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Make Me: Complete Novel by Beth Kery (4)

A few hours later, Latimer stood alone on the pier, watching the moonlight shimmer in the black water.

Harper McFadden was in Tahoe Shores. She’d just been in his home. Her lips had just been beneath his own, her body molded against him.

Harper.

Here.

Or she had been, anyway. Until he’d given in to an urge that had first germinated and swelled in him as a scrawny, malnourished thirteen-year-old boy. Who knew that an eighty-three-pound kid could have felt so much lust? So much longing? So much need?

Just so much. Period.

He hadn’t known much of anything when it came to feelings twenty years ago. He’d known hunger and fear. And perhaps worry: a chronic, painful anxiety for the other helpless creatures that were forced to depend on a very undependable, violent man. If it weren’t for a few of the dogs and Grandma Rose, he would have run away from his Uncle Emmitt in an instant. They were the only things that kept him tethered to that grimy, threadbare existence. In the case of Grandma Rose, Emmitt would surely have let his mother die from neglect if it weren’t for Jake’s reminders and cautious, subtle urging for visits, food, and money for medical care.

But he had left them all behind that summer of his thirteenth year. He’d abandoned the animals, a few of which had been his only friends. He’d forsaken Grandma Rose. He’d offered his life.

All of it, he’d risked for her.

It’d all come to nothing. She hadn’t kept one of her promises. She hadn’t written, even when he’d written dozens of letters and left various forwarding addresses. Of course, her solemn pledge to convince her parents to allow him to visit her in DC, her insistence that she’d find a way for them to be together again, had never played out. He hadn’t been surprised about the visits. He’d been a hell of a lot more familiar with the cruel realities of life as a kid than Harper had ever been. The suspiciousness and fear he’d witnessed in her parents’ eyes when they’d looked at him as Harper and he clung together on that cot in the tiny Barterton police station had driven that harsh truth home.

Those stupid, humiliating letters. A good majority of them he’d gotten back marked return to sender. Why hadn’t he burned the damn things a long time ago?

So she didn’t even remember him. Well, thank God for that.

But what if she did? What if her lack of recognition had been a performance?

Not a chance, he discounted abruptly. He doubted anyone could fake that blank expression in her eyes when she’d first looked up at him on the beach.

Of course that handful of days and nights hadn’t meant to her what it had to him. She had been a cherished, prized child, adored and protected by her parents. Their time in the West Virginia wilderness together, their desperate flight for their lives, had faded into a dim, distant nightmare once she’d been returned to the haven of her parents’ arms.

He’d faded from her life. Why did that fact hurt, when he wanted so much for it to be true? When he was so relieved that it was true.

He’d last seen her in the courthouse on the day of Emmitt’s sentencing. She’d walked away within the anxious circle of her parents’ arms, Harper looking over her shoulder while her parents urged her forward. Away from the nightmare . . .

She’d walked away tonight, too, despite the dazed fascination in her eyes, the yielding he’d felt in her body, the heat in her kiss. It was for the best.

It definitely was for the best. Why did he have to keep repeating that fact to himself?

He knew why.

Because damn, she’d grown up beautiful. Stunning. It didn’t surprise him. She’d been beautiful, even at twelve years old. Her fresh luminosity had undoubtedly been what had first snagged Emmitt Tharp’s dangerous attention. Even though she’d been a year younger than Jacob when they’d first met, she’d begun to develop. She’d looked older than him. To skinny little Jake Tharp, she’d been the ideal of perfection. Of cleanliness. Of a beauty so rare, it must by its very nature elude his grimy grasp.

He’d been ridiculously naïve. It was laughable in retrospect.

Still . . . Jacob didn’t even smile as he stared out at the shimmering water. Somehow, seeing Harper McFadden was one of the most sobering things that had happened to him in a long, long time.

Her hair was a shade darker now, but the copper color was just as singular as it had been back then. He recalled how he’d stared at it with slack-jawed wonder when he first saw it as a boy. On the beach yesterday, when he’d had his first jolting encounter with her after two decades, she’d worn it in a high ponytail. Tonight, her hair had fallen in loose, sexy waves down her bare back. As he’d passed a window in his office, he’d caught a glimpse of it out on the terrace. The vision of her from the back had stopped him in his tracks. For a few seconds, everything had gone still and silent as he stared out the window, and his past and present had collided.

She wore a stunning aquamarine silk cocktail dress, the color echoing the alpine lake. He didn’t need to see her up close to know it also matched her eyes. She was fair, like most redheads. The palette of her copper hair, flawless skin, and the sumptuous fabric of her dress created a feast for the eyes. Even from that distance, he’d had a graphic, potent fantasy of burying his nose in her hair, sliding his lips against her flawless, soft skin . . . gently biting the flesh of her fragrant shoulder.

