Cold Hearted (42 page)

He nuzzled the side of her face. He kissed her temple. And then he moved lower until his open mouth pressed against her neck. Moaning softly, she shuddered. While he toyed with her nipple, he trailed his other hand down over her belly. Slowly. Driving himself crazy with his hunger for more. He pressed his hand over her mound and shoved his fingers between her legs, plastering her gown against her inner thighs. When he rubbed her intimately, she covered his hand with hers.

He nibbled on her neck as he clutched the sides of her gown and drew it up. Bunching the shimmering silk in his hands, he lifted it high enough to touch the triangle of curls nestled at the apex of her thighs. When he inched his fingers through the soft dampness and discovered her sensitive nub, her breathing quickened with excitement. The edge of her gown draped his wrist as he fondled her.

She sighed. She whimpered. She moaned.

He loved every sound. He loved the feel of her beneath his hands and the taste of her on his tongue. Her moisture gushed around his fingers. She was slick and wet and hot. So very hot.

“Come for me,” he whispered huskily, his lips against her ear. “Let go. Let me feel you falling apart.”

Her entire body tensed. He increased the pressure and the tempo as he gently bit her shoulder. She cried out when her orgasm hit. Shuddering with release, she reached on either side of her and grabbed his thighs for support.

As she climaxed, the first hard, heavy drops of rain fell. But he didn’t rush her into the bedroom. Instead he let her float down from the sensual high by slow degrees. When he eased his hand up and under her gown, caressing her belly, she shivered and he knew her skin was sensitive to the touch.

By the time her breathing returned to normal and the aftershocks of her orgasm subsided, they were both drenched. He draped his arm around her waist and turned her to face him. She looked up at him. Until the day he died, he would never forget how beautiful Jordan was at that very moment.

Without saying a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Leaving the French doors open, the rain blowing inside and the curtains fluttering, Rick put her on her feet when they reached the bed. When his gaze traveled from her face, down her throat, across her breasts, over her stomach and down her legs, she reached for him. Her fingertips caressed his face and then slid down his throat. When she spread her open palms flat against his damp, naked chest, he groaned. Her mouth opened with a surprised smile. He grasped her gown where it stuck to her hips, pulled at the wet material and brought it up and over her head.

He looked at her. Her full, round breasts high, her nipples peaked. A thatch of thick dark blond curls covered her mound.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It’s not too soon after… the baby?”

“No. I — I… it’s not too soon.”

He looked in her eyes. “Then say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.” Her voice was raspy with emotion.

He shrugged off his pajama bottoms, stepped out of them, and left them on the floor as he pushed her back, then lifted her up and onto the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her. “I’ve got some condoms in my shave kit.”

Smiling, she nodded, and then seductively slinked across the satiny cotton sheets and into the middle of the bed.

Rick made a mad dash into the bathroom, unzipped his shaving kit and upended the contents in his haste to find the three condoms. Clutching them in his hand, he returned to the bedroom, tossed two down on the nightstand and ripped open the other.

Jordan sat up halfway in the bed, her gaze on his penis, and watched him. Feeling her looking at him excited him. With the condom in place, he got in bed and came down over her, his knees on either side of her legs, his arms braced against the mattress, keeping his weight off her.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. He kissed her hungrily, then began an assault on her body, covering every inch with his hands and mouth, leaving him trembling and her begging.

He lifted her hips, bringing her body up to his, and thrust into her. She clung to him, enthusiastically meeting each deep, hard lunge. They mated wildly. No pretense. No pretty words. Nothing, but the raw, animal pleasure they both craved.

Hours later, as early morning sunlight poured into the room, Jordan woke. She stretched languidly, her body aching and slightly bruised. But she had never felt more alive in her entire life.

Rick lay beside her, his dark head on the blush-rose pillowcase. She reached down and ran her index finger softly over his lips. He grunted. She jerked her hand away. He opened his eyes and smiled up at her.

“Good morning.”

