A Sinful Seduction

She shrugged, a slight motion. The old Megan would have lapped up the praise like a satisfied cat. This thin-drawn stranger seemed uncomfortable with it. “I’ve just finished cleaning up in the clinic. I’ll need to wash and change.” She managed a strained laugh. “These days it doesn’t take long.”

“Fine. I’ll open the gate for the cab.”

As Cal slogged back across the compound, he spared a moment to be grateful that he’d thought to bring a pair of waterproof hiking boots before his thoughts returned to his encounter with the woman he’d come to find. Meeting Megan tonight was like meeting her for the first time. He was puzzled and intrigued, but still determined to get to the bottom of the money question. If this new Megan tried to play on his sympathy—and she likely would—it wasn’t going to work. So help him, whatever it took, he was going to nail her to the wall.

Minutes after the cab pulled up to the bungalow, Benjamin, Dr. Musa’s strapping young servant, arrived. Megan emerged from her room wearing a white blouse, fresh khaki slacks and a black twill jacket. A corner of the folded plastic poncho stuck out of her beat-up brown leather purse—Gucci, he noticed the brand. Some things at least hadn’t changed.

Giving Benjamin her pistol, she thanked him with a smile and a few words. Cal lifted a side of his raincoat like a wing to shelter her as they descended the porch steps and climbed into the cab. Her face was damp, her hair finger-combed. She hadn’t taken more than ten minutes to freshen up and change, but it had worked. She looked damned classy.

“When did you get in?” she asked him, making small talk.

“Plane landed a couple of hours ago. I registered at the Arusha Hotel, cleaned up and headed for the clinic.”

She’d been looking straight ahead, but now she turned toward him with a frown. “Is something wrong, Cal? A crisis back home?”

He managed a wry laugh. “Not that I know of. I could say I was just passing through and decided to stop by...” He saw the flash of skepticism in her caramel-colored eyes. “But you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

“No.” A smile tugged a corner of her luscious mouth. The sort of mouth made for kissing. Though he had never warmed to her personally, he’d never denied that she was an attractive and desirable woman. When was the last time she’d been kissed? he caught himself wondering. But never mind that. He was here for just one reason. Although, if getting to the truth involved kissing her, he wouldn’t complain.

“I know you better than that, Cal. I left you with a lot of questions. But if you’re here to charm the answers out of me, you could’ve saved yourself a trip. Nothing’s changed. I don’t know anything about where you could find the money. I’m assuming Nick spent it—which, I suppose, makes me guilty by association. But if you’re looking for a big stash under my mattress or in some Dubai bank account, all I can do is wish you luck.”

It was like her to be direct, Cal thought. That trait, at least, hadn’t changed. “Why don’t we table that subject for now. I’m more interested in why you left and what you’ve been doing for the past two years.”

“Of course you are.” Something glimmered in her eyes before she glanced away. The cab’s windshield wipers swished and thumped in the stillness. Rain streamed down the windows. “For the price of a good steak, I suppose I can come up with a few good stories—entertaining, if nothing else.”

“You never disappoint.” Cal kept his voice as neutral as his comment. He had yet to pin down this new Megan. The inner steel she’d always possessed gleamed below a surface so fragile that he sensed she might shatter at a touch.

He knew she’d been sent here for rest and recovery. Nothing in the documents he’d seen explained why, but Dr. Musa, the tall, British-trained Chagga who ran the clinic, had expressed his concern about her health and state of mind to Cal over the phone. Cal needed to learn more. But right now, he was still taking in her presence.

He recalled the perfume she used to wear. The fancy French name of it eluded him, but he’d always found it mildly arousing. There was no trace of that scent now. If she smelled like anything at all, it was the medicinal soap used in the clinic. But strangely, her nearness in the cab was having the same effect on him as that perfume used to have back then.

Things were different now. Back in San Francisco she’d been his best friend’s wife. Megan had been widowed for two years, and if there was anyone else in her life, there was no mention of it in Crandall’s report. As long as the end justified the means, bedding her would be a long-denied pleasure. A little pillow talk could go a long way in loosening secrets.

If nothing else, it would be damned delicious fun.

* * *

Megan had spent little time outside the clinic since her arrival, so the remodeled nineteenth-century Arusha Hotel was new to her. Catering to wealthy tourists, it featured a lobby decorated in rich creams and browns with wing-back chairs and dark leather sofas, a bar and a restaurant with an international menu. Through the glass doors at the rear of the lobby, she glimpsed a large outdoor swimming pool, deserted tonight except for the rain that whipped the water to a froth.

