All or Nothing (8 page)

His hands slid down her stomach to her leg. With skillful fingers he bunched her gauzy blue evening gown up, up, up her leg until his hand tunneled underneath. She felt his frown and realized she had jeans on underneath her formal dress?

Confusion churned in her brain as she stared down at her bare feet and well-worn denim. She kicked at the hem of her gown, frustrated, needing to free herself of the voluminous folds so she could wear her jeans.

And so she could feel Conrad’s touch.

The roar of frustration grew louder, and louder still until the porch disintegrated from the vibrations. She stood in the rubble, a herd of elephants kicking up dust on the horizon.

Her bare feet pedaled against the covers. She fought harder, frantic to wake herself up and outrun the beasts chasing through her head. Elephants thundered behind her, rumbling the ground along with an orchestra segueing into the closing act. Her chest hurt, and she gasped for air.

She tripped over the gnarled roots of a mango tree. Her hands slapped the ground, but it gave way, plunging her into the Mediterranean Sea outside Conrad’s casino. The farther she sank, the darker the waters became until she hit bottom.

Sealed in a panic room.

A window cleared along the top and she looked up, searching for a way out. Desperation squeezed the air from her lungs. Conrad stood on the balcony far, far above, watching her, drinking his Chivas. She couldn’t reach him, and he couldn’t hear her choked cries of warning to watch out for the thundering herd.

Wasn’t a guy always supposed to hear his mermaid call him?

Except she wasn’t the one in danger.

His balcony filled with thick, noxious smoke until Conrad disappeared...

Jayne sat up sharply.

Wide-awake, she blinked in the dark, unfamiliar room. Gauzy mosquito netting trailed from all four corners of the canopy. Just a dream, she reminded herself. Not real.

Well, the charging elephants weren’t real, but the panic room was very real, along with a looming threat.

Fear for Conrad still covered her like a thick blanket on a muggy day. She’d put him in danger just by being with him. A crummy way to pay him back for all the years he’d tried to keep her safe from a dangerous job. Now that she was past some of the worst feelings of betrayal, she could feel the inevitable admiration beneath it. He was a good man, and she—unknowingly—had been his Achilles’ heel.

That hurt her to think about. She had so many regrets about her marriage, and their future had never been more complicated. Her body burned for his touch.

With the pain of losing him still so fresh in her mind, she knew without question, she
had
to be with him tonight.

* * *

Conrad stared at the ceiling fan swirling around and around, the click so quiet he knew that couldn’t have woken him.

So what had?

The alarms were set. He’d cracked the door to Jayne’s room. No one would get in without him knowing, and Jayne wouldn’t so much as sneeze without him hearing.

Muffled cries? He’d absolutely heard those.

Hand on his 9mm, he raced down the hall, careful to keep his steps quiet so as not to alert an intruder. He pushed through the guest bedroom door.

And found Jayne standing a hand’s reach away in an otherwise empty room. She jumped back to avoid the swinging door. The sight of her hit him clean in the libido.

His hand fell away from his gun.

An icy-blue nightgown stopped just shy of her knees, lace trim teasing creamy flesh. The pale blue was so close to the color of the gown she’d worn to
La Bohème
that memorable night it almost knocked his feet out from under him. The silk clung to her curves the way his hands ached to do, the way he’d dreamed of doing every night since she’d walked out on him.

“Is something wrong? I heard you cry out in your sleep and I just needed to be sure you’re all right.” Good enough cover story for why he’d burst into the room.

“Just a nightmare. How cliché, huh?” She thrust her hands in her hair, pushing it back—and stretching the fabric of her nightgown across her breasts. “I cry out. You run to me in my bedroom, afraid something happened to me. I’m still rattled by my bad dream.”

He tore his eyes off the pebbly tightness of her nipples against silk. “God forbid we should ever be cliché.”

She stepped closer, padding slowly on bare feet, her eyes narrowed with a sensual intent he’d seen—and enjoyed—many times in the past.

