Led into Temptation Read online

  Following her into the village hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d hoped. His rental car couldn’t match the speed of the Corvette. But thanks to Tess, he had a good idea where Naomi intended to run her errand—a boutique called Discoveries that Jillian Brightman recommended to everyone.

  When he’d seen her pull in to the municipal parking lot, he’d parked on a side street. But she was fast. By the time he’d switched T-shirts and donned a baseball cap from his duffel, she’d been headed his way. He’d barely had time to note that Discoveries only had two doors, the one on the main thoroughfare and a side door for deliveries on the cross street. Hurriedly, he’d chosen one of the outside tables at the coffee shop. Although he’d angled his chair away from her, he’d felt her eyes on him and held his breath until she’d crossed the street to window-shop. Only then had he taken a second to strategically assess his surroundings.

  Tailing someone in a small village posed problems. The position of the coffee shop in the center of the small shopping district gave him a good vantage point. When she’d finally entered the store, he’d moved inside the shop to a window table that provided more cover.

  He could still see her car in the parking lot and Discoveries was across the street. So he’d had front row seating for the articles of clothing she’d selected from the window.

  Ever since he’d seen the saleswoman lift the scraps of lingerie, he’d had a tantalizing image in his mind of Naomi wearing nothing but that froth of lemon-colored lace. And during the course of drinking two cups of iced coffee, the image had spun more than one fantasy.

  They all began the same way—with Naomi standing in one of those dressing rooms with a three-way mirror. He stood behind her, pulling her against him and tracing his fingers along the top of that lace, once, twice. Then he moved his fingers lower, slowly circling her nipples through the silky fabric before he continued his exploration of the smooth skin that stretched taut over her ribs, becoming unbearably soft as his hands moved lower. And lower.

  The first time he’d played the fantasy through, he gripped her hips, holding her close as he slipped his fingers beneath the lace and into her. Keeping his gaze on hers, he drew his fingers out and pushed them in, again and again.

  He kept the rhythm slow at first while he read her response from her reflections in the three-way mirror. He caught every nuance—the beat of her pulse at her throat, the catch of her breath, the stiffening of her body when she was almost ready to climax. Each time she neared her release, he stilled the movement of his fingers and held her tightly against him to keep her there, just on the brink of her climax.

  Only when she said his name, Dane, did he finally increase the rhythm until she rose up on her toes and arched against him. Then he used his mouth and teeth on the side of her neck until she’d ridden out her release.

  And that was fantasy number one. In fantasy number two, he used only his mouth on her. Which had resulted in his current uncomfortable situation.

  Pushing the tantalizing images firmly out of his mind, Dane took a sip of his iced coffee and sat very still. He didn’t dare move. Thinking of the variety of ways he could give Naomi a climax in the confines of that damn dressing room had aroused him to the point that the slightest shift in pressure against his penis might bring him to his own release.

  Not to mention that the more he fantasized about making love to Naomi Brightman, the harder it was going to be to control his desire the next time he was with her.

  Time to get his mind off the dressing room.

  A glance at his watch confirmed that she’d been in the boutique for almost an hour. And that was out of character for her. Two weeks he’d watched her in Boston, and he’d never seen her shop for a thing except a few groceries and her morning lattes. In spite of the pleasurable side trips he’d imaginatively taken into Naomi’s dressing room, he hadn’t seen anyone go into Discoveries either through the main or side door.

  So if Michael Davenport was planning to make contact with her in Belle Bay, he probably wasn’t going to do it in the boutique. But something told him—a gut instinct he’d learned to trust—that Davenport was keeping an eye on her. The question was, where would he make his move? And when?

  Dane scanned the area outside the window of the coffee shop. The tables under the awning had filled. None of the customers bore any resemblance to Davenport. And only one man had been there as long as Dane had—the large round man with the grizzled beard who’d been focused on his crossword puzzle.

  Shifting his attention back to the street, Dane noted that the pedestrian traffic had thinned to a few strollers the next block up and a couple of delivery trucks were slowing the flow of traffic from the pier.

  A flutter of movement across the street caught his eye. Naomi appeared in the open doorway of the boutique, her purse slung over her arm and both hands occupied with shopping bags. For a moment, he simply stared.

  The short-skirted sundress was a far cry from the conservative suit she’d been wearing that morning. And her legs were, well…they seemed to go forever.

  He was trying to stop staring at them when the small brunette he’d seen earlier gave her a quick hug. As they chatted, the man with the grizzled beard dropped a bill on his table and strode toward the corner. He crossed the street in the direction of Discoveries, and as Naomi started toward the pier, he fell into step about twenty paces behind her. They were the only two people on the sidewalk.

  Coincidence? Hard to accept that when his senses had shot to full alert. On the other hand, his senses seemed to be on full alert 24/7 when it came to Naomi.

  In Boston, he hadn’t been the only one watching her. Why would he be the only one here?

  But if Grizzled Beard was a Fed, he ought to be better at his job. He shouldn’t be getting as close as he was.

  Letting his instincts rule, Dane chucked the baseball cap into his duffel and strode out of the coffee shop.

