Falcon’s Captive (23 page)

“Chief Cheyah,” Jola said. “Dai.”

The older man nodded at Jola. “We watched,” he said. “We saw.”

“Everything?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Instead of being embarrassed, Jola waited for her chief and his son to continue. She’d sensed that Nakos was shutting down emotionally and, taking her cue from him, she’d struggled to do the same. As a result, everything now seemed unreal to her, as if she was removed from what was happening.

“Nakos,” Cheyah said to the man she’d recently fucked. “It’s a strong name, a good one for a warrior.”

“Thank you.”

“I understand why Jola returned to you,” Cheyah continued. “When your bodies became one, they created their own storm.”

Nakos nodded, once.

“You’re wondering why my son and I are here. It’s not just to let you know that the two of you didn’t have privacy after all, but because we want you to realize we respect you.”

“Respect?” Jola said when Nakos remained silent.

“We’re predators,” Cheyah said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t admire humans. After all, we’re that, too.”

Cheyah wasn’t saying anything all of them didn’t already know so what was he getting at? She was afraid Nakos would grow impatient. Either that, or he’d want nothing to do with others of her kind. But when she gathered the courage to look at him, his expression was attentive, his gaze steady.

“Jola,” Cheyah continued. “Thanks to you, the Falcons have begun to understand what the Ekewoko are. We like what we see.”

“All Falcons feel that way?” she asked.

“Dai and I aren’t the only ones who watched the two of you. Even before you had sex, we studied the way you looked at each other. We heard the things you said.”

Nakos whirled on her. “Did you know?”

“It didn’t enter my mind,” she admitted. “Please believe me. Otherwise I would have never said—”

“She speaks the truth,” Dai reassured Nakos. “I’m certain the last thing she thought about was Falcon ears. You’re the only thing she cares about.”

The look of betrayal faded from Nakos’s eyes. Much as she tried to recall what they’d said to each other, she remembered only their sex, their mating.

“Nakos,” Chief Cheyah said, “What made the most impact on me about that conversation is how rootless the Ekewoko are. You truly can call no place home?”

His eyes sober, Nakos shook his head.

“It could be here.”

Everything seemed to stop for Jola then. Maybe it was the way Cheyah had measured his every word, maybe because Nakos stood still as stone. In contrast, her heart pounded wildly.

“Here?” Nakos said at length.

“Falcon Land isn’t a kind place,” Cheyah went on. “That, in part, is why our ancestors chose it. We needed space and privacy to be who we are. But the lake has always provided, as have the animals who make this their home. Yes, the wind almost always blows, but at the base of Raptor’s Craig on the other side from where we’re standing, it is quiet.”

“I noticed that when we were trying to find a way to the top, but then I forgot,” Nakos said. Although he was speaking to her chief, he now returned to her gaze. “Grasses grow taller and there are trees.”

“Because the soil is richer.”

Once again everything slowed down for Jola. This was Nakos’s decision. His and his people’s.

“Did—all Falcons agree to this?” Nakos asked. “You speak with everyone’s voice?”

“Nakos, Jola lost her mate to an Ekewoko. When she discovered who was responsible, she exacted a Falcon’s vengeance, but when she came looking for you today, she did so with a woman’s heart. Her human body sought and found yours. When we saw that, we all understood. Ekewoko and Falcon aren’t enemies.”

A moment ago she hadn’t believed she was capable of moving, but as she stepped toward Nakos, strength guided her. Her head high, she extended her hands toward him. “My chief knows me better than I know myself,” she admitted. “I don’t want you and me to be enemies, ever.”

Nakos’s jaw sagged. Then he pressed his lips together. “If I tell my people what your chief said and they agree to make Scr—Falcon Land their home, you’ll welcome us?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

His hands covered hers, warming and challenging her at the same time. “Will you travel with me?” he asked. “Speak for the Falcons?”

“Yes.”

“As my—my mate?”

She could ask him if that’s what he truly wanted, but his eyes and body had already spoken so she answered by taking another step and offering herself to him. “Yes,” she managed, “as your mate.”

Turn the page for a sizzling preview of PURELY SEXUAL, by Delta Dupree!

Coming soon from Aphrodisia!

“M
arriage?” Donnie shouted. What the devil would he do with a damn wife? In his current state of sexual affairs, a wife would be nothing but a frigging hindrance.

“Fontana, listen, goddamn it.” Paul Tedesco settled his elbow on the desk, propped his cheek against his fist. “Spouses can’t be forced to testify against significant others. You need to think about the issues. Think about the future. Survival. A number of people saw you with Susannah, and Challie saw you upstairs together.”