“Although, Conrad, clichés become clichés because they worked well for a lot of other people. And if we follow the dream cliché to its conclusion, the next step would be for me to throw myself in your arms so we can make love.”

Jayne stopped toe-to-toe with him, still not touching him, and if she did, his control would be shot all to hell. For whatever reason, she was taking charge and seducing him. Except she would be doing so for all the wrong reasons, vulnerable from whatever had frightened her in the dream.

He couldn’t take advantage of her while she was riding the memories of a nightmare. But he also couldn’t leave her in here upset and alone.

Grabbing the door to keep from reaching for her, he stepped back into the hall. “I think we need to get out of this bedroom.”

“Why?” She nibbled her bottom lip.

He swallowed hard. “We need to go. Trust me.”

She laughed softly. “Trust you? That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Fair enough, I deserve that.” He always had liked the way she never pulled punches and found it every bit as arousing now as he had when they lived together. “Or you could just trust me because you’re a nicer person than I am.”

“All right, then.” She placed her hand in his, her soft fingers curling around his.

And holy crap, she leaned in closer to him as they walked down the hall. The light scent of her shampoo teased his nose. The need to haul her into his arms throbbed harder, hotter. Damn it, he was supposed to be protecting her, comforting her. He reined in thoughts fueled by three years of abstinence.

Three. Damn. Years.

Out in the main living area, he guided her to the sectional sofa, wide palm ceiling fans clicking overhead. “Have a seat, and I’ll get us a snack from the kitchen.”

She settled onto the sofa, nestling in a pile of pillows. “Just some water, please.”

That would give him all of sixty seconds to will back the raging erection. Hell, he could spend an hour creating a five course meal and it wouldn’t be enough time to ease the painful arousal.

He snagged two bottles of water from the stainless-steel refrigerator in a kitchen he’d actually learned to use and returned to the living room. He twisted off a cap and passed her the Evian. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“A movie?”

“I can pipe anything you want in through the satellite.” He opened his bottle. “I’m even open to a chick flick.”

“You want to watch a
movie?
” She shifted in the mass of throw pillows, looking so much like a harem girl he almost dropped to his knees.

“Or we can talk.” And he realized now that Salvatore was right. He should talk to Jayne and tell her more about the man she’d married, the man she thought she wanted to crawl back in bed with. He needed to be sure her eyes were wide-open about him before he could even consider taking her up on what she offered.

She was stuck here because of him. They were both forced to watch over their shoulders—also because of him and the choices he’d made. While he couldn’t see much he would do differently, at least he owed her a better perspective on why he’d broken the law.

Why he’d ruined so many lives, including theirs.

He sat by her, on the side that didn’t have his gun in the way. On second thought, he unstrapped the shoulder harness and set the whole damn thing on the teak coffee table.

Too bad his past couldn’t be tucked away as easily.

He wrestled with where to start and figured what the hell. Might as well go back to the beginning.

Elbows on his knees, he rolled the water bottle between his palms. “You know what I did as a teenager, but I don’t think I’ve ever really explained why.”

She sat up straighter, her forehead furrowing, but she didn’t speak.

“A teenage boy is probably the dumbest creation on the planet. Pair that with a big ego and no moral compass, and you’ve got a recipe for trouble.”

Seventeen years later and he still couldn’t get past the guilt of what he’d done.

“You were so young,” she said softly.

“That’s no excuse. I was out of control and hating life. This girl I liked had dumped me because her parents didn’t want her around my family.” He glanced at her. “Her dad was a cop. My ego stung. And I decided to show him and the justice system what screwups they were, because I—a teenager—was going to do what they couldn’t. I would make the corrupt pay.” Starting with two leches he’d caught hitting on his sister, damn near assaulting her, and his dad hadn’t done more than shrug off his friends’ behavior by insisting no harm, no foul.

