Endless Night (15 page)

Jake was a shock to her senses. Every time Megan was at her worst, gone astray in the depth of her nightmares, Jake was there to offer this erotic negation to her fear. The balance she strove for over the past year toppled backward—or was that Jake sliding her body back onto the mattress? More likely, she was dragging him down. Every thought was muddled under the spell of his kisses. He whispered incoherent words to console her, but Megan didn’t want consoling. She wanted fusion—his flesh, warm against hers.

“Please,” she begged without knowing how to form her request.

Jake knew though. He lifted off her on strong forearms and stayed balanced above, his hips nestled tight against hers. God, that hardness was something to make her cherish the night again.

“Meg, not like this.” He whispered hoarsely, “You’re afraid, I don’t want you to be afraid.”

Afraid?
Yes. Afraid he would pull away. “I want you.”
Did that husky voice really belong to her?
“Jake, if it’s just now—please—”

In the dark, his silhouette was visible by the faint spill of light from the foyer downstairs. She couldn’t see his eyes. She wished she could. But every nuance of Jake’s breath, every hidden flex of muscle painted a portrait of a man who desired her. Not just the physical lure that was so blatant between them, but the hidden tenderness that spoke of something much greater.

“At this moment—” her tone rang of a clarity born from truth, “—I have never been less afraid in my life. Dammit, Jake, don’t make me beg.”

His deep chuckle tickled her body. In agonizing slowness, Jake crooked his arms and dropped close against her.

“You are—” he dipped his head and nipped at her neck, “—the hottest woman ever.”

Warm lips caressed her throat, dipping into her cleavage. He didn’t stop and kissed the fevered tip of her breast right through the thin cotton fabric. Megan’s breath rushed in.

“Oh.”

The coarse friction of Jake’s palm slipped under her top and sought what his mouth had just coveted. The sensation made her cry out again. Helplessly she struggled with the buttons on Jake’s shirt, and with a muffled sound of relief, Megan unfastened them all and her hands surged between the cotton flaps to touch his rugged male chest.

“You’re stunning,” she whispered in awe.

Jake chuckled again, and in one quick move, hoisted her tank top over her head, his hand in her hair as it spilled back onto the pillow.

“You can barely see me.”

“It’s not the way you look.” Megan tried to convey her point, though his kisses were making it difficult. “Which happens to be drop-dead gorgeous. It’s the way you make me feel.”

Jake felt the vise around his heart squeeze tighter. Ironically it was not all that unpleasant a sensation.

“I should say the same to you,” he managed, even though Megan’s probing hand had dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Stubborn, she attacked the metal button.

“You’re determined, aren’t you?” he asked in a husky voice as her nimble fingers came away victorious.

“Very.”

Jake’s palm coursed down her bare torso and slipped beneath the fabric of her sweatpants. He sculpted the warm curve of her hip and cupped the firm arch of her bottom, using this grip to haul her on top of him. He soaked up the strong smell of citrus as he reached into her hair, cupping her head to still it for his kiss.

Willingly, Megan’s mouth opened and her soft breath infused him with warmth. Jake invaded that sanctuary and felt the tiny tremor of approval course through the body splayed across him. In search of every inch of exposed flesh, his hands left Megan’s hair and trailed down the arch of her spine, toying with the dimples at the base before he hooked the waistline of her sweats and dragged them to her knees. With one kick of her foot, they were off.

“You are much too beautiful to stay hidden in the dark,” Jake said thickly as he reached for the bedside lamp.

The light made Megan recoil, but his hand was on her face, cupping her cheek, soothing with the caress of his thumb.

“Easy,” he whispered.

He could now see every glorious inch of her. Legs that seemed to climb forever scissored between his. Megan twisted and writhed just as she had done in the mud, only this time he knew that it was only a matter of moments before he was inside her.

Wide black pupils nearly eclipsed the faint rim of azure in Megan’s eyes. She watched him in a seemingly drugged state until he saw the tip of her tongue reach out to brush her bottom lip. Jake reached behind her neck and dragged her mouth to his.

Forehead to forehead, he whispered against her lips. “We better talk about this,” he breathed. “I didn’t exactly come up here looking for—”
Oh God,
Megan’s tongue was on his throat, and across his collarbone with warm, misty swirls. Jake hooked his finger under her chin and gently lifted her head. Her dusky eyes basked over him in languorous sweeps. He looked at her lips, swollen and glossy, and didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of kissing them.

Jake cleared his throat. “I didn’t bring any protection.”

