The Arrangement Page 24

  “What are you doing?” he asked. His jugular began to pulse. Never a good sign.

  She walked over to him, her hand extended, the delicate gold chain dripping from her fingers. “I want you to take this with you, just in case.”

  “Your good luck charm? I can’t do that. It’s from your grandmother.”

  “Take it, wear it. I want you to. Dammit.”

  She had that fierce, show-no-mercy expression on her face, but he was beginning to see it as a front for deeper emotions, in this case fear and frustration, even anguish. She really didn’t want him to go, and she was struggling with her feelings.

  He took the chain. “Thank you,” he said, not sure what else to do. “I’ll keep it close. I promise.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, her voice going hoarse.

  Please, God, don’t let her cry. I don’t do well when this woman cries.

  He watched her closely, praying that she would win her fight against the tears. He really didn’t understand what had provoked her to give him the charm. He knew what it meant to her, beyond the connection to her grandmother. It had saved her life.

  She sucked in a breath, apparently shoring herself up.

  Grateful, he moved to drop the chain in the pocket of his robe, but her hand flashed out and caught his, as if he’d been about to slap a child.

  Her expression was fierce again. “I want you to wear it,” she said. “The chain is long enough. No one will see it under your clothes. Here.”

  She took it from him and turned him around. She had him so off guard he didn’t think to protest. It was as if a form of paralysis had come over him. He was a Ken doll, unable to move until she lifted his arm. Bizarre. He felt her doing things to his neck, breathing on him and feathering his skin as she stood on tiptoe and craned around his shoulder, trying to see the chain she was arranging.

  Her fingers were warm and silky, and her breath trembled a little as it lapped against his hair and face. She smelled of lilies and tangy feminine perspiration. He was nervous, too.

  “There,” she said, her voice low and oddly breathy. “Now maybe I can relax.”

  Yes, but could he? When he turned around, she averted her eyes. He tipped her head up to thank her again, and saw the roiling mix of emotion that shadowed her eyes. What in God’s name? Pain, fear, desire. They were burning her up. It confounded him.

  “I can’t let you go,” she said. “I’m scared.”

  His body was in knots. “Jesus, Marnie.”

  22

  It had already gone too far. Marnie wanted to take back what she’d said and tell him to go on his trip. She would help him pack. He would be back before anyone missed him, and everything would be fine. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Stay with me.”

  She couldn’t stop the shudder that unlocked her frozen jaw or the fire that stung her throat like nettles. She was going to cry.

  “Don’t go,” she got out.

  He stood back to peer at her. What was going on? That was the question in his eyes. He didn’t seem to know who this poor, pathetic woman was any more than she did. But as he stared at her, his jaw tightened into a knot and his face formed a scowl.

  And then a miracle happened. He was the one who lost control. Not tears, nothing like that, but just for an instant, he gripped her arms hard enough to take her breath away. “Andrew?” She hadn’t imagined the hesitation in his breathing or the painful twitch in his cheek muscle.

  “Shut up.” He yanked her into his arms with such force she couldn’t speak. “I have to go, but you’ll be fine. I have you covered. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  Something in his voice told her that he meant every word, but only the first part registered. He would not change his mind about going. There was nothing she could do.

  She sagged against him. “Okay then, whatever.”

  “I’ll be all right,” he whispered. “I’m coming back for you.”

  He took her by her shoulders and held her away. “It’s true,” he said, as if that statement was a revelation, even to him.

  Marnie crawled back to him. The entire length of his arms she crawled, clutching and sighing, into the heat of his embrace. His robe had come undone and she stole her way inside it, coming flush against him, grinding her hips into his, aching, reveling.

  “Ah, God,” she whispered.

  She just couldn’t help herself.

  He groaned, and it was the most erotic thing she’d ever heard. She felt him hardening against her belly, and the pressure sent an urgent thrill through her.

