Mackenzie's Pleasure (27 page)

Loren have three," Zane murmured, gently thrusting. "Junior will be the eleventh grandchild."

Barrie sank against him, her attention splintered by the pleasure building with each

movement of his hips. "Don't talk," she said, and heard his quiet laughter as he rolled over

and placed her beneath him...just where she wanted to be.

Barrie awoke to nausea, sharp and urgent. She bolted out of bed and into the

bathroom, barely reaching it in time. When the bout of vomiting was over, she sank weakly

to the floor and closed her eyes, unable to work up enough energy to care that she was curled

naked on the floor of a hotel bathroom, or that her husband of less than twelve hours was

witness to it all. She heard Zane running water; then a wonderfully cool, wet washcloth was

placed on her heated forehead. He flushed the toilet, something she hadn't been able to manage,

and said, "I'll be right back."

As usual, she rapidly began to feel better after she had thrown up. Embarrassed, she

got up and washed out her mouth and was standing in front of the mirror surveying her

tousled appearance with some astonishment when Zane appeared with a familiar green can

in his hand.

He had already popped the top. She snatched the can from him and began greedily

drinking, tilting the can up like some college freshman guzzling beer. When it was empty,

she sighed with repletion and slammed the can down on the countertop as if it was indeed an

empty soldier of spirits. Then she looked at Zane, and her eyes widened.

"I hope you didn't go out to the drink machine like that," she said faintly. He was still

naked. Wonderfully, impressively naked. And very aroused.

He looked amused. "I got it out of the minibar in the parlor." He glanced down at

himself, and the amusement deepened. "There's another can. Want to go for it?"

Barrie drew herself up and folded a bold hand around his thrusting sex. "I'm not the

kind of woman who loses her inhibitions after a couple of Seven-Ups," she informed him

with careful dignity. She paused, then winked at him. "One will do."

Somehow she had expected they would make it back to the bed. They didn't. His hunger

was particularly strong in the mornings, and after a tempestuous few moments she found

herself on her knees, half bent over the edge of the bathtub while he crouched behind her.

Their love-making was raw and fast and powerful, and left her once again lying weakly on

the floor. She found some satisfaction in the fact that he was sprawled beside her, his long

legs stretched under the vanity top.

After a long time he said lazily, "I'd thought I could wait until we were in the shower. I

underestimated the effect of a soft drink on you, sweetheart... and what watching you drink it

does to me."

"I think we're on to something," she reflected, curling nakedly against him and ignoring

the chill of the floor. "We need to buy stock in the company."

"Good idea." He turned his head and began kissing her, and for a moment she

wondered if the bathroom floor was going to get another workout. But he released her and

rose lithely to his feet, then helped her up. "Do you want to have room service, or go down

to a restaurant for breakfast?"

"Room service." She was already hungry, and with room service their breakfast should

be there by the time she showered and dressed. She gave Zane her order, then, while he called it

in, she selected the clothes she wanted. The silk dress was badly wrinkled, so she carried it into the

bathroom with her to let the steam from her shower repair the damage.

She took her time in the shower, but even so, some wrinkles remained in the dress by the

time she finished. She left the water running and turned it on hot to increase the amount of

steam. On a hook behind the door hung a thick terry-cloth bathrobe with the hotel's logo

stitched on the breast pocket. She pulled it on and belted it around her, smiling at the weight

and size of the garment, and went out to see how long it would be before their breakfast arrived.

Zane wasn't in the bedroom; she could hear him talking in the parlor, and wondered if

room service had been unusually quick. But she heard only his voice as she walked to the open

door.

He was on the phone, half-turned away from her as he sat on the arm of the couch. She

had the impression that he was listening to the shower running even as he carried on his

conversation.

"Keep the tail on her father, as well as on
his
tail," he was saying. "I want to catch them

all at one time, so I don't have to worry about any loose ends. When the dust settles, Justice and

State can sort it out between them."

Barrie gasped, all the color washing out of her face. Zane's head jerked around, and he

stared at her, the blue mostly gone from his eyes, leaving them as sharp and gray as frost.

"Yeah," he said into the receiver, his gaze never wavering from hers. "Everything's

under control here. Keep the pressure on." He hung up and turned fully to face her.

He hadn't showered yet, she noticed dully. His hair wasn't wet; there was no betraying

dampness to his skin. He must have gotten on the phone as soon as she had begun her shower,

setting in motion the betrayal that could send her father to jail.

"What have you done?" she whispered, barely holding herself together against the pain

that racked her. "Zane,
what have you done?"

Coolly he stood and came toward her. Barrie backed up, clutching the lapels of the

thick robe as if it could protect her.

He flicked a curious glance toward the bathroom, where billows of steam were

escaping from the half-open door. "Why is the shower still running?"

"I'm steaming the wrinkles out of my dress," she answered automatically.

His eyebrows lifted wryly. Though she didn't find the pun amusing, she had the

thought that this was evidently a wrinkle he hadn't anticipated.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked, her voice stiff with hurt and betrayal and the

strain of holding it all under control.

"My brother Chance."

"What does he have to do with my father?"

Zane watched her steadily. "Chance does intelligence work for a government agency;

not the FBI or CIA."

Barrie swallowed against the constriction in her throat. Maybe Zane hadn't betrayed

her father; maybe he'd already been under surveillance. "How long has he been following

my father?"

"Chance is directing the tails, not doing them himself," Zane corrected.

"How long?"

