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PROLOGUE

Last Winter

Unmoving, she waited.

As if she sensed he was near.

He could feel it—that throb of desire between them as he looked across a dimly illuminated expanse to the bed where she lay in semidarkness. Jenna Hughes. The woman of his dreams. The single female he’d lived his life for. So close. And in his bed. Finally in his bed.

And he was ready. Oh God, he was ready. Sweat began to bead on his upper lip and forehead. His cock was stiffening, his nerve endings dancing.

The lamps were turned low, a few night-lights giving the large room an intimate atmosphere of shadows and fuzzy, muted corners. Soft music, the romantic score from the movie Beneath the Shadows, whispered through the cold, cavernous room. His breath fogged as he stared at her in the sexy black teddy he’d bought for her. So nice that she’d decided to wear it for this special tryst. Their first.

Good girl.

The silk and lace had fit perfectly, sculpting her body. Just as he’d known it would.

He caught a glimpse of her breasts through the sheer fabric. Dark nipples looked nearly wet as they peeked through the lace. Had she moistened them for him? In eager expectation?

Beautiful.

He smiled inwardly, knowing that she was as eager

as he was.

How long had he anticipated this moment? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. The time was now. The pills and vodka he’d swallowed had kicked in and he was working on the perfect buzz—just enough chemicals to make this moment even better.

“I’m here,” he told her quietly, expecting her to turn her head, arch one of those delicate black eyebrows, and cast him a come-hither look. Or perhaps she would rise on one elbow and slowly crook a finger toward him, silently drawing him closer, her silvery-green gaze holding his.

But she didn’t move. Not one strand of ebony-colored hair shifted. She just lay on the bed and stared upward.

That was wrong.

He froze.

She should look his way. That was what he wanted.

“Jenna?” he called quietly.

Nothing. Not so much as a flicker of a glance in his direction.

What was the matter with her? Dressed like a damned harlot, she acted as if she didn’t care that he was near, that this night was special to her. To him. To them.

Not again!

His back teeth ground together in frustration at her cool disinterest. Was it a game? Was she teasing him? Just what the hell was going on here?

“Jenna, look at me,” he commanded in a near-whisper.

But as he edged closer, he realized that she wasn’t as perfect as he’d thought. No…her makeup wasn’t quite right. Her lipstick was too pale, her eyeshadow barely visible. He’d wanted her to look more like a whore. That was the plan. Hadn’t he told her to play the part of a prostitute? Isn’t she dressed as a prostitute? Isn’t this part of your fantasy?

Damn, he couldn’t think straight. His mind wasn’t as clear as he’d hoped. Probably the drugs…or was it something else? Something vital? Jenna wasn’t responding the way he’d hoped.

She knew what he liked.

But then, she’d always been defiant. Always aloof. Icily so. That was part of his attraction to her.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, deciding to give her another chance, though he was having trouble focusing. Maybe he was a little too high and he wasn’t seeing those little nuances of lust that she was known for. That was it. His mind was a little too cloudy, his thoughts not quite joined, his lust overtaking reason. He was quivering inside, and his lungs felt constricted. His erection was rock-hard, straining against his fly, but the images in his mind were a little blurry.

He licked his lips. No more waiting.

He placed a knee on the bed beside her, and the mattress creaked loudly.

Still she refused to look at him.

“Jenna!” he said more sharply than he’d intended, his temper catching fire, his tongue a little thick.

Take it easy. She’s here, isn’t she?

“Jenna, look at me!”

Not so much as a flinch.

Stubborn, thankless woman! After all he’d done for her! All the years he’d thought of no one but her! Rage burned through his blood, and his hands began to shake.

Calm down! You can still have her. In your bed. She hasn’t moved away, has she?

“Jenna, I’m here,” he said.

She ignored him.

Fury blazed white-hot, but he tried to fight his anger. This was her game, that was all. She knew that the more she pretended disinterest, the more he would want her, the higher the erotic stakes. And that was all the better.

Wasn’t it?


Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery