Seducing the Enemy (11 page)

“It’s two o’clock in the morning. It’s time for you to go to bed.”

His face changed. “If that’s an invitation…”

“This is not about sex. It’s about stupidly working to all hours of the night.”

“I have a lot of responsibilities. I’ve been distracted with other things this week and needed to catch up—”

“Don’t you blame this on me! I’ve been told you’re up this late every night.”

He gave her a little smile, although his eyes held a wary expression she had begun to recognize. “I appreciate your concern. But what right do you have to interfere with my life?”

“You interfere with my life, so why shouldn’t I interfere with yours?”

“How have I interfered with your life?”

Harrison had completely turned her life upside down, but how could she explain without exposing very private feelings? Instead of answering his question, she pulled his arm. “Come to bed.”

He resisted. “I told you I was busy. I can get another cup of coffee and turn my computer back on.”

She tugged on him with all of her strength, but he was bigger and stronger. She couldn’t budge him. The momentum of her attempt backfired, and she flopped on top of him.

He chuckled and put his arms around her, settling her more comfortably on his lap.

She struggled, although not as forcefully as she could have. “I’m serious, Harry—Harrison. I’m not here to make out with you.”

“I know.” His voice was soft and his arms held her snugly, but he made no further advances.

She scrutinized his face, finding it so handsome, so dear, and so infuriating. “I don’t want you to work so hard.”

“This is who I am, Etta. That’s what it means to be a Damon. The job needs to be done.”

“But it doesn’t need to be done tonight. And it doesn’t all need to be done by you.” He started to object, but she didn’t let him. “I know being a Damon is different and that your uncle can’t do everything himself. But you can’t, either. Let Andrew do some of it. He’s just as smart as you.”

For a moment, Harrison looked offended, which almost made her laugh.

“I know you don’t want to admit it, but he’s capable. You can’t do everything. You can’t. It’s too much, even for you.”

He stared at her for a minute, his body tense and his expression unreadable. Then he looked out the window across the room.

“Do you think I don’t know what it’s like?” Her voice cracked.

His eyes met hers with a silent question.

Her heart beat wildly, since she knew this was a risk. He might close up like he had the other day. She continued anyway. “Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to watch your whole world fall apart? To see it all slip through your fingers, no matter how desperately you tighten your grip? Do you think I haven’t experienced it, too?”

His arms tightened around her suddenly in a hug. “I know you have,” he murmured into her hair.

She embraced him, feeling safe in his arms. And it was easier to say the rest when her eyes didn’t meet his. “But you’ll never be able to hold on tightly enough. You can work all night, every night. It still won’t be enough. And think of how much you’ll give up in the attempt.”

He was quiet for a long time, then said, “Let me get up, sweetheart.”

Marietta scooted off his lap, peering up at him with hope as he rose from his chair. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to walk you back to your room.”

Her heart sank. “Then you’re going to come back here and work.”

He nodded, put his palm on her back, and gently nudged her into the hall.

For a moment, she was afraid she might cry. She’d thought there might be a way she could get through to Harrison, a way to help him. The way he tried to help her.

Evidently not.

A big, warm hand cupped her cheek without warning. He stopped in the hall, gazing down at her. “Is it really that important to you?” he asked softly.

She swallowed, trying not to lean into his hand. “I just want you to get more sleep. What’s so wrong with that?”

He started to walk again. “I’ll go to bed for tonight.”

It was better than nothing—a victory, if only a small one. She smiled up at him warmly and hugged her arms to her belly.

He was so silent as he escorted her to her room, that she got worried. Outside her door, she asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“What could I possibly be mad about?” He had that whimsical look in his eyes she’d seen the first night they’d met and so many nights since. “For tripping over me in a nightclub and then initiating an elaborate seduction scheme to tempt me to lower my guard? For scheming your way into my home and maliciously charming my uncle and brother into believing you’re innocent?”

Marietta gasped, torn between anxiety and hope. “I never did any of—”

“Are you saying you didn’t vengefully give me a black eye? Or torture me through an endless shopping expedition for your wicked amusement? Or trick me into reading a smutty book just as a priest happened by? Or nag me incessantly about my private thoughts? Or invade my office and throw my coffee out the window?”

Laughter gurgled up in Marietta’s throat at this list of offenses offered with such a blandly aggrieved expression. Surely he didn’t hate her any longer. Not with such a warm light in his eyes. Not with such a tender smile on his lips.

Not when she loved him so much.

“Well,” she said, feigning tartness when all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms, “you seem to have collected quite a number of grievances. I’m surprised you don’t just toss me out of the house.”

