Carnal Vengeance (25 page)

Then he would keep after her until he knew every last secret she had.

Around midday, a steady downpour forced them to give up. The heated glance they had exchanged in the helicopter seemed to have sparked a chain reaction of looks and accidental touches that made it difficult for them to keep their minds on their work. The necessity of their bodies' positioning on the Vespa now seemed more intimate than it had before, but the rain required David to give his full attention to the road ahead of him.

By the time they returned to the motorhome, they were drenched to the skin and chilled, despite the warm temperature. David hustled Holly inside the camper and straight into the small shower stall.

"Why are we squished inside the bathroom?" Holly asked, laughing as he closed the plastic accordion door on them.

"Saving the carpet—and getting us warm." He shifted so that he could turn on the shower behind him.

"David! My shoes—"

"—are already soaked. Now get undressed while there's still some hot water."

"I am not taking my clothes off with you in here. In fact, there isn't enough room for two people to breathe let alone perform the contortions it would take to undress." He proved her wrong by kicking off his shoes, then pulling his shirt over his head. The shirt landed on top of the shoes with a wet plop as his fingers undid the button on his slacks.

Her eyes widened as she realized he was quite serious, but she was determined not to give him the pleasure of seeing her run from him.

"What's the matter, lady, haven't you ever seen a male striptease before?"

She couldn't make herself return his easy laughter any more than she could tell him the truth—that she had never watched a man undress, that in her few previous encounters, she had been in the dark or had averted her eyes.

He was lean, and solid, with a smattering of wet brown hair on his chest that arrowed down into his pants. She continued to stare as he tugged the clinging material down his hips and maneuvered in the narrow space to shed the remainder of his clothing. Looking at his body made her want to know if it felt as firm as it appeared. Only when he straightened, allowing her to see the full effect her staring had on him, did she manage to turn away.

A heartbeat later he spun her back around and used his body to pin her against the fiberglass wall. "Too late for games. I came in here with a practical purpose in mind, but the way you were looking at me wasn't at all practical." His lips brushed over hers.

She frowned, finding it impossible to think with his naked body pressed against hers. Her hands came up to push him away, but contact with the slick muscled flesh of his shoulders made her fingers crave for more.

"Show and tell time, Holly. I went first. Now it's your turn. Tell me you want me."

She moved her head from side to side. "I don't."

His hand slipped between their bodies and captured her breast. "Liar," he whispered, giving her taut nipple a squeeze. "If you won't tell me, I guess you'll have to show me." His mouth took possession of hers before she could deny him again.

Instead of the seductive tenderness he had lured her with before, his new weapon was raw hunger. It drew her into him, making her taste his need, demanding she appease it. And, god help her, she wanted to, for the same hunger was searing her insides.

In a frenzy of arms and legs, pulling and tugging in the cramped quarters, her clothes joined his on the shower floor. Desperate gnawing kisses and groping hands made words unnecessary. Yet, with her arms and legs wrapped around him, and his shaft moving urgently against her sensitized flesh, he spoke.

"Tell me you're on the pill."

She heard his question through the fog of desire in her mind and answered without analyzing what he meant. "Yes."

He exhaled heavily then rubbed his length against her until she moaned. "Now tell me you want me, and you can have me."

The arrogant bastard was not going to win this one. "Go to hell."

"Fine. But you're coming with me." His body penetrated hers in one hard, upward thrust.

She cried out, unable to hide the relief she felt to have the teasing end. Anchoring her nails in his back and her heels in his thighs, she rode the violent waves he created, unaware of anything but the sensations spiraling through her. There was no right or wrong, goals or reasoning.

Only pleasure.

The explosion of her climax and the shimmering aftershocks held her immobilized until he separated their bodies and set her back onto her feet.

Some time ago the water had stopped flowing, but only now did he turn off the faucets and open the door to let the steam escape. Holly remained where she was, feeling strangely detached as he took a towel off the rack and dried them both off. When he tugged on her hand and led her out of the mini-bathroom, the liquid warmth began to evaporate, but not enough to stop her from following him. At the foot of the bed he let go of her hand to pull down the spread.

"What are you doing?" she asked even as he eased her onto the bed beside him.

"Now, Holly, I know you're stubborn, but you're not stupid."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She tried to sound indignant, but didn't quite make it as she watched his finger circle the outside of her breast then spiral closer and closer to the tip. Involuntarily, she arched into his palm and he chuckled.

"I mean, you can't possibly think that was it.
That
was fucking—not what I wanted to do with you at all. But you just had to be stubborn about it and, well, you know I have a bit of a temper. However, I'm not going to let your stubbornness or my temper rob us both of a memorable experience. Now we're going to make love."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. No, he couldn't possibly know she had been mentally comparing him to Philip earlier.

"The manager said he'd personally drive you to the airport at six-thirty." His hand moved down to shape her hip and stroke her thigh. "Hmm. Four hours. I'll have to cut out a few of my special interrogation techniques, but I should still be able to manage it."

"Now what are you talking about?" She swatted at the hand creeping up her inner thigh.

