Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [85]
He’d come up with a dozen excuses, wicked reasons, evil intentions to sleep with her. In the end, none of them mattered. Looking down at her while she slept, he knew why he wanted to take her to bed. For the sheer, simple joy of it.
And he knew he wasn’t going to do it, after all.
She was primed, she was ready, she was half out of it on pain pills. He’d gotten her so turned on the night before she’d temporarily lost all sense of inhibition, and sexual need positively radiated from her. And he knew it was for him and no one else.
She’d been celibate, almost hermitlike, since her divorce three years ago. Meyer kept private investigators on retainer, and there was nothing in his children’s lives he wasn’t privy to. And Coltrane, with unlimited access to Meyer’s records, knew it all, too.
She hadn’t wanted anyone in three years, and she wanted him. He’d gotten beneath her impressive defenses, and tonight should have been the night for the big payoff. He could do what he’d been planning all along. Take her to bed, screw her senseless, and then wait for Meyer to show up.
And Meyer would, eventually. His house of cards was tumbling down, and he had no idea why. The carefully balanced scams and schemes, the incredibly intricate orchestration of money and deals that danced on the head of a pin were about to come crashing down, leaving Jackson Dean Meyer penniless, disgraced and under indictment for a textbook of illegal financial practices. Coltrane had been leaking information to the Justice Department for weeks, anonymously. Today he’d sent the final file, and by Monday they’d be ready to pounce. Maybe they wouldn’t wait for the weekend.
They’d take everything they could. Including, most likely, the house. That was what would hurt Jilly the most. Dean would be shattered by the loss of money and prestige, Rachel-Ann by the loss of her father.
But Jilly would still be there to take care of them as she always had. Somehow she’d survive, even without her beloved mausoleum.
But who would take care of her?
None of his concern. He wasn’t in the business of taking care of people, and Jilly wouldn’t thank him if he tried. She wouldn’t admit weakness, wouldn’t take help from anyone, even when it was perfectly all right to occasionally take a helping hand. She had to take care of the world on her own, and he’d gladly leave her to it.
The one thing he could do for her was not sleep with her tonight. Better to leave her with that much dignity. Better to leave him with an itch that couldn’t be scratched, an annoyance underneath his skin that he’d get over eventually. She was half-drugged and half in love, the fool. It was just too damned easy.
She muttered something when he picked her up, but she was too zonked out to do much more than put her arms around his neck and curl up in his arms. He carried her through the empty house, up the winding stairs to her room, laying her down in the absurd, swan-shaped bed.
She didn’t wake up. She simply snuggled into the bed with a deep, peaceful sigh.
He pulled a sheet over her. And then, on impulse, he leaned down and kissed her, softly, on her mouth. For a moment her lips clung to his, and her hand lifted to touch him, then fell back to her side as she slept on.
He stepped back, staring down at her for a long, thoughtful moment. And then he turned and left her, closing the door behind him.
“Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?” Brenda said from her perch on Jilly’s dresser.
“Adorable,” Ted grumbled. “The man’s a fool.”
“Oh, don’t be so…so manly about it. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. He’d rather deny himself and walk away than hurt her.”
“Don’t start believing in your own movies, Brenda. You used to laugh