Sharp Edges (19 page)

"A sense of honor. An example of your own brand of strength."

He took a deep, steadying breath. The twisting sensation inside him eased. "Some people would say that your determination to discover what happened to Nellie Grant is an obsession."

She searched his face. "What would you call it?"

"A sense of responsibility. Loyalty. Honor. You're following your own rules, too, aren't you? The ones you made for yourself the day you vowed that you would not grow up to be weak like your father."

Her mouth curved into a small, knowing smile. "Does it occur to you that you and I may be a little out of touch with the modern world?"

He walked back to the sofa and stood looking down at her. "Does it occur to you that you and I may have a little more in common than you first thought?"

"Yes." She looked at him very steadily. "The thing that worries me the most at the moment is that I seem to be apologizing to you on a fairly frequent basis. First because I insulted your professional expertise and tonight because of the remarks I made about Katy."

"Why does that worry you?"

"I suspect that if one person is always apologizing to the other in a relationship, it's safe to assume things are not balanced."

He put one knee on the sofa beside her and lowered himself slowly so that her mouth was close enough to kiss. "I've been hoping you'd use that word."

"Apology?"

"No. Relationship."

"Oh. That word." She put her arms around his neck and brushed her mouth lightly against his.

He groaned, aware that her silent invitation was having the same effect on his senses that a flamethrower had on dry kindling. He crushed her slowly against the back of the white sofa and covered her mouth with his own.

She muttered something that was lost in the translation and clutched fiercely at his shoulders. Cyrus felt the heat radiating between their bodies. He caught her head between his hands and deepened the kiss. Together they slid sideways along the back of the sofa.

When the free fall was halted by the cushions, Cyrus found himself sprawled on top of Eugenia, one leg firmly lodged between her thighs. She felt sleek and resilient beneath him. The sash of her robe had loosened, revealing the high curves of her breasts.

He levered himself up slightly, just far enough so that he could push the terry cloth garment out of the way.

She put her hands beneath his shirt and spread her fingers across his chest. "This is probably not a good idea."

"I thought you wanted spontaneous and adventurous."

"Spontaneous and adventurous is one thing. Dangerous is something else."

"Don't worry." He drew a deep breath as she flattened her palms against his skin. "I'll take care of everything. I've got a condom in my pocket."

"That wasn't the kind of danger I was talking about," she whispered.

And then she kissed his shoulder.

He felt her teeth and her tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, fighting for control. When he thought he had it, he bent his head and took the nipple of her right breast into his mouth. He bit down gently.

"
Cyrus
." She came up off the sofa with a gasp, straining against him.

He put an arm around her waist and rolled to the side.

They tumbled off the edge of the low sofa and landed on the inch-thick carpet. This time she wound up on top of him. She unbuttoned his shirt and began to kiss his chest with hungry enthusiasm.

He gave a low, husky laugh. "What are you trying to do? Eat me alive?"

"Worried?"

"No." He traced her graceful spine to the divide that separated her firm, rounded buttocks. "I just want to be sure you realize that we get to take turns."

"Okay by me." She nibbled on his throat.

Excitement pounded through him. He realized that her robe was wide open now and so were her legs. He looked down the length of her as she straddled him. She was smooth and sinuous, he thought. Not flashy or bold. The neat, elegant definition of her breasts, waist, and hips made him want to stroke her.

"You're beautiful," he breathed.

She went very still. Her head came up. "Thank you. So are you."

He grinned. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Yes." Her smile was slow and sexy. "Or, as we say in the museum business, a real work of art."

"Are you telling me that I remind you of a nice glass vase?"

"No." She stopped smiling. "Glass vases have a tendency to shatter under pressure. Something tells me you wouldn't break, regardless of how much force was applied."

He saw the undisguised hunger in her eyes. He knew then that she wanted him.

He reached down between her legs. When his fingers slipped through the dark, silky nest, he discovered that she was already wet and hot. So very, very wet and hot. Her clitoris was swollen and tight. When he drew his finger across it Eugenia shuddered.

"I take it back," he said. "You aren't just beautiful. You are spectacular."

She kissed him. "You make me feel incredible."

He knew he would not be able to hold himself together much longer. He unzipped his pants and dug the condom out of his back pocket.

When he was ready, Eugenia took him into her hands. Cyrus thought he would explode. He shifted position, turned her in his arms, and pushed her flat on her back.

"Yes," she whispered. She reached for him.

He was surprised by the taut, snug feel of her.

"Oh, my God," she muttered. "I knew you were big, but I hadn't realized—" She broke off on another gasp.

And then he was inside and she was sinking her nails into his back. Her knees lifted. Her thighs pressed against him. He reached down between her legs once more, found the full, plumped nubbin, and slid his finger beneath it.

If he had been surprised by the tight clutch of her body, he was stunned a moment later by her small, shocked scream of release. But then she was convulsing in his arms, and he was beyond the point where he could speak, let alone frame an intelligible question.

"You okay?" he asked when he could breath normally again.

"Umm-hmm." She sounded like a purring cat.

"You, uh, sort of screamed there at the end," he said. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No. I was just a little startled, that's all. I've always wondered what it felt like to have one of those without a vibrator."

He knew a lot about being needed, he thought.

Being needed was something he understood. It was familiar. Grandparents, clients, Katy, Rick and Meredith. Lots of people had taught him how it felt to be needed.

But until tonight, he had never really known how it felt to be wanted.

Twelve

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"W
hat's up, Quint?" Cyrus cradled the phone between his left shoulder and his ear while he lathered his face with shaving cream.

