She swallowed hard, thought about stepping away, but didn’t. Her pulse, beneath his fingertips, was throbbing, her mind spinning in erotic circles that were dangerously seductive. Firelight flickered against the far wall and high ceiling.
She licked her lips again and his gaze caught the motion. “What is it you want, Thane?”
“What I always have.” He took her other hand, and the typewritten pages of Marquise’s life drifted to the carpet. “I want you, Maggie. I think I told you that before.”
“And…” Oh, God, she was getting lost in his enigmatic gaze. He was the devil, a demon sent to curse and vex her, a man whom she couldn’t resist but wouldn’t trust. He’d only bring heartache; only cause pain, and yet, when his head lowered and his lips found hers, just as before, she didn’t draw away, didn’t push him aside.
No, as his one hand held her wrists and the other wrapped around her shoulders, dragging her close, she didn’t resist. Caught in the wonder of his touch, the pressure of his tongue, the glory of the taste and smell of him, she relented, as easily as if she’d planned this seductive moment all of her life.
“Let me love you, Maggie,” he whispered against the side of her face, his breath tickling her ear, her skin prickling with anticipation.
The words should have cleared her mind. He’d never loved her, never would. What had existed between them was passion—raw and primal, sex in its purest, most animal form. She should have walked away, but didn’t. Instead she kissed him with all of the fever in her blood, with the vital and primitive need that was building deep in the most private parts of her.
The room seemed to fade, shadows in the corner closing in. His hands reached under her sweater and she didn’t protest. He kissed her face, her neck, her eyes and she moaned, feeling the angora being tugged over her head, then cool air caressing her bare skin. He threw the unwanted garment toward the door, and Maggie’s legs threatened to give way. Thane’s mouth was everywhere, kissing, touching, hungrily feeding a desire that had been building for years. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, slid them through the holes, then scraped past the scar on his shoulder and moved anxiously down his sinewy arms as she shed him of the unwanted garment.
Don’t do this, her mind screamed. Maggie, this is only asking for more heartache. Be smart! Think of Becca! Remember Mary Theresa! Remember how much he hurt you.
But reason fled. It had been too long since she’d made love to him, and memories of their heat, the special passion that they’d shared, burned through her brain.
His lips found the curve of her neck and moved lower still to the circle of bones at the base of her throat while his fingers searched inside her bra, kneading her breast, toying with her nipple until need, hot and pulsating, seared deep in her soul.
Don’t! Don’t! Don’t! she screamed at herself, but didn’t listen. She, too, was exploring with anxious fingers, touching the rugged muscles of his chest beneath a mat of thick hair that hadn’t been there years before.
He sucked in his breath as her fingers skimmed his nipple, and she felt a washboard of muscles in his abdomen: hard, tight, rigid.
He unhooked her bra, and one long finger trailed the length of her spine as the lacy bit of clothing fell away. His mouth caressed her skin, nuzzling the tops of her breasts, lowering slowly until his tongue found her nipple and licked it in dizzying circles. Maggie’s knees crumpled, and he caught her. As easily as if she weighed nothing, he lifted her from her feet, carried her into his bedroom, and laid her on his bed. Cool silk caressed her bare skin as he settled against her and, stroking her breast, kissed her as if he’d never been with another woman, as if any other female was long forgotten, as if she was the only woman on the planet.
Her slacks and panty hose were removed quickly, rough, persuasive fingers stripping her of any scrap of clothing. He pressed his face into her abdomen, and she turned liquid inside. His tongue rimmed her navel as his fingers touched and teased her nipples. Perspiration dotted her skin.
Maggie closed her eyes, the room swayed, and she gasped as he kissed her even lower, in the most intimate of places. She couldn’t help the movements of her body as she writhed with anguished desire. It had been so long…she was so hungry and this…this was Thane…the only man she’d ever truly loved. The only one she wanted.