  She was so afraid of this man, and so crazy hungry for him. And was that any surprise? All her life she had dreamed of being with him, and now that she had been, he was leaving her, and she didn’t know where the hell he was going—or why.

  “Whatever we’re doing, we need to stop.” Andrew’s warning turned into a growl.

  “Yes, but not tonight. You’re leaving and there are no guarantees, Andrew. I need this.”

  She shrugged out of her jacket, and before it hit the floor they were both at work, unbuttoning her slacks. His reaction was immediate. His cheek muscle wasn’t the only thing twitching now. He was aroused, but for a moment, the sight of him took her back. She’d rarely encountered a man in this state who hadn’t been calling her names and degrading her. It had almost always been that way. Men like Butch had lusted after her and hated themselves for it.

  This was different. He was different.

  His robe hit the ground, and he bent over her, hesitating long enough to draw up her camisole and release the front closure of her bra. Her breasts fell free, and he let out a sigh that was heavy with appreciation. There was none of the hesitation of their last encounter in the way he touched her. His hands thrilled her. They were tender and sweetly punishing. His lips and teeth were even better. His white-hot tugs on her nipples made her whimper with pleasure.

  “I need to make love to you,” he told her. “There are no guarantees, and I need that.”

  She dropped into the overstuffed chair and reached for him as he moved between her legs. The weight of his body sent voltage coursing through her. She couldn’t hold still. She couldn’t wait. It was insane, but she was already climaxing when he entered her. The pressure of his body moving inside hers created even deeper sensations. It was like a waterfall breaking the surface of a pond and driving all the way to the bottom before dissolving into ripples and bubbles.

  Suddenly everything tightened, and Marnie forgot to breathe. He scooped her into his arms and she fell against him, limp and shuddering, still spasming with pleasure. She couldn’t move to save her life. She wasn’t sure she ever would again.

  At some point later when the tremors had quieted, she hooked her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She wondered how long they had before he left. There would be no sleep tonight either, but that wasn’t a concern. She wanted to feel the heat and solidity of his body and whatever sense of comfort that could give her.

  Tomorrow it would all be different. He would be in another country, and she had a plan of her own, although it didn’t involve searching for her grandmother. She would let the expert do that, at least for now.

  Marnie sat up in bed, startled to see daylight beyond the glass balcony doors. She’d known Andrew would be gone before morning, but she’d thought he would wake her when he left. She slipped on his robe and made a quick search of the bedroom and bath. Apparently he’d had a bag packed. Otherwise, she would have heard him.

  She found the cell phone he’d mentioned on the night table, with a note explaining that it had a panic button for the detective, as well as international range and a number to reach Andrew in emergencies. That relieved her mind. She didn’t see her good luck charm anywhere, either. He hadn’t left it on the pillow, as she’d thought he might.

  She touched her throat, aware of the hollow sensation in her stomach. She’d worn the ring since she was a kid. There was no way not to feel naked without it.

&n
bsp; As she gathered the terry robe around her and tied the sash, she contemplated what her next move would be. It wasn’t quite seven, and the light filling the windows was hazy with coastal clouds. She doubted anyone was up yet. If she acted quickly, she might be able to accomplish her mission while the household was still sleeping.

  A moment later, she was downstairs and moving soundlessly through the house, stopping at every window to look out. The landscaping was extensive, despite the mansion being built on a cliff. Rock gardens alternated with terraced greenbelts, and every patio had potted palms, hanging ferns and bubbling fountains. She’d noticed that a small crew came occasionally to do the heavy work, and the rest of the time, one gardener maintained everything.

  She was looking for that man.

  When she’d covered the entire floor, she stood at the living room windows with a deep sense of disappointment. She’d been hoping to see the man Andrew had said would be here. Maybe it was too early, or the wrong day. She thought he’d said in the morning, but the grounds were deserted.

  She was turning away when she thought she saw a sudden movement. A shadow? Had it come from the terrace? It could have been anything, a bird in flight. She unbolted the French doors, glancing around before she slipped outside.

