Secret Nights at Nine Oaks Read online

  “You could have warned me.”

  The dogs sat still, their heads tilted to the side, watching the humans.

  “And when would I have the opportunity to do that? You don’t come out of that cave of yours unless provoked, and its obvious that no one is welcome in there.”

  “I’m very busy. And we had dinner together.”

  “Not by choice, was it?” Phoebe clucked her tongue and the dogs came to her, parking themselves at her feet. She tossed one biscuit to each and they snatched them out of the air. In seconds, they’d eaten the biscuits and were licking their chops. “They are a little scary.”

  “Their purpose.”

  “To keep people out?”

  “Yes.”

  She met his gaze. “I think they’re keeping you in, Cain.”

  His eyes narrowed, defenses rising. “My private life is not your concern.”

  “What private life? You have no life. You eat, sleep and work, and Mr. Dobbs said you haven’t ridden a horse, sailed, even played tennis for ages. For heaven’s sake, Cain, you haven’t left these grounds in five years.”

  His eyes darkened, his expression sharpening to lethal. “Leave it alone, Phoebe.” He walked away, snapping his fingers. The dogs trotted alongside him.

  “Aren’t you taking this seclusion too far?”

  “I think I’m the best judge of my own life, don’t you?”

  “I hate seeing you like this.”

  “Then stay on your side of the house or leave.”

  “My side? You’ll have to be more specific, my lord.”

  He turned, practically snarling at her. “I gave you the east wing, the run of the land, you can go anywhere, do anything you like. Except touch the boats.”

  “Don’t forget except ‘bother you.’” She ran after him and grabbed his arm, but he shook her loose. “Cain? Look at me!”

  He did, his tone biting as he said, “I’m not your mission, Phoebe. Don’t try to make me into something I’m not.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Excellent decision.” He turned away again, determined to put more than a few yards between them and keep it that way.

  “You were a selfish jerk nine years ago and apparently that hasn’t changed.”

  He stopped and turned slowly. He had that whole intimidation thing down pat, Phoebe thought, feeling something close to pain lock inside her.

  “You consider a kiss under the staircase a judgment of my character?”

  “No, I consider what happened after, a fair assessment of your true self.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Whatever Cain wants, Cain gets.”

  His expression was menacing for a second, then he looked at the landscape. After a moment, his shoulders drooped a little. “Phoebe,” he said gently and met her gaze. “I did not intend to hurt your feelings.”

  “Yes, you did. You acted like we’d never kissed so I would go away.”

  Cain stared, saying nothing.

  “True or not?”

  “Yes. It’s true.”

  “I’m fine with that, but what I want to know is, why?”

  His gaze zeroed in on her. “Because that kiss made me see that we were incompatible.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh come off it, Blackmon. If we’d gone on for five more minutes and had privacy we’d have been in bed together. How much more compatible do you want?”

  “Sex isn’t a relationship, Phoebe.” He’d had sex with Lily, nothing like his one kiss with Phoebe, but it wasn’t enough to make their marriage work. Besides, Phoebe would have never fit into his boardroom lifestyle. She was too unconventional, too outspoken; it would have crushed her.

  “I agree, but if you’d given us a chance—oh never mind.” She sighed hard. “Forget it. It’s past, done, over.”

  “Apparently not for you.”

  She lifted her chin, refusing to admit that she’d amused herself with thoughts of what might have been. “I don’t believe in lingering in the past that long, Cain. It’s a waste of energy. I can’t change it, and I won’t even try.”

  Cain wished he could change five years ago. Wished he’d simply divorced Lily instead of trying to make himself love her. She’d ended up hating him anyway. “I apologize for hurting you, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe frowned, wondering what mystery was hidden behind those tormented eyes of his. “Fine, I accept.”

  He eyed her. “I’m not convinced.”

  “Believe what you want. I promise to stay on my side of the house and not trespass in your office or interfere with your life. Or lack thereof.”