A brief flash of clarity returned to Megan’s eyes. She nodded and propped herself up on one arm, giving Jake a glorious view of the soft curves of her breasts. He wanted to taste them again.

“Well, I’m not exactly on any protection.” She half laughed. “Remember? Seagulls are my only companions.”

Jake tried to look wounded. “So anything must look appealing to you right now?”

“I have lost control, Jake.” Her voice hitched, negating the levity of his comment. “You have to stop me.”

Rain pattered against the glass. Jake’s fingertip slid from the fevered peak of one breast, down the length of her stomach and hesitated before reaching its goal. The path that finger took left a trail of goose bumps in its wake. He looked down at her and smiled.

“I’m going to touch you. There is no way I can stop touching you right now.” He drew in air to try and stabilize himself, and then finally nodded with conviction. “But I’m going to stop there until we can make sure we’re safe. If we were to make love right now—well, call me old-
fashioned but I’m all about children being born from happy, stable couples.” He tried to chuckle to lighten the mood.

Megan reached up and touched his cheek. “I’m all about that too.” Soft fingers covered his and continued his original path. “As long as I get to reciprocate.”

Jake stooped to kiss her and whispered against her lips, “Of course.”

The shattering sound of the phone destroyed their pleasure.

Jake’s palm swept the nightstand, his grip circling firmly around the barrel of the gun. Simultaneously, Megan’s hand rushed under the mattress and she cried out in shock when she came away empty.

“I’ve got it.” His voice was tight, but his free hand reached out to soothe her bare shoulder.

“Dammit,” Megan cried. “I can’t take it anymore, Jake. I—I can’t—”

The phone continued to blare, but he ignored it. There was enough light to see that Megan meant what she said. Her hands shook, and her eyes turned from a misty shade of passion to anxious shadows all in one chime.

Beneath his palm, he felt her tremble. Not the pulsing tremors of moments ago, but a chaotic, angst-ridden shudder. Chocolate hair tumbled over her shoulders as her chest heaved in mounting panic.

“I’m going to answer this.” He left no room for argument, but Megan’s eyes had gone wild and he suspected she heard nothing but that invasive ring.

He released his hold on her to yank the handset to his ear. He did not announce himself. Instead, he listened. At first he thought no one was there, but there was a suspicious weight to the silence on the other end, as if someone held their breath, as if they listened as intently as he.

The temptation was strong to shout,
she’s not alone, you bastard,
but then he would lose his advantage. Let Gordon show up here. Let him believe that Megan was alone.

Jake heard a quick intake of breath on the other end of the receiver, and then a deep voice whispered, “I’m coming, Margaret.”

And I’m waiting, Gordon.

Jake slammed the phone back down and reached for Megan. In his hand he still possessed the gun, but his free palm soothed down her back.

“Listen to me.” He waited to see if he broke through to her, but Megan’s worried glance darted to the phone, to the gun, and to the door in a hectic sweep of the room.

“Meg, listen to me.” Jake touched her chin and guided her eyes to his. He felt his heart clench at the mournful look on the face of the woman who had called him beautiful—the woman he loved.

“You are not alone,” he said, his thumb touching her cheek when she would have looked away. To arrest her attention he leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. He felt the instinctive jerk of her head, the attempt to retreat, but his hand was there. Jake kissed her again—a slow sensual sweep. It was his goal to captivate her, to take the worry from her eyes, to negate her fear with passion. He wanted Megan to see that they were in this together, but the kisses had a reverse effect, and he found himself under her influence.

Jake drew back before his will abandoned him.

“He’s close, isn’t he?” she whispered.

“Yes. I think he is.” He dusted her mouth with the pad of his thumb and watched her eyes grow dark. “I also think that he enjoys baiting you like this.”

Megan snorted in disdain. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that.”

He used the backs of his fingers to sweep silky strands of hair away from her cheek. “It’s not too late to get the police involved. That’s what I’d like to do, Meg. I want you to be safe.”

On a hearty groan Megan flipped onto her back to lay by his side. Her fingers touched his. “That wouldn’t keep me safe. That would only postpone the inevitable.”

She pulled the blanket up over both of them. “Gordon would wait. He’d know the police
were here, and he would wait until they left. If I were to accuse him of stalking me, the claim would never stick. You know that, Jake,” she pleaded with conviction. “And when the police
do
finally leave, then he would come.”

If only he could have faith that it would be different. The law-abiding citizen in him wanted to trust in the system. The pragmatist in him knew otherwise.

