ANGEL MEETS THE BADMAN Page 11

  One side of his mouth quirked upward. "Well, I was enjoying the way you were tearing my clothes off. And, uh, your own outfit kind of … distracted me.

  She looked down at herself, saw the black negligee she had put on last night. God, it seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  "Not to mention that I was thrown for a loop by all those tears and tender words, Sara. So if it took me a minute to get around to telling you that I hadn't been seriously injured while wrestling a monster gator to save your life, then I suppose I should apologize."

  Lifting her head slowly, she swallowed her pride. "Thank you for saving my life, Jake."

  His smile came more fully. "So admit it. You put that little number on for me. Didn't you?"

  Her brows slammed down, and she glared at him. "You rotten, self-centered, egotistical—"

  "Shut up, Sara." He gripped her around the waist and, smiling at her, pulled her up against him. His arms were like wet manacles around her waist, and his chest pressed so hard to hers she could feel its heat burning her. And then he kissed her, and his mouth was hot, and wet, and he tasted vaguely of bayou water—and somehow it wasn't a bad thing. It was wild, and dangerous, and beckoning her to venture deeper.

  She opened her own mouth, because she couldn't do otherwise, and he put his tongue inside, exactly the way she wanted him to. And he moved his hips against her, exactly the way she wanted him to. In fact, kneeling there with him in the swamp grass was so close to the way she'd dreamed it would be that she almost let herself believe it was a dream. A perfect, beautiful dream.

  But it wasn't a dream. It was real. He was real. And she was falling in love with him.

  She clung to his neck, nibbled at his jaw. "What are we doing, Jake?"

  "What we both want to," he whispered, and his voice was raspy and deep.

  She leaned lower, kissed his neck, tasted his skin.

  His hands went to the straps of the small black nighty. "I like this," he said. "You did put it on for me, didn't you, Sara? Hmm? Admit it, why don't you?" He lowered his head, nuzzling her breasts with his mouth right through the fabric. When he caught one taut peak in his teeth, tugging playfully, nipping just a little, she shivered all over. "Admit it?" he asked again.

  "I admit it. I wore it for you. And I almost lit the lamp."

  "I wish you had…"

  "I know."

  He pushed the nighty down, baring her to the waist, and then he proceeded to suck at each of her breasts in turn. Sara burned inside. She wanted him so much. He pressed her down onto her back on the shore, and his mouth moved from her nipples to her navel, as his hands pushed the nighty down her legs. Then he pressed his face between her legs, and his tongue flicked out, and she screamed in glorious anguish.

  "Loosen up, shy little Sara. Open for me."

  "B-but…"

  "Shhhh." He pressed his hands to her inner thighs, parting them until she felt more exposed and vulnerable than she'd ever imagined. And then he worshiped her with his mouth, devouring her, using his tongue and teeth on her until she was writhing on the brink of something she'd never known. Then he pushed her right over.

  Sara climaxed for the first time in her life, on the ground, in a place called Gator's Bayou. And a few seconds later, still shuddering, Jake slid up over her body and pressed himself inside her. Still shivering with aftershocks, the brief stab of pain was only a momentary distraction, and then he was filling her, stretching her, moving inside her. He kissed her and muttered her name as he made love to her slowly and tenderly. And only when she once again reached the shattering precipice did he let himself join her there.

  He went stiff, holding her tight to him as he thrust himself in deep, and he whispered her name when he found his release. Then, holding her close, he relaxed.

  Sara sighed in contentment when Jake moved so he was beside her instead of on top of her and snuggled up close in his arms. She closed her eyes, sighed softly. "Ahh, Jake. It was wonderful."

  "It was long overdue," he muttered. Then he nibbled on her ear, which tickled, and she squirmed. "I've been wanting you since I laid eyes on you."

  She snuggled closer. "Me too," she admitted. "But it was better that we waited, don't you think? It wouldn't have meant anything then."

  She felt him stiffen a bit. "What do you mean 'meant anything'?"

