Blood Ties in Chef Voleur Page 3

  “Okay. I’m just going to get the coffee ready to turn on in the morning.”

  Alone for the first time since the party had started, Cara Lynn stood in the middle of the kitchen floor while tears slid down her cheeks. She’d done her best not to cry in front of her brothers or Jack, but everything that had happened had built up in her until she could no longer hold back.

  From the instant she’d managed to clear her head after hitting it against the marble table, she’d called for Jack. When the lights came back on, she’d spotted him standing on a chair, looking over the crowd toward the French doors, in the direction the thief had run.

  As soon as he’d heard her call, he’d turned around. He’d looked horrified at the blood on her face, but before he’d rushed to her side, he’d glanced back toward the French doors one more time.

  She’d sensed the struggle in him, and she’d found it odd. He wasn’t like her brothers. Two cops, a former special forces officer and an attorney. She’d expected them to jump into action and they had. It was their training.

  But Jack was an architect—and her husband. Why had his first thought been to pursue the thief rather than rush to her side to be sure she was okay?

  Glancing cautiously toward her bedroom, she listened. She didn’t hear anything. However, if Jack was true to form, he’d be back in the kitchen in a few minutes to get some more water before turning in.

  She opened her clutch and looked inside. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been afraid she’d imagined slipping the old envelope out from between the pages of the journal and sliding it into her clutch when the lights had gone out.

  Touching the slightly yellowing paper, she wondered if anyone else had noticed its corner sticking out between two pages of the journal. She didn’t think so. When she’ d lifted the journal out of the box she’d instinctively covered the corner with her fingers.

  She wasn’t sure why her first instinct had been to keep its existence secret. She just knew she felt compelled to do so.

  Then the lights had gone out and someone jerked the journal out of her hand. She’d held onto the envelope and her clutch with all her strength as a pair of rough hands pushed her down. She’d stumbled, hit her head and almost passed out, but she hadn’t let go of the envelope. Just as she was slipping it into her clutch, the emergency generator had growled and the lights had come back on. She was pretty sure no one had seen her.

  She should have given it to the police. She should have told her brothers. But for some reason, with the journal gone, she felt as though this letter was hers. Hers and nobody else’s. Not that she knew why she felt that way, or had any inkling of what was inside it.

  She was looking at the back, with its sealed but crumbling flap. She turned it over and her heart gave a little leap. There was her name, written in the distinctive and utterly beautiful, yet almost impossible to decipher, lovely handwriting of her grandmother, Lilibelle Guillame. For Cara Lynn.

  Most likely it was a sweet and rambling message about the sentimental meaning of the tiara and her journal. No matter what it was, she wanted to keep it secret at least until she had time to read it thoroughly. Right now, there was no time to look at it without the chance of Jack coming in.

  So she went into the pantry and pulled on a loose baseboard underneath the bottom shelf. She tucked the envelope into the hollow space behind it, where she kept two thousand dollars in small bills, her passport and the beautiful emerald necklace her mother had given her when she graduated from college. The necklace had belonged to Betty’s mother, who had been a diplomat’s wife and traveled all over Europe with her husband. Just as she was replacing the baseboard, she heard Jack’s bare feet coming down the hall.

  Quickly, she got the baseboard into place, grabbed three bottles of water, then stepped out of the pantry into the kitchen.

  Jack was opening the refrigerator, his bare toes sticking out from his dress pants. He’d removed his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his shirt. It hung open, revealing a hint of his excellent abs.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Putting some more water in the fridge,” she said, wishing she’d grabbed something else. She’d restocked the water just that morning.

  “Sparkling water? What for?” he asked, gesturing toward the top shelf of the fridge. “There are—” he stopped. “There were three regular and three sparkling waters in here this morning. Now there’s only two sparkling, counting this one.” He held up the one he’d just picked up. “I thought you were gone all day.”

  “I was,” she said, putting the three bottles on the shelf. “I was in a hurry so I didn’t stop to get one. You must have drunk another one.”

  “Nope.” He closed the door. “That’s odd.”

  Cara Lynn thought about that morning. She’d rushed out so quickly she hadn’t grabbed her usual bottle of water. “Well, if you didn’t drink it and I didn’t drink it—”

  “What? You think someone came in here and drank our water?” he asked, his mouth quirked slightly. “Who’s got keys?”

  “Nobody, except the woman who cleans, and she had foot surgery three weeks ago.”

  Jack twisted the top off the water and took a long drink. “Maybe she came by.”

  “If she did, it was just for the water, because she certainly didn’t clean,” Cara Lynn said wryly.

  “How can you tell?” Jack retorted.

  She swatted at him and smiled. “Hilarious,” she said, “considering I picked up four empty bottles just like this from your side of the bed this morning. I’ve got a long day tomorrow and I will take some water with me.”

  He didn’t comment, just headed back to the bedroom. She added two more bottles to the refrigerator, then followed him, going into their bathroom to undress. She shrugged out of Jack’s jacket, then dropped the single intact strap off her shoulder and let the dress fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked. She looked down at herself, blushing. She’d forgotten her little flirtation with her husband from before the party. He probably had, too.

