Chasing a Dream (11 page)

He finished the song then sang about a love he swore would always be there.

“You also might like Ty Herndon.” Justin sang another ballad then listed a half dozen other country balladeers and introduced her to
their
music.

She listened with a rapt fascination to his voice, studied the flicker of light in his eyes, and watched the way his fingers caressed and plucked the guitar strings. She remembered how those fingers felt when he touched her. Strong but gentle. Warm.

Heat collected inside her at the thought.

Her gaze drank in his rugged, square jaw, straight nose and seductive lips. “You know, Mr. Boyd, speaking as an experienced marketing professional, your promotional staff is going to love you when you sign your first recording contract.”

Raising his gaze, he arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“With that face, those eyes, your smile, you’re an easy sell. You’re going to have legions of female fans, dying to get their hands on you.”

He ducked his head for a moment then gave her a flirtatious wink. “Thanks, doll. But what about you? Will you be one of my fans?”

“I already am.” Her answer rolled off her tongue before she stopped to realize what she’d said. The smile that blossomed on his face reflected his appreciation of her support, her compliment of his appearance, and . . . something more. A tingle skittered over her skin, and she tried to refocus her thoughts.

But something in the way Justin looked at her while he sang the lyrics about love and lovers mesmerized her, almost made her believe he meant the things he was singing to her.

Her brain said the notion was ridiculous. Justin was a performer who’d mastered the technique of engaging his audience. Period. Perhaps, because her life with Randall had lacked tenderness and affection, her soul thirsted for it and imagined it where nothing existed.

She’d never heard an endearment or expression of love from Randall and had learned not to expect any. And sex had been something to endure while Randall groped and satisfied himself with no consideration for her pain or pleasure. With Randall, sex had been rough, fast and crude, and he’d often turned the experience into a form of humiliation or punishment for her. Yet she had numbed herself to what was happening, to the suffering she endured, fearing retribution. As long as she gave Randall no reason to be upset, she could actually believe at times that her life wasn’t so bad after all. She could convince herself that the empty existence, the bleak days and long nights, were better than any other options.

She’d lied to herself.

With a shudder, she conjured up an image of her last night with Randall and the brutal way he’d forced himself on her. The memory made her skin crawl.

“Nobody writes a ballad like a country ballad,” Justin said, drawing her mind back to the present. She forced the horrid picture of Randall’s leering face out of her mind and tried to infuse humor in her voice.

“Mr. Boyd, are you trying to convert me to a country fan?”

“Yes, ma’am. Tryin’ my darnedest. How am I doing so far?” His devilish grin made Tess’s heart patter.

Randall would be livid to know she was alone in a cheap motel room with another man. He’d be out of his mind with jealousy and possessive rage to think of Tess anywhere near a man of Justin’s appeal, especially if he knew how often she pictured Justin as her lover.

The idea of spiting Randall, of flaunting her freedom from his tenacious hold over her, swam with heady and potent effects in her mind. She rejected vengefulness under most circumstances. But she couldn’t deny the powerful lure of the notion that she could rebel against Randall’s cruelty, his sexual dominance, his perverse pleasure in her humiliation. The ghost of an idea began to form in her mind.

“You’re doing fine,” Tess said. “I’m enjoying my concert.”

“Good.” Justin’s eyes sparkled as he began playing again. His gaze held Tess’s. The romantic lyrics, the golden glow of the lamp, and the hypnotizing blue in Justin’s eyes toyed with her emotions. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest, and her blood seemed to thicken and slow, making her body grow oddly numb.

“Don’t move,” Justin said abruptly, his expression becoming serious, intent. Tess’s chest constricted as he set his guitar aside and crossed the room without moving his gaze from a point near her head.

When he reached the side of the bed, he picked up her magazine from the nightstand. Putting his knee on the mattress by her hip, he stretched across her. His body pressed warmly against her as he thwacked the magazine against the wall.

Justin cursed under his breath. “He got away.”

“Who?”

He levered back enough to peer down at her. “A large roach.”

Tess wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Oh.”

A low, sexy chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Not big enough to carry you off, but I wasn’t taking any chances on losing my audience.” His eyes glowed with mischief.

