Losing Control
How had she ever summoned the nerve to tell Cole that not only was she leaving on that private flight off the island with him, but she was also tagging along when he confronted his family about these ongoing attempts on his father's life?
Now, hours later, Cole pulled his car up in front of the Hunter mansion. Taryn told herself again: there was no reason for her being here, other than the one she'd already given. After the intimate time they'd shared, brief though it had been, she cared about him. She cared about Guthrie and little Tate, too. She wanted to help if she could, even if help only meant offering her support.
Call her curious, but she also wanted to meet Eloise Hunter.
Cole hadn't elaborated on his suspicions – that he believed his father's second wife was involved in these assassination attempts against Guthrie. But there must be some good reason for Eloise to have created such a big blip on his radar. Taryn assumed no one else knew of his concerns, least of all Guthrie. How would his father react if his would-be killer turned out to be the woman who had pledged to love him till death us do part?
But Taryn knew better than most. Some people didn't give a rat's behind about the people they should care most about.
Taryn sympathized with Cole. The Hunter family was indeed a tangled web. How must he feel being the "special one," feeling responsible for trying to keep all the spiders out?
Cole opened her passenger-side door and she followed as he strode up a half dozen wide granite steps to the massive front doors. Before she'd caught up, he'd rung the bell twice. Now he was thumping the panels with the side of one fist. When a woman – obviously staff – responded to the ruckus, Cole seemed less impressed than he had been all day.
The woman said, "Are Mr. and Mrs. Hunter expecting you?"
Cole all but pushed the woman out of his way. He was halfway across the huge shining foyer when he stopped, turned and held out his hand, waiting for her before he charged on.
Absorbing her surrounds, Taryn took his hand and followed. The grounds of the estate were impressive enough. Pristine manicured lawns with soaring pines delineating an endless paved drive. Inside, however, Taryn was left near speechless. Everything screamed wealth. Extravagant embroidered furnishings. Magnificent art hanging from towering walls. The room they'd entered was larger than a regular-sized city apartment. The cost of maintaining this grandeur must be exorbitant.
Guthrie was resting on a couch, gazing out a window that took in a one-eighty-degree view of a back lawn that presented more like a state garden. Guthrie looked over as they entered but he didn't get to his feet. One leg rested on cushions on the couch and a square bandage sat high on the right side of his forehead.
Cole came straight to the point. "I fired your wonder P.I."
"Jeremy told me that you called." Guthrie swiveled a little and spotted his other guest. "Taryn, sorry to call you away early from your work."
Feeling horrible for the whole situation, she edged forward. "Are you all right?"
Guthrie touched his head. "A bruise here and there. My pride's wounded the most. If not for that man who'd been walking his dog, I can't say where we'd be now."
Cole asked, "Where's Tate?"
"In the media room with a policeman standing guard. Son, I wonder whether we should put Tate somewhere safe until this is over."
"Safe like where?"
"Perhaps with one of your brothers. Whatever madman we're dealing with here, hopefully he won't have connections that far abroad."
"Let's get Brandon in on this first," Cole said, "then we can nut out what needs to be done."
At that moment, a fourth person entered the room. Taryn recognized the face from media shots and the photo Guthrie kept on his desk. Eloise Hunter was of medium height and svelte, other than a baby bump. Wearing a black silk-and-chiffon pantsuit straight out of the pages of Vogue, she looked as if she were attending a celebrity wake. Only no one was dead. God willing, it would stay that way.
Taryn expected the mistress of the house to be either overly gracious to her or serve up a cursory glance; she was, after all, no one of consequence. But on seeing Taryn, Eloise stopped in her tracks and, without regard to social etiquette, eyed her up and down as if she might have been a person who intended her family harm.
Taryn bristled. Within five seconds of meeting Mrs. Hunter, she understood Cole's disapproval. What happened next made her hackles rise more. Eloise's focus slid away from her and settled upon the younger of the Hunter men present. The glimmer in those amber eyes was unmistakable. Eloise found her stepson physically attractive. She might be running her fingers up and down the side of the water glass she held but in her mind, her hand was stroking something far more personal.
Apparently unaware, Guthrie took care of introductions. "Darling, this is Taryn Quinn, a producer we've put on."
Eloise's gaze flicked back and a meaningless smile curved her lips. But then a wiser glint shone in her eyes and she focused again on Cole. It took all Taryn's restraint not to save Eloise the trouble of guessing and admit out loud that, yes, she and Cole were lovers. And that was the second reason Eloise needed to keep those restless paws to herself.
Another guest entered the room. Beside her, Cole stiffened and braced. She heard him mutter, "Judge.
