Deadly Kisses (38 page)

“It's only Papa,” Katie said.

“Hurry!” Leigh Anne cried. Her heart raced even more quickly now, fear so swiftly replacing the treacherous desire.

Katie wheeled her from the bedroom and down the short
corridor to the top of the stairs. Leigh Anne saw Bragg in the front hall. He looked up at her—and he smiled.

Relief caused her to collapse in her chair. It was all right, she thought.
It was over.

Bragg came swiftly up the steps.

“Is it done?” she managed to ask, and as she spoke, the butterflies that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with last night returned.

“Yes.” His gaze slipped over her face, lingering very briefly on her mouth, and then he turned to Katie. “Hello! Am I in time to tuck you and your sister into bed?” he asked, lifting her into his arms. He smiled at Leigh Anne over Katie's shoulder. “I'll put the girls to bed. Then let's have a drink,” he said.

She knew he was prepared to discuss whatever had transpired with O'Donnell, but the look in his eyes also told her that he was thinking about last night, too. She knew he was thinking about making love to her again, and she felt her cheeks heat. How could this be happening? This was not the plan! She was not a seductress anymore—she was not about to delude herself—but the ache in her had grown, and so had a thick and familiar excitement.

Leigh Anne watched him take Katie into the bed room and she heard him quietly speaking with the girls, his voice soft, strong, caring. She wheeled herself into the bedroom, the task no longer as difficult as it had once been. The bandages she had wrapped on her hands made it much easier, as well. She rolled her chair directly to the bureau, and as she did, there was no way she could avoid the reflection of the woman in the mirror there. The woman was breathtakingly beautiful, her pale skin flawless. Two spots of pink brightened her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with the same heat, too. No one looking at that dark-haired beauty would ever know she was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

Leigh Anne looked away. She knew she was a fool, but she
reached for the bottle of eau de parfum, anyway, adding a drop to her wrist and cleavage. Her hand was trembling.

Leigh Anne glanced up at the mirror again. Rick stood in the doorway, watching her intensely. His eyes smoked and he launched himself forward, closing the door, his strides unhurried. He paused behind her, their regards locked in the mirror, and clasped her shoulders gently. She shivered, the caress sweeping through her like a hot wave.

“It is going to be a long time before he ever bothers us again.”

“What?” She wanted him to tell her that O'Donnell was
never
coming back.

“I arrested him,” he said, staring at her in the mirror. “I had to follow the law, Leigh Anne. I actually thought about killing him. I couldn't do it—I couldn't commit murder—and I couldn't be a party to extortion, either. I'm an officer of the law.”

“You arrested him?” she cried in dismay. “What if he isn't convicted? What if he is released on parole. What if next time he abducts or hurts the girls?”

“That is a lot of ‘what-ifs,'” he said. He wheeled the chair around and then knelt so they were face-to-face. “And what if I had paid him, and in a month or two he decided to come back and extort us yet again? He is in jail. He can't interfere in the adoption now, not from a prison cell with these charges hanging over his head. He will be convicted, because he is guilty. He is going to get ten to fifteen years. And if he gets out on parole, if he dares to ever approach us again, I will deal with him then as I dealt with him now. Please trust me,” he said soberly.

“I do trust you,” she whispered, and it was the truth. “I am still afraid, Rick.”

He suddenly cradled her face in his hands. “I know you are. So you have to make me a promise, a pledge. If this man ever approaches you again, you will come directly to me. I don't
care what he says, you come to me. I can manage a thug like O'Donnell.”

She nodded, aware of a tear falling. “I wanted to tell you, I really did.”

He softened. “Leigh Anne, I know how hard these past months have been. But isn't it time to let go of doubt and fear and actually live? We have so much to live for.”

She met his amber eyes, her heart and body begging her to agree. For she knew exactly what he meant. If she dared to have the courage, she wanted a genuine marriage, too.

A real life, a real family and a real marriage with this noble man.