  By the time he’d cleared the sidewalk tables, Naomi was a block away, and the man following her was less than three stores behind her.

  A hell of a lot closer than Dane was.

  He thought of calling out to her. But there was still that slim possibility he was overreacting. Highly probable when he’d been overreacting to her on so many other levels.

  Instead, he picked up his pace until he was parallel to her on his side of the street.

  A plan formed in his mind. She was no doubt on her way to stow her purchased items in the Corvette. As soon as she did, he’d call out to her and cross the street. The fact that she wasn’t alone might scare off the man following her. It wasn’t a bad plan. He was about to put it into action when two large delivery trucks groaned to a stop, totally blocking his view. Dane moved faster. As he did, he glanced over at the pier, and an abrupt movement caught his attention.

  A man wearing a straw hat shot up from one of the patio tables and leaned over the railing. Dane might not have noticed if his view of Naomi hadn’t been temporarily blocked. And even then he might have dismissed the man as a curious onlooker if the fisherman’s hat hadn’t fallen off and dropped to the pavement below.

  Recognition punched into him with the impact of a fist. Michael Davenport. The man’s gaze was riveted on whatever was happening on the other side of the street. Dane gauged the distance. Thirty seconds tops and he could be at the restaurant. He’d have the scumbag in his hands.

  He bolted forward, and then he heard the scream.

  Naomi.

  Heart pounding, Dane turned on a dime, shot into the street and made an end run around the delivery truck.

  And then she screamed again.

  6

  “HAVE FUN!” Molly followed Naomi into the bright sunshine and then hugged her.

  “I intend to.” Because her arms were completely occupied with shopping bags, Naomi settled for kissing her new best friend on the cheek.

  “You sure you don’t need help to your car?” Molly asked. “I could lock up the store for a few minutes. Heck, I could close
for the rest of the day after the sale you’ve given me.”

  Naomi laughed. “I’ll be fine. My car is just down the street.” She was almost more grateful for the laughter she’d shared with Molly over the past hour than she was for the new wardrobe. Almost.

  “Come back soon,” Molly said.

  “I will.” And she was going to do more than come back. If she weren’t so hamstrung by the fact that any communication with her sisters had to be kept to a minimum, she would have called Jillian and Reese right away. At some point during the myriad of outfits she’d tried on, it had occurred to her that the hotel might very well benefit from a small branch of Discoveries opening up at Haworth House. Both businesses could profit from the exposure.

  She was picturing it in her mind when she experienced that same prickling sensation she’d had earlier when she’d first walked past the coffee shop.

  This time, it was more than annoyance that streamed through her, and she didn’t bother to hide her reaction. Whirling around, she spotted the large round man with the grizzled beard she’d seen earlier. He didn’t look like any of the Feds who’d tailed her in Boston. But the moment she’d turned to face him, he’d shifted his gaze to the side, and he hadn’t slackened his pace. A guilty reaction if she’d ever seen one. He was less than twenty feet away and closing the distance between them quickly.

  Naomi considered her options. She could continue on her way and ignore him. She could make a run for her car. Or she could stay right where she was.

  Hadn’t she decided that she was done with allowing any man to manipulate her?

  “Are you following me?” she asked.

  Startled surprise flickered over the man’s face before his eyes met hers. Then he raised both arms and lunged toward her.

  Acting purely on instinct, she waited, sidestepping him at the last minute. He plowed forward into thin air, and she sprinted back in the direction of Discoveries.

  Behind her, she heard a man swear. A horn blared on the street, and she battled to find traction on the sidewalk in the new sandals she wore.

  A hard shove from behind sent her into a skid on a collision course with a brick wall. At the last second, a hard tug on the strap of her purse stopped her momentum and spun her around.

  “Give me the purse, lady.”

  Naomi dropped her shopping bags and gripped the strap of her purse with both hands. “Get your own.”

  He pulled and she lunged forward.

  “Give it up.”

  “I don’t give up,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He pulled and she slid forward again. This couldn’t be good for her new shoes.

  “The purse belongs to my sister so you can’t have it,” she said.

  This time he gave the purse a quick jerk and she lost her balance, tumbling into him. It was his turn to stumble backward. As they both teetered wildly, Naomi seized the opportunity to loop the strap of the purse a second time around her wrist.

  His face was red now, he was taller by at least six inches, and his eyes had darkened with anger. “Dammit, lady. Give me the damn purse.”

  “No.”

  In a lightning-fast move, he dropped the strap and clamped a large hand on her arm. “Then you can come along with it.”

  For the first time, fear sprinted through her. She dug in her heels. Or at least she tried. But the new sandals merely skidded along the sidewalk. Naomi screamed.

  The man started to run. On the side street ahead, the door of a dark-colored sedan opened. Panic slithered up her spine. She was running now, too. Nothing she did seemed to curb their forward momentum. Screaming again, Naomi swung the purse full force into her companion’s face.

  It was his turn to holler as he dropped her arm and covered his nose with his hands. She stumbled sideways into a wall and used it to regain her balance. Blood oozed from between his fingers. Using both hands this time, she whacked him in the face again.

