He was dressed like a cowboy who had just ridden into town looking for trouble. The black cotton shirt—slightly soiled with what looked like trail dust—was open halfway down his tanned chest. The black leather gun belt slung low over his lean hips and tied to one muscular thigh held a lethal-looking Colt Peacemaker with a pearl handle. Around his neck was a black bandana tied in a careless knot at the side of his throat. Black leather gloves, dusty black boots with slightly tarnished spurs, and a black Stetson with a silver concho headband completed the picture of a gunslinger on the prowl. Over his shoulder was draped a pair of worn leather saddlebags.
“Evening, ma’am,” he said in a thick southern drawl as he touched the tip of his left index finger to his hat in greeting.
Kiley swallowed and clutched the silken robe she wore closer to her throat. His deep voice sent shivers down her spine. The tone was just above a seductive whisper and had surprised her before she remembered Julian St. John telling her the only way a helper could talk to a guest was during a fantasy. Hearing Sean speak sent flutters through her lower belly. Her eyes drank him in like a woman dying of thirst before whom a tall, cold glass of water had been placed.
Gone was the full-face mask. It had been replaced by the kind of mask like the one worn by the Lone Ranger. Beneath the Stetson was silky black hair that curled low on his neck. Behind the eyeholes, those amber orbs were smoldering.
She watched, unable to move as he shrugged away the saddlebags, letting them drop to the chair beside the door. Her heart began to pound as he took off his hat and laid it atop the saddlebags.
“I’ve come a long way to find you, Sara,” he said in a low voice and his hands went to the buckle of the gun belt.
Kiley took a step backward, dragging in shallow breaths as she watched him remove the gun belt.
“If he wants to fight for you, I’m willing.”
She thrilled to his words, beginning to shiver as he laid the gun belt aside and began pulling the tail of his shirt from his gabardine britches.
She took another step back, then another as he began unbuttoning the cuffs of his long-sleeve black shirt. His eyes were locked on hers.
“I’ll kill any man who thinks he can take you away from me.”
Her knees were weak as those words sank into her feverish mind. His hands were on the front of his shirt, working the buttons until the dark fabric hung open. Then the belt circling his britches was unhooked and drawn slowly from the loops.
“Oh, lord,” Kiley muttered, taking another step away from the purposeful glint in those golden eyes. She glanced down at her bare feet and instinctively put one atop the other like a little girl.
“Come here,” he said, unfastening the button at the top of his britches, “and I’ll make you forget he ever existed.”
She shook her head, backing away from him, suddenly leery of this tall, dangerous man with the low, commanding voice. When her back met the wall behind her, her eyes flared. She would have darted away but he was on her quicker than she could move, his body pressed to hers. Before she could push him away, he had her wrists in his hands and was lifting her arms, anchoring her hands to either side of her head, leaning into her.
“Do you want me to get rid of him?” he asked.
Kiley could feel his hot breath against her cheek as he pushed his lower body against hers. The hard bulge of his erection made her groan.
“Do you want me to fight him?”
“Who?” she managed to whisper, lost in the headiness of his nearness.
“If he touches you again, I’ll slit his worthless throat,” Sean said in a menacing tone.
She felt his lips on the side of her neck and gave herself up to the glorious feel of his tongue dragging across the span of her throat, delving into the hollow where her erratic heartbeat pulsed, then he flicked at the underside of her chin.
His right hand slid slowly down her upraised arm until his palm was flattened over her silk-clad breast. His fingers gently cupped her, his thumb grazing the bud that leapt to life at the touch.
“I have searched for you all my life,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I won’t ever let you go. Don’t even try to leave me, Sara.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he slanted his lips across hers and his tongue thrust possessively inside. The very force of the kiss threatened to sweep her legs out from under her. She sagged against the wall, sucking in a harsh breath through her nose when he shoved his leg between hers and braced her body on his hard thigh. The heat of his flesh through the rough gabardine, the rigidity of his limb pushing against her throbbing core, the press of his chest to her united to mold her to him as though they were one entity.
“Love me,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips dragging from her mouth to her cheek. “I need you to love me.”
Was her mind playing tricks or was he that good an actor, because she would swear she heard immense need in Sean’s words. His voice was filled with a longing she responded to deep in her soul. She had felt his hunger in the passionate press of his lips upon hers. She had tasted it on his tongue, upon the fullness of his full lips.
“This isn’t a fantasy, Sara,” he said. “For me, this is real. I have wanted you from the first day I saw you step off the ship.”
“You were watching me?” she asked.
“I was devouring you, sweet Sara,” he whispered, his lips at her ear. He flicked his tongue along the silky spiral and she shivered. His warm breath was invading her body, sending clenches of lust through her belly. “I became lost in your beauty and I knew I had to have you.” His palm gently squeezed and he molded her beneath her robe, pushing upward lightly. “I vowed I’d make you mine and there would never be another man to lay hands to you.”
