Dangerous Intentions (9 page)

Just watching her, he felt himself stiffen as desire for her arrested him. He was already fully naked and he was pleased to see hot lust inside her eyes when she saw his cock rise to the occasion.

“Someone’s definitely ready,” she said, untying the bathrobe and letting it slide down the curves of her body to the floor. It was white and pooling at her feet, it looked like milk.

He licked his lip as his gaze traced the smooth lines of her body, the body of a goddess. Cleopatra had nothing on her.

She just stood there, cupping her breasts slowly, massaging them, and pinching her nipples with her forefingers and thumbs. Driving him mad.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. It was his wedding night, dammit. And he wanted to fuck his wife.

“Let me show you how happy I am,” he said, and rose from the bed. “I want to taste every inch of you. And then I’ll drive you as mad as you’re driving me. I’m pretty sure you’ll be pleased at what I have to offer, my lady.” He reached her and then in one breath swept her off the floor and into his arms. She let out a little moan as she wrapped her long legs around his waist. He tightened his hands on her butt to keep her right where she was. Her pubic hair rubbing against his stomach made him want to have her right there and then, but it was their honeymoon and he intended to be a gentleman. He’d play the game of give and take.

“Where do you want to start this journey?” he whispered into her ear. “Bed, balcony, bathroom, or elevator?”

She giggled, and the very sound rocked his system. He wanted her too bad to wait. To hell with being a gentleman. He’d do that at the second or third round. Right now he just wanted to fuck.

“I choose the balcony,” he said, already striding out of the open glass doors.

Outside, he pushed her against the wall, hoisted her higher, and listened to her scream as he slid himself into her. He fucked her from the front, the back, and every angle he could come up with. He fucked her until her hair was not only wet from her shower but also from her sweat. He fucked Haley until she screamed out his name and the letters were carried on the sea breeze. She was his wife and they were bound together forever, by a promise that could never be broken.

He opened his eyes suddenly and his memories fled back into the past, leaving his heart racing and cock hard. “Damn.” He ran a hand through his hair. “That girl messes with my head.”

“Who, Haley I assume?” Nolan asked, glancing at Jude briefly.

“Who the fuck else?” He looked out the window at the passing cars. “Are we ever going to reach our destination? Your driving sucks. Want me to take the wheel?”

“Sure,” Nolan said, annoyance in his voice. “If you want to get arrested for driving under the influence…for starters.”

Jude lifted the half empty bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a long gulp of liquid fire. “We used to be happy you know.”

“And you really think you can be again?”

“Damn sure. She just needs a little reminding.”

Chapter Twenty

Haley

Dustin stepped out onto the patio looking distressed. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes seemed deeper and his eyes were clouded.

I placed my novel on my lap. “Are you okay?” Since I arrived at the ranch, it had all been about me. Even though I was struggling with my greatest challenge yet, I reminded myself to look out for Dustin in every small way that I could. I asked about his business, his work on the ranch, his family. It was a relief to discuss someone else’s life.

Dustin collapsed into the chair next to me and swiped a hand through his hair. “The cow that recently gave birth is dead. Some kind of infection.”

I leaned forward. “Oh my God. That’s terrible.” An image of the mother nuzzling her newborn calf flashed in my mind and my chest tightened. “She seemed all right yesterday when I went to see them.”

“Things like this happen more than you might think. But that doesn’t make it easy.”

“How… What will happen to the calf?”

“We’ll have to bottle feed it. We found it lying next to its mother, suckling. But she must have died sometime during the night.”

“That’s really sad.” I felt terrible for the poor baby that never got to know its mother. A thought came to my mind. After Grace found out I was pregnant—which was hard to hide with all the morning sickness—she refused to allow me to help with most of the tasks around the house, even though I so badly needed a distraction. But this could be an opportunity to help. “Do you mind if I feed the calf? I have a lot of time on my hands.”

Dustin leaned forward, resting his lower arms on his thighs. He turned to look at me. “I’d like that.”