“You had good intentions. All of the news reports I read said as much. And yes, I searched every one of them since you’re usually closemouthed about your past.” She set aside her drink and clutched his forearm, squeezing. “While it’s admirable you feel bad, you can also cut yourself some slack. You were exposing corrupt corporations.”

“Not so much. See, I could have infiltrated my dad’s records and those of his crooked friends, then turned them over to the authorities. And I could have had a better motivation than getting back at some girl or showing up my old man. But I wanted to make a statement. I wanted to make him see that even if I didn’t do things his way, damn it, I was still every bit as smart. Because I would get away with it.”

She didn’t rush to reassure him this time, but she hadn’t pulled away in disgust. Yet.

“Twisted, isn’t it?” He set aside his water bottle to keep from shattering it in his fist. “I wanted to bring him—as well as a couple of his friends—down
and
make him proud of me.”

“That had to make getting caught all the worse.” She gathered a pillow to her, her voice steadier than her hands.

“That’s the real kick in the ass irony.” His hand fell to the lacy edge on the short sleeve of her nightgown and he rubbed it between two fingers. “I didn’t get caught. I would have gotten away with it.”

“Then how did you end up in reform school?”

“I found out that one of the CEOs of a business I’d helped tank with my short sales... He took his life.” Acid fired at the lining of his stomach, burning up to his throat with a guilt that would never leave, no matter how many missions he completed or how much money he donated to charity. “I turned myself in to the police, with all the information on what I had done, everything I could dig up on my father.”

“And the police gave you a more lenient sentence because you came forward.” Her hand settled on his back, soothing. “What happened was horrible, but you did come forward with all that evidence, even when it incriminated you. That counts for something.”

Laughter rumbled around in his chest, stirring the acid and mixing in some shards of glass for good measure to flay his insides. “Turning myself in didn’t count for jack. I only got sent to that school instead of juvie because my dad hired the best lawyers. He got off of every major charge, and I could not beg my way into prison.”

His dad’s lawyers had made sure the press learned—through an “anonymous” leak—that every targeted company had been guilty of using child laborers in sweatshops overseas.

Once the media got wind of that part of his case, he’d been lauded the white knight of orphans. The pressure had nudged the judge the rest of the way in cutting him a deal. Through the colonel’s mentorship, he and his friends had learned to channel their codes of right and wrong. Now they had the chance to right wrongs within the parameters of the law.

“I’m just damn lucky I landed in Salvatore’s program. I owe him more than my life, Jayne.” His voice strangled off with the emotion clogging his throat and squeezing his chest. “I owe him my self-respect.”

Wordlessly she slipped her arms around him and pulled him to her. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder and drew in the pure, clean scent of her. She was too good for him, always had been. There just hadn’t been anyone in her life to warn her away from him the way his teenage girlfriend’s dad had.

“Conrad, Colonel Salvatore couldn’t have built something within you if the foundation and all the essential parts weren’t already there. You’re a good man.”

He didn’t know how long they sat there, and a part of him knew he should let her go back to bed before he took anything more from her. But having her this close again felt better than he’d remembered, different, too. The glide of her fingers along the back of his neck soothed as much as they aroused. She was such a mix of contradictions, everything he wanted and all he didn’t deserve.

She turned her face to graze a kiss across his temple before taking his face between her hands and looking him in the eyes. “I think we’ve both been hurting long enough.”

Oh, God, this was it. The moment she would send him packing for good. She wouldn’t wait around for him to sign the papers. She would pursue the divorce without his consent, an option that had always been open to her due to their lengthy separation. He hadn’t realized until now how much hope he’d been holding on to. Like a sap, with every day that passed and no divorce, he’d allowed himself to believe there was a chance they would reconcile.

Now he had to face up to the fact that it was over between them, and she would move on to live the life she deserved. The one he’d never come close to offering her. She would find the man she deserved who would give her a real home and cute babies.

Forcing out words to set her free damn near split him in half. “Jayne, I never wanted to hurt you.” He clasped her wrists, holding on to her for what would be the last time. “I only want you to be happy.”

