Her Only Desire (17 page)

Bear’s fingers deepened their caress.

Another hand, Boone’s this time, slipped into the top of her blouse and cupped her bare breast. He tweaked her nipple.

With an indrawn breath, she glanced up from her chest to meet his steady gaze.

“We’re done eating,” he said, giving her a little nod.

Tilly kicked off her sandals under the table and curled her toes into the Persian carpet. Locked with Boone’s gaze, watching his eyelids lower and his nostrils flare, she leaned into Bear’s caress, widened her thighs and ground down into the chair, pressing her pussy hard, causing the quickening vibrations to rumble through her pussy to her bottom. She cried out, chest jerking forward, her pleasure spiraling inside her. She forgot to breathe. Dropping her hands to the chair’s arms, she rocked and rocked until at last she exploded.

When she opened her eyes, Bear withdrew his hand from her neck.

Boone pushed back his chair and came close, kneeling beside her. He cupped her head and pressed her face against his shoulder. “You’ll understand if I ask you all to leave now.”

Chairs scraped. Dishes rattled. Footsteps padded away.

Boone kissed her hair and scooted back her chair. Then he lifted her and laid her on the table, notably free of dinnerware.

With her legs dangling over the edge, her skirt around her waist, she didn’t glance around, not caring whether Manny was still there, dutifully cleaning the table. She watched, fixed on the sight of Boone’s ruddy cheeks. His hands tended to unbuttoning his trousers and sliding down his zipper, then lowering his garment past his hips.

Now, her attention was fixed on his thick, straight cock.

He lifted her knees into the crooks of his elbows and nudged her sex.

“Remove the vibrator then guide me into you, sweetness.”

She wondered if the men had fled to the room where the security monitors were. Whether they were watching. But she didn’t really care. If she were more truthful with herself, she hoped they watched. Because Boone, standing as he was, with his cock poised to plunge inside her, was the epitome of masculine strength and determination.

And, at least for this moment, he was hers.

She reached down with both hands, spread her lips and delved inside for the vibrator, which she tossed away. Then she lovingly gripped his thick, hot shaft. Without breaking his gaze, she placed him at her entrance, rubbing the tip of his penis in her wet folds to moisten it, and then fed him slowly inside her as he pushed forward. “I love the way you feel,” she breathed. “I didn’t think I could take you, you’re so large. But when you thrust inside me, I feel powerful too.”

Boone hefted her thighs higher, pulling her bottom off the table and straightening his back. “Punishment’s over.”

She gave him a coy smile. “Am I free to play?”

Gaze sparkling with heat, he nodded.

Reaching behind her neck, she released the fastening of her blouse, then pulled down the front to expose her breasts. “Are they watching?”

“Probably,” he muttered, pulsing inside her in shallow, circular movements.

She affected a shocked expression with gaping mouth and widened eyes. “What, you didn’t give
them
detailed instructions?”

“No time. I was winging it.” His hips delivered a delicious swirl. “When I went to your cottage, I had already asked them to dinner, but wasn’t sure how far I’d take this.” He circled again.

Her breath hitched. “I get it now.”

“What?”

“Why they call this screwing.”

Boone pushed all the way inside her, then paused. “Shall I demonstrate banging?”

She giggled. “Only if it pleases you, sir.”

He growled and juggled her thighs, snuggling his groin against hers. “Okay, sweet sub, show me again how you play with your clit.”

The door whooshed closed.

“Did your server just leave?”

“Uh-huh. Quit stalling.”

“But they’ll see,” she said with a little playful whine.

“You’ll get used to that.”

The thought that he might want them to continue their relationship thrilled her. She pouted her lips. “I suppose you’ll have me parading nude around them before too long.”

“Only if it brings you pleasure.”

“I think I like pleasing you.”

“Then I’ll command you to strip. Maybe I’ll eat you out on the table while they actually finish a meal.”

His suggestion sounded so decadent, but not beyond her imagination. At least not now that he’d begun powering inside her. She’d do anything to make him this wild.

She sighed. “I like this system of punishment and reward.”

“You still haven’t given me what I asked, Tilly.”

“Oh.” She gave him an impish smile and licked two fingers, then reached down and pulled up the top of her folds, liking how stretched they felt with his cock filling her hungry passage. She toggled her clit, working slowly at first while he glided in and out, his movements steady and controlled, until she began to wriggle, because her clit was already hard, already distended, and her fingertips were flicking faster. “Sir?”

“Not until I say,” he gritted out.

She liked the surly undertones, and liked the tension he displayed, his face darkening, his jaw and cheeks looking like carved granite.

Dropping her eyelids halfway, she continued to watch him as his gaze fell to her pussy and her quickening movements. Her clit was molten hot with friction, her vagina soaking wet and making moist sounds that would have made her cringe before she’d learned he liked her sopping wet—for him.

