Jared was going to do something he hadn’t done since he was fifteen—he was going to stain the front of his trousers.
He should have realized that no matter what it was, if Mac was involved, it would be . . . different.
Exciting.
Amazing.
Extraordinary.
His body had flat-out dismissed his brain and was working on primal instincts. The soft flesh of Mac’s backside against his hard length and the softer flesh of her breasts in his palms combined to take him past the point of rational thought.
But then, around Mac, his thoughts were rarely rational as it was.
His goal was clear, and if Mac’s movements and moans were any indication, their goals were one and the same.
A thread of sanity remained, reminding him they were in a public place where anybody could walk in and see them. It wasn’t very likely on Christmas Eve, but Jared needed to protect Mac’s reputation even if she was past caring at this point.
She clung to him, moving with him as he maneuvered her into a darkened alcove in a far corner. As they shuffled over, she turned within his arms and her breasts flattened against his chest. She grabbed his lapels in her hands, but he wasn’t about to complain about the wrinkles.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and slowly lowered her to the cushioned wicker sofa. It was wide enough that he could straddle her thighs with his knees. Her eyes glittered, so bright he could see the naked need within their depths.
Jared’s conscience attacked him without warning. The wine had released Mac’s inhibitions and he was taking advantage of her. This was just like the night she’d taken the headache powders. He had no right to do this, in spite of the electricity that hummed and sparked between them.
He drew back, his breath coming out in harsh gasps as he tried to regain control of his rampaging lust. He was in the elegant Garden Room at the Chesterfield rutting like an animal.
What am I doing?
Then Mac jerked him back down by his shirtfront and her busy fingers undid his buttons. Her fingernails grazed his chest as she worked the buttons free. “Damn it, Yates, don’t you go all noble on me. I know exactly what I’m doing, and believe me, I want this.” She paused and gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes that blatantly showed her arousal. “I want you.”
The last of Jared’s reservations disappeared. Though he’d known Mac for only a short time, the fire that burned within him to possess her was like a conflagration, obliterating everything in its path.
Mac managed to open his shirt and slide her fingers through his curling chest hair. Jared threw back his head, biting his lip to control himself at her uninhibited touch. His erection throbbed and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He shifted around and grasped the hem of Mac’s skirt. Sliding his hands up her stockinged calves, he lifted the layers of skirts.
Her legs were willowy, and her muscles flexed and unflexed as he moved over them. She was beautiful, desirable, unrestrained—everything a man could want in a lover.
Finally, her skirts were bunched around her waist, and he could smell her heat, her readiness for him. Her legs moved apart and she raised her hips, urging him to enter her.
“Not so fast,” he whispered hoarsely.
In spite of his overwhelming need, Jared wanted to pleasure Mac first. He wanted her to scream out his name as her release washed across her.
Jared dipped his head toward hers and nuzzled her lips as he caressed her breast through the cloth. She moaned into his mouth and he increased the pressure on her nipple, thumbing it to a hard nubbin. He moved his hand down to her split drawers and to the springy hair surrounding her sex. His fingers skimmed across her mound and he felt the heated moisture at her entrance. He stroked her velvety flesh for a few moments as Mac’s breathing grew more shallow and rapid. She arched upward, urging him to delve deeper.
“Does that feel good, Mac?” he whispered as he stared down into her flushed face.
“Oh God, Jared, yes. Don’t . . . stop or I’ll—” She was barely coherent.
“You’ll what?”
She opened her eyes and reached for him, grabbing his head and yanking him close so she could kiss him with bruising intensity.
Every single muscle in Jared’s body tightened and he groaned deep in his throat. No woman had ever kissed him as though he were the only man left on earth.
He clamped down on his need to bury himself within her and continued to work his way farther into her dampness, opening her with his fingers. He found her swollen flesh and concentrated on that. Mac’s motions became frantic as she bucked against his touch. She was moaning and panting, whispering his name over and over.
Then suddenly, her entire body lifted off the couch. She cried out his name and throbbed around his fingers as she climaxed. Her passion spent for the moment, Mac fell back to the cushions, panting.
Jared nibbled her earlobe, then murmured, “Now we’re ready.”
