Til Death Do Us Part (32 page)

 

W
HILE MAKING ARRANGEMENTS
with Kane to fly from Atlanta to River Bend on the first available flight, Roarke watched his wife. She entered the closet, leaving the door ajar just enough to allow him a glimpse. Not once did she glance his way or acknowledge that she knew he could see her. Slowly, provocatively, she pulled her slip up over her head and discarded it. For a couple of minutes Roarke couldn't think, couldn't remember what he was saying to Kane. Actually, for about half a second, he didn't even realize he was on the phone.

Wearing nothing but a pair of lavender silk panties and
matching bra, Cleo searched through her clothes. She removed an item off the rack, looked at it and replaced it; then she repeated the procedure several times. Roarke's sex, which he'd just gotten under control, grew hot and heavy again. What the hell was she doing? If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was putting on a show for his benefit. To drive him crazy!

Cleo's petite body was slender, but not lacking in all the right curves. Her hips flared nicely and her butt was full and tight. And her breasts—ah her breasts. High, round and firm. And larger than anyone would suspect hidden there beneath her simple little suits.

“Huh?” Roarke hadn't heard what Kane had said.

“I said I'll be on your doorstep at the crack of dawn,” Morgan Kane told Roarke. “Hey, buddy, what's wrong with you? You seem distracted.”

“Sorry, I let my mind wander.” Yeah, his mind, his libido and his sanity had all wandered into dangerous territory. “I'll work with you, but I'm going to need you to take charge of the investigation. My main function is protecting Cleo.” What was she doing now? he wondered. No, she isn't going to. She wouldn't. She would! His body tightened painfully. Cleo unhooked her bra, removed it slowly and tossed it on top of her slip. He was going to kill her! “Huh? I didn't get that?”

“Dammit, man, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you were right in the middle of having sex,” Kane said. “Where's your mind?”

My mind is on my wife's bare breasts, Roarke thought. Hell, she had to know what she was doing. Didn't she? Maybe not. Maybe she didn't realize she'd left the door cracked enough to put her body on display.

“Look, I've got to run. I'll see you first thing in the
morning.” Not certain whether Kane made any reply, Roarke hung up the phone.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Cleo's breasts. All he had to do was close his eyes or just turn away to end his torment. But he did neither. His gaze caressed her. His thoughts tasted her pink nipples. Instantly, as if she knew what he was thinking, her nipples puckered.

Holding his hands at his sides, he balled them into fists and silently cursed his own male weakness. Why was he punishing himself like this, visually devouring a woman he couldn't bed for six more days? If things continued this way, he'd be a raving lunatic by the end of the week. If he wasn't married to Cleo, if he hadn't made a bargain with her, he'd sure as hell go out and find himself a willing woman as soon as possible.

Cleo pulled a pair of soft, yellow cotton slacks off a hanger. Her breasts swayed when she bent over to drag the pants up her legs. Roarke closed his eyes then, as his mind flooded with thoughts of those luscious breasts dangling over him, of his mouth reaching up to taste their sweetness. When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, she had slipped a baggy yellow T-shirt over her head.

Find something to do, he told himself. Get your mind off having sex with Cleo. Looking around the room, he noticed the bookcase. That's it. He'd read awhile.

Cleo walked out of the closet and over to Roarke, who stood in front of the open bookcase. She placed her hand on his shoulder. He tensed instantly.

“Looking for something in particular?” she asked.

“No. Just anything to pass the time until Ezra brings up dinner.” If she didn't remove her hand, he was going to either slap it away or jerk her into his arms. He knew
she wasn't wearing a bra, and if he pulled her up against him, he'd be able to feel her nipples pressing into his chest.

“I've got Stephen King's latest, if you like horror, and a couple of other bestsellers. And several archaeology books, if you're interested.” Cleo reached inside the bookcase and pulled out a leather-bound volume. “This book belonged to my grandfather. It's a history of River Bend from the early 1800s to the mid 1930s.”

When she held the book out to him, he accepted it, their hands just barely touching. He looked into her eyes and knew she'd felt the jolt of awareness that passed between them just as surely as he had.

