She didn’t have to open them for him. Using his phantom hands, he had complete access to the most intimate parts of her, and she caught his satisfaction in knowing what he was doing to her.
Her hips rose and fell as he stroked a finger through her folds, dipping into her and turning his finger in a maddening circle, then traveling upward to the point of her greatest sensation. He kept up the arousing attention, making it impossible for her to focus on anything else as he drove her up and up toward a climax that burst over and through her, making her gasp as she struggled not to cry out in pleasure.
And when he was finished, he whispered in her mind,sleep now. Sleep. You need your rest.
What about you?she managed to ask.
That was good for me, too. And it gives me something to look forward to. When I get you back, we’ll finish what we started.
She prayed that he was right. Prayed that he would be able to get her away from the man who had sent thugs to bring her back to him.
Stephanie woke with the memory of making love with Craig and a smile on her face. She’d dreamed of having a warm, close relationship with a lover, but she’d been sure it would never happen to her until she met Craig. That was one of the reasons she’d settled for John Reynard.
She turned her head, expecting to see her one true love lying beside her. Instead, reality slammed back like a prison door clanging behind her.
She wasn’t with Craig. Not at all. She was in a bedroom in John Reynard’s house. Thank the Lord, not Reynard’s bedroom.
She clenched her hands into fists, wanting to pound them against the walls for all the good that would do her.
When she looked toward the bedside table, she saw the letter opener she’d put there—which looked like she’d been expecting to be attacked in the night. What a revealing thing to do.
Hoping that no one had looked in on her, she put the weapon back on the desk and went to the bathroom, where she got ready and pulled on jeans and a tee shirt.
People were moving around the house when she came down, and John and Claire were sitting at the dining room table, talking as intimately as they had been in the lounge the night before.
Claire noticed her first. “There she is.”
“Yes, we let you get your beauty sleep,” John added as he gave her a considering look. “I’m sorry I drank so much last night. It won’t happen again.”
When she was scrambling for a reply, he said, “The wedding will be this afternoon.”
“What?” she gasped, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of her. “I thought you wanted a morning wedding.”
“I changed my mind,” he answered.
“Yes. We have everything arranged,” Claire said brightly.
Unable to stand, Stephanie dropped into a chair at the table. She’d known that John wanted to move quickly, but she’d had no idea the wedding would be today,
Claire bustled over and set a notebook in front of her. “Since you were asleep, I took the liberty of making some selections. I thought Prestige would be an ideal caterer. They’re bringing the food from their kitchen in New Orleans. But there’s no need to go into the city for the floral arrangements. There’s a branch of Just for You Flowers about twenty minutes away. I’ve sent out e-mail invitations to several of John’s business associates, and I’ve already received some replies, but I think we can expect a small group—perhaps twenty guests. And we’ll have your father picked up and brought here. We decided that a justice of the peace was the easiest choice for an official. Mr. Vincent Lacey will be here at five.”
Stephanie fought a wave of dizziness. “Five? The ceremony is at five?”
“Yes. Your dress has also arrived. And I can do your hair and makeup. That’s what I used to do—for one of the local TV stations—before I came to work for you.”
“Oh,” was all Stephanie could answer, ordering herself not to start shaking. She had to hold it together but knew she was on the edge of a meltdown. The worst part was that when she tried to contact Craig, she couldn’t locate him. It was like he’d fallen off the edge of the earth again.
Harold Goddard clicked off the phone with a broad grin on his face. He had some good news for a change. He’d known from his men that someone else was looking for Stephanie Swift and Craig Branson in Houma.
There was a chance it could be someone who knew about the clinic’s purpose, but he doubted it. Maybe this had to do with her fiancé, John Reynard. Harold had used the old Reynard murder connection to get Craig and Stephanie together. But it looked like Reynard wasn’t prepared to give her up.
Now there was a massive mobilization at Reynard’s country estate. Mobilization for a quickie wedding. Caterer, florist, a justice of the peace. The works.
Which made it pretty clear that Stephanie wasn’t dead. Reynard must have taken her back to the plantation. Maybe his men had even blown up that cottage and killed Branson.
Now he was going to make sure his bride didn’t escape again. Harold tapped his finger against his lips, thinking. He’d sent two guys to Houma, but it looked like Reynard had a lot more than that at the plantation. Harold had better get some extra help and send them down there.
The plantation was fenced in—with a gate. But the guards would be expecting wedding guests, which meant it wouldn’t be that hard to crash the gate and snatch the bride.
