Caress Part Two (Arcadia) (2 page)

 

Lucas

 

Holy, fucking— What the hell?

I came to suddenly, jolting out of sleep so deep that it
practically qualified as unconsciousness. My chest heaved as I dragged in air
and struggled against the confusion that filled me. Dusky light slanting
through the high windows of the master bedroom told me that it was early
evening.  I’d been out for hours. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept
so deeply, much less in the middle of the day.

Sitting up quickly, I looked around. The dark paneling and
heavy, masculine furnishings of the master bedroom had become familiar in the
little more than a week that I’d been living in the tower apartment. My gaze
slid over them quickly, only to stop abruptly at the sight of the red silk gown
lying on the rug not far from the bed.

Memory roared back. That silk slipping from smooth, soft
skin, revealing—

Emma.

My entire body tightened. Never mind that I’d experienced
the most epic orgasm of my life only a few hours ago, wave after wave of
ecstasy convulsing me until my balls were drained and I was gasping in her
arms.

I wanted her now, again, with fierce, raw urgency. I wanted to
bury myself in her and plunge my cock hard and deep into her hot, wet cunt,
holding back nothing until we were both once again hurtled into oblivion.

Almost as desperately, I wanted to believe that what I--what
we--had done wasn’t a catastrophic mistake for either of us. Nothing had
fundamentally changed and everything had.

I still wanted to get to her father, even if that meant
going through her to do it. And I needed with every particle of my being to
protect her from the hurt that would inevitably result. From me.

But more than anything at that moment, I needed to know
where she was.

Relief flood through me as I realized that she was right
there, curled at my side, fast asleep. I was reaching for her with every
intention of spreading her sweet thighs and fucking her hard and fast when I
stopped myself.

What the hell was I doing?

She’d been a virgin until a few hours ago. Even if I hadn’t
suspected that in advance, her body would have told me clearly enough. Was I an
animal that I’d even think of fucking her again so soon?

Rather than risk answering that question, I got out of bed.
Before heading for the bathroom, I paused just long enough to watch the soft
rise and fall of Emma’s breathing for a few moments and appreciate how
beautiful she looked.

Her honey blond hair was spread over the pillows, partly
concealing her features. But I could make out the dusting of lashes against her
cheek and see the soft, full mouth that I could still feel under my own.

She was covered with a sheet that I vaguely remembered
pulling over us both but the slender line of her body under it was enough to
remind me that I needed to keep moving. I scooped up the discarded condom from
beside the bed, grabbed a handful of clothes from the dressing room that I was
using, and stepped into the bathroom.

Like all the rest of the apartment, it was a time capsule of
the 1950s, an era before rain forest showers, spa tubs large enough to host
parties, and wall-to-wall marble everything. But it still had its own kind of
elegance.

At the moment, all I cared about was the glass-enclosed
double shower surrounded by black-and-white tile. I made a mental note to get
Emma into it soon and turned on the taps.

When I emerged half-an-hour later wearing jeans and a
T-shirt, she was still asleep. I really didn’t want to wake her but on the
other hand, I definitely needed her awake. Inspiration dawned as my stomach
growled.

I waited until I was in the living room before I pulled out
my cell phone and made a quick call to a Thai place a few blocks away. At breakfast
the other morning, Emma had confessed to a fondness for Thai food and mentioned
that she hadn’t had any in a while.

I didn’t want to think about why she hadn’t but the reality
was inescapable. Ever since her father’s arrest for scamming billions from
hapless investors followed by his presumed suicide, she’d been left to provide
for herself.

The Feds had taken everything they could get their hands on
but they hadn’t come close to repaying Whittaker’s victims. The news that the
small trust fund that Emma’s maternal grand-mother had bequeathed to her was
legally untouchable had prompted screams of outrage out of all proportion to
its modest worth.

It had also further fueled the vicious feeding frenzy that
the media had unleashed on her. Given where she’d been living until I convinced
her to take the job curating the apartment, whatever money she’d had was all
but gone after putting herself through college and trying for several months to
get a foothold in an unforgiving city.

The thought of Emma being in need made me scowl. She’d have
my hide at the merest whiff of pity but the truth was that I had far too much
respect for her strength and courage of ever think of her in such terms.

All the same, I was damned if I’d stand by and let her
continue paying for her father’s sins. One way or another, I was determined to
change that.

The strength of my need to do so surprised me but I didn’t
question it. I didn’t spend a lot of time second guessing myself under normal
circumstances and I wasn’t about to start now, especially not when it came to
the exquisite woman asleep in my bed.

Instead, I was going to get her first out of that bed and
then, with any luck at all and assuming that she was agreeable, back in.

Grinning at the thought, I checked my email and took care of
a few items that couldn’t wait. The rest would have to. By the time I was done,
the food had arrived.

