Secret Nights at Nine Oaks (3 page)

“Bless you, I was
so
prepared to grovel,” she said, then sank her teeth into the warm bread and swore she'd just tripped into food heaven. The flavors of herbs and butter exploded in her mouth. “Divine, Jean Claude.”

He flashed her a smooth smile, slicing and packaging up the remaining loaves as he introduced her to the others having dinner. The TV droned softly.

After a few minutes, the conversation grew lively as Jean Claude told stories of some of Phoebe and Suzannah's college antics. “I come down here, and they had the freezer wide open, and the two of them were sitting on the floor, eating ice cream. Just a spoonful here and there, mind you, but from every bucket I had.” Jean Claude tsked and winked at her.

“We were bonding over both getting Ds on history term papers. But I paid for that ice cream with a stomachache for two days. But poor 'Zannah, she felt the need to go jogging.” The group groaned, imagining the damage. “It wasn't pretty,” Phoebe said.

“You would have been better served to study harder,” Jean Claude said.

“Oh yeah, sure, but then, that would have been sensible.”

“Did you pass the course?” a voice said from the doorway, and they all looked up.

Cain was leaning against the door frame and the room grew noticeably quiet. When Willis made to leave, Phoebe subtly put her hand on his arm, keeping him still. How long had he been standing there?

She tipped her chin up. “Yes I did. I didn't have much else to do but study for the exam with a stomachache. Your sister, however, didn't make higher than a C on the final.”

“Tattletale,” Cain said, amused.

“What are friends for?” She grinned hugely, then said, “You going to stand there or come join us?”

Cain recognized the challenge in her eyes. Everyone stared and waited. Never taking his gaze off her, he pushed off the door frame and came into the kitchen. Her triumphant smile was damned annoying.

“Sir, would you like your dinner now?” Jean Claude said.

“Sure he would,” Phoebe said, nudging out a stool, and Cain hesitated before he sat beside her.

Jean Claude looked at him, waiting, and Cain nodded, too interested in feeling the heat of Phoebe's body, in smelling her perfume. It was intoxicating.
She
was intoxicating. Dressed in a short denim skirt and a red top that scooped low enough to show come great cleavage, she looked fresh and incredibly desirable. But then, all Phoebe had to do was walk into a room and he was pretty much sunk.

Her note under the coffee service tray hadn't pulled him from his office, though her scribbled words
“Come out and play with me”
were evocative enough to give him daydreams for the rest of his life.

But he'd been drawn by the noise, the laughter that echoed down the hall. It had been a very long time since he'd heard that. He'd stood at the door for a couple of minutes, watching as Phoebe pulled everyone into the conversation, turning the focus off her and onto the men. She talked easily, smiled often, and looked right at home. But then she was the highlight of the house. Aside from his sister, there hadn't been a woman at Nine Oaks in five years. Cain's thoughts shifted to Lily and he instantly derailed them, unwilling to ruin his dinner.

Jean Claude served up a plate of dinner and Cain ate, listening as Phoebe told a joke. Laughing with them, one of the men said goodbye, and left.

“I saw you diving, Miss Phoebe,” Willis said and Cain shot Phoebe a covert look. “You're very good. That jackknife was something else.”

“Thank you, Willis.”

For one pointed moment, she looked directly at Cain as if to say, “see, I told you so.” But all Cain had on his mind was the sexy image of her prancing out of his office with her bare behind jiggling. He'd tried all day to banish that picture and failed. He sure as hell didn't need another reminder. His body wanted this woman. It damn near screamed when he was near her. And sitting beside her, feeling her arm brush his, was enough to shoot another wave of heat through his bloodstream. He was glad there were people around; he couldn't trust himself alone with her.

“I was on a team in college,” Phoebe said. “Heck, I was on three. Track, 500-meter relay swimming, diving.” She looked at the young man. “I've always been wound a little too tight.”

“Well, there's a news flash,” Cain said dryly, eating.

“No. Really?” Jean Claude put in and she laughed. “I'm surprised that you can sit still long enough to write.”

She looked up, chewed, then swallowed. “You know?”

“We read the papers,
bébé,
” Jean Claude said.

Cain felt a surge go through her, saw her shoulders go taut. He'd never seen her tense up so fast. And though he didn't know the details of the inci
dent with Randall Kreeg, he decided it was time he found out more.

