Secrets of Paternity (13 page)

C
aryn couldn't understand how she could come out of a long, relaxing soak amid a profusion of soothing, bubbling jets and be more tense than when she stepped in. She should have been as loose as overcooked spaghetti, and sleepwalking to her guest room by now. Instead she was wound up, fired up and heated up—for James.

If she'd brought a beautiful nightgown with her, it would be an easier decision. She wanted to look incredible for him. She wanted her armor—her perfume and lotions that sat on her dresser at home. She wanted the pink lightbulb she had in her little lamp on her bedside table. She was forty-one years old. She'd slept with one man her entire life, and he'd been dead a year. And she was lonely and…horny. She smiled at the word, which seemed better suited for a man, but she couldn't think of another word that fit her situation better.

Instead she sat on the edge of his tub with a fluffy blue towel wrapped around her, staring at her flannel pajamas jumbled on the vanity counter. They hadn't been a turnoff to James last night. He'd kissed her while she wore them. Unbuttoned the top. Put his mouth on her breasts. Slid his hand…

She stood, looked at herself in the mirror. Her face had a glow she hadn't seen in a very long time—probably from the hot water, but who cared? It made her look young and lively. Her hair was damp at the ends. She fluffed it then let it fall where it may. Definitely a tousled, sexy look. Lipstick? Yes. Only because it was the kind that couldn't be kissed off.

A bit of mascara and she was done. She was ready—if her answer was yes.

She stared at the floor for at least a minute then looked toward the ceiling. “I think you would want me to be happy,” she whispered. “I think this would make me happy. For now. I know the future isn't in our cards. But for tonight? What's the harm?”

She nodded her head, then padded across his thick carpet to the bedroom door. She pulled it open, closed it with one sonic-boom short of a slam, making sure he could hear it. Then she walked to his bed, pulled back the bedding, climbed on top and knelt in the middle of it, holding tight to her towel with both hands.

She waited. And waited. And waited. Her legs started to tingle and ache. She fidgeted, wiggled her toes, straightened her legs, rotated her ankles. Still no James.

Her instep cramped just as she was about to climb off the bed and go in search of him. The door opened, catching her with one leg on the bed and one on the floor, the towel slipping from above and spreading open from below.
The cramp tightened, curling her toes. Great. Just great. She'd gone from sexy lady to pained contortionist in two seconds flat.

“Ow,” she said, unable to stop herself. She started walking and the cramp tightened even more.

“What's wrong?”

“I have a cramp in my foot,” she muttered, embarrassed.

He came forward. “I heard the door…I thought you'd gone to your room,” he said, looking confused.

Good. If she was going to look ridiculous, the least he could do was look confused.

“I didn't leave,” she said.

“I used all my investigative skills to conclude that myself.” He moved her back to sit on the bed, picked up her foot and pushed his thumb into her instep.

She almost screamed, then it eased. He worked at it for at least a minute in silence.

“Is this a yes, Caryn?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” The word jammed in her throat, but her lips shaped the letters. She tried again. “What took you so long?”

“I was trying to get over my disappointment before I came to bed. If I'd known you were waiting…” He kept her feet in his lap, his hands resting on her shins. “We've wasted ten minutes.”

“Fifteen. But who's counting?”

His hair was damp. He must have taken a shower somewhere else in the house.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You know what I mean…about tonight being the night?”

“It's past midnight. That day is over.”
And a new life begins.

“You are beautiful.”

The reverence in his voice flipped a switch inside her. Whatever doubts, whatever concerns she had, disappeared in that instant.

“I'll be right back,” he said, moving her legs aside. He went to his fireplace and lit it. A moment later, he turned a dial next to the door, and music filled the room, soft and bluesy. He turned off the lights, letting the flames of the gaslit fire provide the ambience.

Then he walked back to the bed.

She opened her arms to him. The towel almost fell, but didn't. She watched him take off his shoes, socks and T-shirt then he moved into her embrace and held her, just held her. She inhaled the scent of him, soapy and clean. Her cheek rested against his chest until he tipped her head back and kissed her.

She thought she knew how he kissed, but she'd only had a sample, an appetizer. This was the main course—possession. Beneath a surface taste of toothpaste was heat and desire and need, flavors so rare and coveted that she felt privileged just to be offered a morsel. He didn't scrimp on the quantities, either, but offered heaping servings of everything, letting her know how hungry he was for her, too. She savored every glide of his tongue, every nibble of his teeth, every brush of his lips. His hands dived into her hair, his large palms and long fingers cupping her head, making her feel safe and protected and…wanted. Were those sounds coming from her? She didn't care. She just wanted to feel…him, every part of him.

