Mysterious (3 page)

"Tell me about yourself," he urged softly. Instantly she tensed again, and he cursed silently. She had a way of closing up on him, and he didn’t want that.

"I’d rather not," she said. "I’m not much for talking about myself."

His fingertips found the long column of her neck and lightly stroked its length. "Usually the people who don’t like to talk about themselves are the very people who are interesting."

"Not in my case." The caress was doing the most extraordinary things to her senses. "My story is really very dull."

"I assure you I’d be fascinated." He smiled. "You said you were new to the area. Where are you from?"

"Washington," she answered truthfully before she even thought about the implications. She was so distracted by his smile, and by the way his fingers were absently stroking her neck. His technique was very sure, very smooth, and very effective. Briefly Jennifer wondered if he found the soft skin of her neck especially appealing—if he was touching her because he couldn’t help himself, or because he touched all of the women he was about to make love to in just such a manner. She gave herself a mental shake. It didn’t matter.

"D.C.?"

"What? Oh . . . no. Washington State." She was going to have to do much better than this. Concentrate. Jennifer! Oh, but how? This man completely rattled her. He made her forget, and as nice as that would be, she couldn’t allow that to happen. Her life depended on it, and now maybe his did too.

"Lucky you. I’ve never been there, but I understand it’s a beautiful state."

"Yes, yes, it is."

"How long have you been here?"

"I told you before." She bit her thumbnail. For a man with seduction on his mind, he was asking an awful lot of questions. "I haven’t been here too long."

"No," he corrected her gently. "You didn’t say that. You said only that you were relatively new to the area. What exactly does relatively new mean?"

She would have to be careful what she said to him, Jennifer reminded herself. On top of everything else, he had an excellent memory. Again she asked herself, Why this man and why now? Such damn rotten timing!

The tips of his fingers had settled into the hollow of her collarbone and were moving in slow circles. A shuddering sensation zigzagged up her spine. Worst of all, she knew he had felt it.

"What were you doing in that bar tonight, Jennifer?" he whispered.

Inexplicably her attention centered on his lips instead of on the question. She didn’t answer.

"Whom were you waiting for?"

His bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, clearly outlined and beautifully shaped.

"Why did you come over to my table?"

His voice swirled into her, deep and warm, reaching to parts of her long untouched.

"And why did you want to come here?"

Still she did not answer, so transfixed was she by the man beside her and the way he looked, the way he sounded, and the way he was touching her.

"You’re an enigma, Jennifer. A beautiful, complicated enigma. I have about a hundred questions I’d like to ask you. But even if I did, I have a feeling you wouldn’t answer." His fingers exerted pressure on the back of her neck, and he pulled her a little closer to him.

Before she could think about what she was doing, she put her hand on his chest, and then immediately wondered why she had done it. Had she placed her hand there to act as a barrier? Or had she placed it there because she wanted to feel the powerful beat of his heart underneath the broad strength of his chest. In the end it didn’t matter, because he took her hand and tenderly kissed the palm. "Relax," he said on a soft breath, "I’m not going to hurt you."

Her lips parted. Deep in her soul there was something telling her to go with this incredible feeling flooding her being. But she knew she couldn’t. . . shouldn’t.

Ever so lightly his other hand skimmed over the pure white cloth that shielded her breasts and began to rub the bare skin just above the neckline. "At this moment I would give a million dollars to crawl underneath this skin of yours and find out what’s going on inside of you."

"You’d be disappointed." she whispered, the words nearly choking in her desire-clogged throat.

"I don’t think so, but why don’t we find out."

This man was a stranger, yet his hands felt so good on her body. And then there were his lips. They curved into a smile and descended slowly to hers, and at their touch the hard cold knots of disquiet inside her began to dissolve.

He was tasting her with his tongue, taking her breath with his mouth, melting her with his hands. She gave way and flowed more fully into him. At her response he lifted his mouth and stared down at her. His eyes were very blue. He hesitated only briefly, and then with a fine mastery and a softly spoken word he once more lowered his lips to hers, rubbing over hers with a velvet abrasiveness, his tongue exploring every sweet soft hollow it could find. Fleetingly it occurred to her that never in her life had she been kissed so thoroughly. Then she heard a little sound of pleasure that she realized must have come from her.