Fists clenched at his sides, Donnie said, “I don’t give a damn what the maid saw. I didn’t beat the hell out of Suze.” No way could anybody claim he’d hurt Pearson. Any woman. And why had every time he’d heard the maid’s name or he’d caught sight of her, his dick jerked? “Suze was fine when I left her. Angry, but fine.”

He marched over to the window and stared through the sheer curtains, then snatched a length of fabric back. Across the expansive courtyard, Paul’s Silver Cloud was parked along the circular driveway. The driver/bodyguard, a humongous Samoan dude named Tupa, polished smudges off the Rolls-Royce. Bright sun rays enhanced July’s blue skies, but thunderheads rolled in from the southwest. Dark. Ominous. Threatening as this damn situation.

Donnie spun around as the curtains fell back into place. “This is bullshit.”

“Look,” Paul said, holding his hands up. “Calm down. We’ll get to the bottom of it. Soon, I hope. The police want to interview everyone who attended the party last night. I’ve got a list to turn over soon. Meanwhile, you have to keep Challie from testifying if things escalate to a trial.”

Earlier this morning, the new maid had found Susannah. What idiot would attack a woman? The only thing Donnie attacked on the female species was the hot snatch between her legs.

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Damn it, why wasn’t Paul listening or understanding? Abuse was not Donnie’s game. He’d never laid a hand on a woman. Well, not maliciously. Maybe a good swat or two when she misbehaved. Or to get her undivided attention. All in fun and foreplay.

“Okay, okay,” Paul said flatly. “The problem is Challie can point the finger at you, make your life miserable. Unlivable. If she tells the cops about the argument, you’re in for some real problems. Mayhem I don’t need.”

“Exactly, an argument. Suze was pissed because she caught me with Ellie Brewsters. But I didn’t fuck Brewsters, Paul,” he said before his boss spit out his next belittling words. “Too many buddies are talking about her. She just has a mouth that—” Obviously he’d said the wrong shit again.

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Is sex all you ever think about? Jesus Christ.” He was married, had two kids and an imaginary white picket fence surrounding this huge mansion, living ideally in loving matrimony.

Donnie’s two-bedroom condo was pretty damn sharp, but it was no comparison to Paul’s modern-day castle. Pool, spa, pricey artwork, a library that gave the Phoenix metro area’s bookstores a run for their money. Donnie would give anything to live high and mighty on unlimited resources.

“Your dick’s gonna get you into a lot of trouble one day…correction…it already has. Where did you go after leaving here?”

“I didn’t take off right away. Um.” Paul was sure to jump in pissed.

“I don’t think I want to hear this.” Perceptive, Paul gazed back, his dark eyes filled with annoyance. “As long as you keep your damn hands off
my
wife.”

“I’d never touch Tina.” He’d thought about it a few times. She flaunted dangerous swaying hips. Silky blond hair, one tiny dimple piercing her left cheek, vivid blue eyes, she was hot, boasting honkin’ knockers. Sure as shit, her sexpot was…

Hostility gathered in Paul’s dark eyes. He snapped the chair forward with a loud bang, as if he’d seen the burning lust in Donnie’s gaze. “Picture this. Your balls stuffed, lacquered and rolling across my pool table before you get the chance to apologize.”

Smarter than the average guy, Donnie’s growing erection deflated. Clearly, Paul Tedesco had ways to control people. “I’m cool. No way would I mess with your old lady.”

“Good damn thing. Saves your gonads for now.” He leaned back again, rocking. “Did any guests see you to the door, wave good-bye as you left?”

He shook his head. “I took the back stairs, went out the gate. Vanessa’s old man was coming up the main staircase.”

“Vanessa? She’s only been married to Bradley for three damn months.”

“Guess he’s not giving her what she wants or needs.”

Sighing noisily, Paul adjusted his black horn-rimmed glasses. He lifted the half-smoked Cuban cigar from the ashtray, relit it in three big drags. The pungent aroma wafted toward air cleaners that his wife insisted they install. Outspoken Tina had iron nerves; she’d confront him, boldly defy her husband and come away unscathed.

“When I left here,” Donnie continued. Why dwell on history? Think about the present, the future, his current problem becoming his biggest nightmare. “I went straight home for once, straight to bed. Alone.” He never invited any hot snatch to his condo.

“Lousy alibi in my opinion. Anybody see you leave the premises or call your home phone later?”

Every bone in Donnie’s body softened to rubber. Slumping, his brown-striped tie tightened around his neck like a noose. He pulled the choking polyester free, draped it over his shoulder then unfastened the top two buttons of his tan shirt as he moved across the room.

