by Lora Leigh
Jaci remained silent, staring back at him, refusing to say a damned word. She didn't dare. She could feel the fury pulsing inside her, anger burning through her system as the feminine core of her shuddered in trepidation, because the look in Cam's eyes was deadly.
Courtney had warned her that Cam was after Richard Roberts's blood. He couldn't sleep with her, but he could use her as an excuse to bloody someone he didn't like to begin with. Only a male could understand that one, she decided.
"I'm asking for your side of the story, Jaci," he said.
She had walked in on the sexual drama and had nearly been raped. For years after that, the Robertses had lied, schemed, and connived to destroy her because of it.
"There is no 'my side of the story,' " she finally answered. She had learned that early on. The Robertses had struck first, and they had struck hard. Anything she had said or done would have lashed back at her as a lie.
"Do you remember the night I told you I would kill over you?" he asked her, his voice so dangerously soft that it was almost terrifying.
"He hasn't hurt me," she said stiffly. "And after last night, you have no right to these questions."
"Then what do you call it, if destroying your reputation isn't hurting you?" His head tilted to the side, the sunlight falling through the windows behind him caressing the raven black hair that framed his savage features. "And, sweetheart, I hate to tell you, but last night only made certain that that bastard has to deal with me. No one strikes out at what belongs to me."
"He's an irritant. Nothing more. Now, I really need to leave, before I have to swallow any more of this
'belonging to you' crap. Because, trust me, belonging to you would really make me homicidal now."
The look he gave her was rife with irritation. "You're as stubborn as you ever were."
"And you're just as arrogant."
He grunted at that. "Ian didn't fire you."
"Sounded to me like an invitation to walk." She cocked her hip and glared back at him.
"It was an invitation to accept a helping hand." He sighed. "We can help you with the Robertses, if you can explain the situation."
She stared back at him silently. Oh yeah, she was just going to "explain" the whole sordid episode and watch him gut the congressman. Sorry, but the thought of blood spilling just made her ill. It might have been seven years, but Cam was the type of man who never forgot a promise. Or a warning.
He shook his head at her continued silence. "This job entails quite a few secrets that you'll be privy to,"
he finally stated. "It's yours if you want it, but only after you understand exactly what goes on here." He rose from the desk and moved behind it.
Lifting a folder, he slid it across the desk. "Read these, sign them, then we'll talk."
She stared back at him silently, aching. Where was the man who had kissed her? Who had knelt in front of her and given her the greatest pleasure she had ever known in her life?
She moved slowly to the desk, picked up the folder, and opened it. As she read, she frowned in confusion.
"A confidentiality agreement?"
Of sorts.
Cameron nodded. "Before you sign, know this: What you're facing if you talk isn't a court battle or a prison sentence. It's hell, like the Robertses could never imagine visiting on you. You, your family, every friend you have or could make in your lifetime, will be subject to the same hell. The people you're facing are lawyers, doctors, senators, and military personnel. They're members of organizations that run everything from NASA to the welfare system and beyond, in every nation of the world."
She raised her gaze slowly.
"Is that a threat of some sort, Cam?" "It's a promise." He inclined his head coolly. "There are no state secrets, no national threats involved, but members of the club are from all sections of state and federal, and private enterprise. There are approximately five hundred members to date, though only a small percentage are here at any one time. You may at any time see those members. It's our job to ensure their privacy, as well as their security here within the mansion."
Her brows lifted. The agreement was that she understood the repercussions of divulging any information learned about the club and its membership, and that the repercussions would be harsh.
Her understanding was that she had the option of leaving, or accepting the position, with a full comprehension of those repercussions. In the statement, she would sign that she understood that the information wasn't illegal, nor involved any information of state or national concern.
"If it's not illegal, then what is it?"
"Sign the papers." He nodded to the file. "You can still walk out once you sign, but the job isn't yours until you have a complete understanding of the confidentiality required, and the punishment inherent in breaking it."
It was simple enough. Clearly stated. She laid the file on the desk, accepted the pen, and signed it quickly, before pushing it back to him.
"Now, what's so damned important about your precious club?"
"It's a club for men who share their women. Their wives and lovers. A safe, protected group of men from which to choose the third in their bed and to ensure the secrecy of it. The club is a ménage club, Jaci, and it's existed for two centuries without detection. Now, are you taking the job or walking out?"
She stared back at him in disbelief.
"You're lying." She couldn't come up with any other response. The idea that any such club could exist without the newspapers and gossip rags getting hold of it was ludicrous.
Senators and NASA? Lawyers and doctors and military personnel? More than five hundred members, and no one leaked this information? Their wives especially. Women talked; she knew they talked. They gossiped like hell, and for some of them, their favorite topics of gossip was their sex lives—married or single.
"You'll find out soon enough." He shrugged as he took the file and shoved it in his desk. "There are no sexual games played out in the club itself. It's just that, a club, a meeting place, and for many of the members abroad, much more convenient than a hotel—and much more secure. Within your position, you'll come in contact with those members in and out of the club. We do nothing to risk knowledge of the membership, as many hold sensitive positions. They've been made aware of the job you'll be doing, and should you see any of them here, you're not to mention it outside the club. Period. Not to other members or anyone else. If you talk, I can't protect you, nor can Ian and Courtney Sinclair."