He leaned back into the cushions and willingly she followed, her body lying half on top of his. Her breasts were pressed into the hardness of his chest. But together the material of her dress and the cloth of his shirt were not thick enough to keep him from feeling her firming nipples thrusting tightly into him. He shifted a little, and she felt her whole body quiver as her nipples scraped his chest through their clothing.

Hot excitement, beautifully controlled, was being transmitted from him to her. She had just enough sense left to realize that he was bringing her along slowly, and somehow the thought that he could control her body with such ease, such finesse, made her thrust her tongue more deeply into his mouth.

He responded. With even more force he delved his fingers into the tangled silk of her hair and his lips devoured hers. Then he licked away the hurt.

"Jerome." His name was little more than a sigh, a wish, a dream, against his lips.

He answered by running his hand down her back to her hips and moving the white jersey cloth in hard, pushing circles against the tender skin of her buttocks. Subtly his pelvis began to move against hers, his hand applying a sensuous pressure, keeping their bodies together.

He had a wonderful sense of rhythm and timing. Timing. Vaguely the word came to her. Timing. Then she remembered. Time. It was the wrong time. This man, at this particular time, couldn’t be! She pushed against him and immediately he slackened his hold. She gulped air, managed to steady her breathing, and then said, "I’m sorry, but I’ve got to leave."

"Leave? What’s wrong?" Jerome questioned huskily, his brow creased in concern. "Jennifer, what is it?"

His mind slowly cleared, and as it did, he cursed himself. For someone who had intended to proceed so carefully with the evening, he had nearly lost control. But dammit, if he had been affected by their kisses, so had she. He would be willing to bet almost anything that her responses had been genuine.

Something was very wrong. He knew it as certainly as he knew that she was the most softly sensual woman he had ever met. He also knew that he wasn’t going to let her go until he found out what it was. If then.

"Jennifer ..." he began again, but in the next instant Jerome went quite cold and still. He jerked his head toward the quiet muffled sounds of someone at the door attempting to turn the doorknob.

It could be anyone. It could be someone who after a long night in a strange city found himself with a key that wouldn’t fit and hadn’t yet realized he was at the wrong door. It could even be a maid on the late shift who mistakenly had been assigned to clean the suite. It could be, but Jerome’s instinct was telling him that it wasn’t. And his quick glance at Jennifer’s face confirmed it. She had gone as white as her dress.

Quickly he moved to the end table and switched off the light. Dropping to his knees beside the couch, he covered Jennifer’s mouth with his hand. He couldn’t see her clearly, but he could feel her tenseness.

"Be very quiet and do exactly as I say," he whispered.

Only after she nodded did he release his hold. Snatching up his coat with one hand, he grabbed her with the other and soundlessly led her to the door. With his back pressed to the wall beside the doorframe, he could now hear low voices. Damn! There were at least two of them.

His eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and they darted about, seeking something that could help him. Before he could act, however, Jennifer lunged for the unopened champagne bottle.

For an instant Jerome wasn’t sure whom she intended using it on, but then she stepped to the other side of the doorframe just as the door clicked open. There was no time to look at Jennifer again, or to try to reassure himself about her as a sliver of hall light was thrown across the floor. Stealthily the line of light became wider and wider.

Come on, he urged silently. Believe that we’re in the bedroom, either asleep or too busy with each other to know that you’re breaking in. Commit yourselves.

The door was open wide when the first man began to creep cautiously forward. Jerome could see the man’s back, but he forced himself to wait until the second man entered. By waiting, he knew he was taking the risk of premature discovery. Risk, because about all he had going for him was the element of surprise. But he had to wait. Both of the men had to be in his line of vision for it to work. He could feel sweat break out on his forehead as what seemed like an endless time passed. These men were pros. They were being extremely cautious.

The door continued on its backward route. Anything could happen. They could turn and see him ... or they could catch a movement from Jennifer behind the door.

