Читать книгу Every Move She Makes - Beverly Barton - Страница 11

Reed hauled Ella into the garage. She protested verbally and struggled against his overpowering strength. What had she been thinking, coming here and confronting him this way? The man was a convicted murderer!

“Let go of me this instant or you’ll be sorry.”

He ignored her, damn him! He pulled her inside a windowless room that possessed only two pieces of furniture: a cheap “Kmart special” swivel chair and an old metal desk piled high with books, magazines, and papers. A small air conditioner hummed and rattled in a hole cut out of the concrete wall. With wide eyes and mouth agape, Briley Joe shot out of the chair.

“We need to use your office for a few minutes,” Reed said.

Briley Joe shut his mouth and stared at them, grinning at first and then grimacing when he apparently recognized Ella. “You do know who she is, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know who she is.”

“Have you lost your mind, manhandling Webb Porter’s daughter?”

“If he doesn’t let me go, I’ll have him arrested,” Ella said.

“Hey, cuz, let her go. You can always find another woman. You don’t want to wind up back in the pen over a piece of ass.”

“A piece of—how dare you!” Ella glared at Briley Joe. Did that imbecile think Reed had dragged her into the garage office for a little slap and tickle? Her heart nearly thumped out of her chest. Unbidden thoughts swirled through her mind. She started to protest such Neanderthal treatment once again, but before she could do more than open her mouth, Reed shoved her down in the chair that Briley Joe had recently vacated. She gasped aloud as her bottom hit the seat, which was still warm from Briley Joe’s body heat.

“Close the door on your way out,” Reed told his cousin, who left immediately and quietly closed the door behind him.

“I don’t know what you think this little scene will accomplish, Mr. Conway, but I hope it’s worth it to you because I can assure you that it’s going to cost you dearly.” Ella used her authoritarian judicial voice, the same commanding tone she used in the courtroom.

Reed settled his backside onto the edge of the desk, reached out, and spun around the chair she sat in so that she was forced to face him. Resting his hands on the chair’s armrests on either side of her hips, he leaned forward, getting close enough so that she could feel his breath on her face. Startled by his nearness, she blinked several times.

“You certainly grew up nice, Miss Ella.” He raked his gaze over her face and down her throat, stopping at her breasts, then retraced his visual journey until their eyes met. “Real nice.”

“Is this step two in your plan to sexually harass me so that my father will come after you?” Keeping her gaze locked with his, she refused to let him know how much he intimidated her. He was a big man, powerfully built, and surrounded by an undeniable aura of danger.

“You’ve got me all wrong,” he said, grinning. “Besides, it seems to me, if anybody’s doing any harassing, it’s you.”

“Me?” She wanted to knock that cocky smile off his face. Her hands balled into fists, crushing the white envelope in the process. She prided herself on her even-tempered disposition. But this man had enraged her so easily that she felt shocked at her irrational reaction to him.

“Yeah, you. I was here at work, minding my own business, being a law-abiding citizen, when you showed up and started tossing out accusations, accusing me of something I didn’t do. I figure that could be called harassment.”

“Are you denying that you sent this to me?” She held up the letter she still clutched in her fist and waved it around, all but slapping him in the face with it.

He peered at her over the edge of the envelope, which rested just below the bridge of his nose. “The vulgar, harassing letter? Nope. I don’t know anything about it, except what you’ve told me.”

He continued staring at her. Those incredible blue eyes hypnotized her. She couldn’t help wondering how many other women had been caught and held by the mesmerizing coldness in Reed Conway’s eyes. She swallowed. Get hold of yourself, Eleanor Porter. He’s just a man, like any other man. He puts his pants on one leg at a time, right? Yeah, sure. She couldn’t kid herself. Reed might put his pants on in the same way other men did, but he wasn’t like other men. He never had been. Not at eighteen. Not now. He had been a star athlete headed for the University of Alabama on a football scholarship when he’d killed his stepfather. He’d had a bad boy reputation with girls and women alike when he’d been Bryant County’s teenage heartthrob and the bane of concerned parents’ lives. She remembered accidentally overhearing her uncle Jeff Henry make an off-color comment about Reed all those years ago.

“That boy’s got a man-sized ego because he’s bigger and better on the football field than anybody else. And the ladies seem to think what he’s got between his legs is bigger and better, too.”

She could still hear her uncle’s and her father’s macho chuckles, each in his own way both condeming and envying the boy from the wrong side of the tracks who had been destined for football superstardom.