“I think it will be good for me too.” Taking care of the calf could be the chance I needed to connect with my motherly instincts. Right now, when I tried to connect with the baby growing inside me, I felt nothing. “When can I start?”

Dustin chuckled and his face softened a bit. He stood up and sighed as he looked out at the open fields. “How about now? I sent one of the guys to drive to one of the local feed stores to get some colostrum and other supplies.”

An hour later, I was sitting on a bale of hay, feeding the calf. Her big brown eyes were glued to my face as she sucked hungrily on the bottle, like she was thanking me.

Johnathan had helped me prepare an area of the barn for feeding, with a thick bed of straw for the calf to lie on. Everything I needed to prepare the bottles was in there as well. Luckily, the calf had accepted the bottle right away after Dustin rubbed some milk formula in its mouth to give it a taste.

Dustin had stayed with me for just a few minutes before he was called away by Travis to handle a situation—something to do with Mitch.

After he left, I looked into the calf’s liquid eyes. “I’m sorry about your mother,” I told it. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.” I paused and stroked its head. “I don’t like calling you Calf. That’s boring. How about I call you Hope?”

***

When I returned to the house later, I heard raised voices coming from Dustin’s office. Then the door was suddenly yanked open and Mitch stormed out, red in the face, followed closely by Travis.

When Travis saw me, he glanced back into the office at Dustin, who called for me.

“What’s going on?” I frowned. “What’s wrong with Mitch?”

“He’s fired,” Dustin said between clenched teeth. I had never seen him more furious. He closed his eyes tight and then opened them again.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Travis said. “I have to find someone to replace him.”

I sank into my chair and clasped my hands in my lap. “Not a good day, huh?”

“Not really.” Dustin paused. “Haley, I don’t want to hide this from you.”

I tipped my head to the side. “Hide what?”

Dustin ran a hand through his hair and met my eyes. “Mitch knows…that you’re Jude’s wife.”

I froze, gripping the sides of the chair. “Okay?” I knew there was more, and I wanted to know and remain in the dark all at the same time.

Dustin pulled a drawer open and removed a folded tabloid, one that made money from exposing celebrities or other well-known people behaving badly. He handed it to me, and I almost dropped it as I reached for it. On the cover was a badly Photoshopped but still clear photograph of me and Dustin. He was whispering into my ear and I was smiling. My stomach twisted into a knot.

“Oh my God.” I flipped through it to the article that called me a gold-digger who was trading her husband, Jude Macknight, for an even wealthier man: Dustin Brannon.

I felt hot, I felt cold, I felt like I wanted to die. “How? How did he?” Why was I even asking the question? I knew how. That night at Krug, Mitch had been eyeing me with interest. Too much interest.

“He saw an opportunity to make money, took the photo with his phone, and sold it. Don’t worry, my papers will clear up the rumors, but—”

“Jude might see it, see us together. He will know.” He didn’t read tabloids, but I couldn’t rule anything out.

“Luckily the article doesn’t specify where you are. They were more focused on our supposed affair.”

“But Jude is not stupid.” If he had seen the article, it was only a matter of time before he figured it out.

Chapter Twenty-One

“This just keeps getting worse,” Grace said to Travis. They were each reading different newspapers—Grace the local paper and Travis USA Today. It had become a welcome ritual for them to join us for breakfast each Saturday, but it was me and Dustin who did the cooking and serving.

“What is?” Travis perched his reading glasses on his nose and peered at his wife over the top of the paper, one eyebrow cocked.

“The prostitute killings in Serendipity. I’ve been telling you about them for almost a month. A serial killer is on the loose. Poor girls are dying almost every day.”

“And they still don’t have a suspect?” Dustin asked over his shoulder as he scrubbed the pan at the kitchen sink.

“Here and there, but none that have panned out. The killer seems to be good at hiding.”

“Or the cops are useless at their jobs.” Travis put down the paper.

“They’ve apparently called in help from the outside.” Dustin wiped his hands with a blue-and-white striped kitchen towel. He turned and went to sit at the table.

Grace also pushed her newspaper aside and leaned back with her arms crossed. “I pray they catch him soon. Those girls didn’t deserve to die.”