Now! Both men were in the room. He couldn’t wait any longer.

It happened almost simultaneously. As he threw his coat over the head of the second man, the one closest to him, he saw Jennifer swinging the champagne bottle in a downward arch toward the back of the first man’s head. He heard a satisfying thud, and the first man gave a grunt and collapsed to the floor at the same time as Jerome spun the second man around and brought his knee into the man’s groin. The man folded forward. Clenching his hands together into one punishing fist, he brought it down hard against the back of the man’s neck.

Jerome slammed the door shut, locked it, and groped for the light switch. The first thing he saw was Jennifer, still holding the bottle, and staring at the two men on the floor. She had remained remarkably cool and had done exactly as he had iidicated, even helping, yet when she raised her eyes, they were filled with horror. He hated the things he was thinking, but dammit, she had a lot of explaining to do.

He crouched between the two men. They were the same two men he had seen Jennifer looking at in the bar. He began searching first one and then the other.

"Are they dead?" she questioned shakily.

"No, they’re not dead," he answered, removing a .45 automatic that had been concealed in a shoulder holster on one of the men. He yanked the slide back, expelling the bullet from the chamber, then ejected the clip and slipped the gun into his pocket. "They may wish they were dead, though, when they wake up in a couple of hours and feel the way their heads are pounding." He discovered a silencer for the .45 in the man’s pocket, but left it there.

He found a similar weapon lying beside the other man’s outstretched arm, and unloaded it with equal efficiency. He put the gun in his other pocket. "As you can see, whatever I did to them is nothing compared to what they were obviously prepared to do to us." He paused. "Or should that be, to me? By any chance, are these two friends of yours?"

"Friends? Of course not!"

"Really?" he returned. "Well, at any rate, we’ll talk about it later." Their weapons disposed of, Jerome searched them for identification. But he found no ID of any type on either man. He checked their clothing for labels. There were none. The only thing he found besides the guns was a fat wad of bills. The evidence fairly screamed at him: professional gunmen.

"Okay, that’s it, I’m going to call the police. I’ll be curious to see what they make of these two."

He stood up, but Jennifer grabbed his arm. "You can’t! We’ve got to get out of here. It’s entirely possible that these two weren’t alone."

"Is that right?" He looked down at her hand on his arm and then looked up into her wide brown eyes. "You know, I’ve got to say that this evening is turning into one of the most interesting I’ve had in years. Nevertheless, I’m calling the police."

"Will you listen to me? We’ve got to get out of here. These people are dangerous!"

"Tell me something I don’t know, sweetheart."

"I can’t. That is . . . there’s nothing to tell."

"Yet you think that there could be more of them and you know that they’re dangerous."

"Look. We don’t have time to stand around here talking. If you’re not going to leave, I am."

"Uh-uh, honey. Just wipe that little notion right out of your head. You’re not going to get farther than a step away from me until I find out just what the hell is going on."

"Okay, okay." She held up one shakily placating hand. "I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to wait to call the police until you’ve heard my story. And not here."

Her voice had been rising steadily. No matter what, there was no doubt that this had been a frightening experience for her. Jerome ran his hand through his hair, then glanced down at the two men. They weren’t going anywhere for a while. "All right. We’ll go down the stairs to the service entrance and hope none of their friends are hanging around down there."

"Where can we go?"

"To my place."

"Make yourself comfortable." Jerome waved her to a deeply cushioned sofa.

They were at his condominium apartment located at the very top of a modern high rise. Gratefully Jennifer dropped onto the butter-soft suede couch and leaned her head back against its rolled rim. If only she could shut her eyes and go to sleep and sleep for a hundred years. If she could do that, then maybe, just maybe, when she woke up, she’d find that this had all been some terrible nightmare. But she knew she couldn’t go to sleep. Not yet. She had to get through Jerome’s questions; and she had the feeling that this next hour or so might prove harder than the entire last forty-eight hours put together. She was well aware that she was experiencing a mixture of shock, fear, and plain bone weariness, but she had to try to keep her wits about her just a little bit longer.