as she went along. “I'm a secretary with Kozak Construction—the company that's building the overpass on Highway 91? I was wondering…hoping…you could help me.”

She reached up and took the frosty glass from his hand, took a quick sip and continued her conversation.

“You see, today is only my second day on the job and I'm embarrassed to say I've managed to lose the information my boss gave me with the highway inspector's name written on it. Do you think you could look it up for me? I really hate to ask my boss for it again.” She sipped her Coke. “Sure, I'll be happy to wait.”

A moment later, she set the glass down and picked up the pad, plucked up the pen beside it and began to scratch out a name. Vernon Rimmer.