The Parks Empire: Secrets, Lies and Loves: Romancing the Enemy

A tremor rushed over her. He tightened his hold, then stepped to the side, turning her at the same time. They faced each other, their expressions solemn, their eyes questioning. She wondered if his doubts were the same as hers. At the moment, it didn’t matter.

Slowly she raised her hands and caressed along his shirtfront. “Warm, so warm,” she said.

“Burning up,” he admitted.

Cade cupped her face in his hands and sipped from her lips as if he’d found a rare and perfect wine, a nectar of incredible sweetness stolen from the gods. And like all mortals who dared the fates, he knew he would pay…someday…somehow….

He groaned as need pushed aside the dire musing. He took her mouth in a kiss of fire, of insatiable passion. He needed more from her.

“Have to touch you,” he said in half apology, half anticipation.

“Yes. Oh, yes.” Sara wanted nothing between them—no clothing, no second thoughts, no past filled with hatred and regret. She pushed her hands under his shirt and caressed his back.

The muscles flexed beneath her fingers, hinting at raw power kept under tight control. She wanted to experience that power for herself, to feel it against her…in her.

She turned her head and sighed shakily. “This is…we shouldn’t…It’s so…unwise.”

“I know,” he whispered, his mouth hot on her neck just below her ear. “Stop me. If you can.” Cade chuckled ruefully, knowing she was as caught up in the moment as he was. Something primitive and wild flashed through his blood, driving out sanity in the face of this terrible need. For her. For this woman.

“Come. We need to go inside,” he said, feeling her tremble again. He held his breath as he turned them toward her door.

“Stacy,” she said.

“I have the monitor on. With the doors open, we’ll hear if she calls out.” He guided her inside.

Sara felt the sofa touch the back of her knees. She tossed the sweater on a chair and kicked off her shoes when Cade did. He enclosed her in a warm embrace and together they sank onto the cushions.

Their bodies meshed as if they’d done this a thousand times. They stretched out on the supple leather—thighs locked, chests and abdomens touching, hands reaching, searching beneath the barriers of their clothing until they could touch living flesh.

“Your skin is as smooth as flower petals,” he murmured as he imprinted kisses over her face.

“So is yours,” she said just as ardently, completely entranced by the growing intimacy.

His low laughter delighted her, and she laughed, too. It felt natural and reassuring.

“I need more,” he said.

She let him unfasten the buttons on her blouse, helped shed it and the bra, then waited, her heart surging like a storm-driven tide, as he unfastened his shirt and wrapped her in it so that skin nestled against skin.

“You’re burning me up,” he told her, his mouth stirring her to madness as he kissed along her neck, then drew back enough to lave her peaked breasts with his tongue until she gasped and moaned with hunger.

Arching slightly, she moved against him, feeling the enticing hardness against her tummy. He clasped her thigh in one hand and positioned it over his hip.

“Oh,” she cried softly as sensation whirled through her at the greater contact. She only had to press slightly to experience even more.

He moved with her, their breathing shallow and rapid as the flames danced and leaped through their entwined bodies.

“Cade,” she whispered. “You must…you must come to me….”

“I want to,” he assured her. “But I didn’t expect this. I didn’t prepare for it.” He caught her hand when she tugged at his jeans, then pressed her palm against his chest. “No more. I don’t have protection.”

She bit into her bottom lip as disappointment hit. “You, uh, the operation…”

“A vasectomy was Rita’s idea. I never had one.” He gazed into her eyes. “Unless you’re protected, we have to stop…now.”

A tangle of questions wrapped around them, buzzed like angry bees between them as they contemplated each other solemnly. His smile was unexpected—a rueful acknowledgment of their predicament.

“Okay, let’s quit while we’re ahead,” he said.

He swung up and away from her. The night air from the open door swept over her, chilling the ardor to embers but not quite putting the fire out. She sighed.

“Me, too,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her lightly, picked up his shoes and departed.

Sara wrapped her sweater around her shivering body. Sitting there in the dark, she went over the events of the evening. There had been such strange undercurrents between them. And then the passion.

She’d never known a man like Cade. Gentle. Caring. A wonderful father. There was something deeply honorable about him. She felt it in her bones. She should tell him why she’d come to San Francisco. Before he found out in a different way. Like when the police came to arrest his father.

“Complexities,” she said aloud and sighed again.

Chapter Five

Two nights later, the ring of the doorbell startled Sara as she sat in the den and tried to read a long novel about a rich family and their problems.

She personally thought it would do the fictional characters good to take on a poor family’s problems and see how life felt when there wasn’t enough money to buy one’s way out of difficulty.

Rising, she went to the front door. It was too late for Stacy to be up and she assumed Cade would use the back door since the den was in the rear of the house. That left Tyler to be calling at nine-thirty in the evening.

She was right. Flicking off the dead bolt, she opened the elegant portal and invited him in. “Did you just get off work?” she asked, seeing his suit.

“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face after entering the town house. “Got anything to eat?”

“Ham-and-cheese sandwich or omelette?”

“Omelette. Three eggs. I’m starved.”

After locking the door, she led the way into the kitchen. “Don’t they let police detectives eat in this city?” she asked with a sympathetic glance.

“Not if they can help it.” His smile was weary.

She prepared a large omelette and poured it into a skillet. While it cooked, she dropped an English muffin into the toaster, considered, then added one for herself. In a few minutes, she handed Tyler a tray with his food and carried one for herself with the toasted muffin, strawberry jam and a glass of milk on it.

They ate in the den with the trays across their laps. “So what’s happening?” she demanded when her brother remained stubbornly silent.

He roused from his introspection. “Trouble.”

The hair prickled on the back of her neck. “What kind of trouble?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.” He finished off the omelette and the last drink of milk. “Got any coffee?”