“It’s almost dawn,” he remarked, although the windows had not yet warmed up to that revelation.

“Quite a night.”

Jake turned his head on the pillow to study her profile. Megan had one of those pert noses that lessened the severity of her somber expression.

“Regrets, Meg?”

The patter of rain had ceased, and in the pre-dawn hush he swore he could hear Megan’s heart beat.

Her head turned toward his as she smiled sadly. “I have plenty of regrets.”

From the depths of the blanket her hand rose to blend into his hair, as with feminine fascination she toyed with the wavy ends. “Being with you is not one of them.” Her voice was unnaturally husky. “I just regret how we met. I regret dragging you into this.” Her fingers spontaneously clenched. “I regret that we’re not done here.”

“We will finish this,” he said, reading into her meaning. “And I’m not talking about just making love to you.” He took the hand on his face and pressed it against his cheek. “Meg, we’re not done here. By a long shot.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt. God, I’m so scared for you.”

“You put me up in this house.” He tried to inject some levity. “We’re in this together. So, I want to propose something.”

Jake enjoyed the way Megan’s eyebrow cocked with curiosity and her eyes sharpened as if she were gauging the soundness of his mind.

“And what is that, Mr. Grogan?” she whispered.

“Let’s get out of here for a while. I think this house feeds on our apprehension. It nurtures it.”

Looking up at the high ceiling just now visible from the light outside, Megan wrapped her arms about her. Jake followed her glance and took in the peeling blue paint, flakes large enough to fall to the ground and pass as potato chips. The gold crown molding also peeled, but it lent some opulence to the architecture. It wasn’t a bad place to hole up during a storm. It had its charm and could be restored to its original luster. No matter what the Atlantic threw at this place, Wakefield House would survive and hold on to its secrets with tenacity as strong as its grip on the cliff itself.

But he wished that wasn’t the case. He wanted to know more of its secrets. What did Gabrielle think as she grew up in its darkened halls? Or were they once bright, flooded with sunlight, instead of the lockdown Megan had imposed on it.

Megan’s eyes returned to his.

“I made love to you in this house,” she said with a smile. “It’s not such a bad place to be.”

In the rearview mirror, the subject of Megan’s parting words looked like a battered sentry, scarred by the enemies it encountered along the way. A roof bereft of many wooden shakes gave the appearance of hair loss, while atop the circular turret, a tarnished eagle weathervane dipped down, burdened by the wind and a rusty foundation.

Still and all, Wakefield House dominated the cliffs with a regal spirit, touting its superior attitude as if it were still majestic, coated in glossy white paint and navy wooden shutters. She knew that if the drapes were open in all the windows, the sun coming off the Atlantic would pierce through the house as if nature had staged its own laser display.

Megan took her eyes off the reflection and inched down in the passenger seat.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

The taunt nearly goaded a smile, but she kept her head low and pulled sunglasses up onto the bridge of her nose.

“Old habits die hard,” she mumbled.

Jake took his hand from the steering wheel, intending to touch her, but the Jeep bucked like an ambushed mustang and he had to rein it in.

“Anyway.” She glanced at Jake’s profile.

His dark hair was ruffled endearingly by determined cowlicks, and his face was shadowed by razor neglect below his cheekbone. Jake’s intensity made him more attractive, as if everything he had to offer in the world was exposed on his sleeve for all to see. He was all man.

“Anyway,” she repeated after clearing her throat, “in the past year I can probably count on one hand how many times I’ve been out of that house. Now, just this week, I’ve been out twice. Don’t underestimate your effect on me.”

When they reached the last stretch of frozen turf before the trail dipped down to the main road, he turned to look at her. In his eyes she could see reflected the golden hue of frozen grass and gray clouds.

“Don’t underestimate yourself. We both know damn well if you didn’t want to leave, we wouldn’t be here.”

That was true, but when the Jeep pulled onto Victory Cove’s main road, the impulse to scurry back up the hill was nearly debilitating. Jake saw it and reached for her hand to squeeze it.

“So, where are we going anyway?” Megan watched them pull up to the intersection that would ultimately lead to O’Flanagan’s, but Jake kept going straight into town.

“I want to pay someone a visit—” he tipped his wrist to look at his watch, “—and I have to call my sister from someplace where I can get a signal.”

“You’re going to see Estelle?”

There was a slight flinch in Jake’s shoulder. “No, but I will soon.”

“Then who? Harriet? Cooper?”