His words were sending chills of pleasure rippling up and down her spine. He might have been playacting, carrying on a scenario he had performed countless times with other women, but her investigator instincts told her that was not the case. She heard sadness beneath his words. She heard loneliness being dredged up from the man’s very soul.
“We were made to be together, Sara,” he said, his kisses trailing from her ear down the side of her neck and onto her shoulder. His thumb was sweeping across her erect nipple and sending shudders of delight down her side. “We were destined to be together.”
Her hands were splayed across his powerful chest and she could feel his heart thundering. If what he was doing was nothing more than an act—a routine he had perfected over the years—his blood would not be rushing so quickly through his veins, she reasoned. He would be blasé about the whole thing, calm, methodical and not quivering beneath her hands when she leaned into him.
“I need you, Sara,” he whispered and claimed her mouth once more. His kiss was long, hard, and draining, and when his lips slid from hers, he gathered her to him, his arms going around her to crush her tightly to him.
In for a penny, in for a pound. If it’s an act, he’ll think she’s playing along. If not, maybe he’ll know her words were true. “I need you, too, Sean,” she replied. “I have needed you all my life.”
He ran his hands beneath her hips, lifted her up. She threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his lean hips. As he turned and started for the bedroom, she could feel the leap of his cock probing at her rump with each step he took.
The bedroom suite was dark but he knew where to find the bed. Once he was there, he bent forward, allowing her to fall away from his taut body. Reluctantly, she let go of her hold on his neck, unwrapped her legs from his waist as she felt the depression of the mattress against her back. Without a word, she dug her heels into the coverlet and scooted backwards, giving him room to join her there on the edge, but Sean was undoing his britches, flicking the buttons aside with haste. When the last button was opened, he sat down beside her and began pulling off his boots.
“You want me to take you like that, sweet Sara?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifted in challenge. “Or are you gonna take off that robe?” Before she could answer, he tossed aside his boot and looked around at her. “Or would you like me to rip it off you?”
“No!” she said, liking the garment too much to see it destroyed. She came to her knees on the bed and stripped out of the robe.
She heard him draw in a breath as his gaze fell to her breasts. He gave a slight little smile. “I’ll damned sure have you screaming this time,” he said enigmatically.
“Screaming?” she said, blinking.
“In a good way, sweet Sara,” he promised. “Screaming with pleasure, ma’am.”
His back was to her as he peeled off his socks. She reached out to draw her hands along his naked shoulders, down the strong column of his spine as he leaned back to pull away his britches. She put her arms around him as he kicked free of the gabardine, running the palms of her hands over his shoulders and onto the flexing muscles of his pecs.
Sean laid his head back, giving her access to slide her lips on the side of his neck. He smiled, his breath coming in a quicker, much shallower cadence. While her hands roamed freely over his chest, her fingers stroking his nipples to stiff little pebbles, he reached behind him to rest his hands on her hips.
“Tell me,” she said, her lips against his ear, “what you want, cowboy.”
“You,” he said with a grunt.
She rubbed against him. “For how long? An hour? The night?”
His arms entrapped her, jerking her to him as he plastered his hands on her rump, digging his fingers into her flesh.
“For the rest of my life,” he growled.
“You mean for as long as the fantasy lasts,” she said and heard the bitterness in her voice.
He moved so quickly, she could not stop the yelp of surprise that squeaked from her throat. One moment she was behind him, the next she was sprawled on her back, her legs splayed wide and his heavy body lying atop her.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, looming over her, taking her wrists in his strong hands and holding them to the mattress. “I always swore that when I found the right woman, when I staked claim to her, I would never let her go.”
His words sent a chill down her spine but excited her at the same time. This man was issuing a challenge and though his face was in shadow, she could feel the hot glare in his golden eyes.
“Do you think Julian St. John will allow you to do that?” she asked, holding her breath for the answer.
“Do you want me?” he countered and she knew the words had been spoken from between clenched teeth.
She let go of the restraint she’d always held on her wayward heart. “Yes, I do,” she answered honestly.
For the space of a few heartbeats he said nothing but let go of her wrists then stretched out so that his head was on her shoulder, his lean body now half atop hers, his heavy weight shifted so she would be more comfortable.
She gathered him to her, threading her fingers through his thick hair below the mask. His free hand was pressed palm down between her breasts, one long leg arced across hers.
“All my life,” he said so softly she had to strain to hear his words, “I have wanted what normal men take for granted—a home, a wife, maybe children one day. I’ve always wanted the white picket fence and the draping wisteria. I’d trade my Porsche in for a SUV in a heartbeat.”