  Rolling onto her back, she looked at him. He'd risen up on one elbow now and was staring down into her face. "Well, just that … that this meant something to me, Jake. You do realize that, don't you? It meant something to me because you mean something to me."

  He sat back a little, blinking down at her. "You're crazy."

  She stared at him, rapidly feeling the warm glow of contentment and sated desire fade into the dark, overcast pall of disappointment. "You can't deal with that, can you?"

  He stared at her for a long moment. "I can't mean something to you, Sara. You're dreaming. You … you … were a virgin. You obviously just experienced something you haven't felt before. And you're confused about what it means."

  "Oh." She let her arms fall from around his neck, where they had been so wonderfully locked. She lowered her head backward to thump the ground. "Well, thanks for clearing that up. I'd hate to go through life not knowing my own feelings."

  "Now you're being sarcastic. Sara, can't we just enjoy this for what it was and never mind what it … meant or didn't mean?"

  "No, no, I don't think we can. But I really do owe you one, for explaining my own mind—my own heart—to me. But, um…" She got to her feet, pushed him aside to do so, brushed the twigs and grass from her bare legs, snatched up her dripping wet negligee and stepped into it. "But it must be a real downer from where you stand to know that I'm only imagining things. Considering your own feelings for me, I mean." She finished putting the nightie on.

  Jake had gotten up, too, and had been in the process of hunting for his lost, ruined shirt, but he spun to face her when she said those words. "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "Well, it's pretty obvious, Jake." She walked past him, heading for the house again. "You just wrestled an alligator for me."

  Halfway up the steps she glanced back over her shoulder to see Jake with his head in his hands. She almost felt sorry for the big fool.

  Almost.

  She was smiling smugly, reaching for the door, when he called, "You're dead wrong, pretty thing. I used to wrestle gators for fun."

  "Small ones," she quoted to him.

  "Yeah, well, I was smaller then. I'm bigger now, so…

  "So you pick on bigger gators. And even they don't scare you as much as I do."

  He sighed, shook his head, rolled his eyes. "This doesn't even bear discussing." Then he changed the subject. Typical. "Listen, there are … some dry clothes for you in that sack I brought along," he said, when she pushed open the creaking screen door.

  Blinking, she looked back at him. "And it took you this long to tell me? I've been running around in that heavy robe all day long!"

  He shrugged, sent her a grin, taking his turn at smugness, she thought. "I figured if it got hot enough, you would eventually have to take the robe off and give me a better look at that nightie you put on for me last night."

  She made a face. "I did not put it on for you!"

  "That's not what you said a few minutes ago."

  "I was lying. I didn't want to … to spoil the mood."

  "Right. And you said you thought you could tell me anything." He shook his head as if in exasperation. "You see what I mean? It's desire, Sara. It's not hearts and flowers between us. It's heat and hormones. Nothing more complicated than that."

  She still had the screen door in her hand, but she didn't go inside. Instead, she slammed the door shut so hard the windows rattled and stomped right back down the steps. When she reached him, she locked her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  "I think I could love you, Jake Nash. Now you have to decide if you're gonna just shut up and let me, or miss out on
the best thing that ever happened to you." She turned to go, then turned back again. "And by the way, if you think I'm going to let you dump me off with my family in Texas, you're dead wrong."

  She slammed into the house.

  Jake raced up the steps and went in after her. "What do mean, I'm dead wrong?"

  "Just what I said. I don't care what you decide to do, because I know what I'm going to do. I'm going back to the plantation, and I'm going to see to it that Vivienne's killer is caught, tried and convicted."

  "You're what?"

  "You heard me." She crossed to the sack on the floor beside the sofa, leaving little wet puddles on the floor all the way. Kneeling, she started pulling out the contents. "I have to," she went on, locating a pair of her own jeans and a smallish T-shirt. "It's my duty."

  "As what? An upstanding citizen?" His tone was mocking.

  "As a human being," she snapped. Then she dug some more. "You obviously went to my bungalow to get my things, Jake. Didn't you bring me any underwear? A bra? Anything like that?"

  "Let me think," he said slowly. "No."

