Secret Nights at Nine Oaks (7 page)

She shrugged, adjusting her V-neck top. She felt sluggish since she'd showered and slipped into soft jersey slacks and a top. “A feeble attempt at reading.” She moved to leave. “I'll let you get back to work.”

“Wait.” Cain went to the antique sideboard and poured brandy into a snifter, then set it on the warmer.

Her brows knit as he waited for it to reach the perfect temperature. “Don't leave.”

Phoebe's heart leaped. He was usually telling her to get lost. “If that's for me, Cain, I don't need it.”

“It's just a little brandy.” He came to her. “Have a seat.”

She dropped to the cushy sofa and he handed it to her. Then he knelt, his hands on either side of her hips on the cushion. “Your fear makes you so restless. Try sleeping. You look exhausted.”

Three days here and she still hadn't slept, he
thought. What good was this fortress if she still didn't feel protected?

“I know,” she said, “but I can't seem to rest for long.”

“Try.” He tipped the snifter to her lips and she sipped. “You're safe here. I won't let him touch you again. And in your dreams, he can't hurt you.”

“But he does,” she said weakly, her eyes tearing, her wounds showing so clearly, Cain's heart fractured a little.

“You give him power when you let him torment you,” he said, brushing layers of hair off her forehead.

Phoebe fought the urge to turn her face into his palm. “I know.” She sipped again, feeling the warm liquor soften her limbs. “I'd better leave you alone to work.”

Her lids felt heavy.

She started to get up, but he kept her there, adjusting the pillows, then taking the finished brandy and easing her to lie down. “You'll wake up too much if you have to walk upstairs, so sleep right here.”

“But you're working.”

He pulled off her sandals, then grabbed an afghan from an old trunk to cover her. “It's all right,” he said gently. “Close your eyes.”

“Yes, m'lord.” She obeyed.

He smiled with tender humor. “Imp.”

“Ogre,” she muttered, then sighed into the cushions.

Cain ached to touch her, to kiss her, but instead he stood, moving to sit behind his desk. He didn't make a sound, watching her. She looked so tiny on the long sofa. Despite her zest and energy, she was still hurting inside, still tormented. He could learn what Kreeg had done to her from the detectives and lawyers, but it was her private business. He'd wait in the hopes that she'd trust him and tell him herself.

He didn't even consider telling her about Lily. It was not the same. Phoebe was innocent. Cain was not.

He focused on work, routing all his calls to a machine. Occasionally he looked up, and was relieved that she was in a deep sleep.

After a while, he left her alone to rest. He met Benson in the hall, looking panicked.

“Sir, I can't find Miss Phoebe.”

“She's sleeping.” He inclined his head to the library.

Benson's brows shot up.

Cain ignored his shock. He was well aware that it was not his normal behavior to have anyone that close. “See that no one disturbs her till she wants to be.”

Benson nodded, his stoic expression melting into a smile as he walked off.

 

It was near midnight when Cain scooped Phoebe up off the sofa and carried her upstairs. Her compact body felt fragile in his arms and the fact that she didn't stir much told him she was finally sleeping peacefully. He entered her suite where the bed was already turned down and laid her in the center, then drew the coverlet over her.

For her peace of mind, he locked the balcony doors, and windows, and he was tempted to post one of dogs at the foot of the bed, but didn't. He started to leave, then turned back, suddenly beside the bed, gazing down at her.

She stirs up a lot of trouble for someone so small, he thought. Then admitted he liked it. A lot more than he should. She brought life to this old house, and he'd missed that.

Without will he bent, and kissed her soft mouth. That she responded in her sleep stirred something deep in his heart.

That she whispered his name—touched his soul.

C
ain asked himself what he was doing when he left the library for the third time in a day.

But he knew.

A dozen reasons to stay locked in his cave, as Phoebe called it, trotted through his mind. He'd tried to ignore the noise that broke his concentration, yet knowing she was near, bringing laughter to the dark lonely house, pushed him beyond the warnings.

A part of him hoped he didn't find her.

But he did, chatting in the solarium with Willis. The young man was laying out a lunch for her as
Phoebe sat on the garden sofa, her feet propped on the coffee table, a book on her lap. Her voice was animated as she talked to the young man, but Cain couldn't hear her clearly. Leaning his shoulder against the wide French doors, he simply watched her interact. It was truly pitiful that he was so fascinated by her expressive face.

Willis stepped back, talking softly as she teased him that Jean Claude obviously thought she was too thin if he expected her to eat all that food. Willis laughed, she smiled, and the entire room lit a little brighter.

Willis was enamored with her, and while jealousy pricked Cain, he also admired how Phoebe could put anyone at ease.

Then her gaze strayed past the young man and her smile widened. “I know your mama taught you that eavesdropping was impolite.”

“Yes ma'am, she did.”

Willis turned sharply, his posture stiffening, his gaze nervously shooting between Phoebe and his employer. Cain frowned, realizing again that the people who worked for him feared him. It made him more aware that, in the last years, he'd become a demanding taskmaster with little patience for anyone. These people didn't deserve it. Especially when his wrath was directed at himself.