He moved off the bed and stripped off his jeans, and there he was, in all his beautiful glory. For me, she thought. All for me. She couldn't wait to get her hands on him. She reached for him.

His expression fierce, he hooked a hand in her towel and tugged. The cloth fell to the bed. He balled it up and heaved it aside. She felt twenty again, and virginal, except this time she knew what the possibilities could be.

“I need to touch you,” she said.

“I need you to touch me.”

She grabbed his hands and guided him to lie down. She felt his eyes roving over her, and she was aware of how hard her nipples were, how her breasts moved as she did, how wet she was. But, oh, she didn't want to rush. He would be a lifetime memory, she knew that with all her heart, which was beating harder every minute and feeling more vulnerable by the second. She didn't need the complication of falling in love, but it seemed to be happening, beyond her control.

Stopping the internal debate, she placed her hands on his head, combed his hair with her fingers, enjoying the soft fullness. She dragged her hands down his face, stroking his forehead, brushing her fingertips over his eyebrows then his eyelids, then his cheeks, his nose, his lips, his chin. He'd shaved. His cheeks and jaw felt smooth. She bent to run her tongue along his jaw, lightly over his lips, then down his neck. She let a hand drift down him, then sat up again so she could watch, aware of his eyes, open and watching her in return.

She found a distinct scar on his left shoulder, slid her fingertips over it. “Is this where you were shot?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Like hell.”

She traced another scar on the other side, and one lower, closer to his stomach. “What about these?”

“Knives.”

She cringed. “Maybe you should find a different occupation?”

“I did. And I'm not planning to get any more scars.”

“Are there more than these?”

“A couple. Big one on my back from a piece of metal when I was shoved once. One on the front…lower.”

She let herself look all down him and saw a jagged scar.

“I was lucky,” he said. “An inch to the right…”

She kissed the spot, followed the uneven line with her tongue as he sucked in a breath and arched off the bed. His hand came down hard on her wrist, and he pulled her up and away, bringing her down beside him, her face close to his.

“You don't know what you're doing to me,” he rasped.

Flattered and thrilled she smiled leisurely. “I'm not done.”

“Yeah, you are. For now, you are.”

“I don't think so.” She reached down to wrap him in her hand, felt his body go rigid with resistance, fighting off what her efforts were doing to him. Curious, she stroked him, swirled a fingertip over the very top of him, catching a drop of fluid, and spreading it—

He sat up, flattened her on her back and tortured her, getting even in the best possible way. She gave up control and let herself just feel. Sensation bombarded her, building and ebbing, building again, higher. His hands were everywhere, then his mouth followed. She shook, then at some point she begged.

He moved over her, nudging her legs open, finding his place. Home. “Open your eyes,” he said, an order, but a quiet one.

She saw the need in his eyes, too, that he'd reached the point of no return along with her. She raised her knees. He
laid his fingers where everything throbbed, stroked her, separated her, then he angled his body so that he could slip inside her, going slowly, letting her feel herself open up to him. She couldn't stop the orgasm that slammed into her before he was embedded, nor the next one that happened the moment he was all the way inside, nor the third one that came fast on the heels of the others when he moved rhythmically inside her. He didn't hold back, either, and his pleasure seemed to last a long time before he finally draped himself over her, both of them dragging in air. She was a little in shock at the intensity of what had happened. In shock, in awe, in utter glory and gratitude.

After a minute, he rolled to his side, taking her with him, wrapping her close and tight.

“Damn,”
he said.

“My thought exactly.” She smiled against his chest.

“I need to get up for a second.”

She pulled back to let him out. He'd put on protection before the critical moment, and she was grateful. She hadn't even thought about it, hadn't ever had to worry about birth control. Wouldn't that have been a mess if she'd gotten pregnant?

He slipped back into bed and she went right back into his arms. It felt so good to be held, to feel his body next to hers, to smell him and touch him and—

“A twenty-percent tip for your thoughts, Mysterious.”

“I'm just happy.” She snuggled a little closer. “I feel like I've been given the best present ever.”

“Me, too.”