  It was getting late enough that someone might be awake. The tide was low, muting the sound of the surf, but Marnie thought she heard another noise, the scuff of shoes on stone.

  It sounded as if someone was walking on the terrace below, the one where she’d been standing when the planter fell. She went to the railing to look down, and heard the noise again, only now it was coming from behind her. Her pulse kicked up a notch.

  She went straight to the worst-case scenario, and her thoughts careened with indecision. She had no way to defend herself. If she went over the side, it was a twenty-foot drop to the slate tiles below. Turn and go for his eyes, then run.

  Adrenaline surged. She turned, checking herself only as she registered the asinine grin on his face. “Bret?”

  Alison’s brother swaggered toward her, eyeing her oversize robe. “If it isn’t Alisuck,” he said. “I see you still like to run around in your bathrobe.”

  “I thought I heard someone outside.”

  “So, you just had to dash out and investigate?”

  He moved closer, his grin curling into a sneer. He was wearing his usual beach gear—cargo shorts, a tank top and leather flip-flops.

  “I have to go.” Her voice dropped low, a snarl. He brought out the cornered animal in her. Maybe she ought to tell him what had happened to the last asshole who’d cornered her. “Get out of my way.”

  He didn’t, of course. He purposely blocked her when she tried to go around him. He hadn’t touched her yet, but he was daring her to make him do just that.

  “Remember what happened the last time you were with me in a bathrobe?” he asked her.

  From the way he looked at her, Marnie knew it was sexual, but she didn’t dare react. She had no way of knowing what might have happened between him and his sister.

  “I was going through a growth spurt,” he said. “And you threatened to tell Mom, but you never did. That was the last time you ever tortured your disgusting little brother, wasn’t it, Alisuck?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The last time you ever laughed at Bret for being a perv.”

  She caught a glimpse of the raw emotion burning in his eyes, and knew she had to get out of there. It wasn’t sex he wanted, it was revenge. He hated his sister. “Are you going to get out of my way?” she demanded.

  “What’s the rush? Where’s the hubby this morning, off sailing?”

  “He was called away on business.”

  “Really? Nice timing.”

  Bret reached for the sash of her robe and she slapped his hand away. The son of a bitch thought he was going to expose her? Like hell. She might have to go for his eyes, after all.

  “We’re playing hard to get?” He laughed and lunged at her.

  Marnie dodged him, letting out a shrill scream, but it wasn’t just Bret who’d startled her. A man had bounded onto the terrace. He wore rawhide gloves and was dressed like a gardener, but she’d never seen him before.

  “Was that you, ma’am?” The man hesitated, glaring suspiciously at Bret. “I heard someone scream.”

  Bret threw up a hand, exasperated. “Yeah, she screamed. You frightened her half to death. Who the hell are you?”

  Marnie rushed over to the man, who was well out of Bret’s reach. He could easily have been a gardener. Many of the local landscaping crews wore gloves and wrapped bandannas around their heads. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Diego Sanchez,” he said. “I work for Horton Landscaping. Is there anything else I can do? If not, I have some cleanup work on this terrace. The plants need to be pruned.”

  “Of course, clean up the terrace. I’ll get out of your way.” She glanced at Bret. “If you’ll excuse me, little brother. I’m going inside to put some clothes on.”

  A cold smile touched her mouth as she made her exit. If she was right, Sanchez didn’t work for any landscaping company. Andrew had come through with the detective he promised, which made her wish she could hole up and do what he’d asked—stay safe. But she needed to get dressed and go out, though she intended to be cautious in the extreme. Certain questions had been nagging at her for months, and she’d promised herself if she ever got back to Mirage Bay, she would deal with them. Now, with Andrew gone, might be her only opportunity.

  23

  By the time she got to the Mirage Bay Yacht Club, Marnie had decided she probably wasn’t being tailed. She hadn’t seen any cars behind her on the way here, and she’d taken some unexpected turns, just to be sure. She’d also been watchful since she arrived, and hadn’t spotted anyone lurking in corners.