Jake slowed the Jeep down as they passed through the heart of Victory Cove. Under the overcast sky, the horseshoe inlet was blanketed with fog, and out beyond the stone jetty, the Atlantic faded into obscurity behind black storm clouds. Piles of lobster creels were stacked at the end of the stone wall and a splash of color came from the multicolored lobster buoys dangling from that manmade pod tower. The faded strip of shops awaited the magic of photosynthesis to come alive again, but a puff of smoke spiraled above the diner, a gasp of warmth in a wintry but charismatic environment.

Only a mile or two past town, Jake flipped on the blinker, which was a ludicrous precaution when no one was coming in either direction.

“Where are we going?” Megan repeated, hating that her voice cracked.

The Jeep turned off the main road and rolled and heaved over a rutted driveway as the fine mist of the sea speckled the windows.

Jake flipped on the wipers. “Cooper gave me directions. I need to speak to this guy, John Morse.”

John Morse? John Morse?
The name rolled in her head until she jolted.
The guy from O’Flanagan’s who scared the hell out of me the other night?

“Why?” Her voice cracked again.

Through the condensation on the windshield, Megan could just make out a small shack in the distance. It sat on the threshold of land and sea, a crag shaped like a fist that dared the Atlantic to mess with it. Before she could get a better look, Jake stopped the Jeep and shut off the engine, letting the sea mist cosset them.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” His tone was grave. The grip he had on the steering wheel was painful to watch.

Oh God
.
Here it comes.
He was about to tell her that he wanted nothing to do with her messed-up world. He had no need to be involved with a murderer and his psycho prey.

What made the situation so impossible was that she looked at Jake now, the dark concentration that tugged at her breath, the sheer intimacy she felt in his company, and knew that she had fallen in love with the man who was about to leave.

“I found out the truth about my parents.”

Oh.
“You found out…” she began breathlessly, “…
what
did you find?”

Concern for the man at her side surged through her. She was sickened by the fact that it had taken till this moment for Jake to share his news, having been consumed by her outrageous plight.

It was all so apparent now. A muscle pumped in Jake’s jaw, and the hands that gripped the steering wheel were so taut she thought he would wrench the shaft out of the vehicle.

How could she have not spotted it before? Was their relationship so budding that she didn’t detect the fine lines of worry? Was she so selfish, so consumed with her fears that she neglected the newfound pain in Jake’s eyes?

“Jake.” Megan touched him. Her fingers wrapped around his arm, but the muscle flexed beneath her touch, creating a circumference she could not close around. “Honey, tell me.”

Where the endearment slipped from, she’d never know. Only Margaret had relationships with men, and never once had she used the term
honey.
But the depth of her feelings for Jake manifested at unusual moments—in foreign ways.

If Jake heard the slip, he didn’t acknowledge it. His gaze was fixed on the rivulets of water that trickled down the windshield. In a painfully sluggish move, he abandoned his grip on the wheel, which also drew him from her touch.

“Crow Musgrave was my father and Gabrielle was my mother.”

That declaration came as no shock to Megan. In the material and references they had come across in the past few days, the revelation seemed logical. But to be offered an identity at this stage in life had to be overwhelming—far more traumatic than
dismissing
an identity.

“But Jake…” She touched his thigh. She wanted him to feel connected with her.

“Everything we read, everything we heard at O’Flanagan’s—he sounds like a wonderful man.”

Crisp golden eyes pinned her, and under the scrutiny she swore she heard the wind kick up. It grabbed a hold of the Jeep and began a gentle tug in an effort to pull it out to sea.

“Meg.” Pain laced his voice. “I’m half Native American.”

In those golden swirls she saw angst and uncertainty, fear of the unknown, fear of some form of rejection he had yet to even comprehend.

“Oh, Jake,” she whispered.

Megan looked at the naturally bronzed skin, the shiny dark hair and enigmatic eyes. There was an identity to attribute his sinfully good looks to.

“I’m not going to sit here and try to imagine how you must feel—how shocked you must be—maybe even slightly betrayed for having this kept from you all your life. But…” she smiled at him now, a soft smile filled with everything in her heart, “…you are a beautiful man. You are a caring man. You have qualities that you should be damn proud of. Are you honestly worried about the color of your skin, or is it something deeper than that?”

Jake’s head was tipped toward the driver’s side window, but she could tell he listened to her intently. Tension made his jaw clench as he reached up to massage the back of his neck and dropped his hand back down on the steering wheel with a dull thud.

“Because I’ve got to tell you,” Megan persisted, “I’m half-Polish, and I’m immune to the jokes by now, but you can go ahead and take your best shot.”