Boone’s motions grew shorter, sharper, his arms extended at his sides, widening her thighs. His gaze was on his cock sliding in and out of her body, and she wished she could see it through his eyes, know what they looked like, coming together. But she felt every inch invading her. Felt her body stretching wide, his groin crashing against her, his deep, targeted thrusts cramming his thick cock inside as he pushed and pulled.

And she could think those raw anatomical names without cringing either, because he made this something more than sex. Becoming his plaything wasn’t just about this glorious culmination. Wasn’t something she could feel ashamed about coming to crave. It was about surrender—of herself, of her inhibitions.

Boone pounded harder, sweat dripping from his hair and streaking down his cheeks. His lips were pulling back from his teeth. “Now, Tilly.”

“Jesus,” she groaned, and pinched her clit, twisting it slightly and arching her back off the table. She let loose a shout, knowing his men could hear whether they had their ears pressed against the door or were watching through their monitors. The issue wasn’t about her not caring. She was proud of this moment, of the overwhelming release, of her capitulation. In this moment, she didn’t belong to herself, but to Boone, just as they did.

Boone gave a muffled shout, and the sound made her smile. While he continued to pump inside her, spurts of hot cum filling her, she hugged her breasts and thrashed her head, panting so hard she felt light-headed.

When he slowed, she felt a moment’s disappointment the moment was ending. Then Boone dropped her knees and bent over her, sliding his hands beneath her back and lifting her.

Bodies still connected, her thighs wrapping around his hips, he walked her to the door.

Wearily, she smiled, glad they weren’t finished. Hoping they never would be.

Tilly awakened, disturbed by a sound she didn’t recognize. Turning, she glanced behind her, but Boone wasn’t in the bed at her side. She searched the dark room, then saw the curtain beside the French door flutter. The balcony door was open.

She slid from the bed, searched the shadows for something to wear, and grabbed the first thing she found. Boone’s white dress shirt. She shrugged it on, breathing in his musk and spicy cologne, rolled up the sleeves to her wrists, and fastened a few buttons for modesty’s sake before padding to the opened door.

Boone stood with his back to her, his hands clutching the porch rail. Moonlight shone on his bare shoulders.

A slight breeze ruffled her shirt, and she pulled it tighter around her as she stepped nearer. “Can’t you sleep?” she asked, leaning her hips against the rail to look up into his face.

His features were drawn and hard, his jaw tense enough that a muscle rippled along the edge. “You should go back to bed.”

He’d looked like this before. When he’d stood in front of the burning cabin. Tilly’s chest fell as she let go of a sigh. “What’s wrong, Boone?” she asked softly, although she was pretty certain about what haunted him, what haunted them both—although Boone wanted closure, to know for a certainty who had killed Celeste, and Tilly was fearful of that truth.

Another balcony door opened farther down, and Serge stepped outside. “Boss, you hearing bells again?”

Boone’s head turned toward the sound of Serge’s voice, but not far enough to meet his gaze. “Yeah, you go back to bed. It’s nothing.”

The way he said it,
it’s nothing
, his voice so harsh the sound made her shiver, said something was sure bothering him.

Serge knew it too, giving her a worried glance but stepping back inside.

“Tell me about it, Boone,” she whispered, although now she wished she’d stayed in bed. Anything to avoid this.

He didn’t look at her, his eyes focused on the dark treetops across the way. “I hear bells, Tilly. I know they’re not real. But I hear the tinkling of Celie’s gold bracelet.”

Tilly didn’t breathe. She knew the sound as well. Thought about it now and then, when chimes tinkled in the distance.

“The sound comes and goes, like when she walked, her arms swinging at her side. It’s barely there, but…” His gaze dropped to hers, dark eyes accusing. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but she’s fucking haunting me.”

Tilly closed her eyes and dropped her head. She’d known the moment would come when he’d ask her what she knew. What she hadn’t prepared for, what she’d never considered, was that she wanted to tell him. Her secret was eating her up inside. And he didn’t deserve this.

As far as the law was concerned, Boone might be untouchable, but he’d never let it go, never rest. Celeste’s death was a burden he’d never relinquish, not until he’d found the truth.

Her throat tightened and she drew a ragged breath, and then slowly raised her head, afraid to meet his gaze. But she knew she couldn’t cower away from this. “I’ve been tryin’ to figure this out for years. I have a folder of every newspaper clippin’, of every family photo of her I could find. I remember her, Boone, clear as if it were yesterday. When my mother went to visit, I’d hang out in her room. We’d listen to music, talk about boys. She talked about you all the time.” Tilly’s eyes filled, but she blinked away her tears. “She said she was gonna marry you. That you just didn’t know it yet.”

