Carnal Games Page 5

  She was alone with a murderer.

  Fear and self-revulsion stabbed into her, icing over the damned arousal that plagued her whenever this stealthy man was near. She’d kissed him, allowed him to touch her in the most intimate of places, reached blissful heights at the mercy of his talented hands, even fantasized, for crying out loud, about the man!

  Despite the terror and self-revolt that slammed through her system, her feet remained planted as she studied the way his hair fell rakishly over his brow as he swiped his hat from his head. But he didn’t draw a knife or a gun or begin pounding her into submission, as she somehow knew he wouldn’t. So she stood there in defiance, daring him to so much as touch her. But fear and anger soon won out. She wasn’t going to be an idiot for long. Furiously, she braided her fallen hair as she searched the perimeter for her hat.

  “Don’t.” He lifted a hand and gripped her wrist.

  She boiled him with the blue flames of her eyes. “Let go of me.”

  He gradually released his hold on her, but replied, “I like your hair down.”

  With that comment, Tania swiftly completed the braid, securing it tightly with the leather strip that had been barely clinging to her hair after their skirmish. “How could you have gotten out? You were on death row,” she said in disbelief, righting her clothing. “I could have sworn I heard the report that they’d…they’d…gotten rid of you.”

  He grinned sardonically, squinted against the sun’s rays. “You must be mistaken, honey. I had a very good lawyer.”

  “An ignorant lawyer,” she amended, slapping the dust from her thighs. “And you might as well retain him, because you’ll have an annulment to deal with.”

  Sam threw his head back and roared. “Everything’s always gotta be on your terms, doesn’t it, princess?”

  She slid her foot in the stirrup, fully expecting him to stop her—and relieved and vaguely disappointed when he didn’t. “What would you expect?” she sneered. She mounted and looked down contemptuously at him. “I hadn’t planned on having a live husband. I’m supposed to be a widow by now.”

  Sam bent and retrieved her hat, then handed it up to her. “Whatever you say, neighbor,” he switched to his other tactic, grinning wolfishly up at her.

  She choked on her heart. “What did you say?”

  “I said ‘neighbor,’” he repeated mockingly. He slowly returned his own hat to his head, leaving it tilted at a potent angle. “I bought the Bellows’ Ranch. Arrived only yesterday,” he said conversationally.

  “You did what?” she screeched, itching to slap the smirk from his handsome face.

  “You heard me, babe.” Tipping his hat to her, he readjusted his pants and sauntered off, throwing over his shoulder, “See ya ‘round, neighbor.”

  ***

  The big hand was clamped over her mouth. Tania was jolted from sleep and her eyes blinked as her heart palpitated painfully in her chest.

  “Don’t scream,” he said in her right ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  It was him! She could smell the musky male scent of him, could feel his warm breath on her cheek, could see the menacing outline of him next to her in the dark. And damn herself, but the hot ache between her legs was back with a vengeance. In its groggy state, her body had betrayed her, and now it was too late to douse the flames, for her panties were as wet as if she’d peed her pants.

  “Promise me you won’t scream, and I’ll let you go.”

  She nodded her head vigorously. He removed his hand.

  “You sonofabitch!” She tried to scramble out of bed, but his leg was draped over hers, holding her like set concrete to her bed. Both of her arms were now pinned to her sides. “Get the hell out of my house,” she gritted her teeth, hissed it out at him. “You’re trespassing.”

  He chuckled deeply, sending shards of pleasure from her ear to her crotch. How, for weeping out loud, did the man do that? she wondered frantically. How could the mere sound of his voice turn her on to such depths, that even the knowledge of his past couldn’t even override it?

  “Breaking and entering is nothing compared to what I’ve been known to do.” His hand moved over to cup one breast through her thin little T-shirt. “Besides, this is my house, too. Remember? You’re my wife, and husbands and wives usually live together in the same home.”

  Tania sucked in a breath, ignored the new gush of moisture that filled her underwear. “What do you want?” she asked, her breath escaping in humiliating little gusts as she squirmed beneath his hold. “Why are you here?”