“I’m considering it,” he murmured. His eyes drifted down her body, ignited by a hot hunger.

Her intimate muscles clenched in response. She knew what was going to happen now, and she knew it meant everything would change. But there was no fear. No panic. No paralysis.

She knew Harrison. Trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt her.

At the moment, he was still leering. “But I’ll hold back my righteous wrath if you’ll admit you flaunted your delicious body in that irresistible outfit just to tempt me into your bed tonight.”

Marietta glanced down at her pajamas, blinking in surprise. “But I’m not dressed sexy.”

Harrison threw back his head and laughed.

…

She honestly had no idea she looked absolutely delectable in the soft pajama pants that rode low on her hips and the simple white tank thin enough to reveal her full breasts and tight nipples. Her complete unconsciousness of her desirability with tumbled hair and bare feet made Harrison want her even more.

He’d been annoyed at her invasion of his office, then acutely uncomfortable when she’d hit close to home about the unspoken fears that drove him. Her concern about his work habits touched him, though, and he’d never felt so close to anyone except his brother.

Marietta understood him, yet still seemed to care about him.

When radiance transformed her face as she watched him laugh, there was no way he could hold back anymore.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, deeply and urgently. She responded immediately; her body softened and her arms reached around his neck.

He slid his hands down to palm her ass and then lift her while she wrapped her legs around his waist. Unable to stop kissing her, he fumbled for the door until it swung open and he could carry her into the room.

Laying her gently on the bed, he stood and gazed down at her. She was flushed and breathless and tousled, and he wanted her so much his chest ached. His body had already tightened with arousal. She held out her arms in invitation.

He couldn’t believe she willingly offered herself to him. After the way he’d treated her. After the things he’d believed about her—things so counter to her sweet nature.

She frowned. “What are you waiting for? Have you changed your mind? Because, I’ve got to say, that’s a very mean trick.”

He made a choked sound—half laugh and half groan—and said, “We need protection. I’ll be right back.” He straightened up and took a few deep breaths, willing his body under control to make the long trek back to his room.

Marietta made a frustrated face, but then her expression cleared. “There are condoms in my bathroom.”

“What?”

“In the bathroom. They showed up there a couple of days ago. I have no idea why. I just thought it was part of the service here, or maybe Andrew playing a joke.”

Harrison went into the bathroom and found the condoms. Gordon must have put them there, assuming they might come in handy. The butler had always been prepared for any eventuality, and Harrison was grateful for not having to traipse through the mansion with a throbbing erection.

When he returned, he found Marietta still sprawled out waiting for him, her lips quivering in wry amusement—either at Gordon’s efficiency or Harrison’s uncomfortable condition. He yanked off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, dropping them to the floor and kicking off his shoes before he climbed into bed with her.

He claimed her lips once more as she ran her hands over his bare chest, her eagerness escalating his desire. Then he trailed kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and along her collarbone. She murmured breathless sounds of pleasure—sometimes in English and sometimes in French—all of them irresistible to Harrison.

Pushing up her tank top, he freed her soft breasts and took one into his mouth, loving the way she writhed in response. As his tongue teased the nipple, he became conscious of her fumbling attempt to pull off her top, but he was so absorbed it took time to notice her motions had become jerky. He lifted his head to see that she’d trapped herself in her tank, which twisted around her head and arms. With a chuckle, he asked, “Having some trouble there?”

She growled. “I can’t get this stupid thing off!”

Amusement mingling with his lust, he unwrapped the shirt and helped her slip it off.

She emerged from the tank with a victorious smile and flung it across the room.

Harrison was suddenly flooded by a wave of love. After everything she had been through in her life, after all the things that might have made her bitter, she had the most warm, resilient spirit he’d ever known.

He sank into another kiss, and then he resumed his fondling, stroking, and kissing her breasts and belly until she was flushed and moaning.

Wanting to please her despite the hot insistence of his own arousal, he pulled off her pajamas and underwear and then lowered himself down her body until he could fit his head between her legs. He breathed in the natural scent of her, cuing something fierce and primal inside of him. He teased and stroked her intimately with his fingers and tongue, causing her body to tense and her hands to fist in his hair.

“Harri—son!” she gasped.

Recognizing the stumble over his name, he lifted his head long enough to say thickly, “Etta, you can call me whatever you want.”

He lowered his mouth once more and intensified the urgency of his intimate massage. She climaxed, her hips riding out her wild pleasure. She might be inexperienced, but her body instinctively knew how to move. On an indrawn gasp, she cried out, “Harry!”