  Still, even as she’d been driving, she’d had the feeling of being watched, and it had stayed with her as she let herself out of the BMW and walked to the gate that led to the docks. It had actually felt like eyes at her back, a cliché she’d never fully appreciated before. Maybe she was still reacting to the way Bret had sneaked up behind her.

  If someone had been tailing her, he was the most likely culprit. She’d left Sanchez cleaning up the terrace, so she doubted it was him, if he was the person Andrew had hired. And someone had nearly dropped a planter on her head, if that had been intentional. So many ifs. Too many. She’d come here precisely because too much was unanswered, and the question on her mind today was what had really happened on Andrew’s boat.

  She used his key card to open the gate and let herself in. He kept the card and the yacht keys in a leather case with his watches and cuff links. She’d been startled to find a purse-size pistol in the drawer of her nightstand, along with a note from Andrew telling her it was the gun she’d asked for. The note warned her to use it only as a last resort, and he’d included printed safety instructions and a small box of bullets. It must have been a last-minute decision on his part, because he hadn’t mentioned it to her when they’d talked last night.

  Marnie had no intention of using the gun. She’d been only half-serious when she’d asked for it.

  She was glad she’d worn deck shoes for traction as she picked her way down the ramp. It probably hadn’t occurred to Andrew that she might want to see the yacht where Alison had met her fate, whatever it was. But checking out the Bladerunner had been a goal of Marnie’s since she’d learned about the accident. She’d also become consumed with knowing who Alison really was. The woman whose identity she’d taken was the catalyst for almost everything that had happened in February, and when she’d disappeared the answers had disappeared with her.

  Marnie had never been on the Bladerunner, or any boat, but picked Andrew’s sloop out from the crowd before she got to the bottom of the ramp. Of course, it was the biggest sailing yacht in the club, and moored in the guest dock at the end of the pier, so wasn’t hard to spot. And Marnie had s
een the vessel before. It had been quite an event when Andrew launched the Bladerunner and took his wife out for their first sail in the bay.

  Marnie went straight to the bow, where Alison had gone overboard. She knew all the damage had been repaired, so there wouldn’t be any physical reminders of what had happened, but she wanted to see the exact spot. She wanted to feel the vibes and see if there was any way to connect with the events of six months ago—a stormy night when Alison had fallen from this boat and Marnie had plunged from a cliff. Had either of them been pushed? Both of them?

  She didn’t understand why the ocean had taken one of them and not the other, if that was what had happened. One of her grandmother’s favorite sayings came to mind as she stared down at the water. When you give things to the sea, be it trash, woe, prayers or wealth, the sea remembers.

  It had come from an old sea fable, and the words had long haunted Marnie. She’d thought of them as she stood on the cliffs that night, looking down at the boiling ocean. But now, she picked up nothing from the placid waters of the bay. No storms today. The weather was balmy and beautiful. Maybe if the Bladerunner had been moving, heading out to sea…

  She glanced at her watch, knowing she had to get on with her search. She went belowdecks next, where the only object of interest she found was a photo journal of Andrew’s various boating trips. The leather-bound album wasn’t lying out, but it wasn’t hidden, either. Marnie discovered it under a stack of coffee-table books as she was checking out the volumes in the yacht’s library.

  She leafed through pages of pictures, reading the detailed captions, notes and anecdotes. It was a labor of love for him, obviously, and apparently the trips were something he’d been documenting since he purchased his first sailboat at age nineteen. He’d been all over the world, to exotic locales like Fiji, Pago Pago and the Virgin Islands, and some of the more recent trips had been taken with Alison.

  It didn’t surprise Marnie that he hadn’t talked about his sailing adventures, considering how little they’d shared during their six months together. What did surprise her was the snapshot of Alison she found toward the back of the journal. It had been blown up to eight by ten, a shot of Alison standing on the bow, barefoot, in a sheer cover-up with a black bikini underneath.