He looked at the servant. “Relax, Willis,” Cain said softly. “Why don't you take a break for a while.” He stepped into the large room.

Willis's eyes rounded. “Sir?”

“Take off for the day. I'm sure we can fend for ourselves.” He glanced at Phoebe and her smile was so dazzling, Cain swore nothing else was more beautiful.

“I beg your pardon, sir, and I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but Benson sets my duties and he might not like that.”

Cain walked to the intercom and depressed the button, calling for Benson.

“Yes, sir.”

“Give Willis the day off.” The lad smiled. “In fact, give the entire staff the day off. With pay.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Is there anything that can't be taken care of tomorrow?”

“Dinner, sir.”

He glanced at Phoebe and winked. “We can manage. Anything else?”

“No sir, but…”

“Good lord, do I have to shove you people out the door?”

Willis snickered under his breath.

“Apparently, sir.” Benson's voice came through
the speaker, clear with a touch of humor. “Very well, sir. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

Cain bid him the same and clicked off the intercom. Willis nodded and left in a hurry, already pulling at his tie. Cain turned his gaze on Phoebe. She swung her legs off the coffee table and just stared at him.

“Bravo,” she said softly. “I'm impressed.”

That he hadn't paid attention to his staff's fear, or the busywork they did to keep themselves occupied, embarrassed Cain. “They hover,” he said, as if that was the reason he wanted them gone.

“Come sit.” She patted the space beside her. “Share this with me.” She pointed to the tray of food. He moved toward her almost gracefully and settled beside her.

“No pressing work?”

“No, it's all done.” It was a white lie, he always had work to do, but nothing that couldn't wait. “I'm a genius, didn't you know that?” he teased.

His playfulness wasn't as much of a shock as it was a few days ago. But Phoebe loved seeing it just the same. “I knew that years ago.”

She split her sandwich and handed him half, then curled her legs on the sofa and took a bite. Cain set the plate between them, snatching at her chips, tasting the crab salad.

“So why'd you leave the cave?”

Only his eyes shifted to lock with hers. “I think you know why.”

“Nope, I don't. If you mean to say you did it for me, I don't believe you.”

“Why?”

“Because it was like pulling teeth to get you on the picnic.”

Cain shrugged, unable to answer with anything that wouldn't open a door too wide. He thought about what he wanted, what he was keeping at bay. He wanted Phoebe and he needed his past to stay out of it.

If she knew, she'd leave instantly and he couldn't bear that.

“You're in here a lot.”

She looked toward the ceiling, the tempered glass showing the afternoon sky. A paddle fan pushed the cooled air around the large room, swaying the flowers, surrounding them with fragrance. Beyond the glass, rain fell.

“It's like being outside without all the ick.”

He arched a brow. “Gnats, the oppressive heat?”

“Nosy reporters sitting at the fence with long-range cameras.”

Cain scowled and started to get up to see to the matter when she grabbed his hand.

“Let it go. It won't do any good. They'll just find another way.”

Cain begged to differ, yet he eased back into the seat, finishing off the sandwich and looking for more.

She offered him hers. He shook his head.

“You want it,” she teased, “you know you do.” She held it closer.

“There are other things I want more.”

“Oh?” she said, suddenly breathless and reading the velvety look in his eyes.

“Yeah, your chips.” As he said that, he munched into one.

She grinned, then ate the sandwich in record time.

He blinked. “Glad I didn't really want more.”

“Hey, you had your chance.”

“You have mayonnaise on your mouth.”

She licked her lip and the slow slide of her tongue over her lips felt like a charge to Cain. The woman was too deliciously sexy and when she reached for a napkin, Cain leaned forward, swift and stark like a hunter seeking its prey.

“I'll take care of that,” he murmured, then kissed her.

Phoebe melted, instantly, completely. His tongue snaked over her lips, outlining them so provocatively she felt at once unhinged and desperate
for more. He tasted her, and she savored each nuance of the kiss—the way his lips worked over her, his rushed breathing—and when he applied pressure she leaned back, pulling him on the sofa with her.

He deepened his kiss, taking it from the soft, erotic exploration to total possession. His mouth moved heavily, passion rising swiftly through her until she couldn't contain it.

His hand slid under her, lifting her hips to his, his erection pressing deeply and eliciting a moan for more. Yes, she thought, more. She wanted him, and her response left no question between them. She'd wanted this for years, aching in her soul to know if passion was all they had, and Phoebe knew, even as her heart tumbled, even as his hands swept her body to cup her breast, this was the passion of a lifetime.

She clawed at his shoulders, urging him yet feeling his resistance, and when he broke the kiss, staring down at her, Phoebe wondered what was going on in his mind.

Then she knew.

“I want to touch you. No, I need to,” he said, nipping at her mouth, her throat and lower. “You excite me more than anything.”

“That's a good thing then,” she said, smiling and tipping her head back as he nibbled his way lower.
“I didn't think anything would stir you from that place you keep yourself in.”

Instantly she regretted the comment when his gaze flashed up and she saw it again, that self-recrimination. A dark burden, like a demon looming ready to pounce, and she leaned up and kissed him, forcing it from his mind, drawing him back to the moment, the passion bubbling between them.

