“Then let’s stay like this.” She ran her hands down his muscular back, feeling the heat of him through the fabric of his shirt. “Someone will find us in a couple of weeks.”
He laughed and kissed her. “They’d probably think, wow, what a way to go, but I’d prefer both of us being warm and pliable. If I want to keep you that way, I suppose I’d better feed you, hadn’t I?” He kissed her again and rolled away to sit up.
She stretched, replete, the afternoon’s aching frustration relieved. Even the hollowness in her chest had faded, though by no means vanished. She had never had this before, she thought dimly, this bone-deep sense of connection. And she wouldn’t have it now if Robert had been less ruthlessly determined to have his way.
They spent the next couple of hours grilling the steaks, then sitting out on the deck after they had eaten and cleaned the kitchen. The night was thick and warm, the temperature still in the high eighties. Robert stretched out on a chaise longue and pulled Evie down on top of him. There were no lights on in the house, and the concealing darkness was like a blanket. They lay there in the heavy, peaceful silence, with his hand slowly moving over her back. Slowly his caresses grew more purposeful, and Evie melted against him. Her chemise top was lifted off over her head and dropped to the deck. She hadn’t put her underwear back on, so when his hand moved under the gauzy skirt, he touched only the bare flesh of her thighs and buttocks. He cupped the twin mounds in his hands and held her hard against him, nestling his arousal in the soft junction of her thighs.
“You have on too many clothes,” she murmured, kissing the underside of his jaw.
“You, on the other hand, hardly have on any.”
“Whose fault is that?” Her wandering mouth nibbled down his neck. “I was completely dressed when I arrived here.”
“I wouldn’t say that, sweetheart. Even if your nipples hadn’t been sticking out like little berries, the delicious jiggle of your breasts when you walked made it obvious you weren’t wearing anything under your top. And this thing,” he continued lazily, grasping a handful of material, “doesn’t qualify as a skirt.” Tiring of her mouth being on his throat rather than his own mouth, he pulled her up for a long kiss, during which his own clothing was opened and removed. Sighing with pleasure, she lifted the skirt out of the way and settled over him, gasping a little as he slid inside her.
Then they lay quietly again, bodies linked, content with the sensation as it was. The lights of a night fisherman drifted by on the lake, but they were shielded by the darkness. Sometime later it became difficult to lie still. Hidden impulses twinged deep inside, inviting undulating movement. She resisted, but knew he was feeling the same compulsion. He was growing even harder, reaching deeper into her, and a fine tension invaded his muscles as he lay motionless beneath her.
She pressed her forehead hard against his jaw, fighting not to move. He throbbed inside her, and she moaned softly. Her inner muscles clenched in helpless delight on his invading length, then did so again, and her soft cries floated in the night air as the moment took her. In an effort to control his own reaction, Robert gripped her bottom hard, his teeth clenched against the almost overwhelming need to give in. He won, but sweat beaded on his forehead from the struggle.
When she stilled, he lifted her from him and bent her over the end of the chaise. He knelt behind her, his thighs cupping hers, and thrust heavily into her moist, relaxed sheath. She clung to the chaise, unable to stifle her moans of pleasure as his rhythmic motion increased in speed and power. He convulsed, flooding her with warmth, and lay heavily over her for a long time, while his breathing slowed and his heartbeat returned to normal.
Recovered, he gathered their scattered clothing and pushed it into her arms, then lifted her and carried her inside, to the big bed that awaited them.
They slept late the next morning, until after nine o’clock. She yawned and stretched like a sleepy cat, and Robert held her close, stroking her tangled hair away from her face. As usual, he had awakened her at dawn with silent, drowsy lovemaking; then they had both gone back to sleep.
With a quick kiss and a lingering pat on her bare bottom, he left the bed and headed toward his shower. Evie yawned again and got up herself. She slipped into his shirt as she went to the kitchen to make coffee. “Robert, you need an automatic timer on your coffeemaker,” she muttered to herself as she scooped the coffee into the round filter. Not that they would ever remember to prepare the coffee and set the timer before they went to bed.
