Deadly Kisses (30 page)

She felt desperate and tried to pull free. He refused to let her go. His touch made her yearn for so much more. “She just seems to be a very possessive and jealous woman,” Maggie managed to say. Her heart continued to thunder in her chest. Fear, love, desire and grief all managed to mingle and blur together there.

“You don't even know her,” Evan remarked. His gaze was piercing. “But I do. In fact, I know her too well. What has happened, Maggie?”

Maggie jerked her hand from his and covered her face.

“Maggie?” Concern sharpened his tone. And suddenly he was holding her and she could feel his lean, hard body, her cheek against his chest. He said, “You have met her, haven't you? Did she come here?”

Maggie was mesmerized. She nodded, unable now to speak, aware of every inch of him.

His hands tightened on her waist. “She came here?” He was incredulous.

“She was very angry,” Maggie whispered.

“She was angry with you?”

“She threatened us,” she breathed.

He released her. “She came here and threatened you?” Anger began, tightening his face, darkening his eyes.

She knew she should not tell him, but she was afraid, and Evan was strong, secure and capable. He had been looking out for her and the children for months now. “She threatened the children.”

He grasped her shoulders, his eyes wide.

“Evan, now you must understand why we cannot be friends.”

And his expression turned hard and dangerous. “She has gone too far!” He released her.

“Evan,” she cried, following him as he strode to the door. “Evan! What are you going to do?”

He spun. “I will never forgive her for this,” he said harshly. Then he cupped her chin. “She is not going to interfere in our relationship, Maggie.”

“Don't say anything!” Maggie begged, terrified for the children. “Please don't!”

“You let me handle the countess.”

 

B
RAGG HURRIED INTO THE
narrow front hall of his home. He had had a telephone installed in the house last month, due to the demands of his job, and Peter had reached him a half an hour ago. Although Peter had reassured him that Leigh Anne was all right, he was torn between fury and concern that O'Donnell had dared to call on her. He hurried down the corridor. The parlor door was open, but a quick glance inside showed him that she was not there.

He hurried out and bumped into Peter by the stairs. “Where is my wife?”

Peter was very grim. “She has been resting upstairs, sir.”

“And the girls?” Bragg demanded, aware of his heart pounding with unusual strength. Every beat was filled with worry, with fear.

“Mrs. Flowers has taken them to the park. They should return shortly.”

Bragg nodded. “What did he say? What did he want?” he demanded. “And Peter, why the hell did you wait so long to call me?”

“Mrs. Bragg wished for me to undertake an errand, sir.” Peter's round face was flushed. “She insisted.”

“She insisted on an errand? Next time, you call me first!”

“Sir,” Peter appeared agonized. “Mrs. Bragg asked me to take her out.”

He was confused. His wife no longer went out. “Take her where?”

“She asked me not to say. This is very hard for me, sir. I do not wish to betray Mrs. Bragg.”

He was very alarmed. “O'Donnell was here—and then Leigh Anne went out?”

“Yes, sir.” Peter clearly did not wish to say any more. “She was very upset when O'Donnell left. I heard him say that he wanted to take the girls for a walk in the park. Mrs. Bragg refused.”

“Is that all?”

“No. He said he had a lawyer, sir. And then he told your wife to send me and Mrs. Kennedy out.”

Bragg tensed. “You left her alone with that thug?”

“I didn't want to, sir, but she gave me an order.” He hesitated. “I wanted to call you, as well. I am sorry.”

Bragg could not imagine what Leigh Anne thought she was doing, but he had a very bad feeling. “You should have called me then and there,” Bragg said harshly. He turned and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, grateful the girls were out.

The door to their bedroom was open. He saw Leigh Anne instantly. She sat before the hearth in her wheeled chair, staring at its empty darkness. A cashmere shawl was around her shoulders, a dark green that was several shades darker than her remarkable eyes. Instantly he saw how worried and upset she remained. “Leigh Anne.”

She said nothing but her eyes turned moist.

