Read T is for Temptation Online
Authors: Jianne Carlo
T is for Temptation (19 page)
“Cold?” Jake searched the immediate area for a blanket or cover.
“No, not really.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I feel naked.”
He laughed and chucked her chin. “Babe, you are naked.”
“I’ve never done this before,” Tee whispered. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“Whatever you want to. These two weeks are for both of us. If you’re not sure about something, talk to me. There is no right and wrong in bed. It comes down to what you’re comfortable with, what makes you feel good.”
“You’ve done this a lot.” She stared at a spot on the far wall.
“Not as often as you think,” he said, sliding his hand over the curve of her cheek so she had to meet his gaze.
The shocked expression on her face prompted his grimace. “I’ve been too busy working to put time into relationships. I don’t like my space invaded, so I rarely take anyone home with me. Hell, when you make a million in your mid-twenties, you don’t have to work at sex. It comes to you, and you can dictate your terms. ”
Jake stifled a groan, what a stupid, crappy thing to say.
Tee’s legs shifted with his movements. Her thighs cocooned his erection.
“You had terms?”
“My way or the highway,” he muttered. “Either I put my energy into a relationship or focus it into the business.”
“I’ve seen the shots of you with actresses.”
“Goes with the territory. I made the mistake of pissing off the
National Enquirer
in my early career. Ever since then, they hound me, and people love to watch someone taken down. I attend the social events essential to the business. It’s easier to have a date, allows me to target the individuals I need to contact. If you’re by yourself at one of those events, women swarm.”
“I can imagine.”
“I’m thirty-four, Tee. I have a past.”
Her mouth curved into a rueful purse. “And I’m twenty-seven, and I have none, sexually, that is. But, this is a start, right?”
The thought of anyone else being inside her proved so abhorrent, he ditched it in seconds. It started and ended here, with him.
She yawned and cupped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”
“Let’s get you back to bed.”
He shot a sympathetic dart at his erection, and she noticed.
“Can you sleep like that?”
“I’ve been doing it for the last four months.”
She ducked her chin and peeped at him. “Because of me?”
“Dead right because of you.” He stood, cradling her in his arms, and kissed her while walking to the bed.
Settling her in the center, Jake retrieved the pillows from where they’d ended up on the floor.
Tee plumped the downy white bolsters in the middle against the burnished headboard and patted the spot next to her.
“Want anything? Glass of wine?”
“No, thank you.”
Jake chuckled, remembering her ‘pardon me’, when he’d ordered her on her knees. He lowered her onto the mattress. “You are so polite, even at the strangest times.”
“Try living with Tricia and being rude. It doesn’t pay,” she retorted, her color high, her chin angled.
“Believe me, I understand. Let’s make a pact—no discussing your mother in bed.”
“A good idea.”
Snagging his arm around a warm shoulder and fitting her against his chest, he flipped the covers up and tucked the ends of the material over her curved form.
Tee tangled her fingers in his curls.
“Are you okay?”
She tugged on his hair. “Jake.”
He looked into her sparkling eyes.
“I’ve never felt better in my life.” She brushed her lips against his.
He turned the slight caress into a long, tender moment. “Good.”
“Comfy?” Jake trailed a finger over the underside of her breast. “Do you realize no gladiators or Vikings appeared the last few times we kissed?”
“Or cupcakes. I hadn’t thought about it.” She glanced away. “Do you think this means we’re safe? Maybe I’m getting used to it.”
“I can’t decide whether to be reassured or affronted by that remark. On the one hand, I’d prefer not to see any more warriors, but on the other, I like the idea I send you out of control.”
Trying to distract her, Jake ran a finger over her nipple. His brown hand, her pale skin, he swallowed. “I’ll give you this—some very strange things have happened to us.”
“Like Vikings, gladiators, and rose petals?”
His biceps tightened under her stroking fingers.
“Like hard clumps of cold ice.” Jake tugged on a tawny curl. “You could have damaged my vital parts.”
“Your vital parts seem to be working perfectly.” Tee smiled at him. “I have something for you.”
“A present? I know the kind I want.”
His suggestive leer tickled her funny bone. She grinned and poked him in the chest. “Douglas Graham sent you something. It’s the cutest little pirate’s chest. I’m dying to open it. It’s very heavy.”
After-sex languor and cozy camaraderie vanished the minute she mentioned the man’s name. He worked his jaw.
“Why would your warlock mentor send me something?”
“Oh please. He’s not trying to put you under a spell or something. You don’t have to stiffen up and get angry. Damn, you don’t even have to accept it, even though it’s your great uncle’s.”
He blinked. “Your Douglas Graham knew my uncle?”
“Yes, they’re both Scottish, and they both came from the same area.