She angled back to stare deep in his eyes. “Then make love to me.”

Eight

L
eaning forward, her hip digging into the sofa cushions, Jayne skimmed her mouth over Conrad’s, praying he wouldn’t push her away again.

Desperate to see this through.

His admissions, his outpouring from deep in his soul only confirmed her conviction that he was a much better man than he realized. And regardless of whatever else had happened between them, she wasn’t turning back from right now, right here with Conrad.

She sensed his restraint, his lingering concerns about protecting her from her dream or from herself. Whatever. To hell with holding back. She poured all her frustration and bottled emotions into the way her body ignited around him. Arching upward, she swung her leg around and over until she straddled him, bringing her flush against the hard length of his erection. She rocked once, twice, her hips to his until she felt the growl rumble in his chest. His arms shot up and around her, locking her to him.

A purr of relief spiraled up her throat.

“Jayne, are you sure this is what you want?” he asked between possessive kisses.

“Absolutely. We’ve both waited long enough. Stop talking and take me, damn it.”

And thank heaven he listened and agreed. Angling her back onto the sofa, his solid body pressed her into the welcoming pile of pillows. He hooked a finger along the lacy edge of one sleeve, sliding along her shoulder and around until he skimmed her breast, launching delicious shivers of anticipation.

Desire surged liquid heat through her veins in a near-painful, all-over rush. She’d laid awake so many nights, aching for him, tempted to reach for the phone and just hear the sound of his voice. The rumbling timbre of him speaking her name then and now sent her spine bowing up toward him, as she wriggled to get closer.

She thumbed the buttons on his shirt free and yanked the fabric off his shoulders, sending it sailing to rest on a water bottle. Sighing, she splayed her fingers over his chest, up along his shoulders to pull him to her again. The heat of his bare flesh seared through her nightgown, her breasts tingling with awareness. How had she made it through the past three years without him, without this?

Her hand slid between them, down the front of his jeans, stroking his erection straining against his fly until he throbbed impossibly harder against her touch. She fumbled with the top button then eased the zipper down. Her fingers tucked inside his boxers, and he groaned low in his throat.

The steely length of him fit to her hand, familiar even after years apart. Although in some ways it seemed like no time at all, given all the hungry dreams she’d had of him coming to her bed again. Or in some of her more uninhibited fantasies he’d come to her in other places. Whisking her away from work to make love in the car. Joining her on a beach walk where they slipped behind a sand dune together. Or appearing next to her in a dark theater...

But she always woke up alone, unfulfilled and knowing he would never come for her. She had to move on with her life.

God, her thoughts were running away from her, threatening to steal this moment from them again.

Conrad shifted on top of her, and she gripped his shoulders to hold him in place. “Where are you going?”

“Jayne, I’m not leaving.” His hands never stopped moving and arousing her even while he talked. “I packed a box of condoms in my suitcase, because even though I didn’t just assume we would sleep together, I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose the chance due to poor planning.”

“Guess what?” She slid her hands around, digging her nails into his buttocks. “I’m a good planner, too.”

“Then lucky for us, we have plenty to get through the night.” He slid off her and stood, wearing nothing but his jeans, open and low slung on his hips in a tempting V. “So do I go get mine and come back, or do we move to the bedroom?”

Her brain was so fogged just staring at him that she struggled to form an answer. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to feel him over her, moving into her. But if they stayed here, there would be the awkward moment afterward when they pulled themselves together afterward and walked to separate bedrooms—which was insane, since she was his wife. For now at least.

And she realized exactly what she wanted. To be in his bed, to make love there and sleep in his arms.

“Let’s go to your room.”

Before she could say another word, he swept her against his chest in such a macho show of strength she smiled just before she flicked his earlobe with her tongue then drew it between her teeth, enjoying the slightly salty taste of him.