And now Reed was different because he was a convicted murderer who had served fifteen years in prison. What had those years done to him? Losing everything—his freedom and the promise of a rich and famous future—must have embittered him. He had sworn revenge, hadn’t he? Against her father. But he had also sworn something else.

He had sworn he was innocent.

But that wasn’t possible. He’d been given a fair trial and was found guilty by a jury of his peers. Not only her father, but everyone in town knew he was guilty. He had to be guilty. All the evidence pointed directly to him. He had admitted beating his stepfather until he was unconscious. The knife used to slit Junior Blalock’s throat had belonged to Reed, and only his fingerprints had been found on it.

“If you didn’t send me this letter, then who did?” Ella asked. “Who else would have a reason to send me something like this? The content is very similar to those two letters you wrote to me….”

“I shouldn’t have written those letters to you.”

Ella lowered the hand that held the scrunched envelope. She didn’t know if she moved closer or if Reed did, but suddenly they were nose to nose. A wave of dizziness forced her to blink and then refocus her vision so that she looked away, over his shoulder toward the dingy white wall behind him.

“I was wild with anger when I first got to Donaldson,” he said, his voice low, even, and unbelievably calm. “I lashed out at everyone and everything. I hated your father and I wrote those letters to you to get a rise out of him. It was a stupid mistake. One I’ve regretted for a long time.”

He sounded so sincere that she almost believed him. Dear Lord, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to reach out and stroke his beard-stubbled cheek and tell him that she truly believed he regretted his past sins. She clenched her fist tightly at her side so that she didn’t respond physically, didn’t allow her own unchecked emotions to get her into trouble. As a small child, her spontaneous, emotional actions had worried her mother terribly, so she’d learned to curb those tendencies in order to please Carolyn.

“I’d like to believe you,” Ella said, proud that her voice didn’t tremble even though she was shaking like a leaf inside. “But it seems too much of a coincidence that the day after you’re released from prison, I receive a letter very similar to the two you sent me fifteen years ago.”

“Maybe it’s not a coincidence,” Reed suggested. He released the chair arms and rose to his full, imposing height.

Ella tilted her head and stared up at him. “What are you implying?”

“I know that I sure as hell didn’t write that letter to you, but circumstantial evidence points to me. Maybe whoever sent it wants you to think I’m the person who wrote it.”

“But why?”

“To get me in trouble.”

Ella rose to her feet but quickly realized her mistake. Reed didn’t move out of her way, so only inches separated her body from his. She felt his heat, smelled his sweat, heard his indrawn breath when his leg accidentally brushed against hers. Or had it been accidental?

“Why—why would someone want to get you in trouble?”

“If I get in big enough trouble, I go back to the pen.” Did Reed sway slightly toward her or did she lean into him? Only a hairbreadth separated them now. “Whoever really killed Junior Blalock doesn’t want me to stay free, doesn’t want me snooping around trying to find out the truth.”

For a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her. She froze to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. You don’t want him to kiss you, do you? She realized that yes, she did want him to kiss her, and the shock of it motivated her self-preservation instincts. Maybe Reed Conway fascinated her in a way no other man ever had. Maybe the aura of danger and machismo that was such an intrinsic part of him aroused some primitive female needs within her. But she was an intelligent, cautious woman who knew better than to succumb to baser instincts.

Ella eased around Reed, unavoidably brushing against him as she passed. He made no move to restrain her. Instead, he followed her to the door, reached around her, grabbed the knob, and opened the door. His big, hairy arm looped around her waist. She was painfully aware of what their close proximity might look like to anyone who could see them. It would never do to have someone catch her practically in Reed Conway’s arms.

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time,” she told him. “If you say you didn’t write this letter”—she glanced at the letter she still gripped tightly in her hand—“then I’ll take your word for it. But if I receive another, I won’t be able to dismiss it so easily. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Conway?”

He grinned. Damn him! “Yes, Miss Ella, you make yourself perfectly clear. But you’re talking to the wrong man.”

A heated flush crept up her neck and colored her cheeks. “Just stay away from me…and from my family.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

Ella practically ran from him, her footsteps clicking against the concrete floor of the garage as she made her hasty escape. She didn’t slow her pace until she reached her car; then, breathless with uncertainty and heightened senses, she halted long enough to get control of herself before she slid behind the wheel. Prompted by an urgent need to run, to get far away from Reed as fast as she could, Ella inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine. As she zoomed the Jag out into the street, the tires squealed loudly. When she dared a glance in her rearview mirror, she saw a smiling Reed Conway standing in the doorway, waving good-bye.