“Trust me, Maggie,” he said, reaching upward, taking her smaller hands in his and gently placing her palms over her own breasts. He shifted, breathing against her thighs. She tried to remove her palms, but he laced his fingers in hers and forced her hands to move in strong, circular motions on her body. Her nipples were hard buttons beneath her palms, her breathing shallow, desire causing her to writhe. “Come on,” he whispered, and he caressed with his fingers, stroking, feeling, playing with her nipples, encouraging her to do the same.
“But—”
“It’s all right, Maggie. Touch yourself. Feel good.” And then he slid into position, one hand cupping her buttocks, his fingers digging into the hard flesh. With his free hand, he opened her, gently delving and withdrawing until she thought she’d go mad. She wanted more. So much more. His breath fanned her, his tongue found that special spot that only lovers discover, and he touched and tasted of her slowly at first, then with more fervor, his breathing ragged, her body arching as the need increased. The room faded away; she was alone with him, moving to his rhythm, lost to everything but the feel of him, aching for anything he would give her.
“Thane…oh, no…oh, God…Thane…”
The first spasm hit.
She bucked upward.
He held her firmly, refusing to let her go, giving more and more, fanning the fires of desire to a new height, and again she was forced into a wild, wanton vigor that caused her to convulse and the world to shatter behind her eyes. She cried out, her voice hoarse, her arms reaching for him, and he pushed himself through the valley between her legs, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as if he would never stop. Tears burned hot behind her eyelids, but she didn’t care, clinging to him, her naked, sweating body enveloped in his.
She expected to satisfy him as he had her, knew he, too, needed a release and reached for the zipper of his slacks, but he stopped her hand with his own. “Later,” he whispered into her hair.
“But—”
“Shh. This was for you.”
“Don’t patronize me, Walker,” she tried to protest, the room still muted and soft.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Trust me, I’ll expect to be repaid in kind.” He kissed her tousled hair. “Soon.”
“And what if I refuse?” she teased.
“You won’t.”
“You think you’re that irresistible?”
“Sure of it, Ms. McCrae,” he said with a smile. “Sure of it.”
“Of all the egotistical, self-serving…”
He seemed doubtful, daring her to continue, and she blushed at the recent memory of their one-sided lovemaking.
“I, um, stand corrected.”
“Good.” He kissed her temple and yawned. “Now, go to sleep, Maggie. If you’re serious about this plan of yours, which, for the record, I’m still dead set against…”
“Too bad.”
He sighed and twisted a lock of her hair around one finger. “It is, isn’t it? Anyway, tomorrow you’re gonna have some pretty big shoes to fill, and I, Ms. McCrae, am sticking to you like glue.”
She started to protest, but he silenced her with a kiss. “Enough,” he said, “before I change my mind and have my way with you.”
“Promises, promises.”
“Careful.”
“Never, Walker.”
“I know. And that, darlin’, is the problem.”
No, Maggie thought with heart-piercing clarity. Theproblem, Thane Walker, is that I’m falling in love with you. Oh, God, no. No! She couldn’t love Thane. She didn’t even trust him! She rubbed her arms, as if she could erase the premonition of doom that had settled like lead in her gut. But she couldn’t. From this n
ight forward the course of her life would be changed forever.
Nothing would ever be the same.
Chapter Fifteen
You’re playing with fire.
The words seared through Thane’s brain, and he winced as he slipped out the back door of the hotel and huddled against the wind that swept through the well-lit streets. That was the trouble with the city; it was never dark, and this morning he needed all the cover of darkness he could find. Checking his watch, he frowned. Four-fifteen. Denver hadn’t started to awaken yet.
Turning up the collar of his jacket, he jaywalked, ducked through an alley where snow was still packed against the old buildings, then zigzagged his way on foot about eight blocks to an all-night restaurant with a pay phone in the lobby. He had a pocketful of change that he used for the long-distance connection. He dialed swiftly, the number burned into his brain, and as he did, he eyed the customers in the coffee shop through the second set of glass doors. They were mostly truckers, he guessed from the looks of the men huddled over their black coffee and platters of ham and eggs.