When he’d noticed the thin, inch-long scar at the corner of her pretty mouth the other day on the beach, something had sunk like lead inside him. The small imperfection only highlighted the overall harmony and beauty of her face. Someone who carried that scar shouldn’t have such an open, expressive countenance. They should be guarded and wary. It was a wonder to him that Harper wasn’t.

He’d seen more beautiful women. He’d had them. Many of them. But he’d never seen a woman more desirable than Harper McFadden.

Still.

He’d thought himself completely severed from Jake Tharp. He resented Harper, for making it so clear that boy was still alive inside him, still making him do things he’d regret . . . like suggesting to Cyril that he make a movie based on her story and offering to finance it. Like invite her here tonight, because he’d proved too weak to resist.

Like submit to the temptation of her pink, sexy mouth, fragrant hair, and soft skin.

His body hardened of its own accord at the piercing memory, making him frown. He’d wanted her so badly when he was a kid. He’d been so naïve, he hadn’t even understood how he’d wanted her. How was it possible, that the unfulfilled desire of a thirteen-year-old boy could have such an effect on him now? It was as if Harper had reanimated that hungry child inside him. It was unbearable. Unacceptable. And yet . . . that hunger continued, gnawing at him like a dull ache.

“Jacob?”

The surprised call tore him out of his brooding. Elizabeth walked down the stone path that led to the dock.

“I assumed you were up in your suite,” she said, sounding startled. He turned back to face the lake, distractedly listening to her footsteps approach. “I was just making sure that everything was cleared. All of the guests are gone. That is if . . . Did Harper McFadden go?”

“She’s gone.”

He sensed her hesitation, and realized belatedly he’d been sharp. He knew Elizabeth had seen him leave the terrace with Harper. She’d assumed Harper had accompanied him upstairs. Another spike of irritation went through him. Despite his self-lecture about how Harper’s departure was for the best, he was still annoyed that she’d rejected him.

How contrary could he be?

“Well, I thought the night went well, anyway,” Elizabeth said briskly, determined to ignore his brusqueness: just one of her many good qualities. “It was nice that you were able to attend for a bit. Stewart Overton called earlier. He wanted to confirm your meeting. He’s taking a chopper in from Travis,” she said, referring to Travis Air Force Base.

“Any news from Alex on ResourceSoft?”

“Everything is going smoothly with that, apparently. Fingers crossed, anyway. Regina Morrow just called, as well.”

His head swung around. “Did she sound all right?”

“I think so. I mean . . . better than she has on other occasions, anyway.”

Jacob nodded slowly, aware of Elizabeth’s delicacy on the subject of Regina Morrow. Elizabeth and Regina had formed a friendship of sorts over the years. He told Elizabeth almost everything. As his primary assistant, Elizabeth saw to many details in regard to Regina’s upkeep and care. But there were a few cards he held close to his chest, like the one relating to the nature of his and Regina’s complicated relationship.

“It’s late. I’ll call her in the morning,” Jacob said.

“I put a few faxes on your desk that came from Jenny, if you’d like to take a look at them before bed,” she said. Jenny Caravallo was his secretary in San Francisco. Elizabeth knew he often took work to bed.

“It’ll wait until morning. I’m taking a swim,” he said, turning abruptly.

“Oh.” She sounded surprised, and Jacob understood why. He didn’t make a habit of taking midnight swims. “Do you need anything?”

“Nothing that some cold water and exercise won’t cure. Make sure you don’t activate the terrace security system. I’ll do it when I go inside. Tell Tim to go. I’ll call at the guard station when I go in for the night,” he said, referring to Tim Stanton, a security employee who usually took nighttime watch at the rear of the property. He paused next to Elizabeth and met her stare. “I want complete privacy.”

She blinked at his quiet adamancy.

“Of course. Whatever you need, Jacob.”

“I’m sorry for being so brusque earlier. I have a lot on my mind. Thanks for staying late tonight. Why don’t you take tomorrow off?”

“I have too much to do, you know that,” she said with a smile.

“Then don’t come in until noon. Relax a little.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“I insist. You work way too hard. Good night, Elizabeth,” he said before he walked off the dock.

Harper was feeling restless.

Or maybe reckless was the right term.

After tossing and turning for an hour plus, obsessively reliving Latimer’s kiss, and growing hotter and pricklier by the minute, she finally got out of bed. She hurried into yoga pants, tennis shoes, and a long-sleeved shirt. She twisted her hair into a sloppy bun. Not allowing herself to think of any motive past a soothing midnight walk to calm her nerves, she headed toward the lake.