“Now, there, my man, is one fine piece of ass,” Briley Joe said as he walked up beside Reed. “Got class written all over her.”

“Yeah, she’s a class act, all right.” Reed shook his head and laughed. “She’s scared shitless of me. And I don’t think it’s just because I’m a convicted murderer.”

“You think the judge has got the hots for you, cuz?”

“I think she’s scared of me. That’s all.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you like to know what it feels like to make it with one of her kind?”

“Not much chance of that.” Reed shrugged. “Women like Miss Ella are too high class for the likes of you and me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Briley Joe snickered.

Reed glanced at his cousin and noted the self-satisfied grin on his face. “Don’t compare Ella with her aunt.”

“Some high-class dames like to get their hands dirty—real dirty.” Briley Joe hooked his lean fingers over Reed’s shoulder. “Even if you don’t think she’s anything like her aunt, who knows? Judge Porter might get real turned on just thinking about jumping in the sack with an ex-con.”

Ever the dutiful daughter, Ella called and left a message with Bessie to let her mother know she’d be home a little later than usual. She’d been driving around for the past half hour asking herself what the hell had happened between her and Reed Conway. She had stopped by the garage to confront him about the letter she’d received and came away badly shaken and halfway convinced that the man hadn’t sent her the letter.

You’re an idiot, she scolded herself as she turned left on Tallulah Street. She needed someone to talk to about what had happened and about her confused emotions. She certainly couldn’t run home and confess to her mother that she’d gotten all hot and bothered over Reed Conway. Carolyn was apt to have heart failure just at the thought that Ella might have spoken to the man. And if she even mentioned Reed’s name to her father, he was liable to take gun in hand and go after him. No, this situation called for the sympathetic ear of a friend.

She parked her Jag in the driveway beside the restored Victorian house at 508 Tallulah Street. Ella’s best friend since childhood, Heather Marshall, had recently returned to Spring Creek after an absence of five years, and the two had picked up right where they’d left off. Of course, during that five years when Heather had lived in Mobile, they’d phoned each other on a regular basis and had visited twice a year. Ella had been Heather’s maid of honor when she married Lance Singleton. She’d sat by Heather’s hospital bed when she suffered a miscarriage. And she’d offered support during Heather’s ugly divorce ten months ago.

Ella stood on the flower-lined brick walkway in front of the house that had belonged to Heather’s grandmother and had gradually fallen into disrepair after the old lady’s death ten years ago. Heather had spent a small fortune restoring the place, and now the facade boasted its original Victorian colors: pink, cream, and green.

Working on the house had, according to Heather, saved her sanity after her divorce. Luckily, Heather had inherited enough money that she didn’t have to work unless she wanted to, and Heather definitely preferred a life of leisure.

Thinking about how different she and Heather were, how different they had always been, Ella rang the doorbell. Even as children, they’d been exact opposites in appearance and temperament. Ella waited. No one came to the door. She rang the bell again. No response. Heather was home. Her black Corvette was parked in the driveway. Ella tried the bell one final time, then gave up and walked off the porch. She’d try the back door. When she made her way around the side of the house and opened the gate that led into the enclosed backyard, she heard water splashing. Of course. Why hadn’t she realized that Heather would be in the pool?

Ella marched across the patio and reached the side of the pool just as Heather emerged, water dripping from her tall, slender body, which was clad in a thong and nothing else. Now, as always, Ella envied her friend’s almost boyish physique. No matter how much Heather ate—and she had a ravenous appetite—she remained pencil-skinny. But whenever Ella had mentioned this fact to her best buddy, Heather had informed Ella that with boobs like hers, she didn’t need to envy anyone.

“Hey, girlfriend, what are you doing here?” Heather reached for a large white towel resting on the wicker chaise longue a couple of feet away, then picked up the towel and ran the terry cloth over her freckled arms and legs. Four sets of gold hoops in Heather’s ears and two gold toe rings glistened in the sunlight. A quarter-sized tattoo of a red heart stood out plainly on Heather’s tanning-bed-tawny buttock.

“I need an understanding friend to tell me that I haven’t completely lost my mind.” Ella rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers, trying unsuccessfully to ease the headache that had hit her moments after leaving Conway’s Garage.

Heather tossed the damp towel onto the tiled patio floor, picked up a short, see-through robe, and slipped into the hot pink fishnet garment. “The ever sane and sensible Judge Eleanor Porter thinks she might have lost her mind. I’m shocked. Sit down”—Heather pointed to the wicker chair to her left—“and tell Auntie Heather all about it.”

