him.”
“And then what?” he asked silkily.
“I followed them back to their Laguna house.” She mentally crossed her fingers against the lie. The Laguna Beach house was several hours’ south and she hadn’t been anywhere near it, but she was counting on its distance to keep one of Andre’s spies—Naomi, probably, or maybe that psychotic bitch, Jerrilyn—from tracking her. “I might . . . be able to break in sometime . . . ?” she suggested.
“Do you want to?” he asked, climbing atop her.
An automatic protest fought its way up her throat. There was a time when she’d panted for his lovemaking. Back in the day when they were a team. Andre was a good lover when he wanted to be, and in the beginning he’d been just about perfect. But everything had changed since then. His style had definitely altered and now there was more impatience and dominance than any desire to please her. Maybe, with the other handmaidens so available, he just didn’t try as hard. Or maybe the frustration that had always fed him was growing too huge and he couldn’t be bothered with anything but his own, immediate pleasure.
He reached up and pulled the chain that held his ankh from around his neck, then slid the cross along her cheek and to her mouth. Then he pressed down harder until the ankh’s metal sides dug painfully into her bottom lip. Hard. A rise of panic made her insides quiver. She breathed in air through her nose and met his gaze deliberately. She had to act like her old self or he would know how much she’d changed.
“You have to stop lying,” he said.
Carefully, slowly, he pulled the ankh away and replaced it on the nightstand. She automatically sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She could feel fury licking its way inside her; a hot wind that could consume her if she let it.
“Where were you?”
“I told you.”
He shook his head slowly. He’d taken his hair out of its band and it hung around his face. “You shouldn’t make me discipline you,” he said, sounding like a weary parent.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her plan to leave became more cemented.
His hands slid down her body and he fit himself in the cradle of her thighs. They looked at each other and Teresa kept her face carefully expressionless.
Tonight, she thought. I’m leaving tonight.
Time was passing and Callie had managed to avoid his question about the bracelet, sticking with her story that a friend had given it to her. But he was right in that being the sticking point. If it was indeed the Laughlin heirloom, then it must have come through Teresa and logically that made her Tucker’s mother.
But where was she? And who was Aimee?
She knew West was biding his time, waiting for her to cough up the truth. Did she want to? Not yet . . . not until she knew what it would mean for her to give up Tucker.
“Well, I think it has to all be a strange coincidence,” Callie said. “If there’s a connection, I don’t know what it is.”
“You came here on your honeymoon.”
“Well . . . yes.”
“That’s why you chose Martinique now. Why you came back here.”
“That’s right.” She didn’t like the careful way he was approaching some train of thought that was clearly behind his questions.
“The accident, where your husband and son were killed . . .”
Callie took a careful breath. “You want to know about it?”
“I just want to know how you ended up here with the Laughlin bracelet.”
“I only have your word it’s a family heirloom,” she pointed out.
“True enough.”
Callie shook her head. She needed to end this conversation and get back to her apartment, find Tucker, and most of all, keep him safe. She said with as little emotion as she could, “They said another car struck us and sent our car over the cliff. Sean and Jonathan died at the scene. I was taken to a hospital.”
“They said?”
“The police. Whoever investigated the crash.”
“Do you know who that is?”
“You mean the policeman?
“And then what?” he asked silkily.
“I followed them back to their Laguna house.” She mentally crossed her fingers against the lie. The Laguna Beach house was several hours’ south and she hadn’t been anywhere near it, but she was counting on its distance to keep one of Andre’s spies—Naomi, probably, or maybe that psychotic bitch, Jerrilyn—from tracking her. “I might . . . be able to break in sometime . . . ?” she suggested.
“Do you want to?” he asked, climbing atop her.
An automatic protest fought its way up her throat. There was a time when she’d panted for his lovemaking. Back in the day when they were a team. Andre was a good lover when he wanted to be, and in the beginning he’d been just about perfect. But everything had changed since then. His style had definitely altered and now there was more impatience and dominance than any desire to please her. Maybe, with the other handmaidens so available, he just didn’t try as hard. Or maybe the frustration that had always fed him was growing too huge and he couldn’t be bothered with anything but his own, immediate pleasure.
He reached up and pulled the chain that held his ankh from around his neck, then slid the cross along her cheek and to her mouth. Then he pressed down harder until the ankh’s metal sides dug painfully into her bottom lip. Hard. A rise of panic made her insides quiver. She breathed in air through her nose and met his gaze deliberately. She had to act like her old self or he would know how much she’d changed.
“You have to stop lying,” he said.
Carefully, slowly, he pulled the ankh away and replaced it on the nightstand. She automatically sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She could feel fury licking its way inside her; a hot wind that could consume her if she let it.
“Where were you?”
“I told you.”
He shook his head slowly. He’d taken his hair out of its band and it hung around his face. “You shouldn’t make me discipline you,” he said, sounding like a weary parent.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her plan to leave became more cemented.
His hands slid down her body and he fit himself in the cradle of her thighs. They looked at each other and Teresa kept her face carefully expressionless.
Tonight, she thought. I’m leaving tonight.
Time was passing and Callie had managed to avoid his question about the bracelet, sticking with her story that a friend had given it to her. But he was right in that being the sticking point. If it was indeed the Laughlin heirloom, then it must have come through Teresa and logically that made her Tucker’s mother.
But where was she? And who was Aimee?
She knew West was biding his time, waiting for her to cough up the truth. Did she want to? Not yet . . . not until she knew what it would mean for her to give up Tucker.
“Well, I think it has to all be a strange coincidence,” Callie said. “If there’s a connection, I don’t know what it is.”
“You came here on your honeymoon.”
“Well . . . yes.”
“That’s why you chose Martinique now. Why you came back here.”
“That’s right.” She didn’t like the careful way he was approaching some train of thought that was clearly behind his questions.
“The accident, where your husband and son were killed . . .”
Callie took a careful breath. “You want to know about it?”
“I just want to know how you ended up here with the Laughlin bracelet.”
“I only have your word it’s a family heirloom,” she pointed out.
“True enough.”
Callie shook her head. She needed to end this conversation and get back to her apartment, find Tucker, and most of all, keep him safe. She said with as little emotion as she could, “They said another car struck us and sent our car over the cliff. Sean and Jonathan died at the scene. I was taken to a hospital.”
“They said?”
“The police. Whoever investigated the crash.”
“Do you know who that is?”
“You mean the policeman?
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