  She turned to glare at him. At that moment something soft and furry scurried out of the bag and up her arm. With a screech, she flung the thing across the room and leaped. Somehow or other she landed in Jake's arms.

  The squirrel gave his little head a shake and scampered away, no worse for the fright. Lowering her head, Sara went to pull away. Jake was laughing, and she was mortified. How was she supposed to succeed in coming off all tough and confident when she put on displays like this?

  "Put me down," she said.

  "Stay," he whispered. He stopped laughing, pulled her closer, nestled her head on his shoulder and buried his fingers in her hair. "I like you right here, Sara Brand. More than is probably sane or healthy or even remotely logical. But I do."

  She closed her eyes and relaxed against him. "Please don't keep running away, Jake. We can get to the truth, I know it."

  "Sara…" He looked down at her, and she tipped her head up to stare into his eyes. They looked so trapped, so panicked. "Dammit, I don't want to go back to prison."

  It touched her, that admission. It touched her right to the soul. "Then we'll stay in hiding," she said quickly. "But we'll get some help. Let me get a message to my family, Jake. Let me get them involved. They'll get at the truth, I swear they will."

  Jake lowered his head, sighing deeply.

  "Jake, I wouldn't risk losing you now."

  And when his head came up again, his eyes were even wider than they had been before. "Sara—"

  "I know, I know, I don't have you, so I can't lose you. That's what you're going to say. It's bull. I know you think you believe that, but it's bull, Jake Nash."

  Shaking his head, he let go of her, lowering her bare feet to the floor and turning away to push a hand through his hair.

  "What would your mother tell you to do right now?" Sara asked, knowing she was hitting below the belt.

  Jake went stock-still. Just as if she had shot him between the eyes. Bull's-eye, she thought. It was a cheap tactic; it was unfair; it was playing on his emotions, but to hell with that. It worked. That was all that mattered. Because if he ran, his life would be ruined. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name.

  Without turning around, he said, "We stay in hiding. But … okay. I'll let you call your family. Just to tell them you're okay. Nothing more. You understand?"

  Sara nodded.

  "It will have to be from a pay phone. And we'll have to move fast once we hang up, because they'll probably have your family's phones tapped by now, and they'll be able to track us down in a hurry."

  "Oh, we won't have to call them at the family's numbers."

  "No?" Jake turned slowly.

  "Nah. I imagine it's hit the news by now that a man wanted for murder has abducted me and vanished. Shoot, Jake, by now every Brand in Texas has more than likely hit Louisiana with a vengeance."

  Jake's eyes closed slowly. "Oh. Good."

  She tilted her head to one side. "Try not to sound so enthusiastic, will you?"

  He gave his head a shake. "How do you suppose we can go about finding them?"

  She shrugged. "I have a few ideas. But we probably ought to get going on this, Jake. So I can get word to them before they find us. That, um … might not be pretty."

  Jake eyed her. She just smiled her most reassuring smile at him. "It's going to be all right, Jake. I just know it is."

  "You've got to get those rose-colored glasses of yours adjusted, hon." He reached out, ran one hand through her hair. "Prepare yourself, Sara. I mean it. Things don't always work out the way you want them to. You've got to be ready for that, because it's a real possibility. The most likely one, as a matter of fact."

  "Ah, Jake," Sara whispered. "You wait. You'll see. You will, I promise. Your life can be everything you ever wanted it to be, because you're so much more than you give yourself credit for being."

  He frowned at her. "That's the second time you've said something like that to me," he told her.

  "Because it's true," she replied.

  Licking his lips, Jake shook his head. "Must be a woman thing. My mamma was forever telling me the same damn thing." Then he sighed. "I hope the hell you come out of this better than she did, Sara."

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  He must be out of his freaking mind to be doing this. But he was doing it all the same. And he was damned if he knew why.

  Instead of being halfway to Mexico—as any sane ex-con-wanted-on-a-murder-charge would surely be by now—Jake was bringing the oldest cliché in the book to life.

  He had returned to the scene of the crime.

  He crouched at the edge of the bayou just beyond the main house's sprawling lawns, peering out at the most activity Sugar Keep had probably seen since the Civil War.