“Thanks.”
Get the hell away from her, man, before you're the one doing the begging!

“Sure.”

Cleo crossed the room, lifted her briefcase off the desk at the foot of her bed and removed a file folder. She slumped onto the floral chaise longue, then brought her knees up to use as a prop for her folder. Once she had it open, she flipped through the contents, stopping at the section she needed to study. If McNamara Industries' orders were being deleted from the computer, the person responsible might have left some evidence of the tampering.

She glanced over at Roarke, who had sat down on the bed and braced his back against the headboard. Why didn't the man button his shirt? Was he deliberately tempting her by giving her a partial view of his magnificent chest? Marvelously muscled. Gloriously hairy. And brutally scarred. She had to ignore him, to pretend he didn't arouse her.

She smiled secretly, remembering the nerve it had taken for her to undress down to her panties in front of him. He had no way of being sure she'd done it on pur
pose. She'd closed the closet door more than halfway. She had never in her entire life set out to purposely arouse a man. But she'd rather enjoyed putting on a striptease show for her husband. By the time he'd hung up the phone and she'd come out of the closet to find him by the bookcase, he'd gained some control over his body. But his nostrils had been flared, his sex semierect, and a fine sheen of perspiration glistened over his upper lip.

She loved knowing that he was attracted to her, that he wanted her as she wanted him. But just as she knew how he felt, he knew the same about her. It was as if they were in a game of wills, to see who would give in first—before the appointed two weeks were up. In retrospect, she realized she'd been foolish to make such a decree, considering how sexually aware she'd been of him since the moment they'd met. But in fairness to herself, her reasoning had been sensible. She'd wanted to give them both time—admittedly, especially herself—to adjust to being married, before they consummated their union. Although her sexual experience was limited to a brief relationship with Paine Emerson, she had dated over the years and been attracted to several men. But never—ever—had she felt anything to compare with the way she felt every time she looked at Simon Roarke.

For the next few hours, they gave each other plenty of space, keeping to themselves except when they shared dinner in the sitting room. While eating, they limited their conversation to business, discussing the forklift accident, the computer tampering and Morgan Kane's expected arrival the next day. Cleo spoke briefly to Blake and relayed the messages to Roarke. Margie Evans had been released from the emergency room with a sprained wrist and minor bruising. And maintenance's initial find
ing was that someone had definitely tampered with the brakes on the forklift.

Roarke remained in the sitting room while Cleo returned to the paperwork waiting on her desk. He opened the armoire that hid a thirty-five-inch television. Slumping onto the sofa, he clicked the remote to ESPN and lowered the sound to just barely audible.

Cleo studied the information on McNamara Industries' orders for the past month until her vision began blurring. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she braced her elbow on the desk and rested her head.

A piercing scream shook Cleo from her restful meditation. Then she heard a second scream, followed quickly by a third. My God, who was screaming? And why?

Cleo rose so quickly that she knocked her briefcase onto the floor. Roarke flew out of the sitting room, dashed over to the nightstand and removed his Beretta. He met Cleo at the bedroom door and pushed her behind him as he eased the door open.

“I'll go find out what happened,” he told her. “You close this door and lock it. And don't open it to anyone you wouldn't trust with your life. Is that understood?”

She nodded her agreement. The moment Roarke stepped into the hallway, she closed and locked the door. Waiting impatiently, she paced the floor. She heard voices in the hallway, but couldn't distinguish the speakers.

Someone tapped softly on her door. Gasping, she jumped, then shivered. “Who is it?”

“It's me, dear, Aunt Beatrice.”

Cleo unlocked the door. Hurrying inside, Beatrice threw her arms around her niece and held her close. Cleo returned her aunt's hug, then grasped Beatrice's hands. “What's going on? Who was doing all that screaming?”

“Oralie,” Beatrice said. “She swears she saw a man peeping in the windows.”

“Downstairs?”

“Yes, in the front-parlor windows. And the hysterical fool wouldn't stop screaming.” Beatrice huffed disgustedly. “Perry and I didn't see a thing. Oralie was working on her needlepoint and Perry and I were listening to a Mozart concerto.”