Boone grunted and nodded his head. “Seemed preordained. She was the prettiest girl in these parts—”

“And you were the senator’s son. Only, she had another boyfriend.” Her gaze fell away. “She snuck around on you, at least once.” He held so still, she wasn’t sure if he’d known. “I saw her leave with Leon Fournier. He didn’t park in front of her house, and I was out walkin’ with Denny, my brother. Denny shook his head and said she was headin’ to hell.”

She closed her eyes, remembering the smarmy spring heat that had made her shirt stick to her skin, and Denny’s hand sliding inside her grasp. “Mama was always sayin’ Celeste was too pretty and too fast. Said it ruined her. That she’d earn herself a ticket straight to he—” She bit her lip, because judging Celeste didn’t seem fair when she wasn’t there to defend herself. “Denny liked Celeste. He sure didn’t like you, but he knew enough to be polite. But he
really
didn’t like Leon.”

Tilly turned to stare over the balcony beneath her, anything not to have to meet Boone’s hard gaze. “That day, when I saw them drive off together, Denny told me he’d seen them together before. That he’d followed them to where they went and took off their clothes.” She laughed, but the sound was anything but funny. “He didn’t know why they’d want to do that when mosquitoes were out. That’s how I knew there was at least one more person who might want her dead.”

Blood pounded in her ears. She glanced sideways at Boone, whose body stood taller and whose features had grown rigid. It made her nervous to continue, but she’d already said so much. “Made sense to me that the evidence went missin’. Couldn’t have that mattress or the semen samples showin’ the sheriff’s son might somehow be involved.”

“And you never said anything,” he said, his voice dead calm.

“Who would I tell? Leon’s daddy? Leon himself, once he took his daddy’s place?” She shook her head. “It’s Bayou Vert. You know better than anyone someone placed like that can get away with murder.”

Boone’s hands were fisted so tight, his biceps bulged. “Dammit, he might not have been tried, but I’d have known. Everyone would have known.”

“But I didn’t know. Not for sure.” Her glance fell away again. “And then I found something…” Her stomach churned sickeningly, and she paused.

Boone gripped her arm and turned her to face him. “What did you find?” he asked in a scary calm voice.

“I have to show you.” She shrugged, her lips trembling. “I want to explain. You don’t know him…” Standing in his grip, she waited, hoping he wouldn’t press her for more. Not yet.

His hand dropped. “Go get dressed, Tilly.”

Her head shot up, eyes widening. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“This thing you’re going to show me, do you have it in the cottage?”

She shook her head. “I buried it. We’d have to head into town.”

“I’ll wake Serge.”

Tilly shivered. The thought of heading to the secluded spot in the dark, all of his men simmering with judgment, left her breathless. Again, she shook her head. “If we head into town in the dead of night with your security team, folks there will think you’re launchin’ some sort of invasion.”

His jaw clenched, a ripple working along the edge. “I’ve waited fifteen years for something to shake loose,” he said, his tone harsh and biting. His stare turned cold and hard. “I can’t believe you kept this to yourself.”

He considered her secret a betrayal, what she’d feared most. Tears welled again. “I had my reasons.”

His head tilted, eyes narrowing as he stared. “Someone close to you, then. Someone you care about.” His face turned to stone. “Your brother.”

Panic clutched her chest and she shook her head. “It can’t be,” she said, then gasped, the sound more of a sob.

Boone ignored her distress, walked down to Serge’s door, and rapped on the glass.

Serge opened a moment later. “I heard. Already have Bear bringing the car around front.”

Boone stomped back and stepped past her, entering the bedroom.

Tilly eyed Serge, who shook his head, warning her to keep silent. She followed Boone inside, doing her best to stop the tears welling in her eyes from escaping.

He switched on the light and began picking up her clothes and throwing them onto the bed. “Get dressed,” he ground out. “We go now.”

Her steps leaden, she went to the bed and stripped off his shirt to dress in her rumpled clothing. Her hands shook as she pulled her skirt close. “I don’t have any underwear.”

“Check the wardrobe in the closet.”

She found a small pile of lingerie, all her size, and pulled on a pair beneath her short skirt. Last night, she’d been nervous about exposing her body. Now she’d revealed something even more shameful. She’d been dead wrong. Cruel, perhaps. And he and everyone around him would know she’d let him down.

By his tone and his hard glares, she knew what she’d revealed had likely killed whatever had been growing between them. Her chest felt thick and sore. Nausea roiled in her belly. And her brother, Denny, was about to be pulled into the middle of this mess. She’d promised to protect him. And she’d failed. Her words had condemned her own brother.

“Tilly.”