He removed his hand from her pulsing center and unbuttoned his trousers to release his aching penis from its imprisonment. Leaning forward, he planted his hands on either side of Mac’s shoulders to ready himself to enter her.
Then he looked at her and his breath caught in his throat. Her lips were slightly parted and the moonlight slanted across her, gilding her hair with silver. Her eyes were half closed as if she were caught in some world halfway between reality and a dream. A very erotic dream.
He’d never seen a woman so sensual, so desirable.
He took a deep shaky breath. He wanted to go slow, to spin out the enjoyment between them, to have them spiral out of control together.
She reached up, grabbed his arms and squeezed them desperately. “I need to feel you inside me.”
Forget slow. This would be hard and fast. They both wanted it too badly.
He bent down to capture her lips with his while the lower part of his body sought their completion. Then Jared felt her fingers wrap around him and he nearly lost his tenuous control. He gritted his teeth and allowed her to guide him inside her.
She was drenched from her orgasm, yet her tunnel was tight as he entered her inch by inch. He wasn’t surprised to discover she wasn’t a virgin. A woman as bold as Mac would hold little regard for convention.
Finally, he lay completely encircled by her snug heat. His breath rasped and he smiled to himself as her gasps sounded equally as harsh. She rotated her hips, letting him know she was ready. More than ready.
He withdrew slowly, then plunged into her in one eager motion. She gasped, but it was a sound of rapture, not pain.
She wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him close once more. Their kiss was almost feral as they nipped at lips and tongues. They wrestled and danced in a frenzy that matched the frenetic tempo of their mating.
Jared lost all track of time and place as her hips met his lunge for lunge. His world diminished to the sound of her fast shallow breathing, the smell of her aroused sex, the sight of her flushed face in the silver moonlight and the taste of her honeyed mouth.
He rotated slightly, and suddenly, Mac was screaming and gripping his arms tight enough to leave bruises. She throbbed, clutching and releasing his hardness until his own orgasm was ripped from him. He arched, his mouth opening in a soundless cry as he emptied his seed deep within her.
Sated, Jared bonelessly draped over her heaving chest as he struggled to find the air he’d lost. He gathered her in his arms and buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder. Sweat dampened her skin and plastered her hair to her forehead, but her relaxed expression gave her a softer, more feminine appearance.
If her two climaxes had been half as incredible as his, it was no wonder she lay so limp.
As his heartbeat returned to normal, doubts and recriminations began to appear. He’d behaved abominably toward a woman who had entrusted him with her well-being. Although she hadn’t been a virgin, his guilt wasn’t any less persistent. He’d courted Sophia for a year and even after they were engaged, he had only given her chaste kisses.
But then, Mac wasn’t anything like Sophia. Nothing at all.
“Not bad, Yates.” She opened one eye. “So, how well did I handle you?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “As well as I handled you.”
She laughed softly. “And that wasn’t half bad.”
Her easy acceptance of their tryst shouldn’t have startled Jared, but it did. Unless she was expecting a marriage proposal.
No. Any other woman would be planning a wedding, but not Mac.
He shifted off her, adjusted his disheveled clothing and tried to make himself presentable. He turned away as Mac stood unselfconsciously and shook her skirts down. The smell of sex—salty and tangy—drifted over to Jared, and his body reacted to the musky sensual odor, sending blood racing back to his groin.
Jared clenched his teeth. He should have been satisfied, but it felt as if his body were regressing back to the time when he first discovered how good women could make him feel. Only it wasn’t just any woman, it was Mac.
The object of his distraction yawned widely and belatedly covered her mouth.
“Sorry,” she said with a wry grin. “After fantastic sex like that, I could sleep like a baby.”
Jared had talked himself out of believing Mac was crazy, but now he couldn’t help but wonder again. Still, her drowsy eyes and artless appearance crept into his chest to lie beside his heart. Her swings from tough-talking lady to vulnerable sleepy child tantalized him and made him wish this was more than a temporary liaison. But that was out of the question.
In a week or two, he’d head back to the Staunton Pinkerton office where he was stationed. Unless there was another murder.