  “Don’t you know by now?” he replied on a whisper as his lips touched hers. “I want you.”

  She stiffened as his hand snaked up her shirt and pinched the nub of her nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, simultaneously flip-flopping her womb so that a new backlash of fire ignited there. His lips glided gently over hers, then sunk into her open mouth like a doomed ship on the turbulent sea. Undercurrents of desire tugged at her, drawing her deeper. She felt the waves wash pleasantly over her, then, when his hand moved lower to plunge into her panties, she dove to the ocean floor and rode the terrain of it with him.

  Her arms were no longer a prisoner to his massive body, so she reached for him, her hands now kneading the flesh beneath his shirt, exploring the planes and bunched muscle masses at random. His finger was now buried within her, and she trembled as he pumped her with it at the very same rhythm he pumped his tongue in and out of her mouth.

  He tore his mouth from hers, and buried his face in the curve of her neck. She heard him inhale. “You smell like freshly bloomed roses, like a decadent, delicious dessert.” He rained kisses over her collarbone, and she shivered when he yanked her shirt up and feasted on her breasts.

  It was no use. She’d already drowned. The current, dangerous and deadly, was dragging her along, taking her on a perilous carnal journey that she would never be able to recover from. In spite of his past, she wanted him, had to have him. Would have him! When he had his fill of her bosom, when she thought she could take the torture no more, he boosted up the heat as his mouth traveled lower.

  “Oh my God!” she cried out as he ripped her bikini bottoms from her in one swift move. The violence of the motion was nearly enough to send her over the edge. But it didn’t rival, she soon found out, the feel of his lips kissing her hardened clit. Instantly, she was spinning in a vortex of animal need. She writhed on the soaked sheets. He ripped his finger from within her and buried his tongue there, replacing fire with molten lava.

  Beneath the turbulent sea, he held her, refusing to allow her to surface, to flee, to breathe. Above, she swore she could see the aqua blur of surge after surge of ecstasy moving just out of her reach. There was a pinpoint of light through the fog of the whirlpool he held her in, and she reached for it, her legs now spreading wide with acceptance. He feasted on her, his tongue lapping her lips, and he drank of her most intimate juices. Her back arched up off the bed, her hands stabbed into his thick dark mane of hair, holding him prisoner to her juncture. Swirls and swirls of pleasure whirled her about, and again, she looked to the light, watching with wicked anticipation as the tide lifted her higher and higher toward it. The light grew as Sam expertly pumped her with his fingers, and flickered his tongue over that naughty spot centered within her core.

  Then she burst to the surface and saw the light.

  “Oh!” she whimpered as wave after luscious wave washed over her. “Oh…oh…Royce,” she said huskily, her legs now wrapped tightly about his neck.

  He suddenly stiffened, but she didn’t care why or how. Then he relaxed and resumed his journey.

  He trailed butterfly kisses up her abdomen, then settled over her as he rained kisses across her face, kisses that smelled of her own sex. Strangely, it didn’t repulse her, but served to re-ignite the flames she’d been sure were doused for good.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and she felt the hardened length of him against her thigh as he traced her lips with his tongue. “And you’
re mine.”

  She stilled her breathing, and reality came rushing back. “How did you get in here?” she asked, closing her eyes tightly against the ache in her crotch as he shifted and pressed himself at the juncture of her sex.

  “Key,” he panted it out, for he now had his hardness released from the constraints of his pants. And he was probing her wetness seeking entry.

  Her eyes popped wide in the darkness. She braced herself, twisting her body against the onslaught of him. “Key? And where in the hell did you get a key?”

  As if she’d dumped ice-cold water over him, he ceased all movement, then suddenly leapt from the bed. She could hear the rustle of fabric, the grate of a zipper. “Key?” he replied. “Did I say ‘key’?”

  She rose to her knees on the bed. “Yes, asshole. You said ‘key.’” She heard the panic in her own voice, and suddenly, the impact of what she’d just allowed to happen under her own roof, slammed into her like a meaty fist. What in the frickin’ hell was wrong with her?