"What are you doing here?" Cole spoke to the man. "I said we were done."
"I take my orders from the elder Mr. Hunter," the man – Judge – said, lacing his hands before him. "And unless he's changed his mind in the past five minutes, I'm still on the payroll."
Cole growled. "How did you get things so wrong? Where were you when my father was bashed and my brother nearly kidnapped?"
"I understand you're upset – "
"You know nothing about me."
"I have a father, too," Judge pressed on. "A man I respect and would give my life for. Instead of locking horns, Cole, let's work together to put the people responsible away."
Cole looked set to pounce when Guthrie cut in.
"Cole, you have my blessing to bring Brandon in. Tell him he can have anything he needs. But on one condition. He works with Jeremy. He did, after all, save my life that night."
As if she were oblivious to it all, Eloise sidled up closer to Cole. "It's been a long day. Need a drink?"
Cole grunted, "What I need is a club."
Regardless of injury, Guthrie got to his feet. "That's enough, son. Nothing more can be done here today. Go home. We'll talk again tomorrow."
Cole lifted his chin. "I'm seeing Tate before I go."
He took Taryn's hand and, plowing on past Judge, led her through that room, down a long corridor and up a level where they finally entered a room without knocking.
A uniformed man stood inside the door. Now one hand flew to his holster. Taryn covered her mouth to smother the gasp while, at the center of the room, a young fair-haired boy turned his head. Tate's face burst into a deep-dimpled smile. He threw down his game controller and ran full speed up to them. He flung out his arms at the same time Cole scooped him up and held him tight. Taryn thought she saw moisture at the corners of Cole's closed-tight eyes while the policeman answered a call on his two-way: Judge passing on to expect the eldest of the Hunter boys soon.
Still hugging Tate close, Cole's voice was thick when he asked, "How you doing, kiddo?"
"I got a scratch on my knee, Cole, but it doesn't hurt." Tate wound back and looked over. "Who are you?"
"I'm Taryn. It's good to meet you."
Tate spoke again to his big brother. "She's pretty. Are you staying for dinner?"
"Not tonight, chum." Cole set Tate down but stayed crouched so they could talk eye to eye. "There's no need to be scared, okay?"
"I'm not scared. Not anymore. But I still wish you could stay." Tate's mouth swung to one side then he leaned closer and whispered, "Daddy says I might get to fly over to see Dex or Wynn for a while."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Good, so long as it's Dex."
"Why Dex?"
"Coz he lives right near Disneyland and he's always saying on the phone he wants to take me."
Cole chuckled and in that moment Taryn felt a large measure of his tension drain away. Her aunt said that blood was always thicker than water. He might grumble about his brothers in California and New York, but Cole would trust them to look after the person he loved perhaps more than anyone in the world. That said a lot.
Cole ruffled Tate's hair. "Go finish your game."
"I'd better go wash up for dinner."
"You hungry?"
Tate beamed up. "I'm always hungry."
Laughing, Cole stooped to give Tate another bear hug then, together, she and Cole walked down that hall. But he didn't take the turn that led back to the sitting room they'd left. Instead they found their way out via another route. A couple of minutes later they were buckled up in his car, leaving the estate and its majesty behind.
His gaze on the road and mouth drawn tight, Cole said, "Thanks."
"What for?"
"For leaving the island to be here with me today. I know how much getting the most out of that survey meant to you."
Taryn was taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, by the vulnerability in his face. To save herself from sounding too moved, she almost quipped, Sure. You owe me one.
But she was happy she'd come and had witnessed firsthand the pressure Cole was under. She'd come out with an even broader understanding of his ingrained sense of commitment. To everyone.
As far as her being here for him was concerned, he didn't owe her a thing.
* * *
When Cole pulled up in her drive, Taryn didn't have to ask ask him inside. He must know that she wanted him to spend the night and although he was understandably on edge, she knew he wanted to be with her, too.
He carried her bag into the bedroom then, standing in the early evening's misty shadows, he turned to face her. For a moment, a flicker of some emotion she couldn't name shuttered over his expression before a fated smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Without a word, he reached for her and she came.
They didn't kiss. Not at first. He found the zip at the side of her summer dress and eased it down at the same time as she unbuttoned his shirt. After he'd slipped the dress off over her head, she tipped forward and, breathing in his musky scent, let her fingers roam over his pecs then higher to skim his powerful shoulders. She slid the sleeves off his strong long arms while he gazed down into her eyes, searching deeper than he ever had before.