"Before you leave, I want three things from you. One, you're going to admit you want me. In fact, you're going to beg me to satisfy you." His tongue stroked the curve of her ear. "Again."

"Never," she stated confidently, in spite of the ripple that passed through her stomach.

As if he had sensed her physical response, he traced an abstract design over her abdomen. "Two, you're going to tell me what you wanted from me to begin with."

She stiffened. "That's ridiculous. I told you before, I didn't want anything from you. Somehow your overblown ego caused you to jump to a very wrong conclusion about me."

"Maybe. We'll see. But that brings us to three. The last time we parted, we were furious with each other. I have no doubt you never intended to speak to me again." He smiled at the admission in her eyes. "This time, when you walk away, you won't be able to forget you ever met me. You won't be able to forget one"—he gave her a soft kiss on the forehead—"single"—on the tip of her nose—"minute." His lips caressed hers with infinite tenderness, over and over until she turned into his arms and gave herself up to whatever he had in mind.

Good lord. Had she really thought Philip made love to her? The phrase, as she had interpreted it, had no correlation to what she and David shared for the remainder of the afternoon. He made love to her fingers, her toes, the sensitive skin behind her knees. He aroused her with erotic whisperings and promises, then proved the actual deeds more exciting still. Each time she felt as though she could go no higher, he carried her beyond. He made her sigh and moan, laugh and groan, and sigh again.

Where Philip was grateful to worship at the passive shrine of her body, David demanded her full participation, made suggestions that became orders if she hesitated or showed reluctance, then teased her when her innocence showed through.

She had never made love in the daytime. She had never made love with a mature, virile male animal, when she could see that every inch she touched was one hundred percent delicious man. At the ripe old age of thirty-nine, Holly could honestly say, she had never made love.

At six-thirty, while David lay sound asleep, she left the motorhome. She had successfully managed to withhold the first two things he had wanted, but she knew he had scored an overwhelming victory with the third.

There was no turning back now.

She would be David Wells's mistress... and he would be her instrument of revenge.

Chapter 12

"You've got till the count of five to clear out."

The intern's mouth dropped open. "I'm right in the middle of a paragraph, Mr. Wells. The boss said I could use this desk while you were gone."

"So, now I'm back, and that's my desk you've buried with shit." He frowned at the overflowing ashtray, crumpled fast-food wrappers, and half a stationery store. "One."

The young man hesitated long enough to determine that
Mr. Wells
was sincere about removing him and started gathering up his garbage.

The five-count passed numerous times before the desk looked somewhat like it did before David had left five days ago. "You forgot this," David said as the squatter was making his exit. He picked up a plain white envelope.

"Oh, no. That came for you yesterday." He took off before Mr. Wells could ask his name.

David turned the envelope over and saw his name typed in capital letters on a label in the center. He used the envelope to brush the crumbs off his chair and desk before sitting down. He straightened the desk pad, lined up his calendar, pencil cup and memo pad, then adjusted the computer monitor a fraction of an inch. Good. It was
his
again.

It had been a long climb to having things of his own, like a desk and a chair, and the hunger hadn't dissipated yet. He had a toehold but he still needed to do a lot of fancy footwork to secure himself a place at the top of the hill.

With his teak-handled letter opener, he neatly sliced through the top edge of the envelope. Inside were several typed pages and some loose photographs, but no indication as to who had sent it.

One sheet of paper contained a brief synopsis of the meteoric rise to success of Jerry Frampton, publisher of
Jock
magazine. A copy of a clipping from what was probably a sensationalist tabloid was attached to that. It gave some facts about his life and the magazine, and emphasized the rumors of his wild lifestyle. It looked like it had been cut and pasted, as if a few lines had been eliminated between the parts about where he was born and how he put together the first issue of
Jock.

The next photocopied sheets resembled reports prepared by professional investigators or law enforcement personnel, though any identifying marks had been carved out. David scanned the data that gave evidence of a connection between Jerry Frampton and convicted pornographer Mick D'Angelo. It was backed up with D'Angelo's criminal record and a copy of a form signed by Frampton when he once posted bail for D'Angelo.

The photographs had all been taken very recently, on the same day and at the same time, according to the digital imprint across the bottom. Frampton and D'Angelo were obviously involved in a heated discussion, and a typed cover note stated that the pictures were taken at Frampton's private estate in Boca Raton, Florida.

The final sheet contained two typed paragraphs. The first suggested that Frampton still had his fingers in D'Angelo's very dirty business. The other was an assurance to Wells that no other reporter had been given this information, but the reason for singling him out as the recipient had been omitted.

He reread the pages with a critical eye. What could the sender hope to gain? His first guess would be that he wanted to see Jerry Frampton hung out to dry. A disgruntled employee? A jilted lover? By giving the information specifically to a reporter as reputable as himself, that person had to be aware that he would check out the facts before maligning someone's character, particularly a well-known someone.

What if it was true? What if Jerry Frampton had a little help from the dark side in setting up his magazine? What if he was still involved in child pornography on the side? What if he, David Wells, was the investigative reporter to expose him?