Led into Temptation Read online

  Ignoring the piercing sense of loss, Naomi opened her eyes. Even the memory of the intense pleasure she’d experienced in her dream had weakened her so that she had to brace herself with her hands or she would have collapsed on the bed.

  It was sad but true. The fantasy sex she’d had with her imaginary Father MacFarland had beat out any sex she’d ever had with a real man. The new Naomi was going to have to do something about that.

  She let her gaze stray to the foot of the bed where her T-shirt and panties lay folded. The one regret she had was that she hadn’t worn more accessible clothing in her dream. She was going to remedy that, too. It wasn’t only notebooks that she intended to purchase in town today. She was going to visit the boutique Jillian had recommended.

  Shifting her gaze to the parchment envelope, Naomi pushed the drawer shut and drew in a deep breath. She’d made the right decision. She was going to continue to indulge her fantasy. Hadn’t she gotten the best night’s sleep she’d had in weeks?

  Handling challenging situations and keeping in control had always been two of her strengths. All she had to do was keep her daytime meetings with Father MacFarland brief and businesslike. Then in the dark hours of the night, she was going to indulge herself with no-holds-barred, wild sex. As hot as she could possibly imagine it. And she was going to record every single detail in her diary.

  It was a simple plan. And who could it harm?

  Rising, she glanced at her watch. Nine fifty-five. She scooped up the small purse she’d borrowed from Jillian’s room and the keys to Avery’s car. Time to go meet Father MacFarland.

  WHEN HIS CELL RANG, Michael Davenport shifted the hedge clipper to his right hand and managed to answer it on the second ring. The voice at the other end was impatient.

  “Do you have it yet?”

  “No, I haven’t even made contact yet.” Michael kept the annoyance out of his voice. “Why not?”

  Michael bit back a sigh. He preferred to work alone. However, in this case, since he’d been recognized, he’d been faced with the choice of either working with a partner or abandoning a very lucrative project. He’d chosen the former. And he was going to maintain the illusion of the partnership until he could foresee a way out. “Patience, my friend.”

  There was annoyed grumbling on the other end of the line.

  To Michael’s way of thinking, the partner element only added spice to his endgame—relieving Naomi Brightman of the hundred million he’d temporarily stashed with her. “Every time you contact me, you increase the chances of someone locating me. Then you’ll be plumb out of luck since I’m the only one who knows where the money is.” More grumbling.

  Tucking the phone under his ear, he repositioned the clippers and continued to trim the hedge that bordered the maze on the garden side of the hotel. There wasn’t much chance that the throwaway cell phone would be traced, but he was working with an amateur.

  “When will you have it?”

  “Soon. She got to Belle Island yesterday afternoon,” he said as he rounded off the end of the hedge. “I was in town when she disembarked.” He could have added that from his position right now he could see the bay window in her room. But the less his partner knew, the better. “She was picked up and transported to her hotel by the manager, Avery Cooper. I can’t contact her while she’s in the hotel. There’s too great a risk she’s being watched or that someone might recognize me.”

  At least that was what he wanted his partner to believe. But now that Naomi was on the island, he just had to bide his time for the right moment.

  “You’re going to have to let me play this my way,” he added.

  “Your way or the highway,” the voice said tightly.

  Exactly. But Michael managed to keep the smile out of his voice when he said, “Look, we both want the same thing here.”

  “And we’d have it if you hadn’t been so greedy. We should have ended this weeks ago.”

  Michael refrained from pointing out that his greed had netted them huge profits.

  “You should never have given it to her,” the voice accused. “We could have the money in an offshore account by now.”

  “And the Feds would know just where it is. And there are people who are much better at tracking large sums of money than the U.S. government. Once they located it, they’d know how to trace it if either of us tried to withdraw it. I know what I’m doing.”

  And he did. She’d brought the money to the island. Her predictability had all but guaranteed it. All he had to do was bide his time until he could safely make his move. Patience was a quality that paid off in his line of work. The perfect opportunity would present itself.