  Howling, he sprinted toward the waiting car, and she raced after him. She was gaining on him when strong hands closed around her shoulders and lifted her up. Her feet dangled inches from the ground.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Stop him! He’s getting away!”

  It was only when she was on her feet and able to turn around that Naomi recognized her rescuer. “Father MacFarland? What—”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m fine.” She turned back in time to see the would-be purse-snatcher shove aside an elderly couple and dive through the open door of the sedan. Tires squealed as the car shot away from the curb and up the side street.

  Craning her neck, she caught the license plate. “VGB 1370.”

  “What?” he asked.

  She met his eyes. “VGB 1370. That’s his license plate number. That man just tried to steal my purse. I’m going to report him and his license plate to the sheriff.”

  “I’ve got Sheriff Kirby right here.”

  Dane turned to see the small brunette from the boutique hurrying toward them, her cell phone clutched in one hand. At her side, taking one step to her two, was a tall man with blond hair. He wore khaki trousers and a matching short-sleeved shirt. A gun and a badge were clipped to his belt.

  Thanks to Ian’s research, Dane knew that a Kirby had been sheriff on Belle Island for the last four generations, and Nate Kirby had taken over for his father three years ago.

  A few curious people had begun to gather, and Dane joined them on the sidelines as Naomi described what had happened and the sheriff took notes. Dane needed a moment to regroup. Hell, he needed several to get her scream out of his head and to tamp down on the mix of emotions he’d felt. Fear had been at the forefront, but guilt and a fierce need to protect her had been racing right behind.

  So much for the emotional distance that was essential to getting Davenport and keeping Naomi safe.

  Davenport was no longer on that patio. He’d checked that out while Naomi was getting the license plate. In front of him, she had emptied the contents of her small purse into Molly’s hands—car keys, a wallet, a pen and a notepad from the hotel, a lipstick. The sheriff had opened the wallet, and Dane was close enough to see there was very little cash and only a couple of credit cards.

  As Nate took her through what had happened again, Dane paid closer attention and replayed the scenes in his mind. Thanks to the delivery truck and his distraction with Davenport, he’d missed a lot of it. But what he’d seen had been enough to have fear icing his veins. By the time he’d spotted her, Grizzled Beard was dragging her toward the corner. The stalled traffic in the street had slowed Dane down, and panic had knotted in his belly when he’d realized that he wasn’t going to make it to her in time.

  Then she’d whacked the guy in the face with her purse.

  A part of him had wanted to cheer when she’d slammed it into him a second time. But when she took off after him, he’d wanted to shake her. If he hadn’t reached her in time to stop her, there was no telling how the tussle might have ended. The guy might have grabbed her again. She could have been hurt. Worse, she could have been in that car and speeding out of town.

  He was still frowning at Naomi when the sheriff approached him and introduced himself.

  “Nate Kirby. And you’re Father MacFarland.”

  At Dane’s raised brow, he continued, “Any new guest at Haworth House feeds the gossip mills here on Belle Island for at least a few days.” He flipped his notebook to a fresh page. “I’d like to get your take on what happened.”

  Dane met the sheriff’s eyes. “My take is that Ms. Brightman is a very lucky young woman.”

  “We can agree on that. Good thing you were in the vicinity. Where were you exactly?”

  Dane turned to look at Naomi. With Molly’s help, she was gathering up her packages. “I’ve been in the coffee shop for the past hour or so.”

  “How well do you know Ms. Brightman?”

  Dane glanced at the sheriff. “I met her this morning at breakfast up at the hotel. I’d asked t
he manager for a meeting with the owner because I’m thinking of using the hotel facilities for a possible retreat.”

  “Are you aware of her troubles in Boston?” Nate asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Her face has been on the news quite a bit over the past few weeks. You think this might have some connection to that?”

  “I’m not big on coincidences,” Nate said.

  Dane wasn’t, either.

  “Ms. Brightman says that she spotted her attacker at the coffee shop earlier. He was at an outside table working a crossword puzzle. She thought at first he might have been a Federal agent sent here to keep tabs on her. Did you happen to notice him?”

  “Yes, I did. When I arrived, there were only a few customers.”

  Nate Kirby turned to look up the street. “Not a bad place to pick if you wanted to keep someone under surveillance.”

  For a moment, Dane said nothing. Did the sheriff suspect that he had used the coffee shop to keep an eye on Naomi? Finally, he said, “Or if you were biding your time, waiting for the right moment to snatch her purse.”

  “Ah, yes, the purse.” Nate closed his notebook and tucked it into his pocket. “We don’t get a lot of street crime in Belle Bay. But this one appears to have been planned.”

  Well planned, Dane thought. And very nearly successful.

  “Did you get a look at the driver of the car?” Nate asked.

  “No. I was a little preoccupied keeping Ms. Brightman from running after it.” Truth told, he’d been too focused on Naomi all morning. And it had caused him to second-guess his instincts.

  “You’re running the license plate?” Dane asked.

  “Tim, my deputy, is checking it out. It’s from a rental agency here on the island.” Nate glanced at Dane. “It’ll probably be a dead end.”