Eugenia had left his bed ten minutes ago to go back to her own room. She was probably already in the shower, he thought. If she had not bounced up as soon as she awakened and dashed off down the hall, he might have found a way to persuade her to use his bath facilities.

Ah, well. There was always tomorrow morning.

At least, he hoped there would be a tomorrow morning. He and Eugenia had not gotten around to discussing the short-term future last night.

The day had dawned overcast and gray, but he was feeling as good as if he had awakened on a beach on Maui. He studied his image in the mirror and noticed that he was grinning like a fool. He would wear the green and purple palm tree shirt today, he decided. It was one of his favorites.

"Did I wake you?" Quint asked.

"No." Cyrus picked up the razor.

"Thought maybe I got you out of a warm bed." There was a cheerfully lascivious note in Quint's voice.

"I was already up."

"How are things going there? Anything interesting happening?"

Cyrus angled the razor against his jaw. "Depends on your definition of interesting."

"You and Ms. Swift getting along all right?"

"I'm not paying you to pry into my private life, Quint."

"I know. You pay me to pry into other peoples' private lives." The teasing disappeared from Quint's voice. "Actually, that's why I'm calling. Your private life."

Cyrus stopped grinning. "What have you got? Something on this case?"

"No. This has nothing to do with your case." Quint hesitated. "It's the ZEC file."

The razor stilled in Cyrus's hand. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. You know those triggers you had me put in place a few years back?"

"What happened?"

"One of them got tripped. I found a red flag on the file when I booted up the computer this morning."

Cyrus lowered the razor very carefully. The ZEC file contained all the information he had on his father, Zackery Elland Chandler II.

Several years ago, he had asked Quint to create a system that would give him an early warning in the event that Chandler ever went looking for him.

Cyrus was not certain how he felt about the prospect of meeting Chandler face-to-face, but he had known one thing for sure. He did not want to be taken by surprise. He wanted to be alerted well in advance so that he could control the situation.

But after the triggers had been put in place, nothing had ever happened. Chandler had never come looking.

Until now.

After all these years, it was unlikely that Z. E. Chandler II had suddenly decided to seek out his long-forgotten son, Cyrus decided. Something else must have tripped the computer trigger.

Maybe his father had died.

Cyrus's stomach went cold.

No, he would have heard it on the news. Z. E. Chandler II was a high-profile politician, after all. Belatedly it occurred to Cyrus that he had not listened to any news broadcasts since he had arrived on Frog Cove Island.

"Cyrus?" Quint sounded uneasy. "You still there?"

"I'm here." He gripped the edge of the sink with one hand and adjusted the phone with the other. "Tell me about the red flag."

"You're not gonna believe this. Looks like someone sent an investigator to Second Chance Springs to ask questions about your family. The guy works for Chandler's private attorney."

He's asking questions.

"Chandler's all right?"

"Sure. Far as I know. What do you want me to do on this end?"

"Nothing." Chandler was not dead. He was asking questions. In Second Chance Springs. Cyrus took a deep breath. "Just sit tight and monitor the situation. Call me right away if anything new develops."

"Right." Quint paused briefly. "Uh, you okay with this, Cyrus?"

"Yeah. Stay on top of it. Let me know if the investigator gets any closer." Cyrus hung up the phone.

He stared at himself in the mirror for another minute or two before he raised the razor slowly to his face.

After all these years, Zackery Elland Chandler II had hired someone to trace his son. His
other
son.

"Why?" Cyrus asked the green-eyed man in the mirror. "And why now?"

Thirteen

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"I
f you're going to whine," Eugenia said, "you can go back to Glass House. I can handle this on my own."

"I am not whining. And if you think I'm going to let you look around Rhonda Price's cottage all by yourself, you're crazy. I merely pointed out that there was a risk and that we need to be careful."

"Okay, okay. You've made your point. We'll be careful."

He was in a strange mood this morning, Eugenia thought as she stalked determinedly through a stand of dripping fir. She did not know quite what she had expected from him after last night, but the return to the cool, self-contained hunter was not it.

But, in all fairness, her own mood was not exactly one of light, breezy good cheer, she admitted. It was complex. Rather like the bizarre situation in which she found herself.

The truth was, she could not figure out how she ought to react this morning or what she ought to feel. But it did not take a degree in psychology to figure out that introducing sex into the equation on Frog Cove Island was bound to create a host of complications.

She still found it hard to believe that she had plunged headfirst into what was clearly destined to be a brief, sexual fling with a man who was definitely not her type.

She did not have flings, Eugenia reminded herself. She had had a very limited number of reasonably serious, carefully controlled relationships over the years. She had never had anything that could be labeled a wild fling.

On the other hand, she had never met a man like Cyrus. Last night she had gotten a look at what lay behind the barrier of self-containment that he had fashioned for himself. That glimpse had confirmed what her intuition had already told her. The strength she had sensed in him went all the way through to the bone.

She wondered morosely if Cyrus was having second thoughts. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He was in full Western lawman mode. Cold-eyed, watchful, steel-jawed. She half expected him to flash a badge.

She doubted that the fact that they had gone to bed together was what was bothering him this morning. She knew that he had reveled in the passion, just as she had. But a man who was accustomed to keeping much of himself concealed behind a wall of self-imposed control might seriously regret having allowed anyone a glimpse past the barricade.

She surveyed the dense, wet trees that surrounded them. "Are you sure we're going the right way?"

"I'm sure."

She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her black windbreaker. The plan had been a simple one, she thought. Park the Jeep well away from Rhonda Price's cabin so that it would not be noticed, and then hike in through the woods. But she had begun to feel disoriented as soon as she lost sight of the road.

"Maybe we should have brought a map," she said.