  She spun on her heels, and much to Cain’s displeasure, the Dobermans, Jekyll and Hyde, followed her.

  Great. His staff, and now his dogs?

  He watched her stomp away, every fiber of her body shouting her anger. He didn’t blame her. He’d tried to shield her from the man he’d become by staying away from her. He had to. Phoebe made him feel on edge, vulnerable, and if she knew the truth, she’d be gone by morning and never look back.

  Even if he couldn’t have her, he wanted her near.

  On her way to her room, she passed Benson in the hall. He offered her a nightcap, but she declined. She already knew that liquor would just make her insomnia worse unless she got completely tanked. She wasn’t willing to trade a near-death experience with the porcelain god for a couple of hours of sleep. She refused to take sleeping pills, terrified she’d become addicted to the easy way out of her insomnia.

  Closing the door behind herself, she glanced around the suite Cain had offered her. With a sitting area that opened to a balcony and a bathroom that would make any woman never want to leave it, it was a perfectly styled antebellum bedroom with only a few modern touches.

  A fantasy in pale yellow, blue and lavender, the center was graced with an antique Rice bed, its narrow posts twisting elegantly toward the sky. The heart-shaped palm fronds of the ceiling fan waved a soft breeze on to stir the sheer drapes on the bed.

  Crossing the room, she plopped down in the club chair, kicked off her shoes and propped her bare feet on the fat tucked ottoman. Picking up a book she’d been meaning to read for weeks, she opened it and skimmed a few pages. But after a few minutes, even her favorite author couldn’t keep her still.

  She glanced at her laptop still trapped in its case. It was a glaring reminder that she hadn’t written anything worth sending out in weeks. She wasn’t hurting for money, but for every five treatments or scripts she did, only one sold. It didn’t pay to be a slacker. She wondered how her career would change now that the secret of her pen name had come out. She liked the anonymity of it. She was well aware she wrote weird stuff and didn’t want the content to cloud people’s judgment of her. Especially producers.

  None of her speculation would do her any good if she couldn’t come up with a single idea for her next script that was worth the postage.

  She pushed out of the chair and went into the bathroom, taking a long, hot shower, pampering herself with a facial and painting her toenails, then slipping into a short chemise, robe and her fluffy slippers with bunny ears on them. The slippers always made her smile, feel silly, and she scuffed along to the French doors, pulling them open. The breeze off the river was warm and balmy, ruffling her hair, her robe.

  She sat on the cushioned wicker settee on the balcony, liking that the rail was low enough to offer a view all the way to town. Lights twinkled in the distance, the moonlight glittering like fallen stars on the water. Car headlights riding over the old bridge flashed like tiny beacons. The scene reminded her that life and excitement weren’t far away.

  Though she’d had enough of them for a decade.

  Phoebe let her mind wander, her imagination coming up with scenarios for the people she couldn’t see. She was deep in a scene that was going nowhere when she heard a scuffling sound. Leaving the chair, she leaned out over the rail. The landscape was lit with floodlights in the distance, the large trunks and branches of live oak
s looking like gnarled old men ready to capture wayward guests. But she didn’t see anyone.

  A trickle of fear crept up her spine.

  Memories she’d buried surfaced. Kreeg. The strange noises she’d hear around her place and left the comfort of her little house to investigate. Only to find a trail. A rose, a note telling her he was close, but that she was his and would never see him coming.

  Instantly she shut off the memories, yet a shiver prickling her skin made her reach for a potted plant, ready to drop it on whomever was lurking below. She heard the sound again, then realized where she was.

  Nine Oaks. A near prison, it was so secure.

  The dogs were out, she thought, releasing a long breath. They’d bark if there was anyone down there. And Kreeg was behind bars. She was almost tempted to call the police to make certain he hadn’t escaped. She set the pot back down, mad at herself for being paranoid. She’d come here to get away from that, dammit. She went inside, closing the doors and climbed into bed.

  She would have been surprised that within minutes, she was asleep.

  Within ten, she was dreaming.

