I’ve got my doubts. Anybody could’ve paid a kid off the street to run a package by the office.”
“It’s not going to stop, is it?” Deborah looked to Ashe for an answer. He grasped her by the shoulders. She trembled.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “The phone calls and letters aren’t going to stop. But I’m screening them. You don’t have to deal with them at all. And from now on, any UPS deliveries will come directly to me, too. You don’t even have to know about them.”
“Unless you think it’s another bomb and we have to evacuate the office again.” Deborah wanted to walk into Ashe’s arms, to lay her head on his chest and cry. Instead she pulled away from him, turning to her employees, still standing around outside on the sidewalk. “Let’s get back to work.” Then she held out her hand to Chief Burton, thanked him for arriving so promptly and took one last look at the gag gift she’d been sent.
She walked back into the building, her head held high. At that moment Ashe didn’t think he’d ever been as enthralled by a woman’s show of strength. He knew she’d been scared to death, had felt her trembling beneath his hands, but despite her anger and uncertainty, she was not defeated.
Ashe waited around outside for a few minutes until the police left and the crowd cleared. He found Deborah in her office, alone, her elbows propped up on her desk, her hands covering her face.
He closed the door behind him. Dropping her hands, she stared up at him, her eyes damp but without any real tears.
He walked over, knelt down beside her swivel chair and took her hands into his. “It’s all right if you want to cry or scream or hit something. Nobody can be strong all the time.”
“I have to be,” she said, her voice flat and even, masking her emotions. She looked down at her lap where he held her hands. “Mother and Allen have no one else but me. If I fall apart…if I…” Pausing, she swallowed. “I have to keep Vaughn & Posey going. So many people depend on this business. And since Mother’s illness, she’s become very fragile emotionally.”
“Then put up a brave front for Miss Carol and Allen. Even let your employees go on thinking you’re superwoman. But I’ve got some broad shoulders, Deborah. And they’re here for you to lean on any time you feel the need.”
She looked at him, her blue eyes softening just a fraction. “Part of the job, Mr. McLaughlin? I thought you were supposed to protect me. Giving comfort is extra, isn’t it? How much more will that cost me?”
He stood and jerked her up into his arms in one swift move. She gasped as she fell against him and he trapped her body, holding her securely in his arms. He lowered his head until their breaths mingled.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of him, telling herself she was a fool to succumb to his easy charm.
“The comfort is free, Ms. Vaughn.” He whispered the words against her lips. “If you’re woman enough to accept it.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes. He released his hold on her and gave her a slight push away from him. Turning his back on her, he headed for the door.
“Ashe?”
“I’m just going to get a cup of coffee. I’m not leaving you, even if right now I’d like nothing better than to walk out that door and not come back.”
“No one is stopping—”
He pivoted around, glaring at her. “No, that’s not true. I don’t want to walk out on you and never come back. What I want, more than anything, is to shove all that stuff off your desk, lift you up on it and—”
“I think you’re confusing me with Whitney,” Deborah said.
“No, honey, that’s something I’ve never done. It’s your legs I’d like to slide between and your body I’d like to claim, not your cousin’s.”
Ashe turned, walked out of the office and closed the door behind him.
Deborah stood beside her desk, trembling. Visions of her lying on top of her desk flashed through her mind. She shook her head trying to dislodge the thoughts of Ashe McLaughlin leaning over her body, lifting her hips and burying himself inside her.
She covered her mouth with her hand to still her cry, then bit down on the side of her finger as shivers of desire rippled through her.
Chapter Six
Deborah had thought about making a fire in her sitting room fireplace, but had neither the strength nor the determination. Although the October night was chilly, it wasn’t really cool enough for a fire. She’d simply thought a cosy glowing fire would be soothing. Instead she had settled for a nice warm bath and a cup of cinnamon tea.
She curled up on the huge padded window seat beneath the stained glass window in her sitting room alcove. Her room was her haven. Since early childhood, she had escaped into this luxurious old room with its high ceilings and aged wooden floors. Many days she had sat where she sat now, watching the way the sun turned the colors in the stained glass window to sparkling jewels.
She had written silly, girlish poems about love and life and Ashe McLaughlin. She had long ago burned those poems. Even now she could feel the tears on her face, the tears she had shed the night she’d tossed those hopeless professions of love into the fireplace and watched her youthful dreams go up in smoke.
She shouldn’t be dwelling on the past, not with so many problems facing her in the present. Between the constant harassing threats and Ashe’s presence, her nerves were raw. She wanted to scream, to cry, to break something—anything—into a thousand pieces.
She wanted Ashe to go away; she wanted Ashe to never leave her. She fantasized about telling Ashe that Allen was his son; she lived in fear Ashe would discover the truth.
Deborah set her teacup on the mahogany tea table beside the window bench, pulled the cream crocheted afghan over her legs and rested her head against the window frame. She should have been in bed an hour ago, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. The simple, orderly life she had worked out for herself had suddenly and irrevocably fallen apart. She had turned off on the wrong road, witnessed a murder and her life would never be the same again. Not only was her life being threatened by the most notorious hoodlums in the state, but the very man determined to protect her posed the greatest threat of all. How ironic, she thought, that she should fear Ashe McLaughlin even more than she feared Buck Stansell.
She heard a soft rap on her door. Her mother? Had she taken ill? Or Allen, who usually slept soundly the whole night through? No. Not her mother. Not Allen.
Ashe.
Dropping the afghan to the floor, she walked across the room, her heart hammering away in her chest. Just before opening the door, she readjusted her silk robe, tightening the belt around her waist.
Ashe McLaughlin stood in the hallway, one big hand braced against the doorpost. He still wore his charcoal gray slacks and his dove gray linen shirt, but the shirt was completely unbuttoned and the hem hung loose below his hips.
“May I come in? We need to talk.”
“It’s late, Ashe. After midnight. I’m tired.” She didn’t want him in her room, didn’t want to be alone