She wasn't sure how true that could be. He must have had more than his share of relationships through the years. How could this one be any better than any other? But she
wasn't about to question him, not while they were naked and warm and satisfied.

The fire burned, the music played, but time didn't stop. It was after 2:00 a.m. Morning would be here soon enough. Kevin would be back. Lyndsey and Nate. How was she going to get through the day without touching James? Without smiling at him? Without being reminded every second that they'd made love. What kind of acting skill was that going to take?

“You're worried about tomorrow,” he said.

She tipped her back to look at him. “How'd you know that?”

“You stiffened up. Don't worry about it, okay? Unless Kevin is specifically looking for something between us, he won't notice. He won't know that Nate and Lyndsey didn't spend the night. They'll be here before him.”

“Are you sure?”

“He's a teenager. He'll sleep in, then he'll want breakfast. I don't expect him before ten at the earliest. The thing is, we can't go out of our way to avoid each other, either. That's when he would catch on.”

“I suppose you're right.” She settled against him again.

“Want some good news? The police got a print on Baldy. He's a known low-level crook. Never carries a gun. He's in jail.”

Whatever little amount of steam she'd had left in her, dissipated. “We're safe?”

“From him, certainly. But the fact he wasn't carrying also tells us something. He was probably not here to do anything other than watch and report.”

He stroked her hair. She closed her eyes, enjoying being pampered and cherished.

“Sleep,” he said, softly, tenderly.

She had expected it would be strange to sleep with him, with a man she'd known less than two weeks. But she relaxed against him, felt him kiss her forehead and let herself drift off, leaving every worry, every fear behind.

Tomorrow would come soon enough.

“I
would say that these—” the man held up a handful of IOUs, signed by Paul and countersigned by someone named Johnson “—are signed by Paul Brenley. The rest are forged.”

James's mantel clock had just struck noon. Everyone stood huddled around the handwriting expert that Sam Remington, one of the ARC owners, had called in on Lyndsey's advice and his own speculation. The man set all the papers on the coffee table and sat back. James looked at Caryn first, then Kevin. Their expressions were bleak.

Sam, Nate and Lyndsey said nothing.

“How much was the actual amount he owed?” Caryn asked.

“Three hundred and fifty thousand—or so,” Lyndsey said.

“So they bilked me out of four hundred and fifty—or so.” She transformed, fury mixed with embarrassment replaced shock and despair. “I want my money back.”

The investigators exchanged glances. Nate said, “Your chances—”

“I want my money back.”

“Jamey,” Nate said. “Lyndsey and I are going back to Sam and Dana's. Give us a call when you decide what you want to do.”

Within a minute everyone was gone except James, Caryn and Kevin.

“They are not going to get away with this,” Caryn said, her voice shaking. “They're not.”

Kevin was being extraordinarily quiet. James wondered what he was thinking.

“I'll fix us some lunch if you show me where the stuff is,” Kevin said to James.

Surprised, James looked at him. As if Kevin didn't know what was in the refrigerator and where he kept the bread and chips? Then Kevin intensified his stare and angled his head ever so slightly toward the kitchen. James followed him.

“We'll be back in a minute,” he said to Caryn as he passed her, touching her briefly on the shoulders and finding her as yielding as concrete.

In the kitchen Kevin shoved his hands through his hair. “Look, man, maybe this is nothin'.” He paced a bit, looked back toward the living room, and lowered his voice. “Johnson is a common name.”

“Yeah.” James ducked his head to hear the boy. “So?”

“So those notes are all signed
Johnson.
Venus's last name is Johnson.”

James frowned. “You can't think she could have anything to do with this?”

Kevin's gaze might have turned James into petrified human. “After I told her you were a P.I. she got, you know,
chummier with me, was all nervous. Asked more questions. I know it seems crazy, but I keep hearing about how people should trust their instincts. My instincts say there's a connection.”

James sorted the idea with what he knew of the girl. She'd been hired shortly after Caryn, had no waitressing experience, had never gotten good at her job, had made friends right away with Caryn and Kevin, although keeping her distance from the boy—until she found out that Caryn's friend was a P.I. Plus she'd turned the heat up on Kevin.

“You could be on to something,” James said.

“I know Mom wants the money back. I want that, too—it's a lot—but I want the men who killed my father more.”

“That's not a given—that he was killed. Let's take it one step at a time.” James needed to see the site where Paul died, talk to the CHP officer who wrote the report. “Who do you think is following us—or me, or whichever of us they're following?”

