Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal
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“According to Grace, you were doing much more than your—”
Clair stopped suddenly, raised a hand to her temple and closed her eyes.
“Mrs. Carver?” Kiera leaned forward. “Are you all right?”
“I—I thought I was,” she said breathlessly. “But maybe not.”
Kiera stood. “I’ll get your receptionist.”
“No!” Clair opened her eyes and held up her hand. “No, please.”
“I really should—”
“Just give me a minute.” Clair laid her head back. “It’s nothing, just a little wave of nausea. I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” Her own nervousness forgotten, Kiera spotted a pitcher of water sitting on a console, hurried over and filled a glass, then quickly moved to Clair’s side. “In fact, you’re quickly approaching the color of your jacket, which I love, by the way. Vera Wang?”
Clair smiled weakly and nodded. “I did a little shopping on my honeymoon.”
“Just sip.” Kiera held out the glass, studied Clair’s face for a moment, then, without thinking, asked, “How far along are you?”
“Far along?” Clair stared blankly at her. “What do you mean?”
Darn it! Why did she have to always speak before she thought? One more thing Trey was right about.
“Nothing. Here, just sip on this.”
“You thought I was pregnant?”
Afraid to answer, Kiera shifted uneasily.
“I’m not pregnant.” Clair laughed and shook her head. “I just had a little bug last week and I can’t seem to shake it. My nephews had it, too.”
Mentally kicking herself, Kiera forced a smile and started to back away. “It probably is just a bug. There’s always something going around.” Like foot-in-mouth-disease. “I appreciate you inviting me up here, but I should probably get back to work now.”
“Wait.” Clair reached out and grabbed Kiera’s arm. “Why—what made you think that?”
“I was way out of line,” Kiera said, wishing she could be anywhere but here at this moment. “Of course you’d know if you were pregnant. Just forget I said anything.”
Clair’s hand tightened on Kiera’s arm. “I’m not upset or offended. Really, I’m not. Please, just tell me what made you think that?”
Since it was too late to take the words back or escape, Kiera simply sighed and resigned herself to her fate.
“Well,” Kiera said hesitantly, “I’ve been around a lot of pregnant women. The last restaurant I worked in, three of the servers there were expecting at the same time. They all had that same pale-green tint in their face as you do, the same unexpected wave of nausea that would come and go. I guess I just got pretty good at recognizing ‘the look.’”
“And I—” Clair bit her lip “—I have that look?”
Kiera slowly nodded.
“Oh, my God.” Clair sank back into her chair. Wide-eyed, she stared blankly out the window. “It’s possible. There was that one time …”
Clair’s gaze flashed back to Kiera. “Please don’t say anything about this to anyone. I want to be sure, and if I am I have to tell Jacob first.”
Kiera nodded, couldn’t help but note the irony of the situation. “Of course.”
“Oh, no—” the green tint in Clair’s face deepened “—here it comes again.” She slapped her fingers to her mouth and jumped up. “I’ll be right back, don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”
Clair didn’t wait for an answer, just hurried to a door at the back of her office and ran through it.
Kiera rolled her head back and groaned softly. The last thing she’d wanted to do was call attention to herself, but, between doing her job well and having a loose tongue, she’d practically screamed to be noticed.
With a heavy sigh, she started to turn and sit back down, but a grouping of silver framed photographs on Clair’s shelves caught her attention.
Family photos.
Almost afraid to look, but knowing she had to, Kiera moved closer. There were several pictures, but one of them practically leaped off the shelf at her. Her pulse quickened as she picked up the photo and stared at it. Clair sat on the top rail of a corral fence; two men stood on either side. One of the men Kiera recognized—Rand Blackhawk. They were all smiling, not a posed smile, but one of those shots where someone with a camera sneaks up and captures the essence of the moment on film.
Kiera’s fingers tightened on the frame. All three shared the same golden, bronzed skin, the same high cheekbones. The same thick, dark hair.
So familiar. So incredibly familiar.
Beyond William Blackhawk’s obituary, Kiera hadn’t been able to find out anything about the Blackhawk family. It wasn’t as if it was a subject that came up with the few people she’d had contact with in this town. If she started asking questions, there was no doubt in her mind she’d draw unwanted attention. Of course, she’d already done that in spades.