Phoebe glanced around at the group, flushing with embarrassment. “Yes, well, I guess the cat's out of the bag about that.”

The sudden silence was interrupted by the TV and a news flash. Cain heard her name and looked up.

The broadcast recapped the arrest and incarceration of Kreeg and mentioned speculation that Phoebe or the last producer who'd bought her script had staged the incident. He looked at Phoebe. She was frozen, her attention riveted to the TV. He called to her, but she didn't respond.

All Phoebe saw was Kreeg, looking rich, handsome and so damn supreme as the police escorted him into the station. A wave of memories hit her, blanketing her thoughts, bringing back the terror of realizing that Kreeg had touched her things, had been in her car. Then in her house.

Her breathing quickened.

Beside her, Cain frowned, noticing her hands shake.

“Phoebe?” Cain called again.

She lifted her gaze to his and the scared look in her eyes fractured his heart.

And made it bleed.

C
ain laid his hand on her arm and she flinched, trembling, her gaze shooting around the room, panicked as if searching for an escape.

His features tightened, then he leaned closer, sliding his hand farther up her arm and whispering, “It's okay, darlin', you're safe here. I swear it.”

Phoebe blinked, then let out a long, shaky breath, and looked at him. Her eyes were owlish wide, as if replaying the last seconds in her mind, and she looked so frail and small that Cain fought the urge to take her in his arms. Then just as quickly as it came, her fear vanished and her shoulders relaxed.

“Well, don't I feel stupid,” she muttered, her cheeks pinkening.

Cain rubbed her arm. “It's all right.” For a second she gripped his hand, holding his gaze, then suddenly self-conscious of their nearness, she let go and looked at the others.

“I know he's in jail, but…”

Jean Claude's expression fell. “Forgive me, Miss Phoebe.” He shut off the TV.

Her gaze jerked to the chef's. “Oh Jean Claude, it's not your fault. Not at all.” She waved, all bright smiles. “It's just me being a little neurotic.” She released an uneasy laugh, then picked up her fork, spearing a piece of chicken.

Cain frowned. He'd never seen anyone so upset one minute, then fine the next. Or was she just smothering her anxiety for their sake? And what the hell did that bastard do to her to make her so afraid still?

“He can't hurt you here,” Cain assured. “No one will.”

“It's why I'm here.” Phoebe shifted her gaze to his, smiling.

But Cain could tell it was forced, could see the shadows in her eyes. And right now, he wanted only to take up arms and battle her demons for her. It startled him, reminded him that it was wiser to stay clear
of her. Cain didn't deserve to be around a woman like her.

Yet he stayed where he was, unable to leave.

Jean Claude went to put the loaves of bread in the pantry, and the rest of the staff departed quickly.

She looked around. “Well, I sure know how to clear a room, huh?”

“Not really. They're unaccustomed to dining with me,” he confessed. “
Are
you all right?”

“Yeah sure, just great,” she said cheerily, and started clearing dishes, not wanting to answer the questions she could see in his eyes. She'd been there too many times, with friends, the police, her parents. In her dreams. The fact that Kreeg could post any bail that was set and walk free never left her thoughts.

“I wouldn't do that,” Cain warned, nodding toward the dishes. “You tread on sacred ground by invading his kitchen.” To prove him right, Jean Claude had a fit when he came back and in thickly accented Cajun, he shooed them both out.

Cain was already at the door. “See, told you.”

She mimicked him, making a face, then thanked Jean Claude and left the kitchen.

Cain was several steps ahead of her, and at the foyer, she stopped, realizing he'd just dismissed her from his mind. He confirmed it when he entered the library and closed the door. The sound echoed up the
hall, and Phoebe wondered when he'd grown so unfeeling, then rethought that, recalling his comforting touch in the kitchen. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her skin. But it felt as if he were running from her now.

What was it about her that made him so standoffish and cold? Their one moment of past history? Or was it something else? And what really made him retreat into Nine Oaks and never leave?

 

Back at his desk, Cain focused on work, making calls to his plant and crop operations managers and reading over a half-dozen status reports. Anything to keep his thoughts focused when they were easily distracted. With Phoebe. Knowing she was somewhere near.

Roaming. Being Phoebe. Driving him nuts.

Leaving his chair, he moved to the shelves of books and selected a ledger from last year. His gaze caught on a drawer he knew housed racks of DVDs and he opened it, scanning them for one film he knew P.A. DeLong had written. He popped it into the player, saw her pen name on the credits and kept watching.