Standing there in the sun-drenched kitchen, listening to the coffeemaker pop and hiss, she became aware that she felt strangely light, almost carefree. She hugged herself in an effort to contain the elusive feeling. She was happy, she thought with some surprise. Despite selling the house, she was happy. She had saved the marina, and she had Robert. Most of all, she had Robert.
Her love for him quietly grew each time she was with him. He was such a complicated, controlled, private man; no matter how often he made love to her, he still kept that inner core of himself inviolate, not allowing her or anyone else inside. Knowing that had no effect on the way she felt about him. He hadn’t opened his heart to her, but that in no way made him less worthy of love. He might never love her, she realized. But if this was all he could give a woman, then she would take it.
A ringing interrupted the quiet. It sounded like a telephone, but the phone there in the kitchen definitely wasn’t ringing, and this sound was muffled, as if it were in a different room. The line in Robert’s office must be a different number, she realized. He was in the shower and wouldn’t be able to hear it. It rang only once, though, and she realized that the answering machine there must have picked up the call.
She walked down the hall to the office and opened the door. The whirring sound of the fax machine greeted her. So it hadn’t been a call, after all, but a fax.
The machine stopped whirring and lapsed into silence after having spat out only one sheet of paper. As she turned to go, her eye was caught by a name on the page, and curiously she turned back.
It was her name that had caught her attention.
The message was brief. “Mr. Borowitz just reported that a cashier’s check from E. Shaw, in full payment of the outstanding amount, was delivered by express mail and received by him. His hands are tied. Further instructions?” The scrawled signature looked like “F. Koury.”
Evie picked up the page and read it again. At first she was merely puzzled. Why would this F. Koury be telling Robert that she had paid the loan? And why would Mr. Borowitz be reporting it at all? Robert didn’t even know about the loan, much less the threat of foreclosure.
Her mind stopped, along with her breathing. She hung there, paralyzed by a sickening realization. Robert knew all about it because he was the one who had been blocking her efforts to mortgage the house. He was also the reason why her loan had been bought, and why Mr. Borowitz had been so intractable in demanding full payment. He had been instructed to give her no cooperation at all, instructed by Robert Cannon. Her lover was her enemy.
Her chest was hurting. She gasped and resumed breathing, but the pain remained, a cold, heavy lump in her chest. The sense of betrayal was suffocating.
Obviously Robert was far wealthier and more powerful than she had imagined, to have this much influence, she thought with detached calm. She didn’t know why he wanted her marina, but he obviously did. There were a lot of why’s she couldn’t comprehend, particularly right now. Maybe later, when she could think better, some of this would make sense.
Right now, all she could think was that Robert had tried to take over her marina and had cost her her home.
That distance she had sensed in him had been all too real. He hadn’t committed his heart because, for him, it had all been business. Had he seduced her simply so he could stay close and keep tabs on what she was doing? Given what else he had done, that seemed to her like a reasonable assumption.
Her lips felt numb, and her legs moved like an automaton’s as she left
the office, carefully closing the door behind her. The damning fax was still in her hand as she returned to the kitchen.
The hopeless enormity of the situation overwhelmed her. How ironic that she had fallen in love with the man who was coolly trying to destroy her! Oh, she doubted he looked at it in such melodramatic terms, but then, he probably saw the whole thing as a successful business takeover, rather than a love affair.
She heard the shower cut off. With slow, achingly precise movements, she folded the fax and dropped it into the trash, then poured a cup of coffee. She desperately needed the caffeine, or anything, to bolster her. Her hands were shaking slightly as she lifted the cup to her lips.
She was standing in front of the window when Robert came into the kitchen a few moments later, wearing only a pair of jeans and still rubbing a towel across his chest. He stopped, his entire body clenching at the sight of her. God, she was breathtaking, with her mane of tawny gold hair loose and tousled. She was wearing only his shirt, and it was unbuttoned. There had never been another garment invented, he thought with a surge of desire, that looked better on a woman than a man’s shirt. She was sipping coffee and looking out the window, lost in thought, her expression as calm and remote as a statue’s.