She leaned over him, her tangled hair falling about her shoulders, and returned his smile. During the night she had become as familiar with this man’s body as he had with hers. They knew each other on the most physically intimate of terms. And yet in the cold hard light of day, she felt oddly shy with him.

As if sensing her timidity, he ran a finger down her throat and between her breasts. “It’s all right. Neither of us made any promises.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Don’t analyze what happened,” he told her. “This thing between us is what it is.”

It isn’t love. It isn’t love.

“You understand, don’t you? The timing is all wrong.”

“Wrong time, wrong place. Wrong man?” He tossed back the covers separating their bodies, then reached out and pulled her down over him.

She snuggled close, her naked body fitting perfectly on top of his. “Wrong time, wrong place, but there’s nothing wrong about or with the man.”

He skimmed her hips and buttocks with his fingertips. His touch set her on fire. When he urged her up enough to ease inside her, she shuddered, loving the feel of him, big and hard, sheathed within her.

They made love again, but this time with a tender passion, savoring each moment.

They have no idea that I opened the door and I’m watching them. They’re too caught up in having sex. I had planned to surprise Jordan with fresh flowers from the garden and instead she surprised me.

You have no idea what you’re doing. You don’t love him. And he certainly doesn’t love you.

Don’t you know what kind of man Rick Carson is? He believes you’re a killer. You can’t trust him.

If only you hadn’t lost our precious baby, we would be complete and neither of us would ever need anyone else.

I can’t stay here any longer. I have to leave. I have to forget what I’ve seen. But I must remember that you’re in danger, now more than ever.

I know what I have to do. I finally realize what will make you happy. And it’s not Rick Carson or any other man. Why has it taken me all these years to understand that there is only one place on earth where you belong?

Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. I’ll make all the plans for us and soon, very soon, Rick Carson will be out of our lives forever.

And you’ll be happy again. Truly happy.

Rick figured everyone suspected that his relationship with Jordan had changed, which worked to their advantage in trying to force the killer to attack him. Although they weren’t openly affectionate toward each other when anyone else was around, they often looked at each other, smiled at each other and sometimes even laughed as if they shared a secret.

He and Jordan were lovers. For the past four nights, he had shared her bed.

They had just finished breakfast in the dining room this morning, along with Darlene, Devon, Roselynne, Tammy, and Rene. He had felt their curious stares during the meal and sensed that each of them wanted to warn him that if he hurt Jordan, he’d be sorry. But on the surface, each of them was cordial to him; Roselynne and Rene were even friendly.

While walking Jordan to her study where she and Rene would go over the morning mail and attend to any other business matters concerning Price Manor and the loose ends of the late senator’s life, Rick’s phone rang.

“You two go on,” he told them.

From where he stopped in the hallway, he could see the door to the study. He flipped open his phone. “Morning. I hope you have some news for us.”

“Actually, I do,” Griff replied. “First, I thought you’d want to know that J.C. Harris made a phone call to Sheriff Corbett last night.”

“Is that right?” Rick snorted. “Not of his own free will, I’ll bet.”

“Let’s just say that Luke Sentell persuaded him to tell the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Lt. Haley McLain went to Harris and encouraged him to sell the information about Jordan and her marriage to the senator to The Chatterbox. She even set things up for him.”

Rick wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. He had hoped he was wrong about Haley. “I hate being right.”

“She’ll receive disciplinary action,” Griff said. “More than likely, she’ll lose her job, but that’s what happens when you betray the people who trust you. Seems, according to Harris, the lieutenant had her eye on Sheriff Corbett’s job.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either.”

“I didn’t call you last night to tell you about Lt. McLain because I was expecting a report from Dr. Hamilton this morning and hoped I’d have some good news for you.”

“And?” Rick’s gut tightened. He hadn’t admitted to himself until this very second how important the autopsy report was to him.