The bell began to toll.
“Midnight,” Jared said.
Mac’s gaze dropped, then returned to him and in her golden eyes, he thought he detected moisture. “Merry Christmas, Jared,” she said, without the toughness to which he was accustomed.
He stared at her silently, wanting to discover the reason behind her sadness and knowing he wouldn’t. They’d shared their bodies, but his heart belonged only to himself, just as he suspected she tenaciously clung to hers. Besides, even if he would be willing to give his away, it wouldn’t be to a brazen woman like Trish McAllister.
“Merry Christmas, Mac,” he said. He barely stifled a yawn. “I suppose we should go to bed.”
Mac grinned with familiar impudence. “Yours or mine?”
Jared’s gut clenched as his gaze automatically moved across her breasts and lower, his body having no trouble remembering . . . He swallowed hard and said firmly, “We’ll each go to our own. I don’t believe a repeat of tonight’s indiscretion would be wise.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
He speared her with a sharp glance. Did she think he was made from stone? “It’s not that.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. “What we did shouldn’t have happened. It was the wine.”
Mac crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Blame it on the wine if you want, Yates, but it wasn’t that and we both know it.”
Why couldn’t she see that it had been wrong? Society didn’t tolerate assignations such as theirs. “What if you get with child?”
Mac caught her breath. She’d never before forgotten about the pregnancy issue, as well as safe sex. Jared had been the first man to totally overwhelm her senses, the first man she’d had unprotected sex with since she had lost her virginity.
He had been the first man to put her pleasure before his.
Her world spun and she flung out a hand that latched onto a nearby chair. He was right. They could not have a repeat performance of tonight’s mistake. There was too much at risk.
Including her heart.
Where had that come from?
Mac straightened her shoulders and glared at Jared. It was his fault this had happened. He had asked her to have dinner with him. He had kept refilling her wineglass. He was the one who suggested a tour of the Garden Room.
Damn him.
A faint train whistle sounded.
“Everyone’s coming back from Christmas services in town,” Jared said. “We should leave before someone spots us.”
He reached for her to usher her out, but Mac hurried ahead before he could touch her. She might be mad as hell, but there was still something between them—a spark or pheromones or karma. She didn’t want to know. All she wanted to do was get as far away from him as she could.
They walked down the hall silently, keeping a yard’s distance between them. Mac had just experienced the most incredible sex in her life, and Jared had turned it into something tawdry. This was the first time in her handful of sexual encounters that it hadn’t been tawdry . . . until he’d ruined it.
Her anger grew. How dare Jared treat it like some cheap affair.
Isn’t that what it was? Mac’s conscience taunted. He’d wined and dined her, then laid her.
Jeezus, Mac, get a grip. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been going for the gold herself.
The lobby loomed ahead. It was as crowded as it had been empty earlier in the evening—people talking and laughing and exchanging hugs. Mac almost gagged. It looked like the final scene in It’s a Wonderful Life.
A scream rose above the din and the buzz of conversations abruptly halted. Mac spotted one of the maids she’d met her first day. Molly stood in the doorway, her red face streaked with tears and her snow-flecked hair falling out of the bun at the back of her neck.
Jared raced toward her and Mac followed without thought. She might only be a cleaning maid here at the Chesterfield, but she was first and foremost a reporter.
She dodged the startled guests and employees as she darted between them, keeping close on Jared’s heels. She stumbled to a halt behind the Pinkerton as he grabbed hold of the hysterical girl’s shoulders.
“What is it, miss?” he asked, keeping his voice steady and low.
The girl hiccupped between sobs and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“Relax. Take your time,” Jared soothed.
Mac was impressed by Jared’s composure and his ability to calm the frightened young woman.
“It’s . . . L-Linda, my roommate.” Another spate of tears interrupted.
Jared squeezed her shoulders gently. “It’s all right.”
“She’s . . . d-dead. It’s j-just awful.” She covered her face with her hands.
Mac’s heart leaped into her throat and her fingers curled into her palms. Though she had no logical reason to jump to a conclusion, her gut told her Linda had been strangled. Victim number five in the nineteenth century.
