Eyes of Fire

Then she listened.

And she heard it.

Movement down below.

Coming from Justin Carlyle’s office. Someone going through the papers, going through the books? Was that it? Was someone convinced that there was something to be found in those papers, something that had eluded those who had searched already?

Someone who came by night, determined not to be seen.

Someone who came furtively.

Someone dangerous. Who had killed already? Who would kill again?

Yancy crawled out of bed. The breeze was balmy and warm, lifting the soft cotton of her sheer gown around her. She wondered if she appeared like some demented creature of the night, a slim honey-colored waif, floating through the night in fear.

Alone.

Not alone.

Jem was near tonight.

And the baby…

The baby.

She checked on Brian. He slept like an angel, his breathing perfectly even, his little rump sticking up in the air. Nervously, she hugged her arms around her shoulders and walked to her door. It was locked; there was a chair in front of it. And Jem was sleeping in the room right beside hers.

Didn’t Jem hear what was going on in the office?

Maybe not, because Yancy couldn’t hear movement any longer. She stood next to the door, her ear against it, listening.

Nothing.

Something.

Yes, she heard something, but it didn’t seem to be coming from downstairs.

She swung around. The night breeze rustled, causing the drapes to float inward. The window. The damned window. There was no porch beyond it, but there were a number of trellises around the house, along with drain pipes.

The breeze, nothing more. The breeze rustling. There was no one out there. She could see no one in the moonlight.

She turned.

She could see…

A shadow.

A silhouette in the moonlight.

So close that she could feel the heat….

She inhaled to scream, so terrified that she choked and gasped. Jem was close, next door to her.

Too late. The shadow moved like mercury. She was dragged close, into the heat. A hand clamped over her mouth. Words were whispered.

“Hush. Hush! Don’t scream. Don’t say a word. Not one word. You don’t know what you’re risking.”

Waking beside Adam was a nice way to come back to the world of light, Sam decided.

Very nice.

Where she usually had the shrill sound of an alarm ringing in her ears, this morning she had the exquisite feel of something wet, light, very hot, tantalizing her nape.

The touch of his lips.

Very gentle. So gentle they aroused before they awoke.

Then there was that slow stroking down the length of her back, brushing her spine. Down, down…up again. So evocative.

Once again, gentle. Arousing before awakening.

Then the feel of his body, hard against hers. Those lips again. Whispering hot eroticisms against her earlobe, telling her each little thing he was going to do before he did it.

His lips against her spine.

His hands caressing her buttocks, locking onto her hips.

Again the fullness of him, flush against her.

Within her.

And then she was completely awake.

Completely aroused.

The alarm went off. Amazingly, the sound seemed to take its cue from the very moment in which everything inside her seemed to explode. For the space of several seconds, it might have been part of the raw, violent pleasure seizing her, shaking her, searing her.

Then, of course, she knew it was the alarm.

It was good sex, near perfect—not, however, miraculous. Yet even as she realized what the sound was, Sam lay back, her body slick and glistening, cooling, eyes half closed, her lips curled into a half smile, as well. It was Adam who reached over her, swearing, found the clock and nearly broke it before hitting the right button to turn off the alarm.

“Do you ever take a break?” he muttered. “Sleep late?”

“Rainy days,” she reminded him.

He shook his head. “I mean a real break. A vacation.”

“People come here to vacation. I live in paradise. An island Eden.”

“You work in paradise,” he told her. “And that’s quite different.” He was propped on one elbow, watching her.

She tried not to let him realize that she was watching him in return. Appreciating the length of his naked body. Darkened by the sun—except in strategic areas. Long, muscled, tight, slick. Handsome chest thickly furred with rich, dark hair. Tapered waist. Strong legs. Sexy legs. And hips. And other attributes.

“You need a break,” he continued. “A real break. A place where you don’t have to get up to make sure that other people are enjoying their croissants.”

She smiled and shrugged. “I love the island. But maybe you’re right. One day soon I’ll take a break. After… this.”

He nodded, then frowned slightly. “Where was the baby born?”

“Miami,” she said.

“Ah.”

“Ah, what?”

“So he is your baby?”

She stared at him, refusing to allow him to unsettle her. “Did I say that?”

“You knew where he was born.”

“Of course. I took Yancy to the hospital.”

“Or Yancy took you.”

“Adam, you really should go to hell.”

“You really should tell me about Hank.”

“Then you should tell me what you found in the water yesterday.”

He arched a brow at her, then shrugged with a dry grin. “Touche, Miss Carlyle.”

“Just what is it you want to know about Hank Jennings?”

“Your relationship with him.”

She smiled. Thinking of Hank always made her smile, even if it was a sad smile. “I loved him,” she said simply.

“But the baby is Yancy’s?”

“What makes you think that baby belongs to Hank Jennings?” she demanded.

“Because he loo—because from what I understand, Hank was the most likely candidate on the island.”

“Why did you just change what you were about to say?”