It was a good thing she knew how to keep her mouth shut.
"As long as they don't bother me, I won't bother them." She shrugged. "But if I were you, I'd start steering a very wide path around me, because you and I, Cam, are going to come to blows."
He stared back at her, dark, dangerous. His expression was hungry, intense.
"I'd never harm a hair on your head," he said. "And there's no turning back, Jaci. Last night ensured that."
"You couldn't even sleep with me," she hissed furiously. "I woke up alone, Cam, without you, while you slept on the damned couch. Not happening again." Her hand sliced angrily through the air.
He leaned back in his chair and watched as she stood before him. The feel of his eyes stroking over her sent her blood racing through her veins, and not just in anger.
The effect he had on her hadn't dimmed. Maybe it had grown stronger, because she could feel the intent behind that look, could almost feel his possession from the night before, even now.
"I'm still so hard for you, I can barely walk."
The words stole the strength from her legs. She gripped the edge of the desk and stared back at him as she fought to regulate her breathing.
There was no regulating it. She could feel her breasts heaving, and she knew he could see his effect on her.
"Well, isn't that too bad?" she spat bitterly. "See, I don't believe in three strikes. As far as I'm concerned, strike one and you're gone. Too bad so sad, hate it for you, Cam."
His lips part
ed, his lashes lowered as he stared back at her. She could feel the intent behind the look, and the reminder of the effect those lips had on her. And then he smiled.
"I'm going to spank you until you come. Then, sweet Jaci, I'm going to kiss it all better," he promised, and the promise sent a shower of heat exploding through the tender flesh between her legs.
She felt the dampness growing, her clit swelling, even her nipples were so sensitive she could barely stand the lace bra that covered them.
"Don't do this to me," she finally whispered, releasing her hold on the desk and backing up. "You can't even tolerate sharing a bed with me, and I can't deal with that. If you ever cared anything for me, stay away from me before you really hurt me. Now, unlock that damned door and let me out of here."
He reached beneath the desk, and a second later, the sound of the lock releasing echoed through the room. His expression hadn't changed; if anything, his gaze was darker, hotter. There was nothing cold in his face now. It was heated with sensual promise and male demand.
She jerked her briefcase from where it had fallen to the floor and strode quickly to the door on shaking legs.
"Tell Courtney I'll be back in the morning." She didn't turn as she jerked the door open. "Good-bye Cam."
She left the office, and seconds later she left the house. Ian's limo was waiting outside the door, the driver opening the door for her with instructions that he was to take her to her hotel. It beat a cab.
She stepped into the luxurious vehicle and breathed out a trembling sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. Seconds later, she was heading to her hotel, alone.
As alone as she had ever been, and hating it more than she ever had.
6
"Ya know, you're the dumbest bastard I think I've ever seen." Chase stepped out from behind Cam, watching the limo, as it drove through the gates, leaving the Sinclair estate and taking beautiful Jaci Wright away.
Chase had heard their conversation. It was his job to tape it and to secure the disc the recording was on.
He doubted either of them were aware of what the disc revealed, though. A male and female, each eating the other with their eyes, hunger and torment reflected in their gazes.
Their expressions had shown a variety of emotions. Cool hauteur, cold arrogance, irritation, mockery, and pure anger. It was amusing to watch, but the eyes hadn't changed.
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Cam muttered, and Chase almost laughed at the irritation in his brother's voice. There were few things that could piss Cam off anymore, but from the moment they had first begun Jaci's file, Cam had seethed with possessive male fury.
"The worst thing we can do is leave her alone." Chase rocked back on his heels and watched as the limo drove out of sight. "Since you're determined to hold back as you always do, though, maybe I could just continue the seduction myself. You obviously have no clue."
Cam felt his teeth grit at the thought. Jaci's expression when she realized she had slammed into him had pierced his soul like an arrow. Her wide eyes as innocent, as filled with pain, as they had been seven years ago, had stared back at him for one, unguarded moment. Arousal and pain and the memory of the pleasure that had bound them the night before reflected from them.
"Let her go for tonight," he ordered his brother, an unfamiliar spike of possessiveness resounding through him.
"Women like Jaci shouldn't be given too much time to think," Chase told him. "They get odd ideas, start thinking about protecting their hearts, and off they run. She's ready to run."
"She's not going anywhere." He would see to it.
"I don't know, Cam . . ."
"I'll take care of it." He didn't need Chase for this. Jaci was his fight and his alone.
"Like you did in Oklahoma? Like you did last night and this morning?" Chase questioned with amused condescension in his voice.
"I said I'll take care of it." Cam turned on him, barely restraining the anger burning inside him.
Chase smiled back at him. Cam could see his amusement, the fact that his anger didn't faze him. Not a lot fazed Chase. He rolled with whatever life threw at him, and he did it with the flash of that knowing smile—the same one he was flashing Cam now.