She frowned at him as he levered away. “Where did it go?”

Justin’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “Probably to join some friends under the bed.”

She shivered visibly, and he ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry. They don’t eat much.”

As Justin turned to walk away, she bolted upright and grabbed the waist of his jeans. The decision wasn’t so much a conscious one as an impulse that seized her so suddenly, so strongly, she couldn’t ignore it, didn’t stop to analyze it.

When he came up short from her hold on his waistband, he twisted to glance back at her with a puzzled arc in his brow. She slid her hand along the denim as he faced her, meeting her reluctant gaze. Tess dropped her chin, avoiding the question in his eyes.

Rising on her knees, she slid her hand up his chest. The crinkly dark hairs sprinkled across his skin tickled her palms, but nervous tension numbed her head too much to enjoy the sensation. With a boldness that belied the quivering in her stomach, she framed his face with a hand on each cheek and closed her eyes. She seized his mouth with hers so swiftly their teeth clicked against each other. Pressing her body to his, she felt the quick, startled tensing of his muscles before he relaxed and absorbed her weight with his strength. His wide, warm hands settled at her waist, and his mouth responded to her kiss with skillful strokes and gentle suction.

The sweet, hypnotic caress of his lips distracted her momentarily from her intent, from the hastily decided rules for her actions.

Don’t feel. Stay in control. Get it over with quickly.

She would have her revenge against Randall, flaunt her freedom from his sexual dominance, and hold herself emotionally apart from what she was doing.

Recalled to her plan, she took Justin’s hand in hers and guided it under her blouse, under her bra. She pressed his hand to her breast. A soft moan rumbled from his throat. Her traitorous nipple puckered, an outward indication of the prickling heat that collected where his hand cupped her.

Without stopping to consider her actions, lest she lose her resolve, she sought the bulge at his groin and rubbed him. She heard his breath catch, and he angled his head to recapture her mouth, nipping at her lips with an enticing playfulness. His kiss enchanted her too much, made her want what she couldn’t have. Reluctantly, she ducked her head, removing her mouth from his.

His hand stirred on her breast, kneading her carefully, massaging her until she could barely think. Needing to regain control, she grappled with the zipper on his jeans, tugging it down. With trembling hands, she fought the fabric of his briefs out of her way and wrapped her fingers around the swollen proof of his arousal.

“Oh, Tess.” His words mingled with a low growl, and she heard him suck in a deep breath. As she bent her head toward her new target, his hand slipped from her breast. He sank his fingers in her hair, and she waited for the stinging pull at her roots that Randall employed. But Justin’s fingers massaged her scalp with a controlled tenderness.

She kissed the masculine heat in her hands once then licked him, her stomach bunching in anxious knots. “Oh, God,” he groaned, and his fingers tightened in her hair. She put him in her mouth, and he jerked. “Wait.” His voice sounded tight, strangled. Grabbing her shoulders, he shoved her away. “Stop, Tess. Just . . . slow down.” Cold fingers of shame clutched her heart in a vise grip.
Oh, God! What had she done?

***

On his way in from the garage, Randall dropped his keys on the Italian marble kitchen counter and strolled into his living room. The silence mocked him. The stillness in the house laughed at him, flaunting Tess’s continued absence. An unfamiliar ache he refused to identify settled in his chest.

Loosening his tie with a vicious tug, he stalked to the bar and uncapped the crystal decanter on top. Without Tess to fetch his scotch, the task of pouring his evening drink fell to him. If Tess weren’t found soon, he’d have to reconsider hiring a household staff. Tess’s reliability had made that expense and risk to his privacy unnecessary until now.

After pouring two fingers of the amber liquid, he downed the drink in three gulps. The scotch burned his throat and fueled the fire already blazing in his gut. Restless energy made him feel like a caged tiger needing to pace. Randall refilled his glass and headed upstairs to the master bedroom.

The lingering scent of Tess’s perfume hung in the air. She preferred an inexpensive fragrance from the department store, available even to common factory workers. The flowery scent matched his opinion of her: sissy-sweet, no substance, and maddeningly sexy. Just a few whiffs of the perfumed air made him hard. He thought of her ripe body, and his blood became hot and thick. His body ached for sexual release. And something more.