Before she glanced his way, she closed the drawer and straightened her shoulders. She lifted her chin and forced her expression into something she hoped didn’t show her fear. Her eyes were dry, and they’d stay that way.

They left the room, Serge falling in behind them. Linc’s door opened and another behind her, but she didn’t glance back to see who’d joined them. His friends were gathering. They’d watch his back.

No mercy would be shown her. No matter how pleasant and easy they’d made last night’s experience. Their blood bond with Boone kept them loyal.

Lights came on as they moved through the house. Although who was flipping switches, she couldn’t tell. Not anyone with them, because their footsteps never paused. The air was eerily quiet, other than the heavy tread of their boots and her own jagged breaths.

Once in the garage, Boone turned to her. “We’ll need a shovel?”

She nodded, her hands clasped into fists at her sides.

He lifted his chin to Jonesy, who slipped out a door, then returned moments later holding a short military entrenching tool. Where he’d had it stashed and why, she wasn’t even sure, but the question floated through her mind. Maybe because she was in shock, her mind and body separating.

The Bentley’s door opened, and Serge guided her into the back, taking a seat beside her. Boone sat in front beside Bear.

As far away from her as he could get.

She closed her eyes.

“Where are we going, Ms. Floret?” Bear asked, his tone no different than any other day. Deadly. Emotionless.

“Belle Tierre Road, just off of Main,” she said, her voice a little hoarse because her throat was tight with tension.

The car reversed, another’s engine started. Two cars left the property, heading to Bayou Vert.

Just four days. That’s all the time that had elapsed since the moment she’d met Boone, all the time it had taken for everything to unravel. In the cold silence, she had time to think.

From the start, he’d played her. Recognized her weaknesses—her need for financial security to bring her brother home, her sexual inexperience. He’d used his considerable talent and expertise to seduce her.

Likely he’d done it for the very reasons he’d given her at the start. He needed her to smooth his entrance into this end of the parish. Romancing her assured her enthusiastic cooperation. The fact she’d held a vital key to his investigation was a bonus—one he’d ruthlessly exploit. Not like they’d actually been falling in love.

Only maybe she had been. Tilly stared out at the darkness and wondered where she’d be when the dust settled. Out of a job? Back to square one, but without a fallback, because Mae would never hire her back.

Could she have screwed things up any worse? Was she making him a villain in her mind so that she could bear the pain of the break? Get angry enough not to cry? She dared a glance at Boone. His profile limned in dashboard light looked unfamiliar. Harsh lines, thin lips. This was the man who negotiated with terrorists and drug cartels. She’d been playing with his doppelgänger.

Until they entered town, the silence remained unbroken. She scooted forward on her seat to direct Bear, resigned to helping rather than hindering at this point. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could hide herself away from everyone’s condemnation.

“This is the turn,” she said as Belle Tierre came into view.

Bear turned the car onto the narrow street, passing small square clapboard houses.

“It’s on the right,” she said, then indicated with her finger. “But park by the trees up ahead.”

The car pulled quietly to the side of the narrow, pitted track. No shoulder on this road. Trees and thick brush crowded the edge of the pavement.

They exited the car, the three men holding flashlights. Boone handed one to her, not speaking. They waited until she got the hint that she should lead the way.

She followed the road to a culvert, then stepped off to the side, trying not to think about the night creatures around them, and watching the ground for snakes and gators. About fifteen feet off the road, she halted at the base of a tall oak, moss draping its branches. She shone the light upward, noted the carvings she and Denny had made when they were younger. Their initials, and their dog’s.

Then she walked around the base to the far side and knelt to push away leaves and fallen dried moss to get to the snug corner in the exposed roots. “Dig here,” she said, then pushed herself up and stepped away.

Jonesy dug into the soft dirt with his short shovel. He’d only turned two shovelfuls of ground when a metal clunk sounded. Tossing aside the tool, he went down on his knees and cleared the rest with his hands.

When he pulled the small tin from the hole, Tilly felt a little dizzy, swaying on her feet.

Lights shone on the tin. Jonesy pushed at the lid, opening it.

Denny’s little bits glittered inside.

“Jesus. Fuck.”

The voice was Boone’s. He shouldered closer and knelt beside Jonesy, his hand shaking as he reached into the box and plucked the bracelet by its clasp to hold it up in the light. The little bells tinkled, not a clear, musical sound as in the past because they were encrusted with dirt and no longer shiny.

“There’s dried blood on it,” Boone said, staring across at her, his gaze hard and accusing.

Tilly’s eyes filled, and she whimpered, swaying. Her knees crumpled, and she went down. Crouched in front of him, she had no defense.

“What is this box, Tilly?” Boone asked, his voice hoarse.

“You know,” she rasped. “Denny’s treasures. Bits he found and kept. His p-pirate’s hoard.”