Cal’s big hand rested beneath her elbow as he ushered her toward the restaurant. Megan was of average height, but she felt small next to him. He was almost six-three, broad-shouldered and athletic, with a hard-charging manner that defied anyone to stand in his way. John Wayne in an Armani suit—that was how she would have described him back in the day. Even tonight, in travel-creased khakis, he looked imposing. John Wayne in the old movie Hatari came to mind—maybe because it was also the name of the hotel bar. She’d always found Nick’s best friend overbearing. But there’d been times when she’d wished her husband was more like him.

She wasn’t surprised that he’d found her. Once he set his mind, Cal Jeffords could be as fiercely determined as a pit bull. And he’d come too far to leave without getting something to make his trip worthwhile. She’d told him the truth about the money. But he hadn’t even pretended to believe her. Her signature on the donation checks she’d endorsed and given to Nick to deposit had convinced him she was guilty. Megan’s instincts told her he had a plan to wear her down and make her pay. It would do her no good to fight. Cal was as much a force of nature as the storm raging outside. All she could do was wait for it to pass.

Sitting at their quiet table, she allowed him to order for her—filet mignon with mushrooms, fresh organic vegetables and a vintage Merlot. She could feel his gaze on her as the white-gloved waiter filled their wine goblets and set a basket of fresh hot bread between the lighted candlesticks.

“Eat up,” Cal said, raising his glass. “You need to put some meat on those lovely bones.”

Megan broke off a corner of the bread and nibbled at the crust. “I know I’ve lost weight. But it’s painful to fill your plate when people around you are starving.”

His slate gray eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is all about—this life change of yours? Guilt?”

She shrugged. “When I was married to Nick, I thought I had it all—the big house, the cars, the parties...” She took a sip of the wine. The sweet tingle burned down her throat. “When it all fell apart, and I learned that my lifestyle was literally taking food out of people’s mouths, it sickened me. So, yes, you can call it guilt. Call it whatever you want. Does it matter? I don’t regret the choice I made.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek, betraying a surge of tightly reined anger. “The choice to run away without telling me? Without telling anybody?”

“Yes.” She met his eyes with her own level gaze. “Nick left a god-awful mess behind. If I hadn’t run, I’d still be back in San Francisco trying to clean it up.”

“I know. I had to clean up most of it myself.”

“There wasn’t much I could do to help. The house was mortgaged to the rafters—something I didn’t know until the bank called me after Nick’s death. I told them to go ahead and take it. And the cars were in Nick’s name, not mine. I’m assuming your company took those, along with the art and the furniture. I boxed up my clothes and shoes for Goodwill and pawned my jewelry for travel money—cash only. I knew my credit cards could be traced.”

“By me?”

“Yes. But also by the reporters who kept hounding me and the police who seemed to think I’d have a different answer the fiftieth time they asked a question than I did the first.”

“If you’d stayed, I could have made things easier for both of us, Megan.”

“How could I take that chance? I knew the questions from the police, from the press and from you wouldn’t stop. But, so help me, Cal, I didn’t have any answers. It was easier to just vanish. I was half hoping you’d believe I’d died. In a way, I had.”

The waiter had reappeared with their dinners. Megan half expected Cal to start grilling her about the missing funds, but he only glanced toward her plate in an unspoken order to eat her meal.

The steak was surprisingly tender, but Megan’s anxiety had robbed her of appetite. She took small bites, glancing across the table like a mouse nibbling the cheese in a baited trap. Her eyes studied Cal’s craggy face, trying to catch some nuance of expression. Was he about to trip the spring?

He’d aged subtly in the past two years. The shadows had darkened around his deep-set eyes, and his sandy hair was lightly brushed with gray. Nick’s betrayal and suicide had wounded him, too, she realized. Like her, Cal was dealing with the pain in his own way.

“I was just wondering,” he said. “When you joined that first project in Zimbabwe, was the director aware of who you were?”

“No. He was a local, and Zimbabwe’s a long way from San Francisco. My passport was still in my maiden name, so that was the name I used. I showed up, described my nursing training and offered my help at the AIDS clinic. They needed a nurse too badly to ask many questions.”

“And the transfers?”

“Once I got on the permanent volunteer roster, I could go pretty much where I wanted. Early on I was nervous about staying in one place too long. I moved around a lot. After a while it didn’t seem to matter.”

“And in Darfur? What happened there?”

The question shook her. Something too vague to be called a memory twisted inside, silent and cold like the coils of a snake. Megan willed herself not to feel it.

“You were there for eleven months,” he persisted. “They sent you here for recovery. Something must have gotten to you.”

She shrugged, her unease growing as she stared down at the weave of the bright brown-and-yellow tablecloth. “It’s nothing. I just need rest, that’s all. I’ll be ready to go back in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s not what Dr. Musa told me. He says you have panic attacks. And you won’t talk about what happened.”

Megan’s anxiety exploded in outrage. “He had no right to tell you that. And you had no right to ask him.”