“That’s just so sad,” I said. I had heard Grace talk about the prostitute killer several times, usually when she read her morning paper. I hadn’t admitted it to her, but it the case touched me deeply. Any of those girls could have been me.

I placed a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in the middle of the table, and then two jugs—one filled with water and the other with orange juice that Dustin had just pressed.

Dustin and Travis moved on to the topic of the new ranch hand who’d replaced Mitch.

“I guess Mitch’s betrayal was a blessing in disguise. Less than a week and Gary has proven to be more than capable.” Travis removed his cap and placed it on his lap.

“I agree. He’s a keeper.” Dustin poured himself some orange juice. “This food looks delicious, Haley.”

“I hope it tastes that way too.” I sat down in the chair next to Grace and reached for the newspaper so I could replace it with my own plate. My hands froze before I could touch it. And then, almost as if it was controlling me, I picked it up. Feeling as if I were underwater, I stood up slowly, still gripping the paper, and left the kitchen. I heard Dustin call after me, asking if I was all right. I heard myself respond that I was okay.

At the bottom of the staircase was a wooden box in which Grace kept old newspapers. I reached inside and pulled out five local newspapers that were stacked on top of each other. Then I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, my heart thundering.

My head felt like it was about to burst—something invisible was squeezing it and the pressure was reaching my brain. The pain echoed in my ears, my eyes, and spread through my whole body. My stomach contracted so badly I was on the verge of doubling over. My knees weakened, my vision blurred, and my world spun on its axis as blood-red flags fluttered inside my mind.

I crashed through my bedroom door and flung myself onto the bed, burying my head into the pillow, crushing it with my weight, my fears. I allowed myself to cry out some of the pressure swelling inside my gut. Then I drew in a shaky breath, sat up, and looked down at the papers on the bed.

I picked up one that was several days old and flipped through the pages. I found the article I was looking for and read the headline.

Tenth prostitute dead at only twenty-five.

Apparently her body hadn’t been recovered; a photograph sent to her loved ones was the only evidence of her death. The number ten was scrawled on the back. She had been numbered, just like the prostitutes killed before her. My gaze slid to the photo. She was beautiful once upon a time. In this photo—a perfect shot of her face and upper body—her eyes were open and blank, her pupils dilated.

Holding my breath, I picked up another newspaper and found another article—another prostitute killed, another innocent life taken. Another piece of evidence that made my skin crawl.

I tried not to throw up as I reached for today’s paper and read the story.

Over thirty prostitutes had been murdered in total. None of their bodies had been found. But a photo was sent each time.

I forced myself to look at the thumbnail photos of the women placed side by side and my stomach turned. Even in death, I could see that they resembled each other. Each had long, honey-blonde hair. The article also stated that they all had green eyes framed by long lashes.

Vomit pushed its way up to my throat and this time, it had nothing to do with morning sickness. In the bathroom, my knees hit the floor and I retched until my throat was sore and tears seared my eyes. I didn’t know how long I stayed there afterward, my pounding head resting on the edge of the toilet bowl.

“Haley, Jesus, are you okay?”

I looked up. Through the blurriness, I saw Dustin’s face lower to my level as he kneeled beside me on the floor. I started to cry uncontrollably again.

“I didn’t think it could get any worse.” I gulped down the tears. “I was wrong, Dustin. How could I be so wrong?”

He gathered me into his arms and rocked me, one hand on the back of my head, the other rubbing my back. “It’s all right, Haley. Everything will be okay. I promise you.”

I sniffed and pulled away from him. I wanted to look into his eyes as I told him my suspicions. I shook my head. “Nothing will ever be okay. Jude still has me where he wants me, in the palm of his hand.”

Dustin didn’t say anything. He pulled me to my feet and escorted me back into the bedroom. He pushed the newspapers out of the way and we both sat on the bed. “Did something happen?”

I reached for today’s newspaper, smoothed it out on my lap, and pointed at the photos of the dead women. “I’ll never be free.” I paused to take another breath. “Dustin, I think Jude is the prostitute killer.”