The Guardian Page 13

  His tone was so convincing, his aura so confident that she was tempted to dump Davis’s fate entirely into his capable hands. “How do I know you’re not just trying to get rid of me?”

  His gaze slid to her lips and her pulse spiked. “Getting rid of you is actually the dead last thing on my mind right now,” he rasped. Her heart skipped a beat as he stepped abruptly closer, curling his hands about her upper arms. His palms, smooth but for a hint of calluses, gave rise to pleasant shivers as he lightly caressed her skin. “I meant what I said the other night. You’re a lovely and desirable woman. The thought of Davis hurting you disturbs me more than you realize.”

  Enthralled with every word out of his mouth, Lena rolled up on her tiptoes and crushed her lips to his. He rewarded her initiative by hauling her against him and plunging his tongue between her parting lips, in a kiss that swamped her with longing. She found herself in a restless sea where white-capped waves of desire swelled higher as he severed their lips to suckle at her earlobe. Pleasure cascaded down her neck and over her shoulders, tightening her nipples into tingling buds that ached for his touch.

  Desperate for skin-to-skin contact, Lena tugged Jackson’s shirttails free of his slacks and funneled her hands beneath the cotton weave to luxuriate in the silky milk-chocolate texture of his skin. In a greedy quest to know him better, she explored the six-packs abs, his ribs, the thick flanks of muscle on either side of his back. It would take days, months, years, to memorize all the physical complexities of his body.

  He pressed his lips to hers again, nudging her longing higher with heady forays of his tongue. In addition to the promising sweep of his palms skimming the swells and curves of her body, she could feel him gathering the slinky material of her skirt into his hands. Cool air swirled about her knees thrilling her with the suggestion that he was in pursuit of more.

  Is this really happening? Or am I dreaming again? Either way, she would weep if he stopped. Thankfully, he seemed to intuit that, slipping a thigh between her bare knees and shifting his hands to her hips to rock her against him.

  Dear God. The friction of his rock-hard quadriceps against her sensitive inner thighs made her arch toward him in desperate want. When he matched the massage to the strokes of his tongue, heat breached the surface of her skin. She moaned into his mouth and pressed her throbbing flesh against him as a signal of her need. Surely he could feel how wet she was becoming, how receptive.

  In unspoken agreement, they gravitated closer to the table. When it bumped against her thighs, Lena settled her weight back on it and guided his mouth to her aching breasts. “Please,” she whispered.

  With a swift glance at the monitors, Jackson lowered his head over one of the twin peaks poking out the fabric and drew it into his mouth. An arrow of stark lust shot to Lena’s womb as he suckled the stiff bud diligently, his ravishment all the more arousing for the wet fabric between his mouth and her flesh. Arching her back, she encouraged him to continue and prayed he wouldn’t stop.

  “Let me see you,” he urged.

  The tantalizing request had her pulling her the blouse off over her head in one swift movement and unlatching her bra without a moment’s hesitancy. Nothing had ever felt more right that baring herself to him.

  His eyes resembled half-moons under his heavy eyelids. “You’re magnificent,” he declared, sliding the straps over her shoulders. With a hiss of appreciation, he cupped the full mounds that spilled free. “Christ,” he whispered.

  Lena slid back until her shoulders touched the wall. In his large hands, her D-cup breasts seemed the perfect size as he held them to his mouth, flicking his tongue alternately over both taut tips. Entranced, she absorbed the erotic vision of their bodies touching. There was no blending of tones between his skin and hers, just a stark contrast that excited her beyond bearing.

  She didn’t care that she was sitting on a scarred, sturdy table in a musty store room. She had to have this man and she had to have him now.

  “So soft,” he marveled moving one hand to trace the curve of her outer thigh, then the tops of her legs, and finally the paler, softer flesh higher up.

  Too tightly coiled to speak, Lena raised her hem to reveal the cream-colored lace panties that matched her bra. She had slipped them on that afternoon in a whim of fancy, wanting to feel sexy during Jackson’s interview, never dreaming that he would actually see them.