  Quickly, she reached for her blue silk nightgown and slipped it over her head. They were married, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d only known Jack for two months. She hadn’t quite gotten over her shyness yet.

  “So, what did you think?” she asked Jack, peering around the bathroom door. He was in profile to her, unzipping his pants. His shirt was already off and the sight of his lean, tanned body made heat curl deep inside her, as it did every time she looked at him. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. It was still hard for her to believe that they’d fallen in love at first sight. Actually, to be truthful, she wasn’t surprised that she’d fallen for him. What amazed her was that he’d fallen in love with her so fast.

  She wondered, as she had many times, had he felt the same startling ache in the middle of his chest that she had when they’d seen each other across the gallery floor where she was exhibiting her fiber-art pieces? Had he immediately felt desire like a tuning fork shimmering and humming inside him? Did he remember each and every second of that first glance, as she had? She would never forget how he’d met her gaze, his mouth curved in a secret smile she hadn’t seen since, then walked straight over to her and asked her to skip the show and go with him to get something to eat.

  Even though she’d been a headliner at the gallery that night, she’d gone with him. Four weeks later, they were married.

  “Jack?” she said again.

  “Hmm?” He glanced at her sidelong, his dark brows shadowing his eyes. “What did I think about what?

  “About all the Delanceys?”

  “Oh. They’re pretty intense, especially about the baby of the family. Even Paul Guillame got a dig in to me. He told me that your brothers and cousins had pledged death times eight to anyone who dared to harm you.”

  “Oh, you met
Paul. Did he really say that? I can’t believe it.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, thinking about her distant cousin on her mother’s side. “He doesn’t seem that deep or that interested in anyone but himself.”

  “Whoa. Ouch. Catty much?”

  She felt her cheeks turn pink. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”

  Jack shook his head. “Nope. He might be shallow, but he’s right about your brothers—and cousins. I bent down to check on you and three big guys were all over me like it was their job to take care of you, not mine.”

  Cara Lynn felt a warm glow start in her midsection. “You think it’s your job to take care of me?”

  He looked up, his brows knitted, as if he hadn’t even thought about what he’d said. With a slight tilt of his head, he said, “I guess.”

  Cara Lynn laughed. “I really like that. Not that I need taking care of.”

  He smiled. “I know. You’re perfectly capable of handling yourself.”

  “Please, tell my brothers that.”

  “Why? What’s the problem with being doted on by your brothers?”

  “Nothing, if all you get are the perks. But with four older brothers, I have to put up with the downside, too.”

  “Right. Please, tell me the downside to being the favorite in a huge family of wealthy Louisianans.”

  “Just like tonight. Nobody thinks I can take care of myself. They don’t even think I can think for myself. It’s like I’ve had five dads threatening boyfriends and checking what time I got home from dates my whole life. And if that’s not enough, two of my brothers and three of my cousins are cops. I can’t count how many times they’ve stopped my car on the road with blue lights blazing, just to be sure I’m all right and on my way home.”

  Jack laughed. “Nobody’s threatened or stopped me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re hardly a boyfriend. But I can tell you this. If we hadn’t eloped, we’d only be about a fourth of the way to the wedding by now.”

  Jack’s grin faded and he looked at her closely. “Did you want a big wedding?” he asked.

  “No,” she said immediately. “I mean, sure I did, when I was a little girl, I dreamed about the huge wedding with the most beautiful white dress in the world and my knight in shining armor waiting at the end of the aisle. But what I found out as I got older is that the press and everybody who either loved or hated my grandfather, consider the Delanceys as Louisiana royalty.” She pantomimed air quotes around the two words.

  “So, your wedding would have been the event of the season?” He spoke lightly, but his jaw ticced, as it did occasionally when he couldn’t relax the tension in it.

  “Not that our family hasn’t had quite a few weddings in the past few years, but yes. Especially since I was the last holdout and the only girl.”

  “What about your cousin Rosemary?”

  “Rosemary and Dixon had the tiniest, least announced ceremony in the history of the state. And Hannah, Claire’s granddaughter, and her fiancé, Mack, aren’t planning on getting married until after her mom’s liver transplant. So that left me as the only girl with even a chance at a big wedding.” She gave a little sigh. “My mother has expressed her extreme disappointment that I denied her all the pomp and circumstance.”

  “We could still—” Jack started to say as he took off his pants and boxers.

  Cara Lynn broke in. “Don’t even go there,” she commanded, unable to take her eyes off him. “Although, it would shut my family up. I can’t tell you how much ribbing I’ve taken about being the last one to marry.” She shook her head. “My brothers and cousins have been falling like dominoes over the past few years.”

  “So, when your cousin Paul said I was a criminal that needed punishment—?”

  “He said that?”

  “Yep. That’s fine though,” he said, hanging up his dress pants and pulling on pajama bottoms. He looked at her and smiled.