“Someone who doesn't want us to find out the truth.”

“What's the next step?” James asked.

Kevin thought it over. “Talk to Venus.”

“Right. Let's go tell your mom what's going on.” James started to leave.

Kevin grabbed his arm, stopping him, then looked him in the eye. “You know we're not a family.”

“Who?”

“My mom, me and you.”

James couldn't find words to reply. He wasn't sure what Kevin was saying, nor was he sure he wanted to know.

“This is too weird, you know, man? I mean, like, I could never introduce you to my friends. People would figure it out by lookin' at us.”

“Why are you bringing this up?”

“'Cause my mom and
you.
” A flush spread across his face. “You like each other. Do us a favor, okay? When this is over, just go away. I don't want her hurt ever again.”

And stay away from you, too? he wanted to ask.

But this was not the time for debates or promises. “We'll worry about all that later,” James said. “For now, why don't you give Venus a call and see if she can meet you for lunch, someplace public so I can see if she's being followed or if we are. Someplace no one will have staked out.” His mother's house, James decided, where he could leave Kevin, if he had to, knowing he was taken care of. Kevin wouldn't defy Emmaline. “Do you want to be the one to tell your mom what you figured out?” James asked Kevin.

“Can I?”

“It's your discovery.”

Kevin grinned. James wanted to wrap his arm around him and pull him close. What a warrior he had turned out to be. He would lay down his life for his mother, that was certain.

And James was an unwanted outsider to him. That was certain, too.

 

Caryn didn't know who she was more nervous about seeing—Venus or James's mother, Emmaline. If what Kevin and James thought about Venus was true, Caryn had just been dealt another blow, been victim of another deception. That was hard to take.

As for Emmaline, Kevin adored her already. But why shouldn't he? He'd never known Paul's mother, who had died before Kevin was born, and Caryn's mother moved to Arizona a few years ago and rarely saw them. Emma
line was his grandmother, even if in a roundabout way, and she lived in town, and apparently she was a great cook and advice-giver. Caryn would be jealous—if she didn't want it all so much for Kevin.

He had picked up Venus and driven her to a nearby restaurant. When no one appeared to be following any of them, they piled into one car and drove to Emmaline's, Venus asking questions, no one giving any but the vaguest of answers—until they were safely inside the house.

Emmaline hugged Caryn, but out of deference to Venus's presence, no one talked about the relationship. Emmaline went into the kitchen under the guise of preparing a snack, but merely leaving them alone.

Venus's normally rosy-cheeked innocence seemed suddenly faded and guilty. She twisted her fingers together, tried to smile, looked from face-to-face.

“We know about your father,” Kevin said.

Caryn felt James react to the statement. She gathered it wasn't the interrogation route he would've taken, but he didn't interrupt, either.

“You know what about my father?”

Kevin leaned toward her. “Do you think I'm stupid? A girl like you isn't interested in a guy like me. You wanted something. It just took me a little while to figure out.”

“I don't have a clue what you're talking about. What would I want?”

Kevin didn't answer. He had apparently backed himself in a corner. He looked at James.

“You were sent to spy on Caryn and Kevin,” James said.

“Why would I do that?” Her chin went up, her blond curls bounced.

“Because someone needed to keep an eye on them. To see what they were up to.”

“Because my father was murdered,” Kevin said.

Venus spun toward Kevin. “No!”

“And it was your father who did it,” he added.

Color leeched from her face. “My father died ten years ago. And that's the truth.”

Silence crash-landed in the room. They were wrong. How could they be wrong? Caryn thought.

“May I speak to you alone?” Venus asked James.

Caryn bristled. She'd trusted this young woman, had enjoyed her company, had taken her in, treated her almost like a daughter. “What you have to say, you say to all of us.”

Venus looked at each of them individually, then at the floor. Finally she pushed her hair back from her face. “It's my brother you want. I…I don't know what his business is exactly—” she glared at Kevin “—but it isn't murder.”

“He was the one who sent you to keep an eye on Caryn and Kevin,” James said.

After a few seconds she nodded.

“He lined up the job at GGC.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do it?”

Her eyes filled with tears. She looked away, her hands clenched in her lap, her back stiff. “He was holding something over me. I'm not telling you what. It wasn't criminal or anything, just family stuff. He said if I did this for him, he would let me off the hook.”