  “Yes—” Her words were cut clean-through by the sound of her front door slamming shut. “You said ‘key,’” she groaned to herself.

  ***

  Tania went airborne from Fury’s back as he came to a hoof-digging halt. Racing through the bunkhouse door, she slammed it behind her and stomped over to the sofa where Clay still lay snoring in front of the TV.

  “Wake up, you ass,” she hissed and kicked the base of the couch. Her whole body was zinging, still alive from the touch of that man. Alive! He was alive…and a murderer…and her neighbor…and he had a goddamn key to her house!

  “What? What?” Clay’s tired, hazel eyes fluttered open as he looked about in confusion. His silver hair was rumpled atop his head, the hat long since having fallen to the floor, and his plaid shirt was worn and wrinkled. Despite all the imperfections, he was a handsome older man, Tania accepted reluctantly.

  But he had some explaining to do.

  “Wake up, old man,” she repeated.

  Clay ground into his eyes with the heels of his hands. Looking up into the angry face of his boss, he asked again, “What?”

  “You know what,” she accused, leaning toward him with her arms crossed over her belly, her eyes shooting him turquoise darts. “The fence. Like hell it needed repairing! And what do you know about our new neighbor and him having a key—you hear me? a key—to my cottage!”

  Clay licked his dry lips. “Don’t know what yer a-yackin’ ’bout, girl.”

  “Bullshit!”

  Clay appeared to ponder his options. His eyes darted about the darkened, now vacant room, falling everywhere but on her. “Go ask yer grandfather,” Clay grumbled. “He’s got all the answers.”

  Tania straightened. Her jaw clamped shut. Of course. Why hadn’t she suspected it from the start? Mik was behind this, she was sure of it. Lips thinned, she threw over her shoulder as she sailed from the room, “I’m not through with you yet, Clay.”

  Clay groaned and fell back onto the sofa. The ball game was over, it was nearing midnight, and all the guys had gone off to bed, leaving him alone and depressed. And now this. With a heavy sigh, he made his way to his bunk. Might as well get some more rest while he still had a bed to sleep in.

  ***

  “You!” Tania jabbed a finger into her grandfather’s thin chest as he sat in the wheelchair before her. “You are beyond belief!”

  He obviously knew what this was all about. And he was obviously thrilled. Pressing a button, he spun around with a gleam in his blue eyes and headed toward the rear of the house.

  “Where the hell are you going, Mik?” she shouted, racing behind him with her fury.

  “To my quarters,” he said simply.

  “Stop right there. I’m not done with you yet.”

  Mikhail shrugged his bony shoulders. “Then you must finally come join me in my quarters, young lady. It’s time we hashed a few things out.”

  I’ll hash you out, old man, she grumbled silently, but followed him, nonetheless, for her future hung helplessly in the balance. He turned at the end of the corridor, which ran the depth of the house, his motorized wheelchair humming softly as he went. She was shocked to find a simple room with comfortable sofas and chairs scattered around low tables, and a bed in the far corner. This was his quarters? She’d always refused to enter his personal domain. And now she could see that this unadorned room void of the wealthy elegance of the remainder of the house, was where he spent all of his time.

  Tania was damned uncomfortable with her new find.

  ***

  The only son of a wealthy Russian diplomat, Mikhail Petrov had fled Europe during the instability of post-World War II. With the shirt on his back, his lovely young bride and his dead father’s sizable portfolio, Mikhail had chosen to settle in Texas with its promise of rich oil fields and profitable ranches. He hadn’t know diddley about either, but had fallen in love with a tract of land outside of Austin. He’d obtained all the best contractors, and had had a home—or rather, a mansion—erected with all the essential outbuildings needed to begin ranching. Still, to this day, he knew nothing about what went on under his very nose. Which was why he valued the experience and expertise of his granddaughter and her assistant, Clay Westly.