Kiley smiled. “Okay, then, I’ll trade you,” she chuckled.
He traced a lazy figure eight on her chest and belly, circling her belly button and coming upward again.
“I grew up hating wealth,” he continued. “I despised dressing for supper. I detested prim and proper school uniforms that required precision-tied tie knots and shoes so shiny you could see your face in them.”
“I grew up envying wealth,” she told him. “I despised using toilet paper instead of napkins during our meals. I detested wearing dresses that had been handed down from my cousins and trying to cram my feet into shoes I’d outgrown the year before.”
“I have more money than I’ll ever be able to spend.”
“I may have to declare bankruptcy when I get back to Iowa,” she sighed.
“I killed a man.”
“I—” Kiley stopped, her lips parting in shock. “What did you say?”
“I can’t ever leave Mistral Cay.”
Because he had been speaking so softly, almost whispering his confessions to her, she had not noticed the southern drawl had fled his voice. It wasn’t until he told her he could not leave the resort that she fully realized who it was that was lying beside her.
He seemed to be waiting for her to respond to his words. She could hear his quick, expectant breath and pictured the mysterious, commanding Julian St. John in her mind’s eye. It might be hard for her to accept that a man as sensuous as Sean could kill someone but she had no such uncertainties where Julian was concerned. His was a domineering personality for which she did not care.
“Whom did you kill, Julian?” she finally asked.
“That doesn’t matter.”
She searched the shadows overhead, tracing the branches of the headboard arched above them. There were secrets in her life she certainly didn’t want people to know but at least she’d committed no crimes that were punishable by death in most countries.
“Where was this?” she questioned.
“In the States,” he said.
“In a state with a death penalty?”
“Yes,” he answered.
Pain drove through her heart. No, she thought, as her arms tightened around him, he could never leave the Cay. To do so would be unthinkable.
“Was it premeditated?”
“It was self-defense, but I couldn’t prove it.”
She thought about that for a long time, allowing the silence to spin around them, enveloping them in a cocoon of shared knowledge.
“Does the law know where you are?” she asked.
“My worst enemy does and in the past he’s hired men to try to take me off the Cay. He’d like nothing better than to see me in prison awaiting execution. So far, I’ve managed to stay a few steps ahead of him. There hasn’t been a new helper at the resort in five years and I don’t allow any ships except my own yacht to dock here.”
She felt him removing the mask and could not resist running her fingers over his face. The hair at his temples was damp and she smoothed it back from his forehead.
“Aren’t you afraid I might turn you in?” she queried.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Not your style, sweetness,” he said with a snort.
“And just what is my style?” she countered, tilting her head. “Should I call you Sean or Julian?”
“Call me whatever you like,” he answered. “Do you want me to go on calling you Sara?”
She tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Your real name is Kiley Trevor and you work for the Heartland Detective Agency,” he replied. “A few months ago you had an affair with your boss Greg Strickland but realized the man’s nothing more than a walking cumstick.”
Stunned that he knew her true identity, Kiley was taken aback. She remained silent as he recited the particulars of her life from where she was born to where she bought cat food for her beloved Xander.
“You know why I’m here,” she said, staring into his handsome face.
“You’re looking for Patrick O’Reilly, Fay Lynden’s son,” he stated.
She groaned. “And I bet you know which one of the helpers he is, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And have been keeping him away from me while I…” She could feel the heat turning on in her cheeks. “You bastard,” she griped, punching his shoulder.
He laughed and slid his arm over her, his fingers tucked beneath her rib cage. “Weren’t you having fun?” he asked.
“Oh, loads of it,” she mumbled. “Nothing like comparing cucumbers to zucchinis.”
“With a bean sprout every now and then to break the monotony?” he joked.
“You were enjoying my discomfort,” she accused.
“Tremendously,” he admitted. “That’s why I went down to the beach to watch. You seemed—ah—totally preoccupied with your task.”
She giggled and cuddled closer to him. “You are a true cad, Julian St. John.”
“I only provided what you asked for, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle.
“Well, it was a hot, hands-on job but someone had to do it,” she stated. “I notice you never volunteered to show me your dangly.”
“Wanna see it now?” he asked with an arched brow.
“I’m sure I’ll have the opportunity to get up close and personal with it at some time,” she said with a titter. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were Julian?”
“Would you have called me to you if you had known who I really was?” he countered.
Kiley blushed. “No,” she replied honestly. “Julian St. John is an intimidating man.”
“But Sean isn’t,” he stated.
“Sean is sexy as hell and every woman’s dream,” she replied. “I think a waiter once told me that.”
“A waiter whose mouth I should have washed out,” he said with a grunt.
“You set about to seduce me,” she said. “From that first day?”
“From the moment I saw you,” he said.
“I still have a job to do here,” she said. “I—”
“Stay with me,” he asked. All the humor had fled his tone.