  A mask of desire tightened his features as she subtly spread her thighs.

  “Touch me,” she pleaded, shocked by her outspokenness but not the least bit penitent.

  When he stroked his thumb over the nub tingling under the damp panel, her hips nearly came off the table. “Just like that,” she breathed. He repeated the motion, and her head fell back. Again and again he caressed her, sending her into a realm of ecstasy.

  Without warning, he edged aside the barrier, ducked his head, and replaced his dexterous digit with his open mouth.

  “Oh, my God, Ja—Abdul!” she cried.

  He stiffened, shooting a wary look up the length of her body.

  “Abdul’s not your real name,” she said hastily. “Tell me what to call you when I come.”

  Her brazen distraction worked. “Call me whatever you want,” he said thickly before plowing his tongue into the furrows of her flesh.

  “Mocha Man,” she breathed, scarcely capable of speech. “That’s what your skin looks like to me. Dark, sweet mocha.” Gripping the edge of the table, she teetered on the edge of an orgasm.

  A deep resonant chuckle followed her comment. Traveling up inside her body, it called attention to the emptiness there. She needed more; something only he could give her. She pleaded with him to take her.

  “Tell me you trust me first,” he demanded between flicks of his tongue.

  Aware of what he was trying to do, she kept stubbornly quiet, causing him to still and lift his head with a challenging look.

  “Oh, don’t stop. That’s not nice,” she reproached him with a gasp of disappointment.

  “Tell me you’ll trust me to help you,” he insisted.

  Damn him. Was he really going to do this to her? “Fine, I trust you.” Amazingly the moment his hot mouth resumed its magic, she did feel a surge of absolute trust, which made her pleasure that much more intense. “Oh, God!” It overwhelmed her unexpectedly. Gripping the table for dear life, Lena rode the caps of the tallest waves before plummeting into an orgasm that crashed over her, drove her deep into herself, spun her around, then deposited her gently onto a shore of sweet contentment.

  To her confusion, Jackson straightened with a grimace and started tucking his shirt back into his pants.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, flummoxed by his actions. Was he really going to stop now, in the middle of their tryst?

  “Scrounging up some self-control.” His grimace turned into a tortured smile.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to give you more.” He held out a hand, pulling her upright. “Dinner in a high-end restaurant, candlelight, a comfortable bed.” He brushed a curl from her cheek. “I can’t wait to date you. Just trust me to handle Davis my way and leave tonight, Lena. When I’m finished here, I will come for you.” He looked deep into her eyes. “And then I swear I’ll give you everything you ever wanted,” he vowed hoarsely. “Everything you deserve, including Davis’s head on a platter. I give you my word.”

  But Lena scarcely heard him for the blood roaring in her ears. “You seduced me on purpose,” she accused. “You extorted a promise from me!”

  His jaw tightened with frustration. “I only want to keep you safe. It’s that simple.”

  What if it was? He seemed sincere enough. Lena bit her lower lip uncertainly.

  When the chime of the front doors reached her ears, she didn’t immediately react, but Jackson did, swiveling toward the monitors.

  “It’s the cop,” he announced, snatching up her bra and thrusting it at her. “Quick, get dressed.”

  “You’d better leave,” Lena wa
rned, scrambling off the table to put herself together.

  Jackson backed toward the exit. “Magdalena?”

  In the process of redressing, she glanced up at him. “What?”

  “Remember that you can trust me,” he said, holding her gaze captive as he pushed the door open behind him. “My word is all I have to give you now, but I swear it’s all you need.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The sharp knock on the door right next to Lena drowned out the sound of the service door closing as Jackson slipped out the back.

  “Just a minute!” she snapped, struggling to hook her bra.

  From the other side of the door, Deputy Hazelwood demanded, “Why’s this door locked?”

  “No idea!” Flustered and furious, Lena tunneled into her top, grimacing at the damp patch over one breast as she tugged it down. Making one final adjustment to her twisted skirt, she stepped toward the door, took a deep breath then snatched it open. “What do you want?” she asked with all the grace of a defiant teenager.