He rushed to her and knelt before her. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she said hoarsely, her gaze intent on his. “He was here. I am very frightened, Rick.”

His heart lurched. “I told you, I will take care of him.”

“He is going to fight us for the girls, I just know it!” she cried.

He tried to cup her cheek but she jerked away. “The lawyer is a bluff, Leigh Anne. No judge is going to choose him over us and he knows it. He is going to blackmail us, I am certain, and when he does, I will arrest him.”

“You should just pay him to go away,” she said tersely, her gaze wide on his.

Maybe she was right. Everyone seemed to think that paying O'Donnell off was the best solution. “I spoke with Mr. Feingold today. He said our chances of adopting the girls are excellent. O'Donnell's shady history makes it unlikely that any court would give him custody of the girls,” he added, hoping to reassure her and chase the terror in her eyes away.

But a tear fell. “I am sick with fear, Rick. You have to get rid of him before he destroys us!”

She was keeping something from him. He knelt before her, taking her stiff, frozen hands in his. “What happened, Leigh Anne? If I am going to take care of O'Donnell, I need to know everything.”

She was as pale as a ghost. She shook her head, incapable of speech. She was clutching a handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes. He suddenly saw that her hands were bandaged with gauze. He took her wrist. “What the hell happened?”

“I hurt myself rolling the chair without help. But it's only a few scrapes.”

“Why did you do that?” he asked, still holding her arm.

“I was so angry and so afraid,” she whispered.

Acting on sheer impulse, he placed her bandaged hand on his chest and held it gently but securely there. “You don't have to be afraid,” he said thickly. “I am going to take care of O'Donnell. But you have to trust me.”

His every instinct told him that his wife was in trouble now. “What happened, Leigh Anne? What happened here today? What aren't you telling me? Please, let me help you.”

She met his searching gaze. “He doesn't want you to know.”

He was sick. “He doesn't want me to know what?”

She trembled. “I promised to get him fifteen thousand dollars by tomorrow night.”

His blood surged red-hot now and his fury threatened to erupt. “He blackmailed you.” He was amazed at how calm and quiet his tone sounded.

She shook her head. “No. He never asked for money. He is family now, isn't he?” More tears fell. “I would merely be helping the girls' uncle a bit.”

His wife had been thoroughly manipulated. “Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly. “I will take care of this.” But in his
mind, he saw himself strangling O'Donnell, squeezing the life out of him.

“I tried to borrow the money from Bartolla,” Leigh Anne whispered, more tears tracking down her face. “But she is not wealthy at all. As it turns out, her husband left her nothing.”

He was beyond anguish for what she had been through, and what she had tried to do alone. “Why didn't you come to me?” he asked, cupping her cheek. “You used to trust me.” He rubbed at some tears with his thumb.

She tried to nod and glanced up, holding his gaze through her tears. “I was a fool. There is no one that I trust more.”

His heart stilled. He wondered if she knew how much that meant to him, and how much he still loved her. He could not help himself—he leaned closer to her. She had become very still, but she did not press back in her chair. “I will get the money by tomorrow night,” he whispered, his mouth close to hers. “Tomorrow this will all be over.”

He saw the relief in her eyes, and something else, some thing he had not seen in months. He saw desire and need.

All thought vanished, because he needed her, too, terribly. He touched her mouth with his. The soft, full feel of her lips sent blood pulsing to his loins, hot and hard. The bare kiss wasn't deliberately planned, and he certainly did not mean to escalate it, no matter how much he wanted to, if Leigh Anne did not want him to. But she did not move and she allowed her lips to ever-so-slightly part. He felt her hesitation.

“Leigh Anne,” he whispered, suddenly desperate to make love to her. He kissed her again, and her lips parted even more beneath his.

He began to kiss her more urgently, his need rising so hard and so fast that he was stunned by it.

“Rick,” she managed to say, a whisper of protest.

“You are still the most beautiful woman in the world,” he
cried against her wet, full mouth. And he kissed her throat, a man telling a woman he wanted her and that she must submit.