“Where is she?” Jared asked. His jaw was clenched, but his tone was gentle.
“B-behind the post office,” the girl managed to reply.
One of the other employees reached out to comfort her and Jared released her into the waiting arms. His lips thinned and rage glittered in his blue eyes, then he ran out into the snowy night.
Mac started to follow, but a hand on her shoulder halted her. She turned to see Esme Sparrow’s pale face as the Englishwoman held up her heavy cape.
“You’ll need this if you are to accompany him,” Esme said.
Startled, Mac nodded her thanks and accepted the warm garment. She donned it as she ran after Jared. The snow had diminished, and Mac could make out the Pinkerton detective a hundred feet ahead of her. Oblivious to all but Jared’s path, Mac hurried after him.
The walk was slippery from the snow and Mac’s utilitarian shoes weren’t made for running, but she wasn’t about to abandon her quest because of an inconvenience or two. She was intimately familiar with the murderer’s M.O. in her century. If she could examine the victim and crime scene here, she could determine if there was only one killer.
Her feet faltered. Did she really want to know? Wouldn’t it be better if she just stayed out of it? This wasn’t even her century. Why did she care?
Because Jared cares.
She shoved aside the little voice and increased her speed. Keeping her mind blank, she continued until she arrived at the resort post office, which she could barely make out in the darkness. She couldn’t see Jared, but did spot his footsteps in the fresh snow.
She followed them and found Jared and the corpse, which looked too much like the one Mac had seen five nights ago in the twenty-first century. Snow dusted the dead woman’s features, giving her a soft gentle appearance totally at odds with her violent death.
Mac took a deep breath and pushed her emotions into a far corner of her mind. A dark stain beside the girl’s head and neck told Mac an artery had probably been nicked.
Jared glanced up from the grisly sight and spotted Mac. He rose to his feet in one smooth motion and stood between her and the mutilated body. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I followed you,” Mac replied. She sidestepped Jared’s imposing figure and squatted down close to the body. “Was she strangled?”
“Damn it, Mac. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Was she strangled?” Mac repeated flatly.
His mouth pressed into a thin line and he nodded. “With a steel wire. It-it cut through the skin.”
“Son of a—” she broke off. “Same as the other women?”
“Yes, except the wire didn’t break the skin on the others.” Jared stared at her, his mouth agape. “How do you know so much about the killings?” His scowl deepened. “Who the hell are you?”
Mac stalled by brushing her hands across Miss Sparrow’s cape. What was she going to tell him? The truth?
Not unless I want to be carted off to a hospital and spend the rest of my life banging my head against a wall.
She would try to stay as close to the truth as possible without compromising her story. “I’m a freelance reporter. I covered another story involving the murders of five women, killed exactly like her.” Mac pointed at the body. “The murderer was never apprehended.”
Jared’s mouth dropped open, then closed and opened again like a gaping fish. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
She crossed her arms, surprised to find her hands were trembling. “Because at first I thought you might be the killer.”
“Me?”
Though Mac was shaking on the inside, she remained cool and composed on the outside. “It was possible. Your job allows you to travel.”
Jared stepped close to Mac, invading her personal space, but she refused to relinquish an inch.
“But my fiancée was one of the victims. Why would I want to kill her?” His voice was low and angry, more dangerous because it was so controlled.
Mac’s heart thundered as her palms dampened. She fought to remain still, to meet his furious eyes. “Men kill their wives and girlfriends all the time, Yates. Surely in your line of work you’ve seen it often enough.”
His furious expression was enough to terrify the bravest of men, but Mac wouldn’t be intimidated. This was too important.
She held his stare for a few moments longer, then turned away and moved closer to the body. Squatting beside it, she forced herself to examine the murder scene and body with a clinical eye. She leaned closer to the wire around the victim’s neck. It appeared to be the same type the killer had used in her time—a piano wire.
“May I roll her over?” Mac asked without glancing at Jared.
Muttered curses met her ears, but Jared joined her and carefully shifted the woman to her side. Mac craned her neck to see the wire and found what she suspected would be there: two twists near the victim’s nape.
The exact modus operandi the serial killer used in her time.