“Hi.”
Kiera whirled at the sound of Sam’s deep voice close behind her. The photo slipped from her hands as she turned, and she could do nothing to stop its descent. She watched the frame bounce off the plush carpeting, then fall open, spilling the glass, the back cover and the photo onto the floor.
Horrified, Kiera dropped to her knees.
“Sorry.” Sam knelt beside her, reached for the frame as she reached for the photo. “I guess you didn’t hear me knock. I thought Clair was in here.”
“She is—she was—she’ll be back shortly.” Carefully, she lifted the overturned photo, stared at the names handwritten on the back: Rand, Lizzie, Seth, at the Double B.
“Lizzie?”
She hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but the name slipped out.
“Clair’s birth name is Elizabeth Blackhawk.” Sam slid the glass back into the frame. “Her parents died when she was little and she was adopted by a family in South Carolina.”
Her parents died when she was little … Kiera let the words sink in. “Clair was adopted?”
“It’s a little complicated.” Sam took the picture from her, dropped the picture and backing into the frame and held it up. “There we go. No damage done.”
No damage done? If only that were true. She couldn’t seem to stop the sudden, uncontrollable shaking. She had another piece of the puzzle now, but the picture still made no sense.
“Hey.” Frowning, Sam set the frame back on the shelf and took hold of her arms. “It’s all right.”
It wasn’t all right, she thought. Nothing was right. It had nothing to do with a dropped frame, but she couldn’t tell him that.
And why did she suddenly want to?
Because she was weary of the charade. Of the lies. Of feeling so damn alone.
Through the fabric of her blouse, she felt the warmth of his large hands, felt his strength. This was crazy. More like insane. Kneeling on the floor in Clair’s office, Sam’s fingers wrapped around her arms. So close … so damn close …
Lifting her gaze to his, she met the intensity of his eyes.
His hands tightened on her arms, his mouth flattened into a hard, thin line. She couldn’t breathe, was afraid if she did she’d lose this moment she so badly needed.
Time slowed; her heart raced. She heard everything around her: the quiet ripple of water from the fountain; the faint tick of a desk clock; the distant laughter of children by the pool downstairs. The sounds surrounded her, enclosed her in a world of her own. A world where nothing else existed but her and this man she’d been fantasizing about for days.
Of course, none of her fantasies had been on the floor in Clair’s office, she thought dimly. But even that didn’t seem to hinder the response she was having to Sam’s touch.
This was so wrong, so completely inappropriate, and even that didn’t seem to stop her from wanting this. From wanting him.
Sam’s hands tightened even more firmly on her arms; a muscle jumped at the corner of one eye. He made a low, angry sound, then dropped his mouth on hers.
The moment his lips covered hers, right or wrong or inappropriate was no longer an issue. Nothing mattered, nothing at all, other than the feel of his mouth on hers.
She tasted his frustration, his anger. His need. He crushed his lips over hers, demanding, insistent. Sensations ripped through her, overwhelming, intense. Her hands clutched his suit lapels, fisted. She leaned into him, into the sheer desire gripping her. Her fantasies had been nothing compared to this. Not even close. How could they have been?
Sam jerked his head back and loosened his grip on her. “Kiera.”
Dazed, and definitely confused, she slowly opened her eyes. His face appeared to be cut in steel, his narrowed gaze fierce. He rose, pulling her with him, then dropped his hands from her arms.
She stared at him, struggled to gain the control that he’d so easily attained. Knowing that she’d practically begged him to kiss her, she felt like a fool.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said, but her heart was still pounding hard, her breath still frayed. “I—”
“Sorry I took so long.” Clair stepped back into the office, stopped short. “Oh, Sam, you’re early.”
“I didn’t realize you were with someone.” Calmly, he bent and retrieved the frame still lying on the carpet. “I’ll come back.”
“That’s not necessary.” Kiera felt the heat of her blush on her cheeks, watched Clair glance curiously between her and Sam. “I was just leaving.”