“We trusted you,” Caryn said.

“I know. I'm so sorry.” She almost pleaded with her eyes.

“Okay, I've had enough of this. What's next?” Caryn
asked James. Tired of everything happening around her, she was ready to take action.

 

Plans were made. For now, everyone would go about their lives as before, especially since no one seemed to be under surveillance anymore.

But in a couple of hours James would fly to L.A. with Nate and Sam to investigate Paul's death and determine the cause, armed with the knowledge the CHP didn't have at the time, that there was a possibility Paul was murdered. James shared Paul's note with Nate and Sam, indicating the possibility that he could have been running away, too.

Kevin was furious at James at being left behind. James understood his anger but didn't back down. Kevin made his case, arguing that they wouldn't have figured out what they had so far without him putting two and two together. He may be right, but it didn't change James's mind about how the investigation needed to be handled.

Kevin stayed with Emmaline, although James considered Kevin's reason might be more to irritate James than to promote his relationship with Emmaline. Kevin seemed aware that James envied their bond. He didn't care about the reason. He only wanted the boy safe.

James drove Caryn home and followed her up her stairs, carrying the sacks she'd brought to his house. His gaze on her hips, he remembered how beautiful she was last night, stretched out naked on his bed, flames from the fire like a flickering golden spotlight on her pale skin. She wore a green skirt and white button-up blouse, and her comfortable shoes. He knew her bra was white and lacy. Every so often he would see hints of lace if she leaned a certain way. He remembered a moment from last night where she'd
stretched like a cat in a flood of sunshine. How graceful she was. How incredibly sexy. Any hesitation had been tossed away with the towel last night. She'd been open and provocative and demanding, especially in the morning when she'd awakened him with exploring fingers and increasingly hot kisses.

And Kevin wanted him to give her up.

“House is cold,” she said, stopping in front of the thermostat and adjusting it.

Kevin wants me to give you up.

He couldn't tell her that. Couldn't even hint at it.

“Do you have to leave right away?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He set down her sacks and watched her keep herself busy by straightening pillows that didn't need straightening, and stacking magazines that were barely out of alignment. “Caryn?”

“Hmm?”

He identified her mood. She was trying to seem as if she was okay with everything, when everything had suddenly changed. She'd already been through enough in the past year, but maybe he would give her some answers about Paul, get her money back and help her get started on her new life again.

“I'm going to do everything I possibly can for you,” he said.

Kevin wants me to give you up….

“Are you?”

Hold on. What's this?
He examined her face. She wasn't trying to come to terms with the newest events. She was ticked off.

“Of course I am,” he said.

“I want to go with you,” she said, crossing her arms.

“No.”

“Yes. It's my life, my problems. I need to be part of the solution.”

“This trip is only to talk to the CHP. I'm not doing anything else yet. Johnson is not going anywhere. There's no reason to rush. And I can't do my job well if I have to worry about you, too.”

“You're just like him. Like Paul. You take all these stupid risks.”

He didn't like being compared to Paul, who, in James's eyes, was weak. He hadn't taken care of his family. “I take
calculated
risks,” he said coolly.

“You have scars! I saw then. Touched them.”

“I'm alive.”

She made a sound of frustration, as if she couldn't get her point across, then she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. He resisted for a second, maybe two before pulling her close and devouring her mouth, taking everything she gave, giving back even more.

“I'm afraid you're going to get hurt,” she whispered. “I'm so afraid. Then who will…Kevin have?”

He heard her hesitation but ignored it. He couldn't encourage her, either, not with Kevin's demand weighing on him. Maybe Paul hadn't done his job, but James would. He would make sure his son—yes,
his son
—would have his answers and his future secure.

“I have to go,” he said, holding her arms and moving her back.

“Already?”

He had a little time, but he didn't think it would make a difference. There was only so much that could be said.

She put her hands on his face. “Make love with me again. Please.”

Unpredictable. She'd gone from being angry to—

She began unbuttoning his shirt. “Don't leave yet.”

“I don't have much time.”

“I don't think it's going to take long, Jamey.”

Jamey. It was the first time she'd called him that. He swooped down, tipping her head back, kissing her like it was the last time, which it may be for them—if Kevin got his way. James didn't want to think about that. He just wanted to feel…her, every curve, every plane, every soft and hard place on her body. He wanted to kiss her until he couldn't breathe, hold her until his arms shook, love her until she screamed.