A half hour later, he was in a chair, involved in the paranormal plot so twisted and tense, he gripped the armrests. He glanced at the clock, then shut it off, yet stared at the blank screen for a moment, think
ing that maybe someone in Hollywood had put the word out that her assault was staged. Just the rumor would have been publicity enough. Or had Kreeg's lawyers done that? Phoebe's pseudonym suggested she didn't want to be known for her controversial work. She liked hiding behind it. The thought brought a smile as he returned to his desk.

But concentration eluded him. Was this to be the pattern of the next couple of weeks? He'd be bankrupt if he wasn't careful, he thought, shaking his head and plowing into work.

Sometime later, the intercom buzzed. “Sir?” Benson said. “Miss DeLongpree is outside.”

Benson sounded a little tense, and Cain frowned, tapping the button. “She has free rein of the place, Benson.”

“But it's dusk, sir. The dogs are out.”

Cain cursed, leaving his chair, then flung open the French doors to the library and raced out onto the stone veranda. His gaze shot around the landscape.

The Dobermans were running across the side lawn at top speed with teeth bared. His attention shifted to the figure a good distance away and to his left.

He called her name, and Phoebe turned, waving. Cain ran, pushing himself faster, knowing if he didn't outdistance the dogs, the animals bred for defense would tear her to shreds.

“Phoebe, the dogs!”

She looked at the dogs running toward her and froze. Horror rocketed through him as the Dobermans leaped at her. They knocked her to the ground, pinning her.

Cain commanded the animals, but they merely hesitated, and sliding to his knees, he yanked at the dog's collars.

Then he heard Phoebe laugh and focused.

The dogs weren't attacking. They were licking her face.

She giggled. “All right, guys, you weigh a ton, back off.” Still the dogs nuzzled her, tails wagging like whips in the air.

This time, Cain shouted a command at the dogs, and the pair of black Dobermans jumped back and sat still.

Instantly, he ran his hands over her damp face, shoulders, her bare legs.

“You're trying to use this as an excuse to feel me up, right?”

Braced over her, he ignored her teasing, then demanded, “They didn't bite you?”

“No. They were greeting me.”

“Greeting!” he roared.

“Yeah. That and they wanted these.” She held up her hand, filled with half-crushed dog biscuits. “Scooby snacks,” she said, grinning.

Cain fell back on his haunches and scraped a hand through his hair. The second he caught his breath, he tore into her. “How could you be so damn stupid!”

She hitched up on her elbows. “I beg your pardon?”

“They could have torn you to pieces! They could have killed you!”

“If I ran, sure, which is why I didn't.” She frowned at him. He was breathing hard and looking as if
he'd
like to chew her to shreds. “You forgot that Suzannah and I slept with these dogs when they were puppies. They remembered me.”

“It's been a very long time, Phoebe,” he said, pulling her off the ground as he stood. He grasped her shoulders and for a moment he simply stared down at her.
She could have been mauled,
echoed through his mind and somewhere in his chest, muscles clenched. He'd rather die than see her hurt, and without his will, his gaze lowered to her mouth. Ripe and painted rose-pink.

Tempting him.

She met his gaze and his pulse pounded. The woman had too much control over him. She made him feel like a feral animal too long in the wild and a deep, troubling hunger lanced through him, the pressure of it settling hotly in his groin. It clamored for satisfaction, for release. For her. Yet he knew
without being inside her, without having tasted more than her mouth, that it wouldn't be enough. He'd never wanted a woman more.

He knew that nine years ago,
and
the instant she stepped into his domain again. Then she tipped her head back, her gaze locking with his and Cain felt himself sinking. He bent, his mouth nearing hers. They were a breath away when the impact of what he was doing hit him.

Cain let her go and stepped back. “You took a big chance that they'd remember you.”

Phoebe frowned, wondering what made him stop when she wanted him to kiss her. And he wanted to do it. It was unfair, teasing her like that. “No, I didn't.” She opened her palm. “These were their favorites. When 'Zannah told me the dogs were still here, I brought them with me. And I already visited them in the kennels after my swim.”

“You could have warned me.”

The dogs sat still, their heads tilted to the side, watching the humans.

“And when would I have the opportunity to do that? You don't come out of that cave of yours unless provoked, and its obvious that no one is welcome in there.”