  Mikhail had been ill for some time, though the confinement to a wheelchair had been due to a fall from a horse shortly after his daughter had left home. The emphysema and eventual lung cancer was a result of his social and addictive need to keep a cigarette between his lips. Paralysis from the waist down had had him reevaluating his life, finding that the small things that everyone took for granted, wiggling toes, standing, walking across the room, were monumental goals that he had never been able to achieve since before the accident. When his wife, Fiona, had passed away months after Sabina had run away from home, Mikhail had inwardly become a new man, a wiser man, a softer man. Regrets and guilt were eating him alive, so when he got word of Sabina’s death some ten years later, he was stunned to have been informed that she’d been living homeless, dragging her young daughter through the streets of Dallas like a rag doll.

  And all he’d wanted was the best for her, the very best his money could buy.

  But he hadn’t stopped manipulating people. That hadn’t changed. It was his motivation behind that need for control that had changed. Though no one, not even Clay, his closest ranch hand, could see that he’d changed, he most definitely had. He’d watched the miraculous return of a granddaughter he’d assumed had been properly cared for, but who’d been horrifically neglected. He’d watched her cower from wealth and grow into a strong, beautiful young woman, fully capable of running the entire ranch single-handed.

  Yet he wanted more for her. He wanted happiness, fulfillment, and the haunted look in her eyes to fade with the introduction of the light of love. He wanted for her the security of a caring husband so that he himself could die in peace—and Lord, but he wanted great-grandchildren! So, as usual, he’d put his men on researching the matter, and had found through snooping into her e-mail, that Tatiana had planned to marry a man on death row to avoid his demands to marry legitimately. Death row! He smiled inwardly, accepting proudly that she was more like her grandfather than she cared to admit. Then, when he’d heard his plans had panned out and Tania’s wedding to famous author, Sam Phoenix, had been a success, he’d been ecstatic.

  He’d used his money to influence many others before now, but this time, this time was different. His power and fat bank account swayed the politicians to get Warden Freddy Wallace to cooperate with his scheme to save his sly granddaughter from her own folly. He’d rearranged circumstances so that Tatiana never married one of the low-life inmates, as she’d planned. It had been downright luck that Sam Phoenix had been scheduled to interview Tatiana’s intended groom on the same day that she’d intended to marry the death row prisoner. And a large hunk of Mikhail’s money, now deposited into Warden Freddy Wallace’s bank account, had been well spent.

  Mikhail had merely planned for the marriag
e to Powers to be thwarted, for Tatiana and Mr. Phoenix to 'cross paths' in the prison, and, hopefully, for a courtship to blossom from their meeting. Never in his wildest schemes did he think it would have ended up as a hasty marriage! Surprised and somewhat star-struck by the fact that the renowned author was now his kin, Mikhail never doubted his granddaughter’s magnetic beauty and her ability to attract the highest form of life. It was simply a matter of exposure, exposure she sure as hell wasn’t getting while holing herself up on the ranch year after year. And Sam Phoenix was one lucky man, though no doubt, he had one hell of a rocky road ahead of him!

  So when the Bellows’ Ranch had been placed on the market, Mikhail had helped himself to the phone and placed a call to introduce himself to his new grandson-in-law. It was only in passing, of course, that he’d mentioned the adjacent property for sale. The rest had been up to the young man.

  And he hadn’t stopped there. Fully aware that Tatiana assumed she was a widow, he’d gotten Clay to set up a chance meeting between the two—a meeting fully desired by Sam—by coming up with some cockamamie story about some gate needing repair. Now, here she was, ready to spew her wrath on him.

  But he was armed and ready.

  Rolling to the sideboard, he poured a snifter of brandy. He tossed the cool amber liquid into his wide mouth, savoring the warmth as it slid down his throat. “Care for a drink, Tatiana?”

  “No, thank you.” She plopped down on a nearby sofa and propped her boots up on the coffee table. “I don’t care for a drink. I care for an explanation.”

  “Of what, dear?” he asked in a bored tone, setting the crystal glass aside.

  “You know what!” she screeched. Her boots dropped violently to the hardwood floor. “Our new neighbor, Mr. Powers.”

  Mikhail sniffed and reached for his oxygen mask. “Oh.” He inhaled the sweet air. “You’ve met him, then?”