  “What are you doing?” His gaze went straight to the wet spot on her blouse.

  “Stocking the refrigerator,” she bit out.

  Craning his neck to see inside, he took a good look around. “Keep the door open next time.”

  “Who appointed you my keeper?” she groused, aware that she was taking out her temper on the hapless deputy. She already knew Jackson was responsible for the police presence at Artie’s.

  “No idea,” the deputy tossed back, using her own words against her as he swiveled toward the hot dog grill.

  Lena stalked into the store after him. Lathering her hands with antibacterial gel, she grilled the hotdog he ordered on autopilot while deliberating Jackson’s ultimatum.

  Not only had he sworn to help her implicate Davis in her sister’s murder, but he’d pledged to woo her like a gentleman the next time they met. All she had to do was leave tonight.

  The dilemma made her stomach churn with conflicting impulses.

  My word is all I have to give you now, but I swear it’s all you need. Was it really? She had nothing in writing, nothing to guarantee he would fulfill his promises. From the fateful night she’d learned that her sister had been murdered by a cop, she’d trusted no man—not even one she intuited was a good guy.

  Desire gave way to cynicism. Maybe if she still believed in fairy tales and princes in shining armor galloping to a fair maiden’s rescue, she’d take Jackson Maddox at his word. But she’d moved well beyond that stage in life.

  More than that, she was this close to catching Davis on her own. How could he expect her to turn her back on everything she’d accomplished so far, all in the hopes that he had the integrity he said he did?

  **

  Jackson stared up at the springs checkering the bottom of the bunk above him. Corey’s snores abraded his raw nerves. He couldn’t sleep. His body still hummed with sexual awareness. Visions of Lena, virtually naked and lying spread-eagle on the table top flickered before his eyes like an endless X-rated movie. The only way to loop his thoughts off the erotic film track was to picture her interviewing Davis. His blood ran alternately hot, then cold.

  Twelve years of active duty in the Corps had accustomed Jackson to going without sleep, but if he didn’t keep his senses sharp and his guard up on this undercover job, he’d make a fatal error. Having stayed up late the last two nights, he already felt like he was running on fumes. Unless he got rid of this hard-on, sleep would continue to elude him.

  With chagrin, he loosed the string on his pajama bottoms and took his steely erection in hand.

  This was twice now in just days that he’d had to masturbate. For a man who hadn’t thought about sex in months, even years, his current state was nothing short of a resurrection. Not only had Lena brought his sex drive back to life, but she’d ratcheted it to the highest setting, making him as horny as a nineteen-year-old.

  Picturing what he would do to please them both next time, it took mere seconds to whip himself into a critical state.

  I’ve fallen for her, he realized with mixed dismay and euphoria. The one woman in the world with the potential to expose him as a fraud now had him by the balls. Worse than that, she gave so little consideration to her own safety that he had every reason to fear she wouldn’t make it out of Mechanicsville alive.

  Envisioning himself buried in her tight, slippery sex, he swallowed a groan of sublimity as he came in a powerful rush, wetting his own bare chest. A pleasant, sleepy stupor ambushed him immediately. He barely had the energy to grope for the T-shirt that was balled up under the bed.

  Please leave town tonight, he willed as he wiped himself dry. The plans that were forming in his head about the future hinged on Lena remaining safe, and very much alive.

  **

  The next evening, Lena pushed out of the store in the hopes of dispelling her agitation. Turning her back intentionally on Gateway, she admired the lavender sunset on the western horizon and dragged warm country air into her lungs.

  “Howdy,” called Deputy Doug Hazelwood out the window of his cruiser. “Nice evening.”

  She sent him a tight smile and a barely perceptible nod of agreement. Concentrating on the scent of freshly mowed grass and a gust of summer air, she was nonetheless aware of every cell in her body clamoring for Jackson to come visit her again tonight. Only, she knew he wouldn’t.

  He had given her an ultimatum—to surrender her plans for Davis or else never again experience the intoxicating thrill of getting to know him intimately. Of course, he hadn’t worded it in such black and white terms, but she was fairly certain that it was Jackson’s way or the highway.

