Dangerous Passions Page 16

  Except that Shannon intended to take a job in France, which threatened to put a major kink in his plans.

  “Are you still planning on going to Paris?”

  She seemed as startled by the abrupt question as he was.

  “I’ve already told them I would take the position.”

  “With your qualifications and experience, you could probably get a job anywhere.”

  She nodded. “But this is an incredible opportunity for me.”

  “It’s also three thousand miles away from your family.” Three thousand miles away from him. But, of course, he left that thought unspoken.

  “Natalie and Jack are one of the reasons I made this decision in the first place,” she reminded him. “Because I realized how empty my life was when they moved out of Chicago.

  “Now Natalie and Dylan are going to be married, Jack’s finally getting the father he deserves, and my mother and her new husband are on their honeymoon. It’s a good time for me to make a fresh start, too.”

  “What about us?”

  She didn’t look at him as she refilled her cup. “This is just an interlude in both of our lives.”

  “It can be more.”

  She shook her head. “If this situation with Peart hadn’t existed, we would never even have met. We certainly wouldn’t be where we are right now.

  “I’m not going to deny that I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent with you—at least the parts where we weren’t running from bullets—but I don’t make life-altering decisions in highly emotional circumstances.”

  “Like your mother,” he guessed.

  “Because it’s not smart,” she corrected. “I refuse to let a temporary affair influence this kind of decision, and our lives are too different for this to be ever anything else.”

  “Because I’m a Courtland?”

  “That’s part of it,” she admitted.

  He almost laughed at the irony. Most of the women he’d been involved with in the past viewed his name and birthright as assets. Because of her ex-husband, Shannon believed they were liabilities. Mike mentally cursed the man who’d been unable to appreciate this incredible woman and then compounded his mistake by making her feel unworthy just because she hadn’t been born to the same social class.

  “But it’s only part,” she told him.

  “Okay—what are the other parts?”

  She wrapped both hands around her cup so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Do you really want to make a list of all the reasons a relationship between us could never work?” she asked softly.

  “No,” he said evenly. “I want to make a list of the reasons you think it couldn’t work so I can disprove them one by one.”

  “I’m just trying to look at this situation objectively.”

  “Well, before you arrive at any final conclusions, there’s one more factor you need to put in your equation.”

  “What’s that?” she asked warily.

  “The fact that I love you.”

  Shannon’s heart skipped a beat. Hope? Or fear?

  She wasn’t entirely sure which part of her instinctive reaction was stronger. She only knew that she couldn’t allow herself to be swayed by his words or let her own emotions cloud the issue.

  Right now she wanted nothing more than to stay with Michael. But those feelings were a product of these extraordinary circumstances. Since the moment she’d arrived in Florida, her life had erupted into chaos. She couldn’t allow herself to be influenced by hormonal impulses that grew out of that turmoil.

  “I love you, Shannon.”

  He said it again, so simply and easily she ached to believe him, and to share the feelings in her own heart.

  “We’ve known each other a matter of days,” she said, hoping to point out the absurdity of the situation to him as well as to herself.

  “Maybe it doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation has made sense,” he admitted. “But when I woke up this morning, with you in my arms, I thought, This is how I want to wake up every morning for the rest of my life.

  “Believe me, that isn’t a thought that has ever crossed my mind before. And although I’ll admit to an immediate and subsequent thought that I’d probably lost my mind, it’s true.”

  She sighed. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

  “Because I know that as soon as this situation with A.J. is cleared up, you’ll be on your way back to Chicago trying to pretend none of this ever happened.”

  “I wouldn’t ever wish away the time I’ve spent with you.” She set down her empty cup and moved away from the table. “But I also won’t make it into something it isn’t.”

  “You’re not giving us a chance to see what it could be.”

  “Maybe if we’d met in a different time and place, under different circumstances—normal circumstances. But how can any of this be real?”

  “It doesn’t get any more real than this,” he told her.

  Then he crushed his mouth down on hers.

  Shannon responded to his kiss willingly, her arms wrapping around him, her body pressing against his. She could deny her emotions, but Mike knew she couldn’t deny this.

  The passion between them was incredible, and if it was all she could accept for now, it would be enough. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about having a warm and willing woman in his bed. He also wasn’t going to give up convincing her that what they had found together was so much more.

  Starting now.

  He’d just eased her back onto the mattress when a knock sounded at the door.

  She pulled him down with her. “Did you order breakfast?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then let’s just ignore it.”

  He wished he could. “There’s a clearly displayed Do Not Disturb sign on the door,” he told her. “Which makes me think I know who it is.”

  Shannon sighed as the knock sounded again.

  He moved away from her reluctantly to peer through the security viewer, his scowl not easing as he turned the handle of the door. “Why did I ever think I could expect any privacy here?” he muttered.