Douglas
said the Grahams and the Fergusons have been allies for centuries. Before your uncle died, he gave
Douglas
a trinket that had been in your family for generations. That’s what
Douglas
sent.”
Instinctive apprehension gripped him, waging war with a curiosity about his roots so insatiable, he knew in an instant the temptation to examine this trinket would prove irresistible. However, the remarkable coincidences didn’t sit well in his stomach.
What were the odds of all this happening? A sudden inheritance, his relationship with Tee, her mentor knowing his great uncle? A flash of irritation rocked him, and he ground his teeth. Since meeting her, his world had turned upside down, and he abhorred the uncertainty of it all.
Her stomach rumbled, a loud growling noise in the silence, and the sound invaded his thoughts. He hadn’t eaten dinner on the plane ride, just munched a few of those tiny sandwiches, which served only to increase the appetite. Food appealed, a big bacon-and-eggs breakfast.
“We need to feed you first. Do you want to go downstairs or order room service?”
“Downstairs, please. What time does the hotel restaurant open? It’s probably too early.”
“It’s seven already.” He smirked. “It is true—time flies when you’re having fun.”
The muted sounds of police alarms caught their attention.
“Wow, something is happening outside. Do you hear all those sirens? They sound like they’re right below us.” Tee rolled off the bed, stood up, and shivered. “I’m going to have a quick shower.”
The doorbell to the suite sounded.
Jake’s cell phone rang.
“You go ahead. I’ll take care of the door and the phone.”
“Mr. Mathews, Mr. Mathews.” The voice rattled in time to rapid, hard knocks. Someone sat on the doorbell, and the sudden noise echoed in the dawn’s quiet.
“Brown, is it you? Hang on a minute.” Jake searched the floor and remembered he’d unpacked in the other room. He heard the water running in the shower, slipped out of the bedroom, found his jeans, and dragged them on. He pulled a sweater over his head and opened the door.
“Mr. Mathews, I think you need to turn on the television.” George Brown’s features appeared somber.
“Bad news, Brown?” he asked, hiding a smile at his alliteration.
“The authorities are on their way up, two men from Scotland Yard. Mrs. Trent’s face is all over the news.”
“They’ve stepped up the APB?”
“Apparently, two men tried to detain her at Heathrow. The
“Thanks for the warning, Brown.”
“Can I be of further assistance, Mr. Mathews?”
Jake’s gut clenched. He heard Tee’s footsteps behind and rotated. The blasted witch thing popped up every time he relaxed his control. It reminded him of the reasons behind his preferred isolated status, no woman worth the associated emotional dilemma.
The grim expression on Jake’s face sent creepy-crawlies snaking up Tee’s spine.
“What’s wrong?”
“A couple of Scotland Yard inspectors want to talk to you.” Jake turned back to Brown. “Can you escort them to the living room? Mrs. Trent and I will be there in a minute.”
She tugged at his sleeve. “There’s something you need to know.”
“From the expression on your face, I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“Probably not,” she answered, her newfound feminine self-confidence skidding off the map. Anticipating rejection, she gritted out, “When I reached immigration this morning, two men from Scotland Yard took my passport and put me into a tiny room. They were very rude, nasty men. When they weren’t watching, I sort of, um, disappeared.”
She heard his exasperated sigh.
“Brown told me. Your face is all over the news. Don’t say a word. Let me do all the talking.”
Clenching her jaw at the tight, angry set of his mouth and the downward slash of those charcoal brows, she followed him into the living area. Her stomach twisted, and horseflies seemed to populate it, gnashing and buzzing at her insides when she saw the same two men from the other morning standing in front of the windows.
The older man flashed his ID at them and barked out their ranks and names. He appeared in charge, one Inspector Flood.
“We need to see your passport immediately.” His tone proved terse to the point of rudeness.
“Just a minute, it’s in my purse.” Shoulders drooping, Tee sighed, walked back to the bedroom, and picked up her handbag. Procrastinating she rocked on her heels, noticed the miniature pirate’s chest on the dresser, touched it, and snapped her finger back at once. The damned thing shocked her. She sucked on her fingertip and scowled at the offending object, suddenly uneasy about giving it to Jake.
This had to be a misunderstanding, had to. For brief seconds she contemplated her mother’s reaction to Scotland Yard interrogating her and shuddered in revulsion. Maybe the time had come to confront Tricia, force her to acknowledge her daughter’s peculiarities. Sooner chance of Satan reforming, Tee decided, and returned to the men.
“Here you go.” She dug in the soft leather bag, found her passport, and held out the burgundy book to the older man.
“It’s stamped. Everything’s correct.” Flood shook his head. “The immigration officer swears she never processed your documents. You do remember us from this morning, Mrs. Trent?”