“Actually, Kiera …” Clair said, her tone reserved “ … if you don’t mind, I need another minute of your time.”
Dammit! Kiera bit the inside of her lip. As if it wasn’t bad enough she’d made a fool out of herself with Sam, she was about to get a reprimand on employee-employer relationships. “All right.”
“Thank you.” Clair glanced at Sam. “We won’t be long.”
He hesitated, then reluctantly turned and left the room.
Kiera squared her shoulders and faced Clair.
“You said you lived in a small town, didn’t you?” Clair asked.
Not exactly what Kiera had expected Clair to say. “Yes.”
Clair moved to the window and stared down at the pool. “Working at the Four Winds, being here day in and day out, it’s just like a small town. We all get to know each other very well. Maybe a little too well.”
Here it comes … Kiera held her breath.
“It’s not easy when everyone knows your business,” Clair said. “Sometimes even before you know it.”
How well Kiera understood—and agreed with—that. But she simply nodded.
“I realize this is an imposition.” Biting her lip, Clair turned. A mixture of fear and hope lit her eyes. “But I need to ask a favor of you.”
Five
Sam sat in his car and stared at the Shangri-La’s brilliant pink neon sign. Like the beat of a song, the last two letters flickered steadily, blinking in and out … La … La … La … grating on his nerves. He tapped impatiently on his steering wheel.
Where the hell was she?
It was seven-fifteen, for God’s sake. He knew her lunch shift had ended almost two hours ago. On the hotel security monitor, he’d watched her walk to her white sedan in the employee garage and drive away. Even with a traffic jam—which was virtually nonexistent in Wolf River—it wouldn’t have taken her more than five minutes to drive here.
Dammit.
Heat lingered from the blistering day and radiated off the asphalt parking lot, cutting a sharper edge on his foul mood. You’ve gotten soft, Prescott, he told himself irritably. When he’d been in the Army, he’d run reconnaissance in a South American jungle, where mosquitoes were big enough to throw a saddle on and the humidity was so thick you could drink it. He’d lain patiently in bug-infested swamps for hours, even dodged a few bullets.
If he could, he’d take those swamps and bullets over sitting here in this damn car, in this damn parking lot, any day.
He swiped at the sweat on his brow, thankful he’d at least changed into a T-shirt and jeans before he’d driven over here. Even after eight years in the hotel business, he’d never completely got used to the daily suit-and-tie routine. But, like the Army, he knew it was the uniform for the job so he dealt with it.
He glanced at his wristwatch again, was annoyed that only two minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked.
La … La … La …
He tapped harder, gritted his teeth, then looked up when he heard the crunch of gravel under tires. A white sedan had pulled into the motel driveway. About damn time. He reached for his keys, swore when he saw the driver of the car. Male, balding, thick glasses. Big nose.
Wrong white sedan.
With a heavy sigh, he settled back again, seriously considered leaving, going back to the motel and having a good stiff drink at the bar. Forget that today had ever happened.
Right. Nothing short of death or complete amnesia could make him forget he’d kissed Kiera.
It infuriated him he’d lost control like that. Stepped over—hell, jumped over—all boundaries. He’d been so damn careful to stay away from her the past few days. Had made a point not to speak to her, or even look in her direction, for that matter. And then in the blink of an eye, he’d blown his hard-won restraint to smithereens.
What the hell was he supposed to do when she’d looked up at him with those sexy blue eyes? When she’d softly parted those enticing lips? When she’d swayed toward him. Walk away?
Hell, yes.
That’s exactly what he should have done.
Frowning, he raked his fingers over his scalp. In spite of what some people thought, he was human.
And stupid, he thought darkly. Not only because he’d kissed her, but because—of all places—he’d kissed her in Clair’s office.
Clair hadn’t said word to suggest she’d seen, or suspected anything had happened between Kiera and him. But during their meeting with the Four Winds architect, when they’d been studying the blueprints for the new tower, Sam had caught Clair—more than once—staring blankly across the table. As if her mind were somewhere far away.
Sam knew his lack of protocol could potentially put Clair and the hotel’s reputation in an awkward situation. Sexual harassment claims and lawsuits were hardly good for business. Because he’d never stepped over that boundary before, it had never been an issue for him.