She was still breathless when he shed his remaining clothes, put on the condom, and moved over her to position himself between her legs.

She’d been a virgin two weeks ago. He was the only man who’d ever made love to her.

Despite the fact that he’d always considered himself a modern, enlightened man, that knowledge filled him with a surge of primal dominance, deepening the intensity of his arousal. She was soft and pliant as he entered her, pitching his hips and pulling them back in slow succession until her body made room for him. She gasped and hugged him against her as her hot, wet channel clasped him tightly.

Fighting for control, Harrison took a few long breaths and helped her wrap her legs around his hips. He sank into her even more deeply, heard her little whimper of pleasure and need.

“Harrison,” she said, her mouth just next to his ear, “I’m not like Grace. You believe me, don’t you?”

He had no idea how she’d learned about Grace, and at the moment he didn’t care. He told her the truth. “I believe you.”

His tongue stroked her lips and mouth, and then tangled with hers. She squirmed beneath him, compelling him to thrust. He didn’t stop kissing her as their steady motion built into an urgent rhythm. And when she broke with wanton abandon in another hard climax, causing her to claw his back and moan into his mouth, he kissed her again.

It wasn’t until his own coiled tension shattered in waves of deep pleasure that, breathless and overcome, he finally broke off the kiss.

She clung to him, her legs wound tightly around him and her body hot and shuddering in the aftermath of their passion. His face buried in the crook of her neck, he realized that tears were running down her cheeks.

He wasn’t worried. Knew it wasn’t grief.

He murmured the only word he could shape. “Etta.”

Chapter Ten

Marietta woke up a little sore from their lovemaking, and rolled toward the other side of her bed. When she saw it was empty, she felt a sharp pang of disappointment.

Harrison must have gotten up early to work. She’d hoped he would relax and spend the morning with her.

She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. When she’d gotten up last night to go to the bathroom, she’d pulled her pajamas back on, so she was no longer naked. She still felt vulnerable, lonely, and confused.

Harrison hadn’t said anything about his feelings, but he’d admitted he believed her, trusted her again. And their lovemaking had certainly not felt like another one-night stand.

Her cheeks burned with both embarrassment and rising excitement as she remembered the eagerness with which she’d let Harrison take her last night, the way she’d taken pleasure in him with shameless abandon.

He must know how she felt about him. It hadn’t just been lust that had led her to such heights of ecstasy. Her love for him must have been obvious.

Her breath caught when the door to her bedroom swung open. Harrison entered carrying two mugs, wearing his trousers and nothing else. His dark hair was rumpled and his jaw shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. He smiled when he saw her.

She nearly clapped her hands, she was so happy to see him. “I thought you’d gotten up to go to work.”

“Unfairly judged and found wanting again,” he teased, handing her one of the mugs. “I thought you might want some coffee.”

She took it gratefully and nearly giggled with delight when he got back into bed and draped one of his arms around her as they propped themselves up on the pillows.

Nestling against him, she sipped the coffee. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. How do you feel this morning?”

“Good,” she admitted.

“Shall I call the masseur for you again?” Harrison asked.

“I knew it was you!”

Harrison’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she said, hiding her smile. She should have known it was Harrison, and not Andrew, who was so thoughtful of her. “Why do you think I need the masseur? Think you’re so good in bed I can’t walk today?”

His waggled his eyebrows suggestively but admitted, “I thought you might still be sore from the ride.” At her amused expression, he clarified, “The horseback ride.”

“I’m fully recovered from the ride. Both of them.”

They drank their coffee in drowsy comfort. Then Harrison put down his mug and shifted onto his side, propping himself on his elbow to look at her. His sober expression made her wary.

“Etta, I hate to do this to you—but I’m wondering if you’ll tell me more about your reaction to beer.”

It was the last thing she’d expected him to ask, and she stared at him, speechless.

“Can you describe exactly what you feel?” he added.

She scooted farther down the bed, leaving just her head on the pillow. She stared up at the ceiling. “You saw me the other night.”

“I know. I want to hear it from you.”

The topic made her uncomfortable, but she forced herself to answer honestly. “It makes me feel sick and scared.”

“How? Why?”

“I don’t know why. But if I smell it or see it, I start to get panicky. And really, really nauseated.”

“Does the nausea come first or the panic?”

She considered. “I’m not sure. It’s kind of at the same time—just two symptoms of the same reaction.”

“When did it start happening?”

“I told you, I’ve always been that way.” She darted a quick look at his face. He seemed thoughtful and grave, not patronizing or pitying, as she’d feared.