But Tess was gone.

He could, of course, have one of his other women at the house in minutes with a phone call. But tonight, none of the others would do. He wanted Tess. Only with Tess could he relax his guard enough to fully appreciate the pleasures of sex and satisfy his restless cravings. He was loath to examine why this was so. Once again, he shoved the troublesome vulnerability aside.

But the fact remained that he felt something for Tess he’d never felt for another woman. He tried to deny the feeling was love. Love crumbled one’s defenses. Above all else, he had to stay in control. So how did he control the hollow ache in his chest in the wake of her disappearance?

Gripping his glass of scotch tighter, he clenched his jaw at the injustice of her flight. How could she do this to him? He’d given her everything a woman could want. She owned a closet full of fine clothes, a trove of the best jewels, and a sporty foreign car. He gave her far more than she’d have ever had without his generosity. With her disappearance, she’d thrown his lavishness back in his face. The ungrateful bitch!

Balling his free hand, he spun toward the door and stomped out. Damn her!

He’d even permitted her to attend college when she’d asked. Then he’d allowed her to work in the marketing department of his corporation when she’d wanted a career. Hell, he’d recognized her talent and known the benefit her skills could provide his growing business. As long as she met all his demands at home, what did he care if she played businesswoman by day? Having her office in the same building with his certainly made keeping tabs on her activity easier. Of course, she knew better than to step out of line at work, just as she did at home.

Or so he’d thought.

She had managed to run from him, despite all his precautions. Ironically, Tess had done the very thing he’d hated his mother for
not
doing. Why hadn’t his mother gotten him and herself away from his bastard of a father? She’d loved her booze and that sorry old man more than she’d loved her own son. She’d let him suffer, and he’d hated her for it.

Tess had soothed the sting of his mother’s betrayal. Tess had seemed so loyal, so willing to please ...

With an angry growl, Randall took another swig of his drink as he marched back downstairs to the living room. The smooth liquor took the edge off his frustration.

Control. Stay in control.

As best he could tell, she hadn’t gone to the cops with her accusations. Not that anyone could connect him with Fannin . . . or her slut sister. Or any of the others. Morelli was careful, discreet. Randall paid his men well, so he felt safe.

But Tess could prove a wild cannon. If she had the gall, the guts to run from him this way, what else might she do?

She’d taken half of their joint account, he remembered, and his fury blazed hotter. Having both of their names on the account had been a necessary concession in order to have her paychecks deposited directly. His mistake had been leaving so much in that account, instead of transferring the money to the accounts he controlled. Now Tess had $24,000 to finance her little escapade. He’d see that she repaid every penny—in one form or another.

Making his way back through the living room to his office, he unlocked the massive door that ensured only he ever entered this room off of the main living quarters. He strode across the Persian rug to his desk, where he slammed his glass down.

Sinking into the deep cushions of the leather chair behind the antique desk, he settled in to brood. Though he’d spent many hours in solitude in this room, tonight the book-lined walls seemed suffocating. He refused to think he could be suffering from anything as weak as loneliness. He didn’t miss Tess. The very notion made him scoff in denial.

Yet the empty ache remained. Had he fallen in love with her after all these years?

His thoughts drifted back to the day he had walked into the godforsaken tenement where she and her sister lived. He recalled the wariness in her keen eyes as he introduced himself as a friend of Angie’s. He’d seen her potential immediately. Even at sixteen, she’d had a woman’s body. The certainty that no man had tested her bedroom skills sweetened the deal for him. He liked knowing he would be the sole proprietor of such fine female real estate. Throughout their years together, his exclusive rights to her body gave him a certain peace of mind nothing else could.

Angela had been a looker, too, but she’d ruined herself, selling her wares to any dick with fifty bucks to spend for a tumble. Randall remembered the rush of excitement he’d known the day Morelli had informed him his favorite hooker had a sister who might take up where Angie had left off. Instead, Tess had proven the perfect material to become the envy of his colleagues and the answer to his need for a classy woman at his side.