The lingering scent of his aftershave mixed with the musk of perspiration on his skin. She drew in the smell of him, the feel of him, until even the silk of her nightgown felt itchy against her oversensitized skin. The hard wall of his muscled chest wasn’t the one of a paper pusher or a man who’d become soft from years of high living. He could take charge in every realm, intellectually and physically, and that duality turned her on all the more.

He shouldered open his door, revealing a massive teak bed sprawling in front of a window overlooking the river. Then she didn’t see anything other than the linen drapes on the ceiling over the bed as he settled her in the middle of a simple cotton comforter. He angled to his suitcase on the stand, pulled out a box of condoms and tossed it on the bed before leaning over her again.

With competent and quick hands he bunched her gown in his fists and swept it away. The breeze over her skin made her want the press of his body but he sprinkled kisses along her stomach, took the edge of her bikini panties between his teeth and tugged. She thought of the panties he’d torn from her body in the elevator, of how he’d given her such an intense release.

At the first nuzzle between her legs, her knees fell apart and her bones turned to liquid. The flick of his tongue and gentle suckling brought her to the edge too fast, too soon. She clawed at his shoulders, drawing him up, but he stopped, teasing the tight nipple the way he’d licked and laved the tight bud of nerves.

He had her writhing on the comforter, aching to take this further, faster. His hand slid down to replace his tongue with a knowing touch. He inched his way back up her body until his mouth settled on her breast and his fingers between her legs teased in synchronicity, playing her perfectly. He knew her, just like the night at
La Bohème
. Except now she was naked and they were alone so he had free rein for more. He stroked the tight bundle of nerves with his thumb while sliding two fingers deep, crooking at just the right spot.

She gasped and pressed harder against his hand even as she wanted all of him. “No more playing. I just want you inside me.”

“And you can be damn sure that’s exactly where I want to be.” He rolled her nipple lightly between his teeth. “But I want that—want you—so much and it’s been so long, I’m not going to last. I need to take care of you first.”

She circled him, stroking...her thumb rolling over the damp tip. And yes, she was every bit as close to coming apart.

“That works both ways you know, the part about having gone without sex for too damn long.” She reached for the condom box and tugged free a packet. “No more waiting. If we come fast, then we get to linger later, but I can’t wait anymore.”

Determined to delay not a second longer, she sheathed him with a familiarity and newness that she still didn’t quite comprehend. The fan rustled the curtains around their haven.

He held her face, looked into her eyes and said, “There hasn’t been anyone since you. No one comes close to turning me inside out the way you do. And even when I resent it like hell, there’s no denying it. I only want you.”

His words stilled her hands.
No one
since her? For three years?

She wanted to believe him, ached to believe him. Because she felt the same. She even understood the part about resenting the way this feeling for each other took over her body and her life.

And then he kissed her. He thrust his tongue as he pushed inside her. Filling her, stretching her with more of that newness after so damn long away from each other. The sweet abrasion of his chest rasped along her nipples. The hard roped muscles of his legs flexed with each pump of his body. She dug her heels into the mattress and angled up against him until the gathering tension in her pulled even tighter, bringing her closer.

Her hand flung out to grab the headboard, the intense sweetness was almost too much. She wanted to hang on to the sensations as tightly as she held the headboard, but he’d taken her too close to the edge with his mouth and his skillful touch.

One more deep stroke finished her. Pleasure rippled from her core, pulling through her, outward until the roots of her hair tingled. She bowed upward into him, even as her head thrashed on the pillow.

He chanted encouragement as her release pulsed and clamped around him, his voice growing hoarse until he hissed between gritted teeth. And while she’d doubted so much about their relationship, she knew he’d told her the truth about the past three years. He belonged to her.

She hugged him in the aftermath as he collapsed on top of her. The ceiling fan overhead click, click, clicked, gusts shifting the drapes around the towering teak bed. She trailed her fingers along his broad back, her foot up his thigh, and didn’t take for granted the feel of him.

Not anymore.