With the situation growing grimmer by the second, Donnie collapsed onto the visitor’s wingchair and buried his face in both hands. “No. When I got there, I turned off the ringer as always. I needed sleep. Been out in the streets too much.”

“Undoubtedly,” Paul said. “The way I see it, you have two options.”

Tensing, Donnie looked up. “Options? Why do I need any options? I haven’t done anything wrong.” He screwed up his face when Paul gave him a blank stare. “What are they, for God’s sake? This nightmare has to end.”

“Marry—”

“I don’t want to hear that one, Paul.” Donnie tunneled all ten fingers through his hair. Why the hell was he living in Scottsdale, Arizona? Of all the cities in the United States, he’d chosen one of the hottest sons of bitches. Now his ass was on the city’s hotplate, ready to be fried to a fucking crisp for a crime he hadn’t committed. “What if she doesn’t want to marry me?”

“Not a problem. She will.”

He shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

“Fine. Challie knows more than she’s saying.” Standing now, Paul adjusted his red silk tie. Combing his thinning brown hair, he moved across the room to the maple coat rack, lifted his navy jacket and thrust his arms into the sleeves. Tailor-made Italian suits were the only threads he wore, never the assembly-line creations from the business he owned. In essence, the clothes produced—part of PT Industries—was the main reason the district attorney had been sniffing after his ass. Sweatshop, as in illegal immigrants, some would say.

“Don’t leave yet. What’s my second choice? I’ll take it, whatever it is. It has to beat marriage by a long shot.”

Paul went back to the desk. He pulled the leather chair back and said, “Take Challie to the ranch. You can stay in the foreman’s cabin next to Ray’s place. Then—”

“Then what?”

The cabin was located in Bum-Fuck, Montana. Good pussy was scarce in an area of dazzling fields filled with cows, horses, and manure. The great American countryside.

Paul pinned him with a level gaze. “I’ll have Tina tell her you’re vacationing and you need her to clean for arriving guests. I’ll get a couple of my boys to join you. You’ve been there before, forty-odd miles away from Nowhere, USA. Closest neighbor is four miles downwind.”

How could he forget? Other than fucking and fishing, the best part of Montana was horseback riding across 6,000 acres without a care in the world, the wind in his face, the smell of freshly cut hay filling his nostrils. “And?”

Paul yanked the desk’s center drawer open. He withdrew his favorite .38-caliber S&W and set it on the gleaming wood. “Do whatever’s necessary to take care of any problems.”

Donnie straightened his back.
Do what’s necessary? With a fucking gun?

Was Paul really as cold and calculating as people had claimed? One particular detective had put his life under a high-powered microscope after his first wife’s death. In the end, he’d pocketed millions of dollars from insurance and assets, not to mention old money Lana had brought into their marriage. When Donnie blatantly asked his boss about the incident, the answer was as chilling as an Arctic wind.
Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.
Donnie’s mouth had clamped shut like a trap door.

Sliding the weapon across the desktop, Paul said, “You don’t have much choice. Pick one. If you have an aversion to marriage, you’re looking at wearing the tears of a clown in jump-suit orange, day in and day out, if Susannah doesn’t make it.”

Ah, hell. He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t laid an abusive hand on the secretary. Now, Paul was talking jail. Hell of a choice—marriage or prison. Either way he adjusted the picture, the old ball and chain action dominated the scene with one major problem: prison meant no female activity.

“What about our lawyers? What the hell do we pay them for?” he asked.

“Real estate and commercial business mainly. I don’t want them handling this particular criminal case. I can’t afford to have my name or any of my businesses associated with amoral activity, not with my current state of affairs. The district attorney’s been harping on my ass enough already. If you’re steadfast against marriage, take the gun,” Paul said. “You lack an alibi and, remember, the police have already started the investigation.”

Donnie slowly got to his feet, shaking his head wildly. “You’re talking…” Hell, he couldn’t get the word out.

Paul replaced the gun and shoved the drawer closed. “I’ve got a meeting with the symphony directors.” Straightening his tie, he marched toward the double doors. “Lock the desk when you leave and put the key away as usual.”

“I’m not doing it,” Donnie snapped. He might as well take the pistol and blow his own frigging brains out. “Marriage or Montana. My ass’ll be sealed up in prison two decades as some sloppy jailbird’s goddamn girlfriend before—”

Paul swung around. His brown eyes narrowed thinner than paper. “It’s not a request, Donnie. You will go to Montana and do whatever is necessary, be it marriage slash honeymoon or curbing all future problems while the perpetrator is still walking free.”