  “I’ll give you two days. If you don’t have it by then, I’m going to the police and I’ll tell them where you are.”

  Michael sighed as he disconnected the call. It was an empty threat, he knew. But it was a sign that his idiot partner was near panic. That was why partners never seemed to work out for him. He’d have to dispose of this one just as he had his last one.

  But not yet. Two days gave him plenty of time to make contact with Naomi and he wasn’t about to be rushed. This was the part of his work that he loved the most.

  4

  “HERE ARE YOUR LATTES.” Tess set them in front of Dane with a flourish. “And I’ll bring the scones just as soon as Ms. Brightman arrives. Can I get you anything else, Father MacFarland?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  As Tess hurried away, Dane leaned back in his chair and glanced at his watch. Nine fifty-eight. If he’d learned anything at all about Naomi Brightman in the past two weeks, it was that she was punctual. And as the time approached, the nerves in his stomach tightened.

  Dane knew how to handle women. He’d been doing it for a long time. And he’d handle this one. How many times had he assured himself of that during the long sleepless night he’d spent? And how many times had he wiped damp palms against the sheets because he’d been fantasizing about just how he might handle her.

  Dammit, he wanted to touch her. There’d been that moment last evening when he’d stepped out of his shower and turned to see her watching him. The surge of desire had been unprecedented, nearly uncontrollable. He’d wanted to go to her. And the fact that she was only minutes away at the other side of the hotel, the certain knowledge that he could be inside her room, inside her within minutes, had nearly blurred his judgment long enough for him to make a mistake.

  Dane MacFarland didn’t like to make mistakes. And he was going to make damn sure the attractive Ms. Brightman didn’t lure him into making one today. He just had to remember who he was. Role-playing was his strength.

  As she stepped into the courtyard, Dane felt that intense sensory awareness ripple through him again. And as she drew closer, desire tightened hot and hard in him. Not good. Get a grip, MacFarland. You can’t afford to spook her.

  Clearing his mind, he used the technique he’d relied on ever since that fateful day when he’d been separated from his brothers and sister. He put all thoughts of Dane MacFarland out of his mind and became the role he was playing. But even a priest might not be able to prevent himself from enjoying the grace of her walk, the way those slim, strong legs ate up the ground. She was wearing one of her trim, dull-colored business suits and sensible shoes, and she’d pulled her hair back into a bun.

  As Father MacFarland, he allowed himself to enjoy the way the wind teased some strands loose, but Dane couldn’t quite prevent himself from thinking how enjoyable it might be to tease the rest free until the sun could halo the red-gold mass around her head again.

  Rising from his chair as she reached the table, he refocused all his energy on the role he was playing. He was Father MacFarland.

  More than once on the walk across the courtyard, Naomi had been tempted to just turn and run. She’d already experienced what this priest could do to her with a look, and how her newly discovered overactive imagination could build on that. But she was going to focus on keeping the meeting brief. Surely
it wouldn’t take long to answer his questions and show him the conference space. She’d let Avery negotiate the money part of it.

  Then she’d drive the Corvette into town, buy some new clothes and a stack of notebooks and prepare to indulge her fantasy.

  “Ms. Brightman, I didn’t realize who you were when we spoke on the ferry, nor that we’d be meeting again so soon. I’m Father MacFarland.” He took off the sunglasses he was wearing. The blue-gray eyes they’d covered were kind and a bit curious. There was no trace of the heat that she’d experienced in her fantasy or that she’d felt across the length of the courtyard yesterday. It was almost as if the man she was looking at now was an entirely different person. The knot that had formed in her stomach the moment she’d left her room tightened.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Father,” she said as she gripped his hand. “I understand you’re interested in the facilities Haworth House has to offer.”

  “Yes, I am. This is quite a beautiful spot you’ve got here.”

  His smile held the same warmth as his eyes, but the heat of his palm as it pressed against hers sent heat arrowing right down to her toes. Memories of her dream flooded her system, drying her throat and clouding her senses. She had to focus all her energy on thinking…breathing.