Cain went willingly, eager for anything to keep guilt at bay and indulge in her. He never broke the kiss, making her breathless, stealing her will as she stole his.

His hand crept under her shirt, a finger hooking the edge of her bra and pulling.

Phoebe was more than eager, and pulled her shirt up, letting him unhook her. His hand played over her breast, pushing the bra aside and he savored the feel of her smooth skin beneath his palms.

When his lips closed over her nipple, she made a little sound and arched into him. He shifted, pulling her onto his lap, then spreading her thighs so she straddled him. She smiled at him and he stripped off her shirt, the bra. His mouth was on her, laving her flesh. He suckled and massaged and she arched back, gripping his shoulder and Cain watched her passion rise, stroked her smooth skin, feeling the weight of her breast so warm in his hands. His fingers trailed
lower and he dipped below the waistband of her thin jersey slacks. Her muscles contracted and she straightened, meeting his gaze.

“Can I touch you?”

Phoebe was incredibly moved by that, the trickle of fear in his voice, that she might turn him away. “I wish you would.”

His lips quirked, half arrogant half delighted and he shifted his hand, his fingertip stroking her soft center through her panties. Her breath rushed in sharply and she whispered, “More,” then kissed him.

Cain devoured her sweet mouth as he dipped his hand under the band of her panties and touched her heat. His fingertips slid wetly over her delicate flesh and she shivered in his arms, made a tight little sound and flexed her hips.

Then he plunged a finger inside her. She inhaled and cupped his face, staring into his eyes as he explored and teased. “Cain, oh Cain.”

“You have to let me see it. It's been haunting me for years, Phoebe.” He didn't give her a choice and withdrew and plunged, feeling vulnerable himself as he touched her, scented her like a stag on the prowl. Her passion was overpowering, her slick body throbbing against his touch and when he circled the delicate pearl of her sex, she thrust hard against him.

He gave her what she wanted, what he needed to
see, to experience. It was as if this were a little flash of light in a dark tunnel. His own body was hard and ready; it would be so easy to open his trousers and drive into her. He throbbed to do it. To be primal and raw with her. To feel her lush body grasp him, take him. He wanted her so much that when he felt her tensing, he nearly climaxed.

He plunged and flicked, and stroked, aware of her every quiver, her staggered breath. Wet heat coated him. It was as if he'd known the workings of her body for years and how to pull the sensations from her. She was wild in his arms, flexing in erotic rhythm to his touch.

And then she found it, capturing his soul as she contracted and shivered in his arms. Her scattered breaths sounded in his ear, and he knew he'd never forget it, never banish this from his mind for it felt as if he were holding daylight. She tensed hard, then collapsed against him, and Cain could only gather her tightly and feel the shudders of her desire fold around his heart and take him prisoner.

 

Phoebe tried to catch her breath, tried to find logic and reason why he wanted to do that to her so badly, then just gave up and accepted it.

After a long moment, she lifted her head and met his gaze.

He arched a brow, a bit of arrogant pleasure in his soft smile.

“Is that why you sent everyone away?”

His smile dropped a little. “No.” He removed his hand, smoothing her spine. “Though the thought had crossed my mind.”

She smiled widely and bent to kiss him. As if they'd never touched, the fire sparked. Like wind on flames, it grew and Phoebe slipped her hand between them molding his erection pushing against his tailored slacks.

Cain groaned and held her back. “Phoebe, don't.”

“Why?”

“I'm about to explode and as much as I want to have you, we cannot go further.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He didn't like the anger in her eyes, didn't want to be the cause of it.

“Was that just satisfying your curiosity? Don't answer, forget I said that.” She shifted off his lap, snatched up her clothes and dressed.

“You're angry with me.”

“No, I'm hurt.”

“Didn't you like it? I did.”

She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Didn't I look like I enjoyed that? I am, however, feeling like a plaything right now.”

She stood and started to leave. Cain shot off the sofa and grabbed her hand, ignoring the intense pain and hardness in his body and turning her toward him.

“You would never be a plaything to me, Phoebe. You have to know that. Tell me you know.”

Phoebe sighed, not wanting to end this with a fight, not wanting to really dig deep into his mind when she didn't want anyone digging into hers. Then she noticed the torn look in his dark eyes, in his expression. Something was eating him. It made him look raw and desolate as he waited for her answer.

“Maybe without meaning to.”

“There are no maybes about it.”

“But then where will this go? Moments for a couple of weeks? Is that it?”

His gaze thinned and she knew she'd just touched a nerve.

“I understand now. You won't
allow
yourself to have more, with me, or anyone and I'm not just talking sex.”

His expression went shuttered.

That he did it so often she could recognize it angered her. “Don't do that! Don't leave me out in the cold. Can't we just take this new stage one day at a time?”

Cain went still, a battle waging inside him—push the door a little wider open or pull it closed. Yet he
knew one thing—with Phoebe, he had little choice. She was an energy he couldn't ignore.

He forced a smile, pulling her close, and smoothing her wild hair out of her eyes.

“One day at a time then.” He didn't say it would go no further than her stay here at Nine Oaks until the trial. That, he knew, was enough heartache for the both of them.