Until Kiera.
He wished he knew what it was about the woman that intrigued him to the point of distraction. She was pretty—beautiful, even. And sexy, for damn sure. He wished the attraction were as simple as that. If it were, it would pass quickly enough. But something, some little, annoying itch between his shoulder blades, told him it was more than that. Much more.
He sighed, sank down farther in his seat. Maybe it was the mystery surrounding her, he thought. Maybe when he’d seen that black eye, some primal need to protect had been awakened. Or maybe he’d simply been without female companionship longer than he was accustomed to. Of all the reasons, he preferred that one. It was the easiest to rectify.
He straightened suddenly, spotted her across the parking lot, getting out of her car, her arms loaded with brown grocery bags. She’d driven right past him and he hadn’t even seen her!
So much for his reconnaissance expertise.
By the time he came up behind her, she had her key in her hand and was juggling the bags in her arms while she reached to unlock her door.
“I’ll get it.”
With a gasp, she jerked her head up and stared wide-eyed at him. “Sam!”
He took the bags from her, nodded at the door when she just stood there, staring at him. “You going to open it?”
“What? Oh, yes.” It took her a moment to fit the key into the lock. When she opened the door, she turned and blocked the doorway, reached for the bags. “This really isn’t a good time, maybe you can—”
“I’m coming in, Kiera.”
She hesitated, then stepped to the side.
The room was spacious, with a small kitchenette, chrome dining table, box-shaped tweed sofa and a rust-colored armchair. Over the sofa, a large, framed print of a sunny, palm tree–lined beach attempted—unsuccessfully—to brighten up the drab room. An open door to the right of the sofa led to the bedroom.
He jerked his gaze away. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was the bedroom.
He set the groceries on the Formica kitchen counter, caught the scent of fresh herbs wafting from one of the bags, noticed two wine bottles in another. “Are you expecting company?”
She stood by the still-open door, white-knuckling the doorknob. “Why do you ask?”
“Why are you answering a question with a question?”
At the sound of a car pulling into a parking space close by, Kiera quickly glanced outside, then shut the door. “Just because I’m cooking doesn’t mean I’m expecting anyone.”
Again, she hadn’t answered his question. “You have two bottles of wine.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you the wine police?”
When he frowned at her, she sighed, then moved into the kitchen and lifted a bottle of cheap Bordeaux out of the bag.
“One’s for drinking, one’s for cooking.” She plucked a corkscrew out of a drawer. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here.”
“All right.” He watched her effortlessly open the bottle. The dark, tangy scent of the red wine drifted across the counter. “I want to know if you’d like to file a complaint.”
“Yes, I would.” She pulled a frying pan out of a cupboard under the stovetop. “This frying pan is too small.”
“Dammit, Kiera.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Assuming you’re referring to our little breach of conduct this afternoon, of course I don’t want to file a complaint.” She set the pan on the stove and met his gaze. “Sam, we’re both adults. What happened … just happened, that’s all.”
“That’s all you have to say?” he said tightly. “‘It just happened?’”
“What do you want me to say?” With a shrug, she fumbled in one of the bags, pulled out fresh herbs, butter and an onion.
What did he want her to say? he wondered. Her answer should have relieved, not annoyed him. If he had half a brain, he’d be done with this, with her, and get the hell out now.
Apparently, he wasn’t that smart.
“I kissed you, Kiera,” he said, stating the obvious. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Because you’re my boss?”
“Of course because I’m your boss.” His annoyance increased when she didn’t answer him but grabbed a knife instead and sliced off a chunk of butter, then dropped it into the pan.
“And what if you weren’t my boss?” she said casually, then reached for the basil.
His pulse jumped at her comment. He couldn’t tell if she was playing one of those coy, female games, or if she was seriously asking him a question. He watched her chop the basil, smelled the pungent scent of the spice filling the room. Dammit! Why can’t I read her?
“If I wasn’t your boss,” he said slowly, evenly, “I’d have done a hell of a lot more than kiss you.”