  Even after he withdrew his hand, hers burned. And she couldn’t quite clear her mind of the sensory details of her dream—the way those hard calluses had pressed against other parts of her body, the strength of those fingers. The way they’d dug into her hips…and lifted her. Heat pooled in her core at the memory, and she had to grip the back of the chair to steady herself.

  She couldn’t drag her gaze away from his face, but there was nothing in his eyes to indicate that he’d experienced anything at all when they’d shaken hands. Perhaps those intent gazes they’d exchanged yesterday had been one-sided also.

  Good news, she told herself. That was just the way she wanted it. And it was relief she was feeling, not disappointment. Or worse, rejection. She’d had more than her share of that lately.

  Plus, she had a job to do.

  “…took the liberty of ordering you an iced latte.”

  “Hmmm?” Naomi interrupted her little self-lecture to glance down at the table and she saw the frosty glass for the first time. Then she carefully settled herself in the chair.

  “Tess, the waitress who’s been taking very good care of me, said that you have a weakness for caramel-mint flavor.”

  “Yes, yes, I do,” Naomi said. In addition to my weakness for priests, she thought a bit giddily. Then she forced herself to meet his eyes again. Nothing.

  Get over it, Naomi. You can still indulge your secret fantasy. The fact that he’s as oblivious as Father Bouchard was will make it simpler.

  “She’s also going to bring out an order of the house scones. They are evidently aware in the kitchen that you didn’t order up any breakfast.”

  He was thoughtful. And kind.

  But thoughtful was not the word that came to mind when she remembered the man she’d seen wearing nothing but that small, damp towel last night. No, he’d looked like a man who would take what he wanted and damn the consequences. A little thrill moved through her.

  As she lifted her glass and took a fortifying sip, her gaze never left his. She couldn’t seem to make herself look away. The man had a definite physical pull on her.

  “The staff here are all worried about you,” he said. “You’ve been through a rough time.”

  Understanding was what she read in his eyes now. But she was aware that his hand moved toward hers. Just a matter of an inch or so across the table. He drew it back without touching her.

  What would happen if she touched him? The temptation to find out flared brightly for an instant before she tamped it down and gripped her latte more tightly.

  Focus. Business. “I understand from Avery that you’re thinking of using Haworth House to hold some retreats for the purpose of recruiting new seminarians.”

  “I’m looking to attract larger numbers, and this apears to be a perfect spot for a retreat.” He sipped his coffee, then set it down. “Is that why you came here?”

  “To retreat?” She frowned. “I’m not sure I like the military connotation of the word.”

  “To think things through then,” he suggested.

  “Yes. That’s exactly why I came here.”

  “Is it working?”

  Her brows drew together as she considered. “I think so.” She thought of the decision she’d made to stop using her tote and borrow Jillian’s purse. It was mostly symbolic. Baby steps. “I’m starting to sort things out, decide what I want to do next.”

  “In a religious sense, retreats are supposed to lead to renewal.”

  She shifted her gaze to the stretch of blue ocean visible through one of the courtyard’s archways. “I’ve always thought that’s what the original owner, Hattie Haworth, found here. I think she came here not because she was running away, but because she wanted to start over.”

  His hand moved again. She didn’t see it this time, but she sensed it, and when she turned to look at him, there was a tension in his shoulders and in the line of his jaw that hadn’t been there before.

  “Look,” he said. “I know I’m a complete stranger. But if you feel the need to talk to someone, I’m a pretty good listener.”

  He had a nice voice, soothing, sincere. This time she admitted to herself that it was disappointment she was feeling. Yesterday, she might have looked for understanding, been happy to find it. Today, it wasn’t enough. Impatience rippled through her. Not nearly enough. And as easy as he was to talk to, the last thing she wanted right now was a father-confessor.