  “Why did you?” his sister asked, pushing past him without waiting for an invitation. She smiled at Shannon, evidently not surprised to find her in his room. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Shannon murmured in return.

  “Sleep well?”

  Shannon’s cheeks flushed prettily. “Very well, thanks.”

  “What are you doing here?” Mike interrupted the social pleasantries to ask his sister.

  “I wanted to let you know there’s a delivery coming up.” As if on cue, there was another brisk knock. “Right on time.”

  Mike let his sister respond to the summons. Then he could only stare as the bellhop pushed a luggage cart laden down with boxes and bags into the room.

  Rachel helped the man unload the packages onto the bed. “Thanks, Carlos.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Courtland.” He gave a slight bow and disappeared out of the room with the cart.

  “What is all of that?” he demanded.

  “‘All of that,’” she said, “isn’t for you.”

  She turned to Shannon. “I noticed you didn’t have any luggage with you and thought maybe you could use a few things.”

  Mike shook his head. Only his sister would refer to a mountain of clothes and accessories as “a few things.”

  “I guessed at the sizes,” Rachel continued, “but if there’s anything you don’t like or that doesn’t fit, you can exchange it at one of the boutiques downstairs.”

  She smiled. “As comfortable as our complimentary robes are, I thought at some point you might want to get dressed.”

  “I do,” Shannon finally responded. “But I can’t possibly keep all of this. There’s no way I could ever pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Rachel said. “I charged everything to Michael’s account.”

  “My account?”

  His sister grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t
object,” she said. “After all, you did blow up my boat.”

  “The boat was insured.”

  “That’s hardly the point. Anyway,” she continued, “I also came up to let you know that someone stopped by the front desk this morning looking for you.”

  He forgot about her shopping spree as every nerve-ending in his body went on full alert. “Who was it?”

  “Someone named Garcia.”

  Some of his tension eased. “Detective Garcia?”

  “Yeah, that would be the one.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  She shrugged. “Just that he was trying to get in touch with you.”

  “Why didn’t you let him come up?”

  She widened her eyes in feigned innocence. “I have no idea where my brother is, Detective. I haven’t seen him in several days.”

  Mike groaned; Shannon smiled. “That is what you told her to say,” she reminded him.

  He turned back to his sister. “When I told you not to tell anyone where we were, Rach, I didn’t intend for you to lie to the police.”

  Rachel only shrugged again. “He ticked me off—banging on my door at 7:00 a.m. as I was getting out of the shower. I did suggest, however, that if he wanted to come back at a more-civilized hour, I might be able to give him some more information.”

  “I’ll bet he was thrilled by that.”

  “Give me some credit,” she chastised him. “If he’d given the impression it was anything urgent, I would have brought him to your door myself. He said he’d be back around nine.”

  “It’s almost that now,” Shannon said.

  “I’ll give him a call, anyway. Hopefully I’ll be able to talk him out of pressing charges against my interfering sister for obstruction of justice.”

  She grinned unrepentantly. “Or not. He was kind of cute—and I’ve never been in handcuffs.”

  Mike shook his head. “Don’t you have a hotel to run?”

  “I’m going.” But she kissed his cheek, then turned to Shannon. “You should try the Belgian waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream for breakfast. Giselle’s pastries are to die for.”

  “Aren’t you curious about what’s in those bags?” Mike asked after Rachel had gone.

  Shannon was just staring at the packages, looking a little overwhelmed. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  He picked up a small pink bag. “This one looks interesting.”

  Inside was a tissue-wrapped package. Inside the tissue were a couple of scraps of butter-colored lace.

  He slid a finger under the strap and whistled appreciatively, holding it up for Shannon to see. “My sister might be a little excessive at times, but I can’t fault her taste.”

  She snatched the bra from his hand. “Unless you plan on wearing it—hands off.”

  He grinned. “I don’t think I’ll be putting it on, but you can bet I’ll be taking it off.”

  “Weren’t you going to call Detective Garcia?” She turned away from him and started rummaging through the bags Rachel had brought.

  “I hate it when the real world intrudes on my fantasy.”

  “I don’t want to know what you were fantasizing about.”

  “Silk ’n’ Sensations.”

  She paused in the act of unfolding a pair of linen pants.

  “When we first met, I wondered why you looked familiar,” he continued. “But I only just realized it now. You were a lingerie model.”

  “A lifetime ago,” she admitted, selecting a sleeveless peach-colored top to go with the pants.

  “I thought you were a research scientist.”

  “I am. I modeled to pay my way through college.”

  “And I looked at those magazines to fuel my dreams through college.”

  “Pervert. And they’re not magazines, they’re catalogs.”

  “Whatever.” He grinned.

  She shook her head.

  “It’s not something you should be ashamed of.”

  “I’m not ashamed of it,” she denied. “I just got tired of people making judgments about me because of it.”

  “Like carrying around the Courtland name.”

  “Maybe,” she allowed.