I selected the most pungent of the various dishes I’d
ordered, a green curry, and spooned it into a saucepan that I set on the stove.
Regretting not having thought to install a microwave in the outdated kitchen, I
let it begin to simmer, releasing its aroma into the air.

I assembled dishes and cutlery while wondering if my grand
plan would work. As it turned out, I didn’t have long to wait before finding
out. Almost as soon as the scent of curry began wafting toward the bedroom, I
heard the shower go in in the master bath. Not long after that, Emma herself
emerged, looking rosy and more than a little bashful.

She was dressed in soft cotton drawstring slacks the same
fathomless blue as her eyes and a simple white shirt with short sleeves that
for all its seeming innocence hugged the curve of her breasts. Sensible clothes
for spending a day inventorying the apartment yet I couldn’t imagine her being
more alluring. Especially now that I had a much fuller appreciation of the
lovely, exquisitely responsive body beneath them.

Made for pleasure.

Made for me.

Where did that come from? I’d never felt particularly
possessive about any woman I’d been with, although I did expect monogamy in an
ongoing relationship. Expected and gave it, that being only fair.

Still, I’d never thought of a woman as
mine
. Not
until now.

Briefly, I considered whether that was simply because I was
her first but I knew that wasn’t it. Emma herself was responsible for how I
felt, all of her, the beauty, the bravery, the way she came alive in my arms
and gave of herself so generously, without any restraint.

My cock stirred. I ignored it resolutely and concentrated on
the food. We were going to sit down like civilized people and eat, have a
little conversation, whatever.

And then I was going to fuck her again, please god.

“Are you hungry?” I deliberately kept my tone
matter-of-fact, never mind what the sight of her did to me.

“Starved,” she said.

The sound of her voice rippled through me like hot, potent
wine. I dragged in a breath, stunned at how aroused I was already.

Clearing my throat, I said, “I ordered Thai. You like that,
right?”

“Love it.” She was staring at me as she spoke. The pink tip
of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

How could any woman look at once so endearingly
self-conscious and so provocative?

“I thought we’d eat on the terrace,” I managed to say.

She nodded. “Let me help.”

I did simply because I wanted to get out of the kitchen as
quickly as possible. It was right next to the pantry and the dumb waiter that
she’d come hurtling out of that first day. All too clearly, I remembered the
feel of her body pressed between mine and the wall I put her against before I
realized that she wasn’t any danger.

Holy hell, I’d been wrong about that.

Lucas

 

We carried the food and dishes around to the west side of
the wrap-around terrace where we could watch the sunset. The Hudson River was a
swathe of deep, dark water etched with the gray-green wakes of the boats moving
along it. The highways to either side looked like slowly flowing ribbons of
light as people made their way home.

A breeze, hinting at the approach of fall, ruffled Emma’s
hair as I pulled out a chair for her. I caught the scent of honeysuckle and
jasmine--her shampoo, I supposed--and under it the lingering perfume of her
skin.

An echo of remembered pleasure rolled through me, so
forcibly that I closed my eyes for an instant, the better to savor it.

When I opened them again, Emma was staring at me.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

I took a breath, let it out, and manage to smile. “Me? I’m
fine.” More gently, I added, “What about you?”

Her eyes darted down as an enchanting blush warmed her cheeks.
But a moment later, she looked up again and met my gaze squarely. “I’m good.
Shall we eat?”

Apparently, Miss Whittaker wasn’t given to post-game analysis.
That should have suited me fine but strangely, I wanted more from her. Some
acknowledgement at least of what we had experienced together.

In the absence of that, I said, “Let me know if you’re not
warm enough.”

The wind coming off the river was stronger this high up.
While I knew that she was perfectly capable of getting a sweater or whatever
for herself, I felt a need to take care of her. Whether she wanted me to or
not.

We took our seats and I opened the containers. I’d gone a
little overboard ordering but I didn’t know what her favorites might be. I
needed to learn that and not just when it came to Thai food.

I’d had the foresight to snag a bottle of Pouilly Fuissé
from the fridge. I even managed to fill two glasses without spilling a drop.
Hurrah for me.

Emma took a bite of the green curry. Her eyes crinkled up as
she gave a little moan of pleasure. “Oh, this is so good.”

My cock stood to attention. Eat up, sweetheart. The sooner
you’re done, the sooner we can—

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, doing my damnedest to stay
in control. It might be a losing battle but I wasn’t about to concede that, at
least not yet.

We ate in silence for a few minutes as I discovered the
pleasure of just watching Emma. Unlike some other women I’d known, she didn’t
pretend not to have an appetite. On the contrary, she tucked into the food with
gratifying enthusiasm. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her wasting away
if I decided to keep her tied to my bed, spread-eagle and wet, filled with my
cock.

I pushed the dark, carnal thoughts suddenly swirling through
my mind away as best I could and tried for a little polite conversation.