“Have you ever had counseling about it?”

A sharp pang cut through her chest. “You think something’s really wrong with me?”

“It seems to be a serious psychological reaction, like PTSD or something. I’m just surprised your grandfather and friends haven’t encouraged you to—”

“I’m not sure they know how serious it is. They know I can’t stand to be around beer. But they’ve never seen me have a severe attack. I always leave as soon as I get a whiff of it.”

“Why haven’t you told them?”

She cringed. “It’s humiliating. You saw me.”

“I’m not about to lecture you about that.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckle.

“It’s stupid to hide it, I know. Although the other night is probably the worst attack I’ve had. Only one other time…”

“What happened?”

“About four years ago, I was in the alley behind our restaurant. I was in my chair then, and I was in a hurry. Someone had broken a bottle of beer, and I wheeled over it before I realized.” She shuddered. “I was so sick, I nearly passed out.”

Harrison remained silent for a minute. “When was the first time you remember having this reaction? Before the accident?”

He asked the question almost diffidently, but Marietta’s pulse started to throb. “What are you getting at?”

“Did you have this reaction to beer before the car accident?”

“I…I think so.”

“You don’t remember a specific incident before you were ten?”

“I guess not. But I’ve always assumed…” So much of her life before the accident was a blur. “I see what you’re getting at. But I’d remember if Michael was drinking.”

“Probably. But maybe he’d been drinking before—”

“I’d remember if he smelled like beer in the car.”

“Would you?” Harrison’s tone was matter-of-fact.

Marietta had to wonder how much this conversation hurt him. Michael Damon had been his cousin.

“Would you have recognized the smell of beer when you were ten?”

“Of course. I mean, I must have.”

“Did your family drink beer?”

“No, we’ve always drunk wine. But, I mean, by ten years old… It can’t be. They ran a toxicology report on him. It came back negative for drugs or alcohol.”

“I know.”

“So what’s your point?” she exclaimed, sitting up straight in bed, wishing he’d never brought this painful subject up. “My grandpapa has occasionally wondered if you…if the Damons faked the report. But now that I’ve met your uncle, I just can’t believe—”

“My uncle wouldn’t have done something like that.”

“So you see! My thing with beer has nothing to do with the accident. Just let it go.”

Harrison didn’t argue. But she could read his face by now. He wasn’t going to let it go.

…

Later that morning, Harrison returned to London.

The previous day, he had gone through the Damon legal records and opened the enormous computer file on the Edwardses his family had kept for years, filled with scanned copies of all the relevant documents and meticulously detailed notes. He’d found the document verifying the negative toxicology report on Michael, and it looked aboveboard.

But the heavy feeling in his gut warned him something was wrong. He’d felt the same way the last month he’d been engaged to Grace, and he’d stupidly ignored his instincts. He wasn’t going to ignore them now.

So yesterday he’d gone to talk to the police—interviewing whomever he could find who had worked the accident. A lot of time had passed, but most of the officers remembered the incident. A Damon had died in the crash, after all. It had been front-page news for more than a week.

Using the Damon influence, Harrison got copies of the official police records and had taken them home. Before Marietta had bullied him out of his office, he’d been comparing the police records with the electronic files. There didn’t appear to be any inconsistencies.

Which left one weak link to investigate.

After his discussion with Marietta, Harrison dressed and headed to London without telling anyone his plans.

A couple of hours later, he pulled onto a narrow street in the London suburbs. It was a blue-collar neighborhood, and he had trouble finding parking on the street. Eventually, he stood at the front door of an apartment building. He buzzed the unit and was let in.

A bald man with a beer gut greeted him at the door to a second-floor flat. “Mr. Damon. Come in. I’m Russell Abbot. I was really surprised to hear from you.”

Harrison responded politely and accepted a seat on the couch and the offer of coffee.

“What can I do for you?” Abbot said at last, sitting stiffly in a well-worn recliner.

“You were the medical examiner who worked on my cousin Michael.”

“I was. A sad case. And that poor young lady. And her poor little sister.”

Harrison thought about Marietta with an odd pang. “It was a tragedy. Yes. But I think it’s time someone followed up on your role in the investigation.”

He’d considered what to say carefully, planning each word with calculated precision. He waited, holding his breath and watching every small gesture on the man’s unshaven face.

Abbot tensed visibly. “Follow up?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“I assure you, Mr. Damon, I’ve never spoken to anyone—
anyone
—about what happened. I kept my end of the bargain.”

Harrison’s heart sank. He’d desperately hoped things hadn’t occurred the way he’d begun to suspect. “Have you? The money?” He was guessing but had no doubts about what he’d hear in response.