It was one thing to be angry at him for the past thirty-six months. And another altogether to accept he’d been every bit as torn apart by their breakup as she had. With what he’d shared about his father tonight, she started to realize she’d never fully grasped what made him tick. Maybe if she dug for more clues about his relationship with his father in particular, she might understand how he’d arrived at his place of such emotional isolation.

Because she realized more than ever that she couldn’t just walk away again.

* * *

Conrad held his wife spooned against him while she slept. She was back in his bed. He’d won.

And he didn’t feel one bit peaceful about letting Jayne go.

Moonbeams reflected on the river water, the dock light glowing. If she was awake, he would have liked to sit out there with her and just listen to the night sounds, then walk with her up to the house, shower with her in the outdoor stall with the stars above them.

He’d made love to her twice more and still it wasn’t enough. He rested his chin on her head, the sweat of their lovemaking lightly sealing their bodies, her spine against his chest. Each breath pressed her closer again, stirring his hard-on to a painful intensity. His hand slid around to cup her breast, filling his palm with her creamy roundness. She moaned in her sleep, her nipple drawing up into a tight bead.

She was in his blood. Rather than clearing away the past, making love with her had churned up all the frustration of the past three years. The thought of letting her go—unbearable. But he couldn’t envision taking her back to Monte Carlo.

Although, how to blend her into his old life could be a moot point. If his cover had been blown, his Interpol work would be over. He angled to kiss her shoulder over the light red mark of his beard bristle from last night. He could have Jayne back and no more unexplained absences.

But the thought of ending his Interpol work...hell. He wouldn’t have considered it before. Although since Zhutov might have taken that choice from him, he might as well make the best of the situation. And he couldn’t just let Jayne wander off with God knows what kind of threat looming. These sorts of crooks did not forget.

His path became clear.

Protect Jayne.

His life came into focus. He realized his past mistake. He’d tried too hard to blend her into his world in Monte Carlo. He’d let her too close to the darker side of himself. Somehow, he must have known that, since he’d chosen to bring her here, to a place that represented the man he’d once wanted to be.

Jayne shifted in her sleep, arching her breast into his hand, her bottom wriggling against him. He throbbed against the sweet dip in her spine and the beginning of his need for her pearled along the tip of his erection. He clamped a hand on her stomach to hold her still.

Sighing, she looked back over her shoulder at him with sleepy half-awake eyes.

“Is it morning?” she asked in a groggy voice.

“Not yet. Keep sleeping.” He had a packed day planned, showing her the full extent of the compound he’d built here. “We have plenty of time.”

“Hmm... Except I’m not sleepy.” She reached behind her to stroke his hair. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

He nuzzled her hair. “I have some ideas. But what do you want?”

“At some point, breakfast. A very big breakfast, actually. After last night, I’ll need more than pastries and tea.”

“I’m certain I can figure something out.”

“You cook?”

He was a little insulted by the assumption that he didn’t, until he remembered all the times he’d burned toast when they were still together. His cooking was a more recently acquired skill. “I make some pretty fierce eggs Benedict these days.”

“Sounds heavenly.” Her head rested back against his chest. “I also noticed you’ve taken up redecorating.”

Did he detect a note of pique in her voice? He opted for honesty. “Having your things around brought back too many memories. It was easier to move forward if I got rid of them.”

Her feet tucked between his. “But you didn’t replace everything. The red room stayed the same.”

“That was the only room in the penthouse where we never had sex.”

“So let me get this straight. You tossed out every piece of furniture that reminded you of the two of us having sex there.”

“Pretty much.”

She stayed silent, and he wished he could see her face to gauge her mood. So much of her was familiar and then other times not so much. She’d changed. So had he. They were both warier.

Finally she smiled back at him over her shoulder. “Good thing we never made love in the Bentley. It would have been a damn shame for you to have to get rid of such a cool collector’s item.”

“You have a point.” He kissed her, wondering if he would have to burn this bed if she walked out on him again. “I guess we’ve both made some changes. What prompted you to swap from being an E.R. nurse to Hospice care?”