“How did you and Caroline hit it off?”

My younger sister could be annoying, if only because she didn’t
take ‘no’ for an answer, but there wasn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for her.
Except stand back while she dragged Emma into the Prentice murder case.

Never mind that almost sixty years had passed since the
senator met his mysterious end in an alley not far from the Arcadia. The
Prentice family was still out there, still powerful, and if my guess was right,
still interested in whoever had killed their golden boy. Caroline was smart and
tenacious. If she actually dug something up--

I definitely didn’t want that kind of attention coming down
on either my sister or Emma.

“She’s great,” Emma said with genuine enthusiasm. She
hesitated, then added, “I’m a little rusty when it comes to friendships but I’d
really like to get together with her again.”

The cautious look that she shot me brought me up short. Did
she think I’d object? Granted, I’d been a little curt with Caroline when I
found her standing out in front of the building with Emma in tow and realized
what they’d been up to. And then in the elevator, just the two of us, I had all
I could do to focus on not jumping her right then and there.

But the thought that I’d want to keep her as alone and
isolated as I knew she had been horrified me.

Quickly, I said, “Caro’s terrific. I’m not surprised that
the two of you hit it off. Why don’t you give her a call and go out for coffee?
You can’t work 24/7 and you shouldn’t be stuck here in the apartment anyway.”

Her grateful smile went straight to my groin. At the same
time, it occurred to me that there was no reason why I couldn’t take her out. Walks
in the park, dinner somewhere nice, a movie. Hell, I’d even go clubbing if she
wanted to.

Of course, once we started appearing together in public,
word would get out. I had no problem with that but Emma might. She’d been badly
burned by the media. I’d have to convince her that the only real way to deal
with bullies was to face them down. And that she could trust me to protect her.

In the meantime, I refilled her wine glass but added only a
little more to my own. If there was one thing I’d learned already, it was that
I needed to keep a clear head where the delectable Miss Whittaker was
concerned.

Or at least try to.

For the next hour or so, I did exactly that.

We talked—at first about the apartment and what Emma was
discovering as she went through the contents. She told me about the books she’d
found with Margo Stark’s own annotations, and what she’d gleaned from them
about the woman herself.

Her perceptiveness didn’t surprise me; I already know how
intelligent she was. But I was startled when she revealed the direction of her
thoughts.

“Do you think,” she began a little tentatively, “that there
could have been something wrong here?”

“What do you mean?”

Shadows moved behind her eyes. “I’m not sure exactly. It’s
just little things that don’t add up. The way the master bedroom is decorated,
for instance. There’s no sense of Margo herself apart from the dressing room
that’s filled with her clothes. Presumably, Prentice was sharing it with her
but then why isn’t it more like a room for a couple rather than just for a
man?”

I had no answer for that although now that I thought about
it, the room’s décor was surprising. I’d never shared a place with a woman but
if I did, I assumed that it would reflect both our presences.

“What else have you noticed?” I asked.

“Margo supposedly walked out of here in December of 1957
with only the clothes on her back and never returned. She sealed up the
apartment, leaving it as a monument to her love for Prentice, and went into
seclusion for the rest of her very long life. Right?”

I shrugged. “That’s the story but I’m getting the sense that
you don’t think it’s true.”

“I have doubts,” Emma admitted. “Mostly it’s a matter of
what isn’t here. Margo read a lot, which means that she cared about the written
word. But I haven’t come across anything that she wrote other than the
annotations in her books. Not a single letter, a diary, nothing remotely
personal. The closest I’ve come are letters exchanged with her agent and
they’re strictly business.”

“Lots of people don’t keep diaries,” I pointed out.

“How about a social calendar?” she countered. “What did
Margo do day-to-day when she was in New York? Where did she go? Who did she see
besides Prentice? There’s nothing here to tell us any of that.”

“So you’re saying that she did take some things with her
after all?”

Emma shook her head. “A photographer snapped a picture of
Margo the night she left the apartment for the last time. I checked it out on-line
yesterday. It’s true, she wasn’t carrying a thing, not even a purse. Of course,
she could have arranged to have some things packed up and sent on to her.”

“I don’t think so. The lawyer who’s handling the estate is a
friend of mine. From what he told me, Margo really did cut herself off from her
previous life when she went into seclusion. There wasn’t a trace of it left. She
must have destroyed anything personal during her final weeks in the apartment.”

“Perhaps,” Emma allowed. “But why? If Prentice meant so much
to her that his death derailed the entire rest of her life, how could she part
with anything to do with him? If she couldn’t bear to have it in her
possession, she would just have left it here.”

“People in the throes of grief can do strange things,” I pointed
out.

 “That’s certainly true but there are numerous photographs
on the wall upstairs of Margo and Prentice together. If she was going to
destroy anything, wouldn’t it have been those vivid reminders of what she had
lost?”