He dropped the towel and went to her, sliding one arm around her as he took the cup and lifted it to his own lips. He imagined he could taste her on the rim, but then, his senses were so attuned to her that he could pick her out of a crowd blindfolded.
No woman had ever responded to him the way Evie did. She was pure fire in his arms, reveling in every thrust, tempting more from him. If he was gentle, she melted. If he was rough in his passion, she clung to him, clawed at him, her soaring desire feeding his own until they were both frenzied with need. He wanted her incessantly.
He smoothed his hand over the curve of her bottom, delighting in the silky texture of her flesh. “The shower’s all yours, sweetheart.”
“All right,” she said automatically, but he had the impression she didn’t really hear him. She was still looking out the window.
He tipped his head to see if he could tell what had her so interested. He saw only a wide expanse of lake, dotted with a few boats. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. Just the lake.” She turned away from his embrace and left the kitchen.
Robert’s brows briefly knit in puzzlement, but he was hungry, and breakfast took precedence at the moment. He had scarcely gotten the bacon started when Evie reappeared in the kitchen, fully dressed, and with her keys in her hand.
“A fax came in while you were in the shower,” she said quietly.
He turned, going still at what he saw in her face—or rather, what he didn’t see. She was pale and expressionless, her eyes empty. With a chill, he remembered how Becky had described the look in Evie’s eyes after the accident and he knew it must have been something like this. She looked so terribly remote, as if she had somehow already left.
“Who was it from?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle while his mind raced, sorting through the possibilities, all of them damning. The worst-case scenario was if she was indeed working with Mercer and had found out that the trap was closing tight about them.
“An F. Koury.”
“Ah.” He nodded, concealing a sense of relief. “My secretary.” Probably it had nothing to do with Mercer, then, but why was Evie looking so frozen?
“It’s there in the trash, if you want to read it, but I can tell you what it said.”
He leaned against the cabinet and crossed his arms, eyeing her carefully. “All right. Tell me.”
“Mr. Borowitz notified your secretary that he’d received a cashier’s check from E. Shaw for payment in full of the loan, and that his hands were tied. She asked for further instructions.”
Robert’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly he was swearing viciously. Of all the things for Evie to stumble onto! It was less damaging, from a security standpoint, than anything connected with Mercer would have been, but a hell of a thing to try to explain to a lover. He’d never intended her to know about it. The pressure had been real, but he would never have let it go to foreclosure. He didn’t rush into explanations but waited for her reaction so he could better gauge what to say to her. And how in hell had she managed to get the money to pay the loan?
“You’re the reason I couldn’t get a mortgage on my house,” she said, her voice so strained it was almost soundless.
She’d put it together quickly, he thought. But then, from the beginning, she’d proven herself to be uncomfortably astute. “Yes,” he said, disdaining to lie.
“You’re behind the loan being sold to another bank in the first place.”
He inclined his head and waited.
She was gripping the keys so tightly that her fingers were white. He noted that small giveaway of emotion held in check. She took several shallow breaths, then managed to speak again. “I want your boat gone from my marina by the end of the day. I’ll refund the balance of the rent.”
“No,” he said gently, implacably. “I’m holding you to the agreement.”
She didn’t waste her breath on an argument she couldn’t win. She had hoped he would have the decency to do as she asked, but given his ruthless streak, she hadn’t really expected it.
“Then leave it there,” she said, her voice as empty as her eyes. “But don’t call me again, because I don’t want to talk to you. Don’t come by, because I don’t want to see you.”