The phone rang three times before a groggy voice answered. “’Lo?’’
“It’s Walker. What have you found out?’’ No reason to mince words.
“Hell, what time is it? It’s not even light out,’’ Roy DePres grumbled, his voice gravelly. Thane had known DePres since grade school in Laramie. At fifteen they’d been caught stealing cigarettes and beer from the local mom-and-pop grocery just out of town. Both boys had been kicked out of high school and worked swabbing the floors and cleaning the rest rooms of the store to avoid being prosecuted by the owners. Roy had gone on to become a Green Beret in the army. Thane had avoided being sent to prison for nearly beating his old man to death. Not that his dad hadn’t deserved it. He’d been drunk and hell-bent on hitting Thane’s mother with a tire jack. Thane still bore a scar where the jack had grazed his shoulder.
“Jesus H. Christ,’’ Roy said around a cough. “Give me a minute, will ya? I gotta take a leak.’’ For another full minute Thane waited, watching as an old guy in a Dodgers hat flirted with a reed-thin waitress who, from the bone-weary look of her, must have already put in most of her shift.
Through the long-distance wires Thane heard the sound of water running, a hacking cough, the toilet flushing, then fumbling hands on the receiver. “Okay, I’ve been checking on everything you told me,” his friend said, the words muffled a little as, Thane suspected, he rammed his first cigarette of the day between his teeth. “If what your damned ex-wife told you was true, I can’t prove it. Yet.”
“You think it was a lie?” Thane asked, the quiet fury that had been his constant companion for more than three weeks surging through his veins again. “That she set me up for a wild-goose chase?”
There was the sound of a lighter clicking and a deep draw of breath. Thane felt the urge to break down and light up. Hell, he deserved it. “Wouldn’t be the first time she gave you the runaround, would it?”
“Nope.”
Mirthless laughter barked through the lines. “You never got over her, did you?”
If only you knew. “Doesn’t matter. Just find out if she was tellin’ the truth.”
“Surprised you’re not doin’ it on your own.”
“And have the police and press all over my ass?” Thane thought he’d explained this. “Remember. This is all under wraps.”
“Covert Op. I know.”
“I’ll call back tomorrow.”
“By then, I might have more info.”
“Good.” He hung up, feeling empty inside. Damn Mary Theresa and her games.
He thought about going into the restaurant and having a large cup of black coffee. He could use a jolt of caffeine, but decided against it. He didn’t want anyone to check the records of this particular pay phone, and if the police suspected he’d used it, they’d find out way too much.
Checking the street, he slipped out of the diner and hiked back to the hotel, where he planned to pick up his truck and his tail. He smiled grimly to himself. If Detective Henderson or the press had any idea what he was doing, they’d be all over him.
And what about Maggie? What would she do?
He gritted his teeth and shoved his hands farther down in the pockets of his jacket as he thought about her and the fact that, sooner or later, he was going to make love to her. Together they were like fire and paper—ready to ignite. That’s the way it always had been between them. It wasn’t gonna change. It had taken all of his willpower last night not to go through with the one act that seemed to bind a man and a woman together whether they wanted it to or not. Damn, but he’d wanted to claim her for himself, thrust into her, and feel the warmth of her body surround him.
“Christ you’re a fool,” he chided. “A goddamned romantic moron.” Maybe he should have done it. Hell, he’d come close. Too close. The smell of her skin had been his undoing. Even now, thinking about her trembling beneath him as he touched her with his hands and mouth made him so hard he ached.
He ignored a DON’T WALK sign and strode across an intersection after a sanitation truck had eased around the corner.
Doesn’t Maggie deserve the truth?
No, he decided. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
So you’re just going to bed her and keep her in the dark?
The way he saw it, he didn’t have much of a choice.