In addition to a three-quarter full moon, the ground lights of several restaurants and private homes lit the beach. After several minutes of brisk walking, a distressing thought occurred to her. Her press pass was in the purse she’d left behind at Latimer’s, along with her driver’s license and credit cards. She needed the press pass, at the very least, for the mayor’s press conference in South Lake Tahoe in the morning.

Maybe she could contact Elizabeth in the early morning, in order to retrieve it? But no, Elizabeth had never actually supplied her with any contact information.

She recognized the modern mansion to the right of her. It was Cyril Atwater’s home. That meant the next property down the beach was . . .

Latimer’s.

A moment later, she slowed as she neared the perimeter of the Latimer compound. The huge, multileveled terrace of the mansion was sparsely lit and largely occluded from the shore by several tall pines.

Her purse would likely still be up there. She’d left it tucked in the corner of the couch, and it wasn’t large. There was a good chance no one had noticed it during the post-party cleanup, especially since Latimer and she had been the only ones utilizing the upper level of the terrace. It was only yards away from her reach.

Couldn’t she just pop up the stairs and get it?

That was her logic for tentatively approaching the first set of stone steps that led from the beach and dock to the pool level. Her rationalization was the sole thing on which she’d let herself focus. Her return had nothing to do with her regret for walking away from Latimer . . . with her irrational lust for a man she’d just met.

No. It was all about her press pass.

Her heart began to thump in her ears as she rose up the steps. She suspected an alarm might go off at any moment. A dozen guards might rush her. As much emphasis as Latimer put on security, surely there were motion detectors out here at the very least, if not video surveillance. She wasn’t scared, though. Not precisely. She was tingling with something that felt like anticipation.

A splashing, trickling sound entered her awareness. She paused on the stone terrace, her breath stuck in her lungs.

The pale blue pool glimmered to the left of her, dimly illuminated by several perimeter lights. There was enough light for her to see that the trickling sound wasn’t coming from the pool, however. The surface of the water was as smooth as blue glass.

A low, harsh groan cut through the hushed night. Harper jumped, air hissing out of her lungs. The sound had come from behind a cedar enclosure just to the left of her. The wall of the enclosure didn’t reach all the way to the stone terrace. Beneath it, she could make out a gray mist and water splashing around a pair of muscular calves. As she watched, the solitary man parted his legs several inches, planting his feet. Another tense groan vibrated the still air.

She didn’t tell herself to move. She was drawn irrevocably. Irrationally. Her heart now drumming furiously in her ears, she rounded the wall. It was a shower enclosure, a place to remove the sand after being on the beach.

Latimer was turned in profile to her, completely unaware of her presence. Steam from the running shower curled around long, muscular legs. Moonlight gleamed on the stretch of his wet, naked back and round buttocks. Water streamed down his shoulders and ridged abdomen. His muscles were pulled so tight, she had the random impression he was about to break from the strain. He stood with one hand bracing himself on the cedar wall, his head bowed forward, eyes clamped tight, his body coiled as tight as a spring.

His other hand fisted his cock.

He was furiously erect, his sex as long, hard, and intimidating-looking as the rest of him. He jacked himself with a forcefulness that both shocked and aroused her. Whatever rode him in those tense seconds, whatever desire commanded him, it was a savage, ruthless thing . . . and it pained him.

The realization must have made her make a sound of distress, because his head jerked around. His pumping arm froze. In a split second, his entire focus was yanked entirely from his single-minded search for release, and fastened onto her.

For a lung-burning few seconds, neither of them spoke. Harper wondered numbly if the air itself could catch flame.

“I’m so sorry. I forgot my purse.”

Her lame words had no substance. They seemed to be incinerated to mist in an instant in the silent storm that hovered between them.

Slowly, he released his erection and removed his hand from the wall. He straightened and turned toward her. He stood tall. The moon, stars, and the pool lights dimly illuminated a good portion of his body. She could easily make out his cock springing out from between hard, strong-looking thighs.

“You forget a lot of things. Or maybe you just want to forget.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you mean I forgot my purse on purpose?”

“No.”

He took a step toward her. She became aware that her body was vibrating subtly, as if dual forces were doing battle inside her.

What the hell are you doing? Move. Get the hell out of here.

But his virility, his power, and his sheer beauty choked her. It chained her to the spot.

“I mean just what I said.” He tilted his head slightly, and she saw the moonlight glint in his eyes. “I mean that you want to forget so many things. I can help you forget, Harper. You can help me forget some things, too. Maybe that’s why you came back.”

He held out his hand, beckoning her to him.