In spite of her resolve to be nonchalant, Kiera couldn’t stop the winged stutter in her heart. She shouldn’t have asked him that, knew her question was playing with fire. But somehow the words had just slipped out, and there was no taking them back now.
And if—for once—she was going to be truthful, she didn’t want to take them back.
Her stomach jumped when he moved around the counter toward her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare. If she did, he’d certainly see everything she was thinking. Everything she was feeling. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, she thought. It was too soon.
“Are you thinking about quitting?” He moved closer. “Or are you suggesting something else?”
Something else? She glanced up sharply as she realized what he meant, felt her cheeks warm. She supposed her question did sound like some kind of a proposition to have a secret affair or be a kept woman. She lifted her chin. “Of course I’m not suggesting anything else.”
“What if I did?”
She stilled at his words, not certain if she should be insulted or excited. “What if you did what?”
“For starters—” he reached down and took the knife from her hand, laid it on the cutting board, then reached for her “—this.”
His mouth covered hers. A hot, hungry kiss that stole her breath, sent her pulse racing and her mind spinning. And there it was again. Absolute pleasure, intense need. It streaked through her like liquid lightning, setting her skin on fire. She met the moist heat of his tongue with her own, slid her hands up the rock-solid wall of his chest. A moan rose from deep in her throat, hummed through her entire body. She was powerless to stop it, so she gave herself up to the feeling, let it melt through and consume her.
Wonderful, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck.
So wonderfully wonderful.
He dragged her closer, deepened the kiss, maneuvered her between him and the Formica counter. She reveled in the feel of his hard, powerful body pressed tightly against hers. No one had ever kissed her like this before. Had ever made her feel such raw, wild need. It frightened and thrilled her at the same time. The kiss this afternoon had simply been an appetizer, she realized, a precursor to the main course.
She clutched at his back, rose on her toes to get closer.
Shifting his weight, he slid his hands down her spine and cupped her bottom. She heard a deep, low growl in his throat, then gasped when he suddenly lifted her up onto the counter and stepped between her legs. The paper bag behind her spilled over, and through the blood pounding in her head, she vaguely heard the oranges she’d bought roll onto the floor and bounce. She didn’t care. With Sam’s kisses spinning her world out of control, how could she?
His mouth left hers and she whimpered, drew in a sharp breath as his lips blazed kisses over her jaw to her ear. She rolled her head back, bit her lip when his teeth nipped her earlobe, then moved to her neck. Fire raced over her skin, pulsated at the juncture of her thighs. His lips and teeth teased and explored, but his mouth wasn’t the only part of him that was busy. His hands worked her shirt from her waistband, then quickly slid underneath.
She quivered, lost herself to the mind-numbing sensations of his skin on hers. His palms were rough and when they cupped her breasts, she arched her back. He mumbled something, lowered his head to nuzzle. Gasping, she braced her arms on the counter behind her, and in some dim recess of her mind felt the small, plastic-wrapped box under her fingers.
And remembered what she’d bought.
When she stiffened, he raised his head.
“What?” he asked, his voice husky and deep.
“Nothing.” She closed her hand around the box, tried to push it back into the paper bag, but the bag moved away and fell on the floor.
Oh, hell.
With a frown, he straightened and glanced behind her back.
She watched his eyes narrow, then his mouth press into a hard line when he saw what was in the box.
A pregnancy test.
His gaze shot back to hers. “You’re pregnant?”
If the situation—and the look in Sam’s eyes—hadn’t been so intense, she might have laughed at the absurdity of his question. She certainly didn’t want him to think the test was for her, but she couldn’t very well tell him that Clair had asked her to buy it, either. No matter what Sam thought of her, Kiera wouldn’t break that trust.
When she didn’t reply, he stepped back and dragged a hand through his rumpled hair. “Dammit, Kiera, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
She slid off the counter, picked the bag up from the floor, then dropped the box inside. “I didn’t ask you for help, Sam.”
His eyes dark with anger, he stared at her for what felt like a lifetime.
“Fine.”
He ground the single word out through gritted teeth, then turned and headed for the door. He yanked it open, stopped, spun around and leveled his gaze at her.
“Just tell me this,” he said tightly. “And dammit, tell me the truth. Are you married?”