“You need your head examined,” Maggie told herself as memories of the night before curled seductively through her mind. “Oh, God.” What had she done? Hadn’t she warned herself a million times over about him? And yet last night…“Oh, Maggie, wise up!” She shoved her lank hair from her eyes. Naked, embarrassed, and alone in Thane’s bed, she scooted to a sitting position and glanced to the windows, where sunlight was streaming past the gauzy curtains. From the hallway she heard the sounds of doors slamming, footsteps, and conversation. Other guests were up and about. And Thane was gone. Where? He didn’t leave a note, and there wasn’t a message light flashing on the phone. “Great.” She considered the night before all over again and told herself she was a fool of the highest order. So what if she hadn’t actually and technically made love to Thane? “Close enough.” Just like in grenades and horseshoes. “Come on, girl. Get a move on.”
She showered, changed, and decided it was time to be independent. Within forty minutes, she’d ordered coffee, fruit, and breakfast rolls from room service as well as charged a rental car to her Visa card, and checked with Detective Henderson only to find that there weren’t any new leads or breaks in the case. Finally she dialed Becca in California and woke her grumpy daughter up for the second day running.
“Don’t you know it’s early here?” Becca complained.
“I just wanted to see that you were okay. I called last night, but you were out.”
“Yeah.” She heard Becca yawn and presumably, from the sound of it, stretch. “Aunt Connie told me to call you today. Is something wrong? Did you find Marquise?”
“Nothing’s wrong and no, I haven’t located her yet.”
“What do the police say?” Becca, for the first time in weeks, actually sounded interested in what her mother was doing.
“Nothing more than the last time I talked with you.”
There was a minute’s hesitation before Becca said, “She’s all right, isn’t she? Marquise? She’s okay?”
“I hope so.” Maggie wished she could give her daughter more encouragement, then decided she needed to lighten the conversation. There was no reason for Becca to worry. “So how’s Jenny?”
“Okay, I guess, just pissed off—I mean ticked off—that I don’t have to go to school and she does.”
“It’s only temporary. Until your ankle’s healed and I’ve found Mary Theresa.”
“I know, but it still bugs her.” Maggie thought she detected a small note of triumph in Becca’s voice, which was unusual. For as long as Maggie could remember, her daughter had worshiped the ground that her older cousin walked on. Jennifer McCrae cou
ld do no wrong in Becca’s estimation.
“So how is the ankle?”
“A lot better. Don’t even need crutches.”
“You’re sure? Aunt Connie said something about a specialist.”
“Aunt Connie’s just paranoid. She’s always talkin’ about doctors and lawyers and all that stuff. You know, she’s kinda weird, Mom.”
Maggie smiled. Becca was definitely mellowing.
They talked for a few more minutes, and Maggie hung up feeling relieved, that there might be a chance she and her daughter could bridge the seemingly ever-widening gap that stretched between them.
“Room service.” A deep male voice accompanied a sharp rap on the door.
Within minutes she was eating a scone, washing it down with coffee, and making a list of everyone she wanted to interview, starting with the people at the television station and Eve, Mary Theresa’s secretary. Eve had been with Mary Theresa for years, ever since she’d moved from California to Denver. Twice divorced and fighting her expanding figure, she was a workaholic who was “the most organized person you’d ever want to meet,” Mary Theresa had told Maggie once. Eve had known Mary Theresa longer than anyone, aside from Thane, in the area.
Next, Maggie wanted to speak to Mary Theresa’s psychiatrist and doctors, or at least the ones she’d seen in the weeks prior to Marquise’s disappearance. She also put Syd Gillette, Mary Theresa’s second husband, near the top of the list. According to M.T.’s calendar, she’d met with Syd the night before she’d disappeared.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Maggie whispered, tucking her bare feet beneath her as she sat in a corner of the couch while sipping a cup of strong coffee. The gas logs sizzled and through the gauzy curtains sunlight was streaming into the room, lifting her spirits. It felt good to be doing something and compiling a list of the people in Mary Theresa’s life was a start.
A key turned in the lock, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she glanced up to watch Thane let himself into the room. His jaw was black with a day’s worth of whiskers and he’d donned jeans, a flannel shirt, and his jacket—as if he’d just come in from a wintry ride on the range.