Chasing a Dream Page 9

  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, de
spite 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.

  He’d earned her trust, groomed her to be his “wife,” and staked his claim as soon as she turned eighteen. In thirteen years, after he’d set her straight about who would be in charge, she’d never disappointed him. He’d never seen the need to make her position as his wife official. Until three days ago.

  She’d confronted him about Fannin with an impertinence that surprised him. He should have taken stronger action right then. He should have realized how knowledge of his side business would chafe Tess’s rigid sense of morality.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk and scowled. His silly, naive Tess, who returned change if a cashier overpaid her, had clearly been appalled at the idea that he controlled the fate of another man’s life. And death.

  Watching her face grow white as he described having her sister killed had been comical. The woman had been so clueless.

  Randall slid open the top drawer of the desk and removed the .357 Magnum stashed there for security purposes. With a flick, he opened the cylinder. He kept the revolver ready with one cartridge. His aim had been honed at the firing range, and he felt confident he could take out an intruder with one shot. The empty chambers ensured the revolver held no threat for him after being fired once, should his one shot fail to stop his opponent.

  Tonight, one cartridge didn’t give him peace of mind. Shuffling through the drawer, he wrapped his fingers around five more bullets and slid them in the waiting chambers. The cylinder made a satisfying click as he snapped it back in place. Now he was ready.

  Randall stroked the grip like a lover fondling his mate. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of his intuition, but something about Tess’s disappearance left him on edge. He didn’t intend to be caught unprepared.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tess backed away from Justin. She kept her eyes cast down, and her throat closed as tears swelled. She heard him rezip his jeans, and the rasping sound chafed her nerves. With a horrifying clarity, she saw her advances through Justin’s eyes. Revulsion twisted inside her. Sweet, honorable Justin. She’d used him to hurt Randall.

  Nausea, mortification and fear washed over her like a tidal wave, and a shudder shook her body.

  He panted, drawing in deep gulps of air, while she wished for the power to disappear, to dissolve into nothingness and not have to face his incrimination, his disgust.

  “Tess?” His voice held some of its normal calm but not nearly all of it. “What was that about?”

  Several seconds ticked by with only the lonely hum of the inefficient motel air conditioner filling the quiet.

  “I know it wasn’t about sex, and it wasn’t about you and me . . .” He paused. “Was it?” But his tone said he knew the answer. “You don’t have to prove anything, honey. Not to me. Not to him.”

  Honey. The endearment resounded like a bittersweet melody and left her with a hollow ache.

  He cupped her chin and tipped her face up. Still she dodged his gaze. She couldn’t bear to let him see the regret and humiliation in her eyes.

  “If it was for you, there are better ways. Talk to me, sweetheart. I want to help.”

  “It was nothing, Justin. Just go away. I’m sorry.” A shiver raced through her.

  “Tess.”

  She hated the sympathy lacing his voice. She didn’t deserve his sympathy, only his contempt. His hand stroked her hair with a tenderness she couldn’t comprehend.

  “Tess? I’m not saying no, but I only—”

  “Please,” she croaked, “just go.”

  Sighing heavily, he moved away. “All right. I can’t make you open up to me if you don’t want to.” He headed to the sink, where he splashed water on his face, and Tess curled into the fetal position on the bed.

  Whore! Randall’s voice screamed at her, and she tucked her knees tighter against her chest. Slut! Tears of shame rushed to her eyes, and she choked on a sob that wrenched from her throat.

  “Tess?”

  She heard the concern in Justin’s voice and regretted the guilt she knew he’d feel, the responsibility for her tears, though none of it belonged to him. Randall had done this to her. He’d robbed her of her dignity, turned her into a vengeful, hate-driven slut.

  A warm hand brushed her back. “Tess, honey, what’s wrong? Please tell me. I want to help, if I can.”

  “Randall was right,” she muttered through her tears. “I hated him for calling me a whore, but I just proved he was right. Despite everything I did to avoid becoming one, that’s what I am. Oh, God!”

  “Randall called you that?”

  “And I am, too. I just proved it. Only a hooker would do what I just did to you. I’m so sorry.”

  She buried her face in the musty bedspread and sobbed.

  The bed sank as Justin sat down beside her. “Come on, Tess. Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please.” He stroked her head and back, and his voice reflected his discomfort and uncertainty. “Tell me what he did to you, Tess. Tell me why you believe what just happened was so bad. What made you do it?”

  “Revenge,” Tess cried. “I hate him.�
��

  Justin deserved answers. After what she’d put him through, after all the patience and kind understanding he’d shown her, he deserved some answers. But talking about it hurt. Dredging up what she’d buried so deep frightened her.

  Yet like a lanced wound, the poison bubbled up and poured from her. “I hated what he made me do. But every time he wanted sex, any time he wanted it, I gave it to him. To keep the peace. Like the whore he said I was.” She trembled and felt him slide an arm under her to pull her up and into his embrace. He folded her in his arms, and she covered her face with her hands, mortified.

  “I was afraid to say no to him. So I always . . . I sold my soul to him . . . because I needed . . . because I—”

  “Ssh. Easy. You’re okay now. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Justin’s hold on her tightened. “Don’t cry, Tess. Please. If I were a gentleman, I would have stopped you sooner. Hell, I knew something didn’t add up, but I didn’t stop you sooner. I wanted to believe it meant more than . . . revenge.”

  She peeked up at him timidly, bewildered by what Justin was telling her. “You did?”

  He nodded.

  Drawing a shaky breath, she opened her mouth to speak, but Justin placed his finger across her lips.

  “You are not a whore for having sex with your husband, no matter how badly he treated you or how selfish he was about taking it from you.” He leaned her back and nailed her with a hard gaze. A fierce conviction burned in his eyes. “And you are not a whore for what just happened between us. Do you hear me? I didn’t pay you anything, nor will I. A woman isn’t a whore because she kisses a man she cares about. You hear me, Tess?”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Call what you just did foreplay. Call it a mistake if you must, but do not call yourself a whore. Your husband was wrong, Tess. Wrong to hurt you, wrong to make you think so little of yourself, wrong to make sex something other than beautiful for you.” Justin sighed with frustration. “Please, Tess. Please believe that much is true.”