  She bet Hattie Haworth hadn’t wanted one, either. During her movie career, she’d allowed her decisions to be influenced by men—the head of her studio, then her husband. And they’d both dumped her when she’d no longer been of use to them.

  The parallels to her own life were blatantly evident.

  This time it was more than a ripple of impatience she felt. But she curbed it. There was a part of her that wanted to get up and just walk away. But she had the hotel to think about.

  Get the business over with, Naomi. She summoned up a smile for the priest. “What can I tell you that will convince you to bring your potential seminarians to Haworth House?”

  He clasped his hands together on the table and leaned forward in his chair. Seconds ticked by as he studied her the same way she’d studied him a few moments ago. For the first time, she saw a hint of the intensity in his eyes she was certain she’d detected during the heated glances they’d shared the day before. And she felt again that ripple of awareness along her nerve endings. Maybe the sexual pull between them hadn’t been all one-sided. Maybe he was as attracted as she was—and was trying to cover it.

  Wasn’t that exactly what she was doing? Hadn’t she decided that if she continued her fantasy with him, she would handle it the same way she had at fourteen—like a secret schoolgirl crush?

  He opened his mouth, but whatever he might have said was interrupted by Tess as she delivered a platter of hot blueberry scones.

  “Can I get you anything else, Father? Ms. Brightman?”

  “Thanks, Tess,” Naomi said. “We’re fine.”

  With a little salute, the waitress hurried away.

  They reached for the scones at the same moment. Their fingers brushed and jerked back, toppling two of the warm delicacies off the pile and onto the ground. They moved together again, scraping back chairs and squatting down to retrieve the fallen scones. When their hands connected this time, he didn’t pull his away. Instead, he took her fingers in a firm grip, and she felt a tremor move through her.

  They were close, nearly as close as they’d been in her dream when he’d knelt on the edge of her bed. The strength of those fingers, the hardness of his hand, were just as she remembered them. So was the heat that streaked up her arms and shot straight to her center.

  Everything else was new—an
d real. There was the scent of the sea mingling with the tanginess of the blueberries and the more earthy scent of him. She felt each one of his fingers tighten on hers as if he were suddenly determined to keep her there. A wild thrill rippled through her. This wasn’t the relaxed, charming man she’d just been having a conversation with. This was the man she’d locked gazes with across the length of the courtyard. Every nerve in her body began to throb.

  Their faces were only inches apart. She’d never before been so intensely aware of anyone. The color of his tanned skin, the way his breath feathered over her cheek and along her jawline. But she couldn’t look away from his eyes. Fascinated, she watched the blue-gray irises darken until they were only shades lighter than his pupils. It wasn’t kindness or understanding she saw now, but something much hotter. Something that made her lose her breath as if she’d just raced to the top of a very high cliff.

  He wanted to kiss her. The desire she saw in his eyes triggered a burst of hunger inside of her. She wanted his mouth on hers. Here. Now. All it would take was the tiniest movement and their lips would touch, meld, mate. In one instant, she would become intimate with the shape of his mouth, the taste and the texture of his tongue. Anticipation cut off her thoughts, and every weighty worry she’d carried around for the past two weeks spun away. Greed she hadn’t known she was capable of rioted through her. He had to kiss her. She had to know…. “Father.”

  It was the word, just that one word that allowed Dane to get a thin grip on reality. On control. He never should have touched her. Even though it was the only thing he’d thought of doing since she’d walked across the courtyard to join him. The problem was, she seemed capable of triggering a disconnect between his body and his brain.

  Twice he’d caught himself reaching for her hand before those damn scones had fallen. Twice. And he still hadn’t released her fingers. Nor could he prevent his gaze from dropping to her mouth.

  Her lips were warm, moist, parted. He’d very nearly kissed her. He still could—so easily. All he had to do was close the little distance between then, and he would finally know what she tasted like. And once he tasted her…? If he lacked his usual control now, what would happen then? The fact that he was strongly tempted to damn the consequences and find out finally gave him the strength to release her hand. But he still didn’t move.