She wet her lips. “I am not brave. If I were brave, I would have never left you all those years ago.”

“The past doesn't matter—we need to live in the present and plan the future. And you are very brave,” he murmured, his tone turning thick. “If you don't know it, I do.”

She knew he was going to kiss her. She shook her head in a hopeless warning she knew he would not heed. “How can you still want me that way?
How?
”

“Because you are so incredibly beautiful. Because you are my wife,” he returned, “and because I love you. I need you, Leigh Anne, but you already know that.”

She did. She saw the passion in his eyes, on his face, and she heard it in his tone. “I'm not ready,” she tried.

“I don't believe you,” he whispered, and he brushed her lips with his.

The aching threatened to explode and she gripped the arms of her chair, her eyes closing. She felt his tongue testing her lips, tasting them, probing, and she could not stop a moan. His mouth firmed, insisting that she open, and when she did, their tongues met in frantic urgency.

Abruptly he lifted her from the chair and carried her to the bed. She looked at him as he laid her down and could no more
dampen the desire than she could stop her harsh and heavy breathing. He sat by her hip, his eyes glowing, and kissed her again.

She could not wait. It had been so long, and yesterday had only been a teasing. Leigh Anne started to weep as he quickly unbuttoned and removed her dress, his hands caressing her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs, as if he could not wait, either. Clad only in her chemise, stockings and drawers, she looked at him. He smiled just a little and he bent over her to taste her where she desperately wanted him to be.

Leigh Anne gasped as his tongue delved deeply against and between her flesh. She heard herself plead and could not stop because in another moment, she was going to explode. She begged and he listened, his tongue clever, skilled.

“I love you,” he gasped, moving over her, against her, his thighs spreading her legs wide as he released himself.

Leigh Anne met his gaze.
I love you, too,
she thought. And she could not understand what had happened to tear them apart and then to keep them apart for so long.

His jaw flexed, and he surged hot, hard and so thickly into her. Leigh Anne gripped his back, hanging on as he rode her. And then there was no more thought at all—there was only his hard, aroused body, the power and the heat, so deep, the friction and frenzy, and finally, the explosion of sheer ecstasy. This time, she held him and refused to let go.

 

F
RANCESCA PAUSED JUST OUTSIDE
of the library. The two massive engraved doors were open and she could see Hart at his desk, engrossed in some papers, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie hanging with his suit jacket on the back of his chair. He appeared immersed in what he was doing, but she also saw the signs of strain on his face. Still, his seductive appeal remained as strong as ever. She could not wait to tell him the news, but she was also afraid that he would not react as she wanted him to.

Hart suddenly sensed her presence and he looked up. As their eyes met, he smiled at her and Francesca warmed. There was no doubt that he was glad to see her. Did that mean he had conquered his own personal demons? Did that mean he would change his mind about their engagement when she told him that she had found Daisy's killer?

“May I come in?” she asked softly.

He swiftly rose to his feet and came around his desk. “You never have to ask.”

She approached, and halfway across the room, he reached her. His gaze was searching as he found her hands, and surprise instantly filled his eyes. “You have found Daisy's killer?”

“Yes, I have,” she said, pleased that he knew her so well now that he could almost read her mind.

“What happened?”

“Daisy was being sexually abused by her own father, Calder, and that is why she ran away from home.”

It was a very rare moment, for she saw that Hart was truly stunned.

“Her mother blamed her, Calder. Can you believe it? Martha felt that Daisy had somehow seduced her own father. In any case, the judge happened upon Daisy purely by accident in May. He approached her and she began to blackmail him. She hated him with a vengeance! Martha had no intention of letting her do that and she murdered her. Worse, Lydia witnessed the murder, helped her mother escape and then framed you when she realized she could do so and deflect suspicion from Martha.”

“Poor Daisy,” Hart said roughly. He seemed shaken. “I had no idea, Francesca, none.”