When she caught the button at his trouser's waistband, he held her hand back then carefully dropped his head into the sweep of her neck. As his teeth slow danced over the skin, her every fiber ignited with a desire so pure, the sensations stole her breath. His warm, slightly roughed palms drew arcs over her bare back, up under her hair, and he murmured at her ear.
"I like when you don't wear a bra."
She quivered and sighed, pressing herself closer as pulsing heat drifted to converge in the lowest point in her belly. His mouth was moving lower, too, tenderly drinking its way across the curve of her collarbone as one hand moved to cup and measure the weight of one breast.
"Don't wear them anymore," he said, obviously meaning bras. "Not when you're with me."
The tip of his tongue slid up her neck, ran a line over her parted lips, and as his fingers swooped around then lightly pinched and rolled one burning nipple, she opened up more and welcomed him into her mouth.
Although she adored his foreplay, she was near desperate to have him on top, pushing inside of her. She needed that connection. She knew he needed it, too. She wanted to tell him just that, and in words that shouldn't be uttered in public. She needed him naked and she didn't care if it was on the bed, on the floor, pressed up hard against that dark cupboard wall. The time they'd already spent together making love had been intoxicating, but this minute she was fevered, burning up. That he'd begun to slide down against her body to his knees didn't help. These past hours had been so filled with concern. She'd missed the intimate feel of him, his scent, the thrill.
With his tongue trailing lower past her navel and a set of fingers hooking down into her panties' front, she let her neck rock back and the conflagration take over.
He parted her folds and kissed her with his lips then with his tongue. All the while he stayed with her nipple, rolling and gently extending the peak while his mouth circled that other ultrasensitive bead. His teeth nipped and tugged at the same time as she heard his deep groan of pleasure. He felt so strong whereas she was trembling, every thought she'd ever owned set aside to concentrate on the growing fire, the rhythmic rub of his jaw against her inner thighs.
Mind-blowing sparks began shooting through her blood. Her legs started to shake and nothing in the world mattered other than the fact that she hovered above and all around this excruciatingly sweet crescendo. She needed the release so badly, but she was already half out of her mind, and she wanted to do something new for them both.
She tried to shift away from his mouth, but the hand on her behind held her firm while his rhythm didn't miss a beat. Again she let herself be drawn toward that throbbing light before, grinning, she wedged a palm between his mouth and her mound and pried herself away.
In patches of thin light, she saw him glance up, his brow furrowed.
"But you like that," he said.
"I do."
"Well, I like it, too." He grinned. "In the work comes the reward."
She laughed but when his head went forward again, she wound away and climbed up onto the bed. His teeth flashed white on a smile. With a couple of deft moves, his trousers were down and kicked aside. He set something – she guessed a condom – on the bedside table and then he came to her, ready to resume where they'd left off. Instead of letting him take the lead, she pounced and drove him onto his back.
Craning up, he laughed. "Hey, you play rough."
"Is that a complaint?"
His back met the mattress again. "No, ma'am."
Leaving her panties on, she came closer and feathered her lips over his small flat nipples, down over his ribs. She dotted hungry openmouthed kisses in four spots around his navel. Then her head went down.
Grazing her nails over his scrotum, she held his shaft in her other hand and rolled the full length of her tongue around that hot rounded tip. Beside her head, his hand fisted into the coverlet as his hips arched up. Smiling to herself, she circumnavigated a few more times before, squeezing lightly, she slid farther down.
He throbbed in her mouth, and at the back of her throat she tasted a little of him…a tease of what was yet to come. His palm slid up over her shoulder to knead her nape as she moved and stroked, and his erection hardened more. Deep, maddeningly sexy sounds rumbled through his chest and body, vibrating over her lips and lower. He began to move and his strokes on the back of her head became more instinctive. Immersing herself in all her senses, she shifted until she was embedded between the V of his legs and he couldn't escape. She doubted he wanted to.
She'd thought she could handle him, but the width and thrust soon became too much. A moment before she could slide her lips away, perhaps reading the signs, he reached down to ease her up. He didn't roll her over but rather held her on top by gripping her high on the back of one thigh. Grabbing the condom, he rolled on protection then expertly pushed up and in. A rush of euphoria doused her inside and out. So many endorphins, she felt intoxicated…floating on a slipstream that was about to take her unbelievably high.
Her lips ran over the damp slide of his brow before she came away to look into his eyes as he smiled softly, moving and coaxing her sizzling fuse closer to that beautiful big bang. She was balanced, on the verge, when he held her cheek and whispered her name.
A heartbeat later, his erection drove in to the hilt, hitting that single perfect spot. As the orgasm took him, he squeezed her thigh, she let out a gasp and the universe contracted before blowing wide apart.