The fact that the photos hadn’t been touched was curious but
I didn’t say so. I was becoming concerned that Emma was getting as caught up in
the mystery of dead senator as my sister was.

On top of that, I couldn’t help wondering if her own past
didn’t predispose her to believe that a darker reality had to lurk beneath the
surface of any seemingly happy life.

 “Whatever happened, it was a long time ago,” I reminded her
gently. Without waiting for her to respond, I deliberately changed the subject.

“I meant what I said about you needing to get out of this
apartment. How about dinner tomorrow night, you pick the place?”

To my surprise, she hesitated. I’d been turned down by women
in the past—admittedly not many and not recently. It had never bothered me in
particular. But the silence that dragged out between us definitely did.

I was frowning by the time she said, “Are you sure that’s a
good idea? You being seen with me, I mean? It’s one thing if I’m working for
you but if you’re linked to me personally—”

She was trying to protect me?

The moment that thought occurred to me, I was torn between a
strange sense of pleasure and something very close to fury.

I accepted that the world could suck in lots of ways but
that Emma should be made to believe that her name alone was a stain from which
she could never escape was intolerable.

Rather than risk alarming her by how angry I was, I forced
myself to shrug. “I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.” And her, for that
matter. All I had to do was convince her to let me.

“I’d never assume otherwise,” she said softly. “But I think
you should know that the Feds are still interested in me.”

This was news, although not particularly surprising. Still,
I wanted to hear her explanation for it. “Why is that?”

Her smile hinted at sadness and a measure of resignation. “Millions
of dollars that my father stole are still missing. The F.B.I. thinks that he
hid that money somewhere. They look me up from time to time to remind me that
they haven’t forgotten about it and that I need to cooperate with them.”

“I thought that was what you have done.” Nothing that I’d
ever read or heard about the case had suggested otherwise. Even when she was
still defending her father, Emma had cooperated fully with the authorities.

“I did,” she confirmed, “but that doesn’t make any
difference. They won’t stop until they’ve found what they’re looking for. In
the meantime, they’ve given me to understand that I’m still very much on their
radar.”

That the Feds were still a presence in Emma’s life was
understandable given the enormity of her father’s fraud and the people who were
still suffering because of it. But the part they played in preventing her from
putting the past behind her rankled.

I made a mental note to get in touch with a friend of mine
at the F.B.I. and see what I could do about that. Meanwhile, it was time to set
a few matters straight.

“Sweetheart, if the Feds aren’t keeping an eye on me already,
they should be in another line of work,” I said.

As her eyes widened in surprise, I added, “I deal with very
wealthy and powerful people, some of whom weren’t too particular about how they
got to be that way.”

A frown crept between her brows. Quickly, I added, “Not that
I don’t have standards. I’ve never accepted a drug dealer or an illegal arms
merchant as a client, and I never will.”

My client roster did include the CEOs of the world’s largest
pharmaceutical and armaments companies. But their businesses were cloaked in
legality, protected by massive lobbying efforts, and supported by public
relations campaigns that delivered reputations buffed to a blinding gleam. Not
to mention shit loads of shiny clean cash.

I went on, “But the Feds still like to keep an eye on people
who are bringing large amounts of money into this country, buying up property,
and becoming legal residents.”

“That kind of scrutiny doesn’t bother you?” she asked.

“I’d prefer that it not happen but I’m scrupulous about how I
conduct my business. The Feds can give me all the attention they want.”

I wasn’t blowing smoke. A small army of lawyers and
accountants worked to assure that Phelps Properties stayed within both the
letter and the spirit of all relevant statutes. So far as I was concerned, that
was the only way to run a business as high profile as mine. Besides, I liked
being able to sleep at night.

On the subject of sleeping—

“I want you to move into the master bedroom.”

The moment I blurted that out, I knew that I’d overstepped.
Emma flinched, definitely not the reaction I was going for.

Softly, she said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Was she having regrets about what happened? She didn’t seem
to be…until now.

“Why not?” I asked, hoping she didn’t sense the full extent
of my frustration and concern. Damn if she didn’t make me feel vulnerable in a
way I never had before and definitely didn’t like.

“I told you,” she said, “I don’t have any expectations.
We’re both adults, we know what we want. When this is over—” She lifted her
hand in a small gesture that managed to encompass the terrace, the apartment,
and both of us. “—we’ll go our separate ways. That being the case, I don’t
think that we should make it seem more than it is.”

Other books

El aviso by Paul Pen
Knight Predator by Falconer, Jordan
Priestess of Murder by Arthur Leo Zagat
Loopy by Dan Binchy
The Executioner's Game by Gary Hardwick
The Wolf's Prey by Edugardo Gilbert X


readsbookonline.com Copyright 2016 - 2024