Her color fluctuated, but when she tried to scramble up, he held her firmly in place.
“Going somewhere?”
“I have to get home. Aunt Coco must be frantic.”
“She knows where you are.” Because it was easier to keep her in place, he reversed positions again and began to nibble at her throat. Nothing could have pleased him more than feeling the instant quickening of her pulse under his lips. “And in all likelihood, she's got a pretty good idea what you've been up to.”
Without much hope of dislodging him, she pushed at his shoulder. “I didn't tell her where I was going.”
“I called her last night when I let Sadie in. Scratch my back, will you? Base of the spine.”
She obliged automatically, even while her thoughts spun. “You – you told my aunt that I...”
“I told her you were with me. I figure she could put the rest together. That's good. Thanks.”
Suzanna let out a long breath. Oh yes, Aunt Coco wouldn't have any trouble adding two and two. And there was absolutely no reason to feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. But she was both. Not only relating to her aunt but to the man whose naked body was spread over hers.
It had been one thing to face him at night. But the morning... He lifted his head to study her. “What's the problem?”
“Nothing.” When he lifted a brow she shifted in what passed for a shrug. “It's just that I'm not sure what to do now. I've never done this before.”
He grinned at her. “How'd you get two kids?”
“I don't mean that I've never...I mean I've never...”
His grin only widened. “Well, get used to it, babe.” Considering, he trailed a finger over her jawline. “Want me to help you out with morning – after etiquette?”
“I want you to stop leering at me.”
“No, you see that's part of the form.” He replaced his trailing finger with a light nip of his teeth. “I'm supposed to leer at you in the morning so you don't start feeling that you look like a hag.”
“A –” The word caught in her throat. “A hag?” “And you're supposed to tell me I was incredible.”
Her brow lifted. “I am?”
“That, and any other superlatives you can come up with. Then –” he rolled her over again “ – you're supposed to go fix me breakfast, to show me your talents are versatile.”
“I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're filling me in on the procedure.”
“No problem. And after you fix me breakfast, you should seduce me back into bed.”
She laughed and pressed her cheek to his in a move that disarmed and delighted him. “I'll have to practice up on that, but I could probably handle a couple of scrambled eggs.”
“Let me know if you find any.” “Have you got a robe?”
“What for?”
She looked up again. He was still leering. “Never mind.” Sliding away, she instinctively turned her back as she groped on the floor for his shirt. “And what do you do while I'm fixing breakfast?”
He caught the ends of her hair, let them shift through his fingers. “I watch you.”
And he enjoyed it, seeing her move around his kitchen, his shirt skimming her thighs with the scent of coffee ripening the air and her voice low and amused as she spoke to the dog.
She felt more at ease here, with familiar chores. The bush they had planted was a cloud of sunlight outside the window, and the breeze still smelled of rain.
“You know,” she said as she grated cheese into the eggs, “you could use more than a toaster, one pot and a skillet.”
“Why?” He kicked back in the chair and took a comfortable drag on his cigarette.
“Well, some people actually use this room to prepare entire meals.”
“Only if they haven't heard of take-out.” He saw that the coffee had dripped through and rose to pour them both a cup. “What do you take in this?”
“Just black. I need the kick.”
“If you ask me, what you need is more sleep.”
“I have to be at work in an hour or so.” With the bowl of eggs in her hands, she stopped to stare out of the window. He recognized the look in her eyes and rubbed a hand over her shoulder. “Don't.”
“I'm sorry.” She turned to the stove to pour the beaten eggs into the skillet. “I can't help but wonder what they're doing, if they're having a good time. They've never been away before.”
“Hasn't he taken them for a weekend?”
“No, just a couple of afternoons that weren't terribly successful.” She made an effort to shake the mood as she stirred the eggs. “Well, there's only thirteen days left to go.”
“You're not helping them or yourself by getting worked up.” His impotence grated as he fought to massage the tension from her shoulders.
“I'm fine. I will be fine,” she corrected. “I've got more than enough to keep me busy for the next couple of weeks. And with the kids gone, I can put in more time trying to find the emeralds.”
“You leave that to me.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “This is a team effort, Holt. It always has been.”
“I'm involved now, and I'll handle it.”
She dished the eggs up as carefully as she chose her words. “I appreciate your help. All of us do. But they're called the Calhoun emeralds for a reason. Two of my sisters have been threatened because of them.”
“Exactly my point. You're out of your league with Livingston, Suzanna. He's smart and he's brutal. He won't ask you nicely to get out of his way.”
Turning, she handed him his plate. “I'm accustomed to smart, brutal men, and I've already spent enough of my life being afraid.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said.” She lifted her plate, and the mug of coffee. “I won't let some thief intimidate me or make me afraid to do what's best for myself and my family.”
But Holt was shaking his head. That wasn't the answer he'd wanted. “Are you afraid of Dumont? Physically?”
Her gaze wavered then leveled. “We're talking about the emeralds.” She tried to move by him, but Holt blocked her path. His eyes had gone dark, but when he spoke his voice was softer, more controlled than she had ever heard it.
“Did he hit you?”
Her color deepened, then raced away from her cheeks. “What?” “I want to know if Dumont ever hit you.”
Nerves were tightening her throat. No matter how quiet his voice, there was a terrible gleam of violence in his eyes. “The eggs are getting cold, Holt, and I'm hungry.”
He fought back the urge to hurl the plate against the wall. He sat, waited for her to take the seat across from him. She looked very frail and very composed in the stream of sunlight. “I want an answer, Suzanna.” He picked up his coffee and sipped as she toyed with her food. He knew how to wait and how to push.
“No.” Her voice was flat as she took the first bite. “He never hit me.”
“Just knocked you around?” He kept his voice casual and ate without tasting. Her gaze flicked up to his, then away.
“There are a lot of ways to intimidate and demoralize, Holt. After that, humiliation is a snap.” Picking up a slice of toast, she buttered it carefully. “You're nearly out of bread.”
“What did he do to you?” “Let it go.”
“What,” he repeated slowly, “did he do to you?” “He made me face facts.”
“Such as?”
“That I was pitifully inadequate as a wife of a corporate lawyer with social and political ambitions.”
“Why?”
She slammed down the knife. “Is this how you interrogate suspects?” Anger, he thought. That was better. “It's a simple question.”
“And you want a simple answer? Fine. He married me because of my name. He thought there was a bit more money as well as prestige attached to it, but the Calhoun name was more than adequate. Unfortunately it