“I can’t,” she said. “I was paid to do a job and I intend to see it through.”
He thought about that for a moment. “All right. But when it’s over, you will stay here with me.”
“I’ll need to go back and get my things. I—”
“I can send Henri and Christian to do that,” he cut her off.
“No,” she said. “There are things I have to do and—”
“He could grab you,” he said. “My enemy has spies here I haven’t been able to ferret out and by now I’m sure he knows how I feel about you.”
“How would he know?” she asked. “Hell, I don’t even know.”
“I don’t use the persona of Sean often. When I do, it’s never with one of our clients. The mole would have reported it to my enemy by now.”
“All right,” she said. “But why would you need to pretend to be Sean if—”
“There is an old friend,” he interrupted. “An acquaintance who comes a few times each year. I use that persona with her.”
Jealousy rippled through Kiley’s breast. “Who is she?”
“Celeste Dubois,” he answered.
Kiley’s eyebrows shot up. “The ex-nun turned madam?”
“That’s a stupid rumor started by a rival,” Julian said with a snort. “Celeste is Romanian, a gypsy. She came to the U.S. when she was nineteen. By the time she was twenty-one, she was being heralded as the most versatile lady of the night to be found in the French Quarter. If there is an act of love in which Celeste is not a master, it does not merit learning.”
“I’m so impressed,” Kiley mumbled, drawing the second word out disdainfully.
Julian laughed. “You should be. You will reap the benefits of her expertise in the art of love. Celeste only tutors those she feels are worthy of her attention and she has taught me everything she knows.”
“La-de-da,” she quipped, rolling her eyes. “Ain’t I a lucky little girl?”
“Would you like to find out just how lucky?” he muttered, his lips pressed once more to her throat.
“Why does she come here?” Kiley demanded. “Doesn’t she have a stable of boy toys to play with in New Orleans?”
“I was one of her boy toys,” Julian said quietly. “I owe her.”
Kiley’s gaze turned hard. “So you have to repay her by servicing her for the rest of your life?”
“No,” he said. “I’m sure when she finds out about you and me, that part of our relationship will cease.”
“You think so?” she asked and hated the nasty tone in her voice. Jealousy was something she hadn’t experienced since high school. Not even Greg’s numerous peccadilloes had caused her a moment’s concern, but just thinking of Sean—she disliked the name Julian—in the arms of a high-priced courtesan brought out the green-eyed monster in her.
“She brought me here, sweetness,” Julian said, obviously preferring that name to Kiley since the way he said it sent shivers down her spine. “She set me up in business. Our arrangement has been mutually beneficial.”
“Does she know about the man you killed?”
“She knows. Without her help, I would have been caught long ago.”
“And so she holds it over your head and you jump whenever she tells you, huh?”
She felt him wince. “That’s not the way it is. You’re trying to paint her as a villainess and she isn’t.”
For a moment they were both quiet. He had threaded his fingers with hers. When she finally broke the silence, she heard his breathing cease and knew he was anticipating rejection.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “The next time she comes here, I’ll have a little talk with her. The sooner she knows I intend to fight for you, the—”
“Fight for me?” he asked. There was incredulity in his tone.
“I’ve never really had anything in life that I ever truly wanted,” she said. “I’ve lived in poverty—one step ahead of the collection agencies—all my life. I lost count of the times we had our electricity turned off. You’d think I would have learned from my parents’ mistakes but I didn’t. My credit is piss-poor, but I’m trying to build it up before I wind up having to file bankruptcy. I’ve never had a real home and I’ve never had a man who loved me for who I am.”
“I think that’s where we’re heading, don’t you?” he asked gently.
“Maybe,” she answered. “Being unable to keep our hands off one another is a step in the right direction, I guess. I really don’t know. I’ve never loved anyone before.”
“Neither have I,” he admitted.
“I’m a logical woman,” she said. “I’m a down-to-earth woman. I don’t make decisions lightly—especially not ones that will affect the rest of my life. I’ve got to think about all this.”
“What is there to think about?” he asked, and she could hear the fear of rejection rampant in his sexy voice.
“I have to think about what I want and what I need,” she replied. “What is right for you and for me.”
“I want you,” he said. “I need you. I don’t know anything I can say to help you make the decision to stay with me.”
“We really don’t know that much about one another, though,” she protested. “We—”
“I know I want to lay the world at your feet, sweetness. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I don’t want you to ever lack for anything.”
“You don’t think that smacks of buying a woman’s love?” she countered.
“Could I buy your love?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Never. It’s not for sale.”
“Neither is mine,” he told her. “I used to think there was no such thing as love at first sight but then I’d never seen you before. The moment I did, something twisted inside me and I knew I’d move heaven and earth to make you mine.”