Ella sat, sighed, and closed her eyes. “You cannot repeat what I’m about to say to another living soul.”

Heather plopped down on the chaise longue. “Oh, boy, this must be good. Tell me it has something to do with a man.”

Ella’s eyes popped open and she gazed at her friend with a startled expression. Maybe this was a bad idea. Heather was bound to get a great deal of pleasure from Ella’s admission. After all, Heather had always been the wild one, dating bad boys and even marrying one. On the other hand, Ella had always been the sensible one, dating only upstanding men who had received the stamp of approval from her mother.

“My God, it is about a man.” Heather twisted around on the chaise and faced Ella. “Surely not Dan Gilmore. The guy is as dull as dishwater.”

“No, it’s not about Dan.” Ella hesitated. Her heartbeat accelerated. “It’s about Reed Conway.”

“Reed Conway?” Heather’s mouth dropped open. “Reed Conway who was sent to prison for murdering his stepfather?”

Ella nodded.

Heather scooted to the edge of the chaise and leaned forward toward Ella. “I take it that you’ve seen him since he was released from prison yesterday. Come on”—Heather motioned a hurry-up wave with her fingers—“confess. How did you happen to run into Reed and—”

“I didn’t run into him,” Ella said. “I—I stopped by Conway’s Garage to see him.” She opened her purse, jerked out the letter, removed it from the envelope, and handed it to Heather. “I found this lying on my desk this afternoon.”

Heather took the letter, scanned it quickly, and let out a long, low whistle. “Hmm…This must have reminded you of those two letters Reed wrote to you way back when. So, you think he wrote this letter?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You went to see Reed about this letter?” Heather stuffed the letter back into the envelope and returned it to Ella. “Why on earth didn’t you just call Frank Nelson? Checking into something like this is a job for our police chief. I cannot believe you actually confronted Reed. I’d have been scared spitless to accuse him to his face.”

“I didn’t want Daddy to find out and go ballistic or for Mother to get all upset, so I thought that if I handled the problem myself—”

“What did Reed say? Mercy, Ella, what did he do?”

“He denied writing the letter.”

“Of course he did. You didn’t think he’d admit to doing it, did you?”

Ella sighed. “After speaking to Reed, I’m not so sure he wrote the letter.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What does that mean?” Ella asked.

“It means something else went on between you and Reed, didn’t it? Something besides a confrontation over that letter.”

Ella nodded. She twined her fingers together and nervously rubbed her thumb over the palm of the opposite hand. “I can’t explain what happened. It was like heat lightning. For just a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me.”

“You’re kidding me.” Heather reached out and grabbed Ella by the shoulders. “Now, you listen to me, girlfriend—stay away from Reed Conway. The guy is trouble with a capital T. Whatever game he’s playing with you is a dangerous one. He’s got to know that the best form of revenge against your father is by using you.”

“Don’t you think I know that? But it doesn’t change the fact that I…responded to him. I wanted him to kiss me. I actually hoped he would kiss me.”

“Shit!”

Reed rang the doorbell, then banged on the door. Ever since sweet Miss Ella Porter had left the garage, he’d been walking around with a hard-on. What kind of fool did that make him? He had wanted to lift her onto the desk in Briley Joe’s office, strip off her panties, part her legs, and ram himself into her. When she’d stared at him with those big brown eyes, it had taken all his will power not to grab her and kiss her. And if he hadn’t read her wrong, he figured that she would have let him. Kiss her, that is. Not screw her.

Reed knocked again. The door swung open and Ivy Sims’s mouth spread into a wide grin.

“Well, hello there, sugar. You’re early. I just got out of the shower.”

Reed visually raked her body from neck to knees. The short floral robe hung open just enough to reveal her thighs and parted above the belt to give him a glimpse of the inner curve of her breasts. Reed pushed her backward, came into the apartment, and shoved the door closed with his foot. Then without saying a word, he grabbed Ivy, thrust his tongue into her mouth, and lifted her up by her butt. She quickly wrapped her legs around his hips as he carried her through the living room and straight to her bedroom. She giggled when he tossed her onto the bed. He unzipped his jeans; then pulled a small square packet from his pocket. She squirmed and held out her arms when he opened her robe. He parted the fly of his briefs and freed his sex, then donned the condom hurriedly. Ivy cried out with pleasure when he impaled her.

He drove into her like a madman, all the while with his eyes tightly shut. The woman beneath him wasn’t the one he wanted, but he could pretend she was, couldn’t he?