Deception. Donna Hill
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a delicious meal in Chinatown, punctuated by con genial conversation, Clint drove Terri to her apartment building. The plush luxury of the Benz was like a soothing balm to her tense body. Slowly she began to relax, her voice a mere whisper when she spoke.
“I’ve always wanted to learn to drive a stick shift,” she said dreamily, “but it’s such a hassle with the stop-and-go Manhattan traffic.”
“I know what you mean.” He switched into Second gear. “But after living in England and driving on the open road, it became second nature to me. I love the feel of power,” he added, tossing her a searing look as he held on to the stick.
“I didn’t know you lived in England.”
“Yeah, for a while,” he said, wishing that he’d never mentioned that part of his life. Just the idea of her saying she wanted to learn to drive a standard drove the knife of guilt through his gut, painfully reminding him of his daughter, whom he’d left behind in the care of his sister-in-law, because he’d caused her mother’s—his wife’s—death.
“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.”
“Hmm.”
Terri looked at him from the corner of her eye, in time to see the hard, dark expression that passed across his face. She decided not to probe and leaned back against the leather cushion of the headrest. Maybe some other time.
Where had all of the tension gone? As much as she was reluctant to admit it, she enjoyed being in Clint’s company. He made her laugh, he lightened her spirit. He was intelligent and witty, and he was undeniably sexy. Clint made her feel things that she hadn’t felt in so long. Only this time it was more powerful, more compelling. And she wanted it.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts as he made the turn onto her street.
If she could have turned red, she would have been crimson. She felt certain that he could read her thoughts, and she felt suddenly exposed.
“Oh, just about some things at the office.”
“You never did tell me what was bothering you.” He pulled up in front of her door.
She looked at him, her voice softening. “It doesn’t really matter now.”
“If it affects you, Terri, then it matters.”
She fumbled with her purse. “It’s getting late. I—”
He reached for her, turning her to face him. “You keep running from me.”
His voice wrapped around her.
“Every time we get close, you run from me like a scared little girl.”
He gently stroked her face.
She held her breath.
“You’re a woman, Terri.” His eyes roamed over her, igniting her. “A desirable, sensual woman who I want in my life. But you have to give me a chance.”
Could he possibly mean what he was telling her? Or was this just a ploy? Maybe he was right. How would she ever know, if she never gave him the chance? Curiosity won out.
“Would you like to come up for a nightcap?” She smiled a tentative smile. “I think I have some fruit juice and chips.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Terri opened her apartment door and immediately stepped out of her shoes, instructing Clint to do the same. She grinned at his perplexed look.
“When you leave your shoes at the door,” she explained, “you leave all of the bad vibes behind you and just bring peace into your home.”
“Hmm…” Clint nodded, handing her his shoes “…sounds good to me.”
“Well, come on in and make yourself comfortable. You can hang your coat on the rack.” She pointed to the brass coatrack and headed for the living room. She turned on the CD player, and seconds later the music of Miles Davis blew a soulful tune in the background. Terri left Clint and went to prepare a platter of chips with a cheese dip and a bowl of pretzels.
“You have a great place, Terri,” Clint commented, admiring the ethnic artwork and handcrafted sculpture. Huge earthen urns sat majestically in corners, overflowing with fresh-cut flowers in some and arrangements of silk in others.
“Thanks,” she called from the kitchen, quietly pleased that he liked her taste. “Would you light a fire, please?”
“Sure.” He walked to the fireplace and got the fire going. Finished, he roamed over to her bookcase and saw that she had volumes of poetry as well as what appeared to be every espionage and crime story ever written. What a strange combination, he thought, more fascinated than ever.
Terri entered the living room and placed the tray of snacks on the smoked-glass table.
“I see you’ve found out my secret,” she said, walking up behind him. “I’m a closet poet with a murderous streak.”
“The poet part I don’t mind,” he answered jovially, “it’s the other half that scares me. Actually, as quiet as it’s kept, I read a lot of poetry. It relaxes me. Especially after a rough day.”
Terri’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Really?”
“Let that be our little secret.” He lowered his voice to a pseudo-whisper. “I don’t want to ruin my dubious reputation.”
Terri replied in kind. “Your secret is safe with me. Just don’t cross me,” she teased. “Come on and sit down. After I’ve been slaving over a hot stove for hours, I want you to eat every drop.”
Clint chuckled as he followed her to the couch.
“…So when I discovered that the books didn’t jibe, it made me do some additional checking. To make a long story short, I don’t like what I found.” She was still reluctant to tell him too much. The last thing she needed was his sympathy or for him to think that she was totally incompetent. “I’ve worked hard to get to where I am, Clint. This company means everything to me. I’ve sacrificed a lot and I’ve given a lot. All I expect in return is honesty and a good day’s work.”
Could he dare tell her that he’d embarked on his own investigation? Good sense told him to hold off revealing his suspicions. He had to be absolutely positive, first. His years in business had honed his instincts. He was certain that something was amiss at her agency. Tentatively he put his arm around her. “What are you going to do now?”
“I have a few things in mind,” she said, enjoying the weight of his arm around her shoulders. But she wasn’t sure she should divulge her plan.
Clint moved a stray lock from her face and tucked it behind her ear, pleased with the silky quality of her hair.
She looked at him and felt her heart lurch.
With painful slowness, he lowered his head, his eyes holding hers. The flames from the fireplace appeared to dance in her eyes.
She knew her heart was going to explode into a million little pieces as his mouth slowly descended to meet her own.
The contact was incendiary, and Terri was certain that she heard fireworks erupt in the background.
The velvet warmth of his lips gently brushed over hers, taunting, tempting her with what was to come.
And it came.
The fire of his tongue played across her mouth as he spread his fingers through her twisted mane, pulling her completely against his hungry mouth.
Instinctively her lips parted and the tip of his tongue played teasing games, exploring her mouth, sending jolts of current surging through her.
He moaned against her lips, a deep carnal sound that vibrated to her center. Terri felt the heat race through her limbs as his fingers traced the pulse that pounded in her throat.
She