  The only sure method to get what her body and heart yearned for was to pack her bags and head for home.

  Still, she wasn’t leaving. Maybe if she got some kind of promissory note that would hold up in a court of law, she thought wryly, but probably not even then.

  If she could just explain to Jackson that it wasn’t strictly a matter of trust. She was days away from her interview with Davis, an interview she’d imagined countless times in the past ten years. How could she just walk away after all she had done to prepare for his entrapment? Especially when she fully believed in her ability to make him say something incriminating. She couldn’t just give it up.

  Nor could she shake the sinking certainty that, as a consequence, she was letting something extraordinary slip through her grasp.

  What if Jackson never sought her out again because she’d rejected his offer and therefore him? Would this longing inside eventually subside? Or would she end up looking for his face in every crowd, wondering what might have happened between them if she’d just acceded to his wishes?

  Even now, she fought the urge to turn around and search for him on the blacktop, where she could hear a basketball being dribbled. Pride alone kept her from stealing a peek as she whirled around and marched for the door.

  But then a lone figure jogging on the shoulder of the highway snared her attention and, with lurch of her heart, she recognized the runner as Jackson. Slick with sweat, his limbs gleamed like oiled teak as they pumped in graceful rhythm beneath him, carrying him closer. Envisioning him driving his powerful body into hers, she gave a moan of lament before she squared her shoulders and forced herself to look away.

  I didn’t come here to fall in love, she reminded herself. The four-letter word leaped so lightly into her head that it made her heart stop. I came to catch my sister’s killer.

  “Maggie!”

  Hearing her other name called, she glanced back to see Nadim, hustling across the highway on his way over to be interviewed. Pasting a smile onto her face, she held the door for him and waited. “Glad you could make it,” she said when he reached her side.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he exclaimed with Hispanic flair.

  His words prompted a powerful pinch of remorse. What am I going to miss, she wondered, by refusing Jackson’s offer?

  **

  At last, the pac
ked Friday night service ended. Ibrahim stepped to the edge of the minbar to issue a final blessing which Zakariya repeated from a lower platform opposite him.

  “Maa’assalama,” Zakariya called. “Go in peace, my sons and brothers.”

  Rolling up his prayer rug, Jackson tucked it under one arm, careful not to whack any of the men that pressed in on either side of him.

  The service had been as heavily attended tonight as the prior week, with Five Percenters and parolees crammed together like sardines into the prayer hall. Again, Ibrahim’s sermon had been filmed to be uploaded to his website. But, unless he’d spoken in a code Jackson couldn’t decipher, the imam had said nothing to suggest that Judgment Day was at hand. Catching the eye of the powerful-looking stranger who’d kneeled beside him, he proffered a hand.

  “Assalamu alaikum. My name is Abdul Ibn Wasi. I am a soldier of the Fruit of Islam.”

  The unsmiling giant looked him over dubiously as he came to his feet. At last, he clasped Jackson’s hand in a daunting grip. “I am Mr. Rakeem,” he responded in a stentorian voice. “Welcome to your future, Abdul.”

  Mr. Rakeem seemed to be establishing his dominance with their handshake. “Thank you.” Tugging free, Jackson sought something else to say. “Did you come through Gateway?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

  The powerful stranger nodded. “Seven years ago when the doors first opened. I was once a thief,” he added on a note of self-contempt. “Now I run a school for boys.”

  Terrific, Jackson thought, picturing a school full of dark-skinned boys being taught that the white man was the Devil. “What’s the name of your school?”

  “Rabia,” came the terse reply. “Ask less questions and you will learn more.”

  Unimpressed with the man’s arrogance, Jackson gestured at their feet. “May I put away your prayer rug for you?” he asked to placate the man. Without a word Mr. Rakeem stepped back while Jackson stooped to roll it up.

  “You are a quick study, Abdul,” Mr. Rakeem relented as he straightened with the rug. “Tell me what you have learned about the First Supreme Lesson.”