“We did a rush job on the lab work,” Griff told him. “Neither the autopsy nor the lab results show anything suspicious. Dr. Hamilton’s opinion is that Robby Joe Wright was a healthy, drug-free young man and his death was caused by trauma from injuries sustained in the car wreck. Add these findings to the initial police report, which we went over with a fine-tooth comb, and there’s only one logical conclusion.”

Rick released a deep breath. “His death wasn’t the result of murder. It was an accident.”

“Out of seven deaths, that’s two we know for sure Jordan wasn’t responsible for. You were with her when Jane Anne Price was murdered and her former fiancé’s death was an accident.”

“How does this change the dynamics of the black widow theory?”

“It adds the element of doubt. If Jordan didn’t kill her fiancé, then it’s possible she didn’t kill either husband number one or husband number two. Brannon’s death could have been a hunting accident and nothing more. But Dan Price was murdered. At this point, I don’t believe there’s any doubt about it.”

“Do you think it’s possible the other deaths were just what they appeared to be and we’re not looking for a Jordan-obsessed serial killer after all?”

“At this point, I don’t know,” Griff admitted. “I talked to Derek before I called you and, even knowing Robby Joe wasn’t murdered, he still thinks some if not all of the others were murdered by the same person.”

“Damn!”

“Are you willing to keep your head in the noose to see if somebody will try to tighten it around your neck?” Griff asked.

“Yeah. Absolutely. I want Jordan cleared and I want the real killer brought to justice.”

“Do I take it that you now have no doubts about Jordan’s innocence?”

He hesitated before replying. All of his adult life, Rick had gone with his gut instincts, which luckily had been proven right most of the time, but not always. One thing he’d never done was go on blind faith alone. This time, things were different. He was different.

“Let’s just say that I know Jordan isn’t a killer.”

“All the same, don’t take any stupid chances.”

Rick grunted. “I’ll do my best.”

“By the way, you can tell Mrs. Wright that we’ll send her son’s body to the funeral home this afternoon. She can contact them and follow through with the arrangements.”

“I think having a re-interment service is a bad idea. It’s only going to make it more difficult for everyone involved.”

“She’s his mother. It’s her right to do whatever she wants. Maybe having this second funeral is necessary for her peace of mind.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe you’re right.”

The last thing Rick wanted was for Jordan to be dragged back into that emotional black hole created by Robby Joe’s death. She was alive again, truly alive, and he’d be damned if he would let her regress and disappear back into the passionless existence she’d lived in for the past twelve years.

The private service for Robby Joe took place the following day at Jernigan Crossroads Funeral Home, a small town operation that had been in business for nearly a hundred years. Rick and Nix Elliott had taken two cars. Jordan, Mrs. Wright and Devon rode with Rick. Roselynne, Tammy and Rene rode with Nix. The service had been postponed until three in the afternoon so that a quartet from one of the local churches could perform two songs, both chosen by Darlene.

Nix remained outside the chapel while Rick waited inside, standing at the back, close by in case Jordan needed him. But he wasn’t one of the mourners. If he’d had his way, Robby Joe’s casket would have been put back in the ground unceremoniously.

Jordan accompanied Darlene from the front pew to the casket which was draped in a full blanket of fresh spring flowers. Five large floral arrangements flanked the torchieres on either side of the casket. Recorded music, piped through the room from strategically placed speakers, provided an organist’s rendition of an old spiritual. Darlene laid her hand on the side of the dark blue coffin. Weeping quietly, she dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief.

Rick noticed that Darlene said something to Jordan, who immediately broke off one of the red rosebuds from the blanket. When she walked Darlene back to their seats, Jordan handed her the flower.

Just as the minister, Reverend Crowell, from the church Darlene had attended as a young woman, approached the pulpit, Claire and Ryan Price entered the chapel. They paused beside Rick and both glanced his way. Ryan nodded at him, then he and Claire made their way forward and sat in the pew directly behind Jordan.

Rick could only imagine the effect today’s events would have on Jordan, who sat ramrod straight, her arm draped around Darlene’s hunched shoulders.