  “Is that why you gave it up?”

  “It was more a matter of scheduling. It just got too hard to juggle both jobs. And then—” she shrugged “—when Doug and I got married, he didn’t really approve.”

  “What’s not to approve of?”

  She found a pair of sandals, slipped them on her feet to try the size. “He said it was false advertising.”

  “Damn push-up bras,” he said. He’d experienced the disappointment of unwrapping a tempting package—and finding there was nothing but packaging. Having already had the privilege of exploring every inch of Shannon’s naked body, however, he knew that wasn’t a concern.

  She forced a smile. “Not the merchandise—me.”

  He sensed some pretty heavy undercurrents that she was trying to skim over. He forgot about the yellow lace and took her hands, turning her around to face him.

  “Do you want to explain that to me?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  But he wasn’t prepared to let it go. Not this time. “Your ex-husband did a real number on your self-esteem, didn’t he?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  He remembered their early conversation on the island, her claim that she wasn’t into sex, didn’t like giving up control. As if making love was some kind of battle to be won or lost rather than an experience to be shared and enjoyed. “Not long enough if you’re still letting his opinions influence your actions.”

  “I’m not.” She tilted her head back and brushed her mouth against his. “Not anymore.”

  He slid his arms around her waist, drew her closer. “Maybe you should prove it to me.”

  She laughed, as he’d hoped she would, some of the shadows lifting from her eyes.

  “Let me put on some clothes first, then you can take them off me.”

  Shannon felt a hundred percent better after she was dressed. She had to agree with Michael—his sister had exquisite taste. She’d gone through the array of tops and bottoms carefully, selecting items that would mix and match and hopefully not make too huge a dent in her savings account. Because despite what Rachel had said about charging the items to her brother, Shannon was determined to pay him back for her clothes.

  She was just running a brush through her hair when Detective Garcia arrived. Although she wanted to know how the investigation was coming along, his presence in the hotel room made her uneasy—the outside world intruding on the private paradise she’d shared with Michael.

  “Peart came out of surgery with flying colors,” the detective told them, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee she offered. “I’m not sure whether that’s good news or bad, but that was the word from the hospital this morning.”

  “Have you talked to him yet?” Michael asked.

  Garcia shook his head. “Hopefully tomorrow. I have, however, talked to both Enrico Ramirez and Jefferson Washington.”

  Rico and Jazz, she realized.

  “Neither of them said a single word about A.J.”

  “I guess it was too much to hope otherwise,” Michael said.

  “I didn’t expect much,” Garcia agreed. “But I thought we’d at least get a hint of something. What we’ve got is nothing.

  “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to meet with Ms. Vaughn.” He turned to her, opening a folder on the table. “I’ve got some surveillance photos I want you to take a look at. I know you didn’t see anyone other than Rico, Jazz and Peart on the boat, but someone else might have been hanging around the hotel prior to your abduction.”

  Shannon nodded, willing to do anything to help finally end this nightmare. “I’ll try.”

  Garcia spread a series of photos over the surface of the table. “Take your time and look at each person individually, see if you recognize any faces or even any features.”

  She
went through the photos once, and then again. No one looked familiar to her.

  “I know it’s a long shot,” Garcia said. “But I’ll leave the photos with you while I check in at the station. Maybe something will click for you.”

  “I hope so.”

  But as she continued to stare at the faces after Garcia had gone, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the lack of recognition.

  Michael brought her a fresh cup of coffee. “While you’re doing that, I’ll order up some…” His words trailed off.

  She glanced up to see him staring transfixed at the photos. “What?”

  “Breakfast,” he said. “I’m going to order breakfast. Did you want to try the Belgian waffles?”

  “Sure.” But her focus was still on the pictures and his reaction to them. “You recognized someone, didn’t you?”

  He hesitated before saying, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Who is it?”

  He shook his head. “It’s no one related to this investigation. It was just someone who looks like someone I knew a long time ago.”

  Although she was disappointed by his unwillingness to confide in her, Shannon didn’t press him for more information. She knew that sharing his bed didn’t give her the right to ask questions or make demands. Sex and intimacy were two entirely different things, as Michael’s withholding of information proved.

  Shannon continued to study the photos, anyway. And by the time Garcia returned she had, if no answers, at least a question.

  “Who is she?” she asked, indicating the photo of a tall, blond woman, stunningly beautiful in a black sheath dress.

  “Alysia Peart,” Garcia told her.

  “Andrew Peart’s wife?”

  The detective nodded. “Many expected that when Conroy was killed, Peart would take over. Not just as a reward for years of dedicated service, but because he was married to Conroy’s sister.”

  “What’s her middle name?” Shannon asked.

  He frowned at the question but opened his notebook and thumbed through the pages. “Eleanor.”

  “Oh.” So much for her brilliant theory. There was no way to get “A.J.” from Alysia Eleanor Conroy Peart.