  It was past midnight when Cain headed to bed, and at the top of the staircase, he paused, hearing rapid footsteps and turned. Benson rushed up the stairs behind him, looking pale.

  “What’s the matter, Benson?”

  “It’s Miss Phoebe, sir. I heard her. Through the air vents.”

  “Heard what?”

  Then Cain knew. A scream, stifled and long, echoed through the halls.

  He waved Benson back and the butler hesitated, then returned to his rooms. Cain hurried into the east wing, knowing exactly where she was, and pushed at the old-fashioned door latch. It was locked. He could hear her whimpering, begging, and threw his shoulder into the door. The latch gave and he rushed inside.

  She was on the bed, curled into a tight little ball, hanging onto the bedpost as if it were the mast of a sinking ship. He hurried to the side of the bed, bending over her. Her eyes were tightly shut, her fingers white-knuckled on the post. He called her name, over and over, yet when he touched her, she clawed out at him, catching his cheek and batting at him.

  “Phoebe, wake up! It’s a dream. Wake up!”

  Cain gripped her shoulders, pulling her from the post, and propelled her back on the bed. “Wake up.” She fought him. He pressed his weight onto her, stilling her kicking legs and wild punches, then cupped her face. “It’s only a dream, honey,” he said softly, close to her ear. “Wake up now.”

  A little sound escaped her, weak and whimpering. Then suddenly, she blinked, staring at him as if he were a stranger, inhaling sharply. Cain felt his insides shift at the confusion in her eyes.

  “It’s me, Cain. You were dreaming.”

  Her lip quivered, her chest heaving to bring in needed air, and he eased off her, his hand sliding to her bare shoulder. “It’s all right. It was just a dream. No one will hurt you again.”

  She just stared at him, tears filling her eyes, then she buried her face in his shoulder.

  And she cried.

  His battle with touching her was outweighed when her fingertips dug into him, and Cain wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the curve of his body, rubbing her spine. She struggled against her tears, and Cain tightened his arms. He gazed down at her body nestled against his, the supple curves of her leg hitched over his thigh. He wanted to push her onto her back, press himself against her, yet instead, he stroked her spine and bare shoulders, hoping his own body didn’t betray him. Her skin was flawless beneath his palm, and she felt so delicate against his roughness. In the silence, he sensed the tension leaving her body, in the way she softened, her curves meshing with his harder planes. Cain could spend a lifetime just like this.

  After a moment, she sagged almost bonelessly.

  “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, and the sound was muffled against his chest.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Weeks.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “I’d rather not relive it again. I just had the Technicolor version.”

  He understood and didn’t press her, watching her toy with his shirt buttons, wishing she’d yank them open and let him feel her skin against his. “Phoebe?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay now?”

  She looked up, searching his face. “Yeah. Just peachy.” She reached out, sliding her fingers over his jaw, his lips. Cain closed his eyes briefly, smothering a moan as the walls he’d erected started to crumble. He struggled, his mind shouting reasons, flashing pictures that spilled guilt and remorse through him as he caught her hand, stopped her.

  He eased back, needing to leave, wanting to stay—and each feeling clawed at him.

  Her gaze locked with his. All she did was whisper his name.

  Then he was sinking into her mouth.

  Nine years of capped electricity connected again.

  And exploded.

  Four

  One touch of her lips and he knew it was madness.

  One taste and he was sinking into the abyss of desire.

  Cain groaned darkly and gathered her closer.

  And the worst happened.

  She welcomed him.

  Openly, devouring him, letting him taste the sweet energy that was Phoebe. He could easily become an addict. This woman had more power over him than he had over himself. Yet he thirsted for her, sliding his tongue between her lips and indulging in a long-awaited feast.

  She arched her body, letting him feel all that she was under the thin cotton, ripe and curved, the plumpness of her breasts burning an imprint into his chest, through layers of cloth. He gripped her slim hips, pulling her to his groin, half crushing her into the downy mattress and still she gave back, bending her knees, wedging him between her thighs.

