Direct Strike. Lorelei Buckley

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СКАЧАТЬ him five hundred acres. His attorney had recently crossed the final T on clandestine paperwork, and the city learned Mitch had donated the acreage to wildlife conservationists. The forest would remain intact. Afterward he packed his bags and followed Zoey to Chicago.

      Curtis renamed his article, “Mitch Madness—The Man Behind the Myth.”

      Zoey refocused on the present. She walked into the bedroom, noticing the walnut furniture, seaweed-colored curtains and king-size sleigh bed. Rather chic for a crotchety old man who supposedly never answered the door without a loaded rifle. She’d heard he had rabbit and raccoon carcasses draped like wet dishrags around the property. His style preference didn’t reflect his primitive behavior. Nothing fit, even the suicide. Without admitting it out loud, she agreed with Dr. Selden. What eighty-year-old wealthy man hangs himself?

      She inhaled, relieved Mitch had tidied her mess. Milo’s pictures were in place and her luggage was put away. What were her plans, she wondered. Today, tomorrow, for the rest of her life—a busy mind made her skin itch. She went to the nightstand and swallowed a couple of her favorite oblong pills, undressed, released her hair from the tie and slipped into a long apricot-colored satin robe. After being poked, punctured and taped, the soft fabric felt kind against her skin.

      Zoey headed downstairs and then paused on the bottom step to get a look around. Her main concern was the removal of the deer heads, and they were gone. She gently massaged her forehead, trying to alleviate the wavy feeling in her brain. Mitch drank coffee near the dining table. He gazed out the window, and Zoey caught herself admiring the size of his hands. She walked toward him, eyes roving for the cup of tea she suspected he had fixed.

      He turned and took quick but obvious notice of her clingy robe. “Feeling better?”

      “Oh yeah.” She strolled into the kitchen and spotted her steamy drink next to the bottle of cough syrup near the microwave. She picked up the mug and took a sip.

      “How’s your shoulder?” Mitch stepped closer.

      “Fine.”

      “And your throat?”

      “Good.” She sipped again and added, “How are you?”

      Mitch studied her pupils with a surgeon’s focus. He wordlessly accused her of popping pills.

      “Yes, I took my meds,” she said. “My shoulder was killing me, and now it’s not. Okay?”

      “I didn’t say anything.”

      “You didn’t have to.” She moseyed into the dining area and stood next to the table. “Where’d you put the deer heads?”

      He followed, sticky as fine cat hair. “In the garage.”

      “Thanks.”

      He crossed his arms over his chest, and receded in thought for several seconds. He finally asked, “Are you happy?”

      “No.”

      “Why, then?”

      “Why what?”

      “Why the pills? The booze? Abandoning your career, your passion, if none of it helps your attitude?”

      “Gee, I don’t know there’s this thing eating away at me. A ginormous thing. My fucking son died.”

      “He’s my son too. Do you consider me at all in this?”

      “Yeah, but you’re strong and I’m weak.” She slurped her tea and set the mug on the table.

      “You’re one of the strongest people I know, Zoey.”

      “Knew, Mitch, knew.”

      He shook his head. “Do you miss me?”

      “Sometimes.” She could smell his nectarous breath.

      “I miss you bad.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and gave a single stroke to her neck with his knuckles.

      Like a pebble dropped in a pond, his touch caused pleasurable tingles throughout her entire body. “You should go.” She acknowledged her toes.

      “I should.” He lifted her chin. “But I won’t.”

      Her nipples hardened, and after a year of hibernation, her body awoke. Using her healthy arm, she clutched the nape of his muscular neck and smashed her lips into his. He resisted momentarily and then melted, giving in to her starving tongue. Their mouths collided, and she relished his juicy taste buds.

      His powerful frame pressed against hers, and his big hands gripped her ass. Divine combination, drugs and Mitch. She breathed him in. His touch jumped from her butt to her navel, and he untied her robe and cupped her breast. He gently pinched her excited nipple.

      “Oh my God,” she whispered. She knocked a chair over, expecting him to follow her lead and lay her on the table.

      His warm mouth devoured her lips and neck, but his body stalled.

      She rubbed his brick-like bulge and her clit twitched. He growled, tickling her tonsils with the tip of his tongue. Zoey inhaled his sweet breath and alluring vapors.

      Suddenly, he pulled his face from hers and distanced his body.

      “What?” she asked. “Don’t stop.” She tugged his shirt toward the table, but he wouldn’t budge.

      “Zoey, wait. Wait a minute,” he said with glazed eyes. He bent his knees slightly to match her height and cradled her jaw in his rugged hands.

      She grasped his wrists.

      “Hold on. Wait.”

      “What, Mitch? You said you missed me.”

      “I do, I do. But I have to call Sterling and tell her it’s over.”

      A bucket of ice water would have been more humane. She backed away and covered her exposed body. “What? Why? Why would you do that?”

      Mitch squinted. “Us, here, now.”

      “There is no us. We were going to screw, Mitch, doesn’t mean anything.”

      Mitch’s upper lip thinned. “You’re a piece of work.” He clutched a wad of his own hair and let go. “I cannot describe to you how fucked up I think this is.”

      “People have sex. It’s what they do.”

      “Cut the horseshit. You know damn well how I feel about you, and how strongly I oppose deceit. You’d let me compromise my principles so you can get laid?”

      “You started this, Mitch. You came on to me.”

      “I was testing the waters to see if we still had something.”

      “We do. It’s called chemistry. We’ve always set the sheets on fire.”

      “And today I got burned.”

      She pointed СКАЧАТЬ