“I'm not beautiful anymore,” she gasped, but she was trembling.

He stood, lifting her into his arms as he did so. She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her eyes, and their gazes met. He carried her to the bed, whispering, “I have to make love to you. Please, don't ask me to stop.”

He laid her down. She pushed once at his chest, and her bandaged hand slid to his neck. “This isn't a good idea.”

“I think it is a very good idea,” he said, already poised over her. He kissed her again, and this time, as he slid his tongue deep, she opened widely and a shudder racked her body. He could not wait. He slid his hands over the bodice of her dress and Leigh Anne arched wildly in an invitation she apparently could not control. It had been so long.

Somehow his hands were under her dress and petticoat. Leigh Anne's eyes flew wide the moment he touched her. She was wet, but she was also afraid.

He understood. “Give in,” he pleaded. “Darling, give in to me.”

She cried out, her eyes closing. “Then hurry,” she whispered. “Oh, Rick, hurry!”

It was an invitation he had dreamed of hearing again. Pushing her skirts up, he kissed her deeply and darkly, no longer able to think. She writhed against him and he thrust hard, again and again, while she sobbed her re lease and he sobbed his.

When his breathing slowed, he was shocked to realize that he had just made love to his wife. He moved onto his side, overcome with the ballooning feelings in his heart. Taking her into his arms, he glimpsed her long, naked legs. The left one was twisted now. His heart lurched and he smoothed her clothes down. Now all he wanted to do was hold her for a very long time.

So much joy expanded in his chest. He studied her as he held
her, amazed by how beautiful she was. Her eyes remained closed, but he knew she wasn't sleeping; she was merely relishing the aftermath, as she was wont to do. His heart tightened and he kissed her cheek.

Her lashes fluttered and she looked up at him. He smiled, but she did not.

Some dread began. “Are you all right?” he asked, praying she would not pull away from him now.

She smiled briefly, but it was forced. “You didn't hurt me, Rick.”

He did not want to go back to that dark place in hell where they had so recently lived. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered. “Leigh Anne, I need you.”

She stared, the tip of her nose turning red. “I don't understand.”

“You don't understand that your husband loves you and wants you?” he asked, but he tried to keep his tone light.

“How can you want me? I am a…cripple!”

He was shocked. He sat. “How could you call yourself such a name?”

“But it's true, isn't it?” Then she glanced away. “He called me that.”

He felt his world still and reality intruded, ugly and dark. “Who?” But he already knew.

“O'Donnell. It doesn't matter,” she said. “Rick, we shouldn't have done that.”

“No, making love to you is right.”

Leigh Anne tried to sit. Instantly he helped her to do so. “Everything has changed. If we didn't have the girls, I would set you free, Rick, so you could be with a real woman—not a crippled one.” But her gaze was searching.

He understood what he was fighting for and he chose his words with care. “You are a real woman. And we have the girls. But even if we didn't, I would not let you go.”

She studied him and he smiled, just a little at her. “I want to take care of you no matter what—and I would like it very much if you also took care of me.”

Her eyes were wide. “How?”

“I think you know how.” He touched her face. “Please don't turn away from me now.
Please.
”

She simply stared, appearing torn.

Although he very much wanted to make love to his wife again, he got up. His shirt was open and he began to button it. Hart's image came to mind. He saw himself groveling before him, and how Hart would gloat. Then he saw O'Donnell in some dark, dank cell, waiting for his turn in the electric chair.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I am going to borrow fifteen thousand dollars,” he said.

 

T
HE MAIN BRANCH OF
the Bank of New York was down town and not far from Hart's Bridge Street offices. It was a large, handsome building built well over a century ago. Inside, the oak floors gleamed with wax beneath several large Oriental rugs, a huge chandelier dominating the wood-paneled room. Francesca had inquired after Robert Miller and had been asked to wait in a small reception area, set somewhat apart from the tellers and the vaults. She had made it clear to the bank officer that she was there as an emissary of Mr. Hart.