"Since last night. I called him while you were showering then, too."

At least he didn't try to lie or evade. "How could you?" she whispered, her eyes wide

and stark.

"Very easily," he replied, his voice sharp. "I'm an officer of the law. Before that, I was an

officer in the Navy, in service to this country. Did you think I would ignore a traitor, even if

it's your father? You asked me to protect you and our baby, and that's exactly what I'm doing.

When you clean out a nest of snakes, you don't pick out a few of them to kill and leave the

others. You wipe them out."

The edges of her vision blurred, and she felt herself sway. Oh, God, how could she ever

forgive him if her father went to prison? How could she ever forgive herself? She was the

cause of this. She had known the kind of man Zane was, but she had allowed herself to ignore

it because she'd wanted him so desperately. Of course he'd turned her father in; if she'd been

thinking clearly, instead of with her emotions, her hormones, she would have known exactly what

he would do, what he had done. It didn't take a genius to predict the actions of a man who had

spent his life upholding the laws of his country, and only a fool would ignore the obvious

conclusion.

She hadn't even thought about it, so she guessed that made her the biggest fool alive.

She heard him say her name, his tone insistent, and then her vision was blocked by his

big body as he gripped her arms.

Desperately she hung on to consciousness, gulping in air and refusing to let herself faint.

"Let go of me," she protested, and was shocked at how far away her voice sounded.

"Like hell I will." Instead he swung her off her feet and carried her to the bed, then bent

to place her on the tumbled sheets.

As he had the night before, he sat beside her. Now that she was lying down, her head

cleared rapidly. He was leaning over her, one arm braced on the other side of her hip,

enclosing her in the iron circle of his embrace. His gaze never left her face.

Barrie wished she could find refuge in anger, but there was none. She understood

Zane's motives, and his actions. All she could feel was a huge whirlpool of pain, sucking her

down. Her father! As much as she loved Zane, she didn't know if she could bear it if he caused

her father to be arrested. This wasn't anything like theft or drunken driving. Treason was

heinous, unthinkable. No matter what conclusion her logic drew, she simply couldn't see her

father doing anything like that, unless he was somehow being forced to do it. She knew
she
wasn't

the weapon being used against him, although she had been drawn into it, probably when he had

balked at something. No, she and Zane had both realized immediately that if she was being

threatened and her father had nothing to hide, he would have had her whisked away by the FBI

before she knew what was happening.

"Please," she begged, clutching his arm. "Can't you warn him somehow, get him out of

it? I know you didn't like him, but you don't know him the way I do. He's always done what

he thought was best for me. He was always there when I needed him, and b-before I left he gave

me his blessing." Her voice broke on a sob, and she quickly controlled it. "I know he's a

snob, but he isn't a bad person! If he's gotten involved in something he shouldn't, it was by

accident, and now he doesn't know how to get out without endangering me! That
has
to be it.

Zane, please!"

He caught her hand, folding it warmly within his. "I can't do that," he said quietly. "If

he hasn't done anything wrong, he'll be all right. If he's a traitor—" He shrugged, indicating

the lack of options. He wouldn't lift a finger to help a traitor, period. "I didn't want you to

know anything about it because I didn't want you to be upset any more than necessary. I knew

I wouldn't be able to protect you from worry if he's arrested, but I didn't want you to find out

about it beforehand. You've had enough to deal with these past couple of months. My first

priority is keeping you and the baby safe, and I'll do that, Barrie, no matter what."

She stared at him through tear-blurred eyes, knowing she had collided with the steel

wall of his convictions. Honor wasn't just a concept to him, but a way of life. Still, there was

one way she might reach him. "What if it was your father?" she asked.

A brief spasm touched his face, telling her that she'd struck a nerve. "I don't know," he

admitted. "I hope I'd be able to do what's right... but I don't know."

There was nothing more she could say.

The only thing she could do was warn her father herself.

She moved away from him, sliding off the bed. He lifted his arm and let her go, though

he watched her closely, as if waiting for her to faint or throw up or slap him in the face.

Considering her pregnancy and her state of mind, she realized, all three were possible, if

she relaxed her control just a fraction. But she wasn't going to do any of them, because she

couldn't afford to waste the time.

She hugged the oversize robe about her, as she had once hugged his shirt. "What exactly is

your brother doing?" She needed as much information as possible if she was going to help

her father. Maybe it was wrong, but she would worry about that, and face the consequences,

later. She knew she was operating on love and blind trust, but that was all she had to go on.

When she thought of her father as the man she knew him to be, she knew she had to trust

both that knowledge and his honor. Despite their enormous differences, in that respect he

was very like Zane, the man he'd scorned as a son-in-law: honor was a part of his code, his

life, his very being.

Zane stood. "You don't need to know, exactly."

For the first time she felt the flush of anger redden her cheeks. "Don't throw my words

back at me," she snapped. "You can say no without being sarcastic."

He studied her, then gave a curt nod. "You're right. I'm sorry."

She stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door. The small room was hot and

damp with steam, the air thick with it. Barrie turned off the shower and turned on the exhaust

fan. There wasn't a wrinkle left in the silk dress. Hurriedly she shed the robe and pulled on the

underwear she'd carried into the bathroom, then pulled the dress on over her head. The silk stuck

to her damp skin; she had to jerk the fabric to get it into place. The need to hurry beat through

her like wings. How much time did she have before room service arrived with their breakfast?

The mirror was fogged over. She grabbed a towel and rubbed a clear spot on the glass,