  The heat of her center seared him.

  They pawed and stroked, each touch growing more intimate, more desperate for the feel of flesh to flesh. He throbbed for completion, to slide into her body and let the sensations explode between them.

  “Cain, oh my,” she said against his mouth and opened like a flower again for him. “Nothing’s changed, nothing.”

  Suddenly he jerked back, staring down at her, at the confused frown knitting her smooth forehead.

  Everything had changed.

  He wasn’t worthy of this woman. He could not have her as his body demanded and Cain told himself he was stronger than temptation, than his own lust.

  “I’m sorry, forgive me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Cain should have had a clue from her tone that something was about to explode in her as Cain slid back, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You weren’t alone, in case you didn’t notice,” she said, and he saw she was a little breathless.

  Phoebe was very breathless, her body blazing hot, excitement still pouring and pulsing through her although he wasn’t touching her. And she needed to be touched by him, only him as she had wanted nearly a decade ago. Yet he was doing the same thing, backing off, running. Even though he was sitting near her feet, he was already gone.

  “Leave, Cain. Get out.”

  He snapped a look at her. It was a mistake. She looked so damn lovely, nestled in the mounds of pillows and embroidered sheets. Her face was flushed and the strap to her top had slid off her shoulder, showing him the roundness of her breasts, teasing him with her rosy beauty.

  “You can’t do this to me again,” she said. “I won’t let you.”

  “Be assured—” he stood “—neither will I.”

  Phoebe watched him walk to the door, long legs eating up the distance. He grabbed the knob, flinging it open, then went still. “Forgive me,” he said without looking at her.

  “Stop apologizing! Thanks for bringing me out of the nightmare. Next time, just leave me alone.”

  Cain felt the knife of her words and didn’t blame her. He’d teased he
r and himself, dangling passion between them, knowing full well it would go nowhere the instant his mouth touched hers. He couldn’t allow this to develop. Nor would he let her suffer through another nightmare if he could help it. He understood their torment—intimately.

  “I’ll have the door repaired in the morning.” He gestured to the shattered jamb, then simply stepped out and closed the door behind himself.

  Cain remained outside, stock-still, his body wanting her badly while his mind fought to convince it otherwise. He had no right to have anything with Phoebe. Not when the women he should have loved was dead because of him.

  He headed to his bedroom on the other side of the house, resigned to a night of dreaming of what he could not have and knowing that a dozen rooms separating him from Phoebe truly wouldn’t make a difference.

  Phoebe felt her eyes water and she stared at the closed door for a long moment, half of her wanting to run and lock it, another part of her wishing he’d turn around and come back in.

  And finish what he started.

  Damn him. She curled on her side, punching the pillows, still smelling his aftershave on her skin. Did he have to apologize? Twice! Excuse me, it was good, I liked it, but now I’m really sorry I went all Romeo on you?

  She closed her eyes, wanting sleep, wanting him, and she drew her knees up. It did nothing to alleviate the heavy warmth between her thighs. She couldn’t do this again. She couldn’t fall for him and not have it returned. Though she’d like to tell herself that his ignoring her hadn’t mattered, it had. She was pretty honest with herself, she thought, throwing off the covers and leaving the bed. She’d compared every man to Cain and that first kiss. As if searching for someone who’d give her the same untamed feelings, crackling heat and almost desperate hunger.

  A man who’d still want her.

  But no other man had compared.

  She pushed open the balcony doors, stepping out into the night air. Resting her forearms on the railing, she stared out at the river, the moon’s glitter on the water. The fragrance of jasmine and wisteria drifted on the breeze, reminding her of home. She’d grown up in a small town south of Nine Oaks, a dewdrop on back roads where everyone knew who she was and what she’d been up to since grade school. She never got away with anything, she thought with a smile. And oddly, that had made her more mischievous as a kid. She drove her parents crazy, always testing her boundaries, pushing to see what was over the next hill. It was half the reason she went to L.A. when she could have done her writing anywhere.