“It is such a tragedy!” Francesca exclaimed. “Lydia adored her sister, and despised their father, too. She was only protecting Martha, because she feels her mother is all she has left. Hart, I do not want to see Lydia suffer anymore. I feel so badly for her. She is as much a victim as Daisy.”

He pulled her close. “Francesca, I won't press charges against her, but the police and the D.A. can obviously charge her with quite a few crimes.”

“I am aware of that. I have begged Bragg to withhold information on her behalf.”

His gaze flickered. “And did he agree?”

“He said he would think about it.”

Hart regarded her steadily for a moment, his expression impossible to read, and then he walked slowly away from her. He paused before a window, but seemed to stare out at the fading day with unseeing eyes. Francesca walked up behind him. “What is it?”

He shrugged, glancing at her. “I suppose that if anyone can get Bragg to circumvent his own morals, it is you.”

She tensed slightly. “What does that mean? I had to ask him to treat Lydia differently than he would someone else.”

He softened, clasping her cheek with one large hand. “Of course you did. She is a victim and you remain the kindest person I have ever had the good fortune to meet.”

She searched his gaze now for some inkling of what their future might be. She saw that the shadow of grief lingered in his eyes. “Hart, it is over. I know this has been a terrible time for you. But Daisy's killer is in custody. You have been proved innocent, and that is how tomorrow's headlines will read.”

He shook his head. “It has been a terrible time for you, Francesca, and I cannot stop blaming myself for what I have put you through.”

“Don't! I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere but here with you during this crisis, Calder. That is what friends are for—and we are quite a bit more than friends, even now.” She trembled as she spoke.

“You never wavered, not even once, this entire time.”

She was surprised. “I could never stop believing in you.”

And his composure crumbled. “Your sister said you would have raised my child with me.”

She nodded. “I would have loved your little boy or girl as if it were my own,” she whispered roughly.

Anguish appeared in his eyes, but only briefly, because he pulled her suddenly into his embrace, reaching for her mouth with his. Francesca threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all of the love pounding in her breast. His grip tightened, and his lips firmed, demanding even more of a response from her. Francesca gladly gave it.

He finally held her face in his two hands. “This morning, I woke up feeling as if I had lost everything. I never dwell on the past, but that is all I have been doing, Francesca. I have been regretting the way I behaved when Daisy told me about my child. And I have been thinking about the moment we first met, and every time I have seen you or been with you since. Remember the first time you wore that red evening dress? I will never forget it—I wanted to ravish you on the spot. But you only had eyes for Rick.”

“That feels like a lifetime ago,” she whispered. “Calder, almost any man would have reacted to Daisy's news the way that you did. Please, don't be so hard on yourself. Had she lived, I know you would have adored that child.”

“There you go again,” he said roughly. “I don't want to ever see the day where you lose faith in me.”

“You won't!” she exclaimed. “Calder, I love you just as much now as I did an hour ago.”

He pulled her face close instantly and kissed her again, hot, hard and deeply. Then he pulled back. “Francesca? I love you now even
more
than I did an hour ago, as impossible as that seems.”

She looked up, stunned by such an intimate confession, meeting his dark and very weary eyes.

He smiled slightly and released her. “I think I should be the
one to make the arrangements for Daisy's burial,” he said. “There needs to be a service, small and private. I will make certain Lydia can attend. Is Gillespie going to be arrested, as well?”

She reached for his hand. “What happened ended eight years ago—and there is only hearsay. It is unbelievable, but he is going to walk away from all of this a free man.”

“Then he will undoubtedly appear at his daughter's funeral. How unfortunate.”

Francesca hesitated. “May I help with the funeral arrangements?”

He looked at her. “Francesca, I need some time to my self now.”

Hart needed time to grieve, but would he also use that time to distance himself from her? “Of course. Calder? I do need to attend the funeral.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know you do.” He paused. “Thank you, Francesca. Thank you for everything.”