  She hated that false smile that said, I’m smiling and agreeable, because that’s what you want. It had only appeared after they’d gotten married. In fact, she was pretty sure she could trace it back to the day—or at least within a few days—of their elopement.

  “I’m glad they’re worried about you,” he finished.

  Was he? He’d been so sweet and sexy and fascinating before they’d eloped. Now he was still sexy and fascinating, but he’d become more reserved and often seemed distant. The change in him made her nervous. It seemed as if sometimes, when he wasn’t aware she was watching him, he appeared to be sad or even angry about something. Could it be he regretted marrying her?

  She smiled back, feeling as if her smile was as vacant and false as his, and a shudder slid through her, as if a goose had walked over her grave.

  Ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest each time she saw that artificial smile, she took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom toward him. Jack, his pajama bottoms hanging loose and low on his hips, met her halfway.

  “You are beautiful tonight,” he said, running his palms down her bare arms and bending to kiss her shoulder. “Your skin glows like rose petals in moonlight.”

  “Wow,” she said nervously, as his hands and lips began to stir her. “That’s quite poetic.”

  “I have my moments,” he murmured, tracing his fingertips along her shoulder where he had kissed, then up the side of her neck to her jaw, and farther, until he reached her eyebrow. He kissed her there. “Did you get a chance to look inside the book?” he asked softly.

  “What?” The question surprised her. Usually, when he made love to her he was single-minded, focused, as if he were a surgeon performing a very delicate procedure that could be disastrous if he made one tiny mistake.

  “Your inheritance from your grandmother. It was one of her journals, like the ones in your office, right?”

  “Oh. The journal. It looked exactly like the others. They must be hugely expensive, with all that leather and engraving and lace and the metal page corners. But no. I started to open the cover to look at the first page, but the lights went out before I saw anything.”

  He pushed her hair away from her ear and nibbled on the earlobe. As she gasped with surprise and pleasure, he said, “What did the cover say?”

  The front cover of each journal was engraved. She had traced the first line with her finger. “They all have her name at the top. When she was a little girl it just said Lilibelle Guillame. The later ones say Lilibelle Guillame Delancey. Beneath her name is the year. And the one that was snatched tonight had 1986 on it, I’m pretty sure.”

  “1986? Isn’t that when Con Delancey died? I heard someone ask if it was her last journal. Was it?” he murmured.

  Cara Lynn pushed away. “Why are you so interested in—”

  He nipped at her earlobe, then lowered his head and kissed her collarbone as his hand slid down, down, to catch the hem of her nightgown and push it up.

  He ran his hand along her hip, then gasped. “I’d forgotten you took off your panties,” he whispered as he caressed the delicate, sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, then touched her intimately. He pressed his lips to the soft skin below her jaw and moaned as he increased the rhythm of his caresses.

  At that instant, all rational thought left her head. Instead of trying to recapture even one of those thoughts, she slid her fingers into his hair, bending forward to reach for his mouth with hers.

  He turned his head so that her kiss landed on his cheek, because he was bending toward her ear again. He nipped at it, a bit harder this time. At the same time, he whispered, “Beautiful.”

  Intense, nearly painful thrills spiraled through her. Her head fell back, exposing her neck and the underside of her chin to more caresses, but he stopped, pulling away. His long fingers hooked the straps of her nightgown and slid them over her shoulders. The
loose, slippery silk fell to the floor, leaving her naked. She shivered, feeling her breasts tighten in anticipation of his touch.

  He slid his palms down her arms to her elbows and farther, down to her fingers. Slipping past them, he cupped her firm bottom.

  On the way back up her legs, thighs and hips, he skimmed his fingers along a path of exploration that turned every fraction of an inch of her body into an erogenous zone. Finally, when she was sure her wobbly knees wouldn’t hold her up for another second, he cupped her breasts, barely large enough to fill his palms, and caressed the soft skin with his thumbs, moving closer and closer to the areolae.

  With each caress, her breaths became quicker until the moment when the pads of his thumbs slid across the taut tips of her nipples. She gasped and moaned, and he bent his head to place his mouth on one hard point. He grazed it with his teeth. She arched her back and pushed her fingers into his hair, holding his head there, until he moved to the other breast to graze it and send flames arcing through her again.

  “Jack, please,” she begged, tightening her fists in his silky dark hair.

  He raised his head and his dark, fathomless gaze met hers. “What?” he asked gruffly.

  She knew this game. They played it often. She wanted him deeply, primally. He’d brought her to this point and he knew it. Now he wanted her to tell him what she wanted.

  Only what she always said and what she really wanted were two entirely different things.

  “Please, Jack, don’t make me say it,” she whispered.

  He held her gaze, that little place in his jaw tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. “Say it, Cara,” he rasped. “Say it.”

  Tears burned in the back of her throat and she swallowed, hoping to keep the need to cry there and not allow it to crawl all the way into her eyes where they would fall and he would win. Her new husband, whom she did not know at all, but whose touch she craved like she craved air, would win again.

  “Jack...”