"Maybe that's what I'm scared of, baby brother, the way you take care of things." Chase chuckled. "But I'll let you fuck up first. Piss her off real good, okay? Maybe she'll be receptive to me the next time I offer to take her home."
That really shouldn't have angered him, but it did. Cam turned quickly, his eyes narrowing on the driveway as Chase headed back into the mansion. His brother was perfectly serious, and Cam knew it.
Seven years ago, he had wanted Jaci with the same hunger that Cam had. But Chase hadn't known the same emotions, emotions Cam still tried to hide.
It was Cam she had wanted, though. And Cam had wanted her with a force that he hadn't known before or since—a force that unleashed all the possessive and dominant traits he'd never had a problem holding back before.
"Matthew?"
"Yes, Mr. Falladay?" Matthew stepped from inside the house.
"Have one of the boys bring the Harley around. And please inform Mr. Sinclair I'll be back in the morning."
"Yes, Mr. Falladay."
Long minutes later, one of the houseboys Ian employed to keep the grounds cleared and under control rode the Harley out of the back garage with a wide grin.
"Here you go, sir." He pushed the kickstand down with reverence and swung off the cycle. "She's all gassed up and everything. I took care of her this morning when you came in."
The wicked, black, customized Harley was the pride and joy of every maintenance worker on the estate.
Ian really needed to get his own for his employees to lust over.
"Thanks, Danny." Cam straddled the seat, raised the kickstand, and engaged the powerful motor.
Seconds later, he was speeding toward Alexandria and the woman that thought she had gotten away.
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Jaci entered her suite with a sigh of relief, kicked off her pumps, and stared around the elegantly appointed hotel sitting room.
The ever-present vase of flowers were on the desk. Fresh, of course. The minibar was fully stocked, the refrigerator filled with a variety of goodies, all at Ian Sinclair's expense—part of her fee for the interior design of the mansion that he would no longer be calling home, but would instead be turning over to his club.
Good Lord, she hadn't heard even a breath of rumor attached to him. Well, perhaps a breath—several years ago, by a wife involved in a very nasty divorce—but it had been quickly silenced. Now she knew why. If it carried half the power Cam had warned her it did, then it was legion. Legendary. Probably dangerous.
She should call Ian Sinclair right now and say thanks but no thanks, return his deposit, and return to Oklahoma to lick her wounds and find another career.
She moved across the room to the bar. It was only a little after noon, but the glass of wine was much needed. Something to settle her nerves and give her a chance to think. She really needed a chance to consider this.
No wonder Cam and Chase were here. Considering their sexual tastes, there was probably no keeping them away. She sipped at the wine before curling into the corner of the fluffy, comfortable couch, where she tried to consider her options. But all she could see was Cam's face. His eyes. The vicious scar that marred one side of his face.
What had happened to him? She knew they occasionally kept in touch with her parents, surely they would have told her if they had known Cam had been hurt.
Or would they have? Her father had been waiting up when Cam brought her home that night, seven years before. He had taken one look at her face and the man's shirt she wore, and had known. He hadn't said a word. He had wrapped his arms around her, patted her back, and then let her escape, as she had needed to.
Perhaps they wouldn't have told her if Cam had been hurt, because she would have gone to him if she had known. She covered her
face with one hand and breathed out wearily. She wouldn't have been able to stop herself. No matter where he was, she would have tried to get to him.
She was just as weak where he was concerned now as she had been seven years ago. He made her want things she knew she couldn't have or accept.
The ring of her cell phone drew her from her thoughts. Pulling it from the band of her skirt, she looked at the display, sighed again, and brought it to her ear as she connected the call.
"Yes, Courtney?" She should have known the other woman would call. Jaci was just grateful Courtney hadn't made a trip to the hotel instead.
"Are you upset?" Courtney asked carefully.
Was she upset?
"Not with you." And did Ian share his wife? If he owned the club, then wouldn't he share those same dark desires? How did Courtney handle that?
"Cam said you didn't quit. Does that mean you'll be back in the morning?"
"I'll be there." She hadn't known until that second that she would be. Hadn't known how crazy she was, until those words slipped past her lips.
"We'll take coffee in my sitting room," Courtney said softly. "We can talk."
"Do we need to talk, Courtney?" Jaci asked her. At this point, she didn't want to talk about it. If she talked about it, then she had to acknowledge it.
"Only about subjects you wish to discuss," Courtney said, but Jaci could hear the question in her voice.
"That works for me, then," she told her friend brightly. "I'll see you around ten."
"Jaci, don't judge things you don't understand too harshly," Courtney warned her softly. "Please."
Jaci shook her head. "I don't judge at all, Courtney. You know better than that. Except overbearing, superior men," she said as an afterthought. "But I've found I've not judged them harshly enough."
Courtney gave a light, relieved laugh. "Excellent. I'll have coffee waiting and I'll make certain the cook prepares us a nice little snack."
They disconnected the call, and Jaci rose to her feet, finished the wine, and moved to enter the bedroom.