Sharply he searched her expression, looking for a way to penetrate the wall she had thrown up between them. “You won’t get rid of me that easily. I know you’re angry, but—”
She laughed, but it was raw and hollow, not a sound of amusement. Robert winced. “Is that how you’ve decided to ‘handle’ me? I can see you watching me, trying to decide which angle to take to calm me down,” she said. “You never just react, do you? You watch and weigh other people’s reactions so you can manipulate them.” She heard the strain in her voice and paused to regain control of it. “No, I’m not angry. Maybe in fifty years or so, it’ll just be anger.” She turned on her heel and started for the door.
“Evie!” His voice cracked like a whiplash, and despite herself, she stopped, shivering at the force of will he commanded. This wasn’t the cool strategist speaking but the ruthless conqueror.
“How did you pay off the loan?” The words were still sharp.
Slowly she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark and unguarded for a moment, stark with pain. “I sold my house,” she said, and walked out.
Chapter Seventeen
Robert started to go after her, then stopped. Instead he swore and hit the countertop with his fist. He couldn’t explain anything to her, not yet. Every instinct in his body screamed for him to stop her, but he forced himself to let her go. He stood rigidly, listening as the truck door slammed and the motor started. She didn’t spin the wheels or anything like that; she simply backed out of the driveway and drove away without histrionics.
God! She had sold her house. The desperation of the action staggered him, and with sudden, blinding clarity he knew, beyond the faintest doubt, that she wasn’t involved with Mercer in any way. A woman who could make money by espionage would never have sold her home to pay a debt. She had appeared to be leaving the marina and meeting with Mercer on the lake, but it must have been nothing more than damnable coincidence. Evie was totally innocent, and his machinations had cost her her home.
She wouldn’t listen to anything he said right now, but after he had the espionage ring broken up and Mercer safely behind bars, he would force her to understand why he had threatened foreclosure on her loan. That he had suspected her of espionage was another rocky shoal he would have to navigate with care. He didn’t imagine it would be easy to get back into her good graces, but in the end he would have her, because he didn’t take no for an answer when he really wanted something. And he wanted Evie as he had never wanted anything or anyone else in his life.
He
would have to make amends, of course, far beyond apologies and explanations. Evie was the least mercenary person he’d ever met, but she had a strong sense of justice, and an offer of reparation would strike a chord with her. He could buy her house from the new owners—they probably wouldn’t be willing to sell at first, but he cynically suspected that doubling the price would change their minds—and present her with the deed, but he far preferred that she have a newer, bigger house. The simplest thing would be to deed over his own house to her. It meant nothing to him, he could buy a house anywhere he wanted, but Evie needed a base that was hers and hers alone. It would be a vacation home, a getaway when they needed a break from the hubbub of New York, a place for her to stay when she wanted to visit Becky.
He fished the damning fax out of the trash and read it. Three concise sentences, Felice at her most efficient. There was nothing more he could do about the loan; realizing that, she had de-prioritized it and sent the information by fax so he could have it immediately but respond at his leisure, rather than calling and wasting both his time and hers. Felice was a genius at whittling precious seconds here and there so she would have more time to devote to the truly important matters. In this instance, however, her knack for superefficiency had worked against him and perhaps cost him Evie.
No. No matter what, he wouldn’t let Evie go.
Evie drove automatically, holding herself together with desperate control. She tried to empty her mind, but it wasn’t possible. How could she be so numb but hurt so much at the same time? She literally ached, as if she had been beaten, yet felt somehow divorced from her body. She had never felt as remote as she did now, or as cold and hollow. The heat of the sun washed over her, but it didn’t touch her. Even her bones felt cold and empty.
Why? She hadn’t asked him that and couldn’t think of a reason that would matter. The why of it wasn’t important. The hard fact was that he had sought her out for a reason that had nothing to do with love or even attraction, used the intimacy he had deliberately sought as a means to gather information that he wanted, and then turned that knowledge against her. How had he known about the loan in the first place? She supposed it was possible a credit report would have given him the information, but a far more likely explanation was that he had simply taken a look through the papers in her desk at home. There had been ample opportunity for him to do so; the very first time he had been in her house, she remembered, was when he had brought her home to change clothes after Jason had fallen in the water, and she had left him alone while she showered and changed.