“Where's the rest of the family?”

“They're all downstairs,” Beatrice said. “Or they were a few minutes ago. They followed Simon down the stairs. Daphne and Trey are trying to comfort their mother. I think Marla poured Oralie some sherry.”

“Where's Roarke?”

“Simon went outside to check the grounds. He asked me to come up and explain to you what happened and stay with you until he returned.” Beatrice walked over and closed the bedroom door, then locked it. “I told him that Oralie had a delicate disposition and was prone to hysteria. But he said he wasn't going to take any chances where your safety was concerned.” Beatrice patted Cleo's arm. “My dear, you are most fortunate in your choice of a husband. Considering the unusual circumstances, he is the perfect man for you.”

“Yes, I believe he is.” Cleo walked into the sitting room and looked out the row of windows. She had planned to wait until morning to tell her aunt about McNamara Industries' problems, but since it was unlikely anyone would get a good night's sleep after Oralie's outburst, Cleo decided there was no point in delaying. “We're having trouble at the plant.”

“What sort of trouble?” Beatrice joined her niece, draped her arm around her shoulders and pulled her away from the window. “Simon said not to show yourself in
front of the windows. Your silhouette would make a perfect target.”

“He thinks of everything, doesn't he?”

“He's been trained for it, you know.” Beatrice led Cleo over to the sofa and they sat side by side. “What's going on at the plant?”

“Someone tampered with the computer and deleted several big orders. Those orders were never shipped.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Only since Uncle George died.”

“I see.” Beatrice sighed loudly. “Daddy had no idea what a hornet's nest his will would stir, did he? Since Trey is an executive with access to the computers, I assume he's the chief suspect.”

“One of the suspects, anyway,” Cleo said. “But it's possible that whoever's behind the problem is paying an employee to delete the orders.”

“What about Hugh and Daphne? He's weak enough to be influenced by her greed.”

“There's more going on than computer tampering.”

Sitting very still, her sharp green eyes studying Cleo's face, Beatrice laid her hand over her niece's. “Something more dangerous?”

“There have been three accidents at the plant since Uncle George's funeral. One today.” Cleo hesitated, not wanting to upset her aunt. But she knew she couldn't keep the truth from Beatrice. “We're fairly certain that someone tampered with the brakes on a forklift. Margie Evans was injured. A sprained wrist and some bruising. And…well, when the forklift went out of control, I was directly in its path.”

Beatrice grasped Cleo's wrist and looked anxiously into her eyes. “You weren't hurt, were you?”

“Roarke shoved me out of the way. I got a few scrapes from the fall on the concrete floor, but that's all.”

“What does Simon intend to do about these problems?”

“He called another Dundee Security employee tonight and the man will be here by morning,” Cleo said. “Mr. Morgan Kane will train a small security force for McNamara's and, under Simon's supervision, he will head up an investigation into the computer tampering and the accidents.”

“While Simon guards you.”

“That's right.” Cleo shivered. “I hate this being suspicious and afraid, this second-guessing everyone and everything.”

Beatrice wrapped her arms around Cleo and drew her niece's head down into her lap. She stroked Cleo's shiny red hair, so like her own. “I have every confidence in your husband. He'll protect you.”

Lying contentedly with her head in her aunt's lap, as she had done so often when she was a child, Cleo wished that she could spare Beatrice the truth. But they both had to face reality. And the sooner, the better. “What makes this whole thing so difficult is knowing that someone in the family has to be behind everything—the problems at the plant and the attempt on my life.”

A loud knock on the bedroom door brought Cleo and Beatrice up off the sofa. Side by side, the two walked into the bedroom.

“Yes?” Cleo called out.

“It's me, Roarke.”

Cleo rushed to open the door. The moment her husband appeared, she let out a sigh of relief. “Did you find anyone?”

“Not a soul,” he said. “I don't think there was ever anyone peeping in the windows. Mrs. Sutton's imagination must have gotten the best of her.”