“It was spent long ago. But I never asked for more. I could have, you know. It’s not like I live in the lap of luxury here.”

“But you’re not a blackmailer. I understand.”

Abbot wasn’t a blackmailer. He was just a city official who’d been offered a bribe. A large enough temptation. One Abbot hadn’t been able to refuse.

The only question left was who had offered that bribe.

“And the real report?” Harrison prompted.

“It was destroyed, just as I said it would be. No one has ever questioned it. And as far as I know, no one suspects your cousin was intoxicated when he drove into that cement barrier.”

Harrison shut his eyes. His cousin had caused his own death. Harrison’s family was responsible for Melissa Edwards’s death and Marietta’s spending thirteen years in a wheelchair. And then they’d covered it up.

“Who did you deal with?” Harrison asked, more curtly than he’d intended.

For the first time, Abbot looked suspicious. “Why are you asking me all this?”

Harrison just stared at him.

“I was instructed not to speak of this to anyone. Anyone. I’m not sure I should be—”

Harrison stood. “You will tell me exactly what happened, and you will tell me now.”

…

“He must have been drinking on the plane. He was flying first-class,” Harrison said, rubbing his aching head and afraid to look at his uncle. “There was no evidence of alcohol in the car, but Michael was well over the legal limit. Melissa was a pretty girl. He would have been trying to impress her in the car. You can imagine.”

Damon had been in a good mood when Harrison arrived home from London. Now his uncle looked old as he leaned back in his chair. Old and absolutely exhausted. “He was only eighteen.”

Harrison was in no mood to feel sorry for his stupid, careless cousin. “He knew better. And to drive in that condition with two girls in the car—one only ten years old.”

“Oh God!” Damon’s face twisted. “Marietta always claimed that she begged him to slow down, begged him to stop. We insisted she was lying. What have we done?”

“You didn’t know,” Harrison said, his voice hoarse as he tried to drive from his mind the image of a ten-year-old Marietta pleading with his drunken cousin. “We didn’t know.”

“All these years we’ve assumed they were mercenary schemers.” Damon was taking the news hard—as Harrison had known he would. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You’ll have to. We’ll do what we can now to make up for it. Provide them a generous settlement. What else can we do?”

“I’ve tried so hard to keep the Damon reputation flawless. I can’t believe Cassell did this.”

Cassell had discovered the toxicology results first. He’d bribed the medical examiner and hidden all evidence of Michael’s intoxication.

Harrison snorted. “I believe it. Cassell knows you never wanted any hint of scandal.”

Damon turned sharply toward his nephew. “Are you saying I would have condoned such a—”

“Of course not,” Harrison said tiredly. “Cassell knows you wouldn’t have, too. That’s why he kept it from you. But in his warped way, he probably thought he was protecting you and the family. He’s devoted. Just not moral, unfortunately. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll have to let him go,” Damon said, his voice raspy. “I can’t have someone on staff who’s willing to…who let us spend years supporting a lie.”

Harrison knew how hard it would be for his uncle. Cassell had been his faithful advisor for over thirty years.

“Are you going to make it public?” Harrison asked after a moment. Perhaps the hardest question of all.

“I think that will be up to Edwards. I can hardly hope to keep it secret when they deserve to have justice done.”

“The world will assume you’ve known all along. They’ll think you—”

“Even so,” Damon said with a small shrug. “Michael was one of us. We will take the responsibility.”

Nodding, Harrison leaned back in his chair, a heavy weight sitting in his gut.

Damon asked, “Will you fly to California to tell Benjamin? He was Michael’s brother, yet he won’t talk to me. He should be told the truth by a member of the family.”

Benjamin Damon had never accepted his uncle’s philosophy and lifestyle, and resented the pressure to participate in the family business. Five years ago, it had erupted in a bitter confrontation, and he’d stormed out of their lives completely. He hadn’t spoken to his uncle since. Even Harrison heard from his cousin only once or twice a year, always through e-mail.

“Of course I will,” Harrison said. “I’ll make arrangements as soon as I talk to Etta.”

Damon frowned. “I will tell Ms. Edwards. I should be the one to do it.”

“I’d rather tell her myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Are you still thinking about…pursuing a relationship? Now that you know the truth?”

“Why wouldn’t I? She didn’t have anything to do—”

“Not her,” Damon interrupted, the break in civility a sure sign of his ruffled state of mind. “But we did.
We
did. Dare we tie her to the family that killed her sister and put her in a wheelchair for most of her life?”