  Cops. Of course there were cops. Cops everywhere. Every light in the house was on, and the driveway was busier than a four-lane. Cars coming, cars going, cars shutting off or starting up. Doors opening and closing as countless people came and went.

  Most of them were cops.

  And the rest, he suspected, were Brands.

  A few seemed to be both.

  Sara clutched his arm. "That's Garrett's pickup," she said, nodding through the darkness toward the hulking thing, as two men, both befitting the truck's size, stood next to it, talking animatedly to a bunch of others. "We need to get closer, Jake."

  Sure. That was just what he wanted. To get closer. "Which one's Garrett?" he asked, squinting in the darkness.

  "The big one," she said.

  He rolled his eyes, because that description could have fit several of the contenders. "The one with the blond ponytail?"

  "No, that's Ben. I meant the other big one."

  Okay, he saw Garrett now. A sheriff, according to Sara. And he had come to Sara's rescue, complete with the shiny star pinned to his chest. It caught the light of another approaching vehicle and winked mockingly at Jake. That same light fell on the other men who stood around, and Jake tried to take their measure even as Sara led him through the brush, closer than before.

  "The dark one," Sara said, pointing. "That's Wes."

  "You mean the one who looks mad enough to throttle a nun?"

  She grinned. "He's hot tempered, but not as bad as he used to be."

  Wes, Jake noticed, had a big, old Bowie knife strapped to his boot. How bad the guy used to be, he thought, must have been pretty damned bad. Grizzly-with-a-toothache bad.

  "The one in the suit is Adam," she said.

  Ah, now that one he could handle. In a physical altercation, at least. But the guy looked sharp. "Don't tell me. He's a lawyer. A prosecutor, with my luck."

  "Nah. He used to be an accountant, but he runs a dude ranch now. And the one with the reddish hair is Elliot."

  "Elliot's carrying a rope," Jake observed.

  "Oh, that? That's just his lasso. He's good with it, and it comes in ha
ndy sometimes."

  "Like at lynchings?" Jake asked. Sara didn't answer, so he went on. "He's also carrying a gun, Sara. As is the guy standing next to him."

  "Jessi's husband, Lash. It's okay though. He's a deputy."

  "Oh well, in that case…" Jake shook his head and turned away. "I'm getting the hell out of here, Sara. This was a bad idea. A Very Bad Idea. Possibly the world's worst Very Bad Idea."

  Sara gripped his arm, tugged him closer to her as she peered over the weeds, apparently oblivious to his desire to leave. "I don't see Jessi," she whispered. "I wonder where she is?"

  "I really don't care where she is. You wanted to be sure your cousins were here, now you know they are. You can call them from our next stop—which, by my calculations, should be somewhere just outside of Tibet—and tell them you're okay."

  "I'm not leaving until I see my brother."

  Jake sighed in frustration and lowered his head.

  "And I should think you would want to see how your family is doing, as well, Jake. Oh! Look, there's Flossie."

  Jake looked. Flossie stood on the wide front porch, talking to someone. Yet another physically fit specimen of manhood, and a gorgeous brunette who kept wiping at her eyes. Flossie was talking, looking shaky, pale.

  "Let's get closer," Jake heard himself say. Then he, not Sara, led the way to a nearer clump of brush. He could hear them speaking now.

  "…and if he's so much as mussed Sara's hair, I'll kill that son of a…" the dark, mean-looking one was saying.

  Jake swallowed hard, tried to ignore the conversation near the pickup and focused instead on the one unfolding on the porch.

  "That's my brother, that's Marcus!" Sara whispered excitedly. "And Casey! Oh, God, she's crying…"

  Jake knew it had to be tough for Sara to sit there and watch her loved ones this upset. He knew she must be itching to run out of the bushes right now into their waiting arms.

  "I promise you, Mr. Brand," Flossie was saying, her voice floating to Jake's ears, sounding hoarse from crying, but firm, "my Jake had nothing to do with Vivienne's murder. And if Sara went with him at all … well, it was her choice to go."