“I'm very busy. And we had dinner together.”

“Not by choice, was it?” Phoebe clucked her
tongue and the dogs came to her, parking themselves at her feet. She tossed one biscuit to each and they snatched them out of the air. In seconds, they'd eaten the biscuits and were licking their chops. “They are a little scary.”

“Their purpose.”

“To keep people out?”

“Yes.”

She met his gaze. “I think they're keeping you in, Cain.”

His eyes narrowed, defenses rising. “My private life is not your concern.”

“What private life? You have no life. You eat, sleep and work, and Mr. Dobbs said you haven't ridden a horse, sailed, even played tennis for ages. For heaven's sake, Cain, you haven't left these grounds in five years.”

His eyes darkened, his expression sharpening to lethal. “Leave it alone, Phoebe.” He walked away, snapping his fingers. The dogs trotted alongside him.

“Aren't you taking this seclusion too far?”

“I think I'm the best judge of my own life, don't you?”

“I hate seeing you like this.”

“Then stay on your side of the house or leave.”

“
My
side? You'll have to be more specific, my lord.”

He turned, practically snarling at her. “I gave you the east wing, the run of the land, you can go anywhere, do anything you like. Except touch the boats.”

“Don't forget except ‘bother you.'” She ran after him and grabbed his arm, but he shook her loose. “Cain? Look at me!”

He did, his tone biting as he said, “I'm not your mission, Phoebe. Don't try to make me into something I'm not.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

“Excellent decision.” He turned away again, determined to put more than a few yards between them and keep it that way.

“You were a selfish jerk nine years ago and apparently that hasn't changed.”

He stopped and turned slowly. He had that whole intimidation thing down pat, Phoebe thought, feeling something close to pain lock inside her.

“You consider a kiss under the staircase a judgment of my character?”

“No, I consider what happened after, a fair assessment of your true self.”

“And that would be?”

“Whatever Cain wants, Cain gets.”

His expression was menacing for a second, then he looked at the landscape. After a moment, his shoul
ders drooped a little. “Phoebe,” he said gently and met her gaze. “I did not intend to hurt your feelings.”

“Yes, you did. You acted like we'd never kissed so I
would
go away.”

Cain stared, saying nothing.

“True or not?”

“Yes. It's true.”

“I'm fine with that, but what I want to know is, why?”

His gaze zeroed in on her. “Because that kiss made me see that we were incompatible.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh come off it, Blackmon. If we'd gone on for five more minutes and had privacy we'd have been in bed together. How much more compatible do you want?”

“Sex isn't a relationship, Phoebe.” He'd had sex with Lily, nothing like his one kiss with Phoebe, but it wasn't enough to make their marriage work. Besides, Phoebe would have never fit into his boardroom lifestyle. She was too unconventional, too outspoken; it would have crushed her.

“I agree, but if you'd given us a chance—oh never mind.” She sighed hard. “Forget it. It's past, done, over.”

“Apparently not for you.”

She lifted her chin, refusing to admit that she'd amused herself with thoughts of what might have
been. “I don't believe in lingering in the past that long, Cain. It's a waste of energy. I can't change it, and I won't even try.”

Cain wished he could change five years ago. Wished he'd simply divorced Lily instead of trying to make himself love her. She'd ended up hating him anyway. “I apologize for hurting you, Phoebe.”

Phoebe frowned, wondering what mystery was hidden behind those tormented eyes of his. “Fine, I accept.”

He eyed her. “I'm not convinced.”

“Believe what you want. I promise to stay on my side of the house and not trespass in your office or interfere with your life. Or lack thereof.”

She spun on her heels, and much to Cain's displeasure, the Dobermans, Jekyll and Hyde, followed her.

Great. His staff, and now his dogs?

He watched her stomp away, every fiber of her body shouting her anger. He didn't blame her. He'd tried to shield her from the man he'd become by staying away from her. He had to. Phoebe made him feel on edge, vulnerable, and if she knew the truth, she'd be gone by morning and never look back.

Even if he couldn't have her, he wanted her near.

 

On her way to her room, she passed Benson in the hall. He offered her a nightcap, but she declined.
She already knew that liquor would just make her insomnia worse unless she got completely tanked. She wasn't willing to trade a near-death experience with the porcelain god for a couple of hours of sleep. She refused to take sleeping pills, terrified she'd become addicted to the easy way out of her insomnia.