“My foundation’s paying his salary. That gives me the right.” Cal’s leaden gray eyes drilled her like bullets. “Dr. Musa thinks you have post-traumatic stress. Whatever happened out there, Megan, you’re not going back until you deal with it. So you might as well tell me now.”

He was pushing too hard, backing her against an invisible wall. The dark coils twisted and tightened inside her. Sensing what was about to happen, she willed herself to lay down her fork. It clattered onto her plate. “I don’t remember, all right?” Her voice emerged thin and raw. “It doesn’t matter. I just need some time to myself and I’ll be fine. And now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to...the clinic.”

Her voice broke on the last words. As her self-control began to crumble, she rose, flung her linen napkin onto the table, caught up her purse and walked swiftly out of the restaurant. There had to be a ladies’ room close by, where she could shut herself in a stall and huddle until her heart stopped thundering. Experience had taught her to recognize the symptoms of a panic attack. But short of doping herself with tranquilizers, she had little control over the rush of irrational terror that flooded her body.

She reached the lobby and glanced around for the restroom sign. The desk clerk was busy. No matter, she could find it by herself. But where was it? She could hear her heart, pounding in her ears.

Where was it?

* * *

Caught off guard, Cal stared after her for an instant. Then he shoved out his chair, stood and strode after her. She hadn’t made it far. He found her in the lobby, her wide-eyed gaze darting this way and that like a cornered animal’s.

Without a word, he caught her shoulders, forcing her to turn inward against his chest. She resisted, but feebly, her body shaking. “Leave me alone,” she muttered. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Come on.” He guided her forcefully through the lobby and out the back door to the patio. Sheltered by the overhanging roof, they stood veiled by a curtain of rain. Her body was rigid in his arms. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, feel the slight pressure of her breasts. She’d stopped fighting him, but the trembling continued. Her breath came in muted gasps. Her fists balled the fabric of his shirt.

He might not be the most sensitive guy in the world, but even he could tell that the woman was terrified.

What had she been through? Cal had visited the Sudan refugee camps—a hell of human misery if ever there was one. Tens of thousands of people crammed into tents and makeshift shelters, not enough food, not enough water, open sewers and latrines teeming with disease. Organizations like the United Nations and private, nongovernment charities, known as NGOs, did what they could. But the need was overwhelming. And Megan had spent eleven months there.

He wouldn’t have been surprised to find her dispirited and worn down—which she clearly was. But there was something more here. Harsh conditions wouldn’t have made her this fearful. Something had happened specifically to her. Something so terrifying that the briefest reminder of it was enough to make her quake.

He was here about the money, he reminded himself. She was guilty as hell, and he couldn’t let himself be moved by sympathy. But right now Megan’s need for comfort appeared all too real. And besides, hadn’t he wanted to get close to her—close enough to learn her secrets? Here was his chance to take that first step.

“It’s all right, girl,” he muttered against her silky hair. “You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

His hand massaged her back beneath the light jacket. She was bone thin, the back of her bra stretched tight across shoulder blades that jutted like wings. He’d come here to get the truth out of her and see that she was punished for any part she might have played in Nick’s suicide. But arriving at that truth would take time and patience. Megan was fragile in body and wounded in spirit. Pushing her too hard could shatter what few reserves she had left.

Not that Cal was a saint. Far from it, as his hardening arousal bore witness. It might have been an indelicate response to the situation, but it was the only way he knew to reply. His relationships were usually short-lived affairs, with plenty of heat that burned out quickly. With all the time he devoted to J-COR and the foundation, he had little to spare for romantic entanglements. Brief, passionate flings were usually his preference—the sort of relationship shallow enough for every conflict to be solved by taking matters to bed. He had little experience comforting genuine distress, and his body shifted into default mode, wanting to solve the problem by replacing her troubled thoughts—and his own niggling guilt for causing her such distress—with ecstasy for them both.

The desire was there, smoldering where her hips rested against his, igniting the urge to sweep her upstairs to his luxury suite and ravish her till she moaned with pleasure. Maybe that was what the woman needed—a few weeks of rest, good food and good loving to restore her health and build her trust.

But that wasn’t going to happen tonight. It was comfort and support she needed now, not some big, horny jerk making moves on her.

Giving himself a mental slap, Cal shifted backward, easing the contact between them. She was calm now. Maybe too calm. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

She exhaled, pushing away from him. “I’ll be fine. Sorry you had to see me like that. I feel like a fool.”

“No one’s blaming you. I’ve seen those camps. You’ve been through eleven months of hell.”

“But not like the people who have nowhere else to go. Seeing their children die, their women—”

“You can’t dwell on that, Megan.”

“I can’t forget it. That’s why I plan to go back as soon as I’m strong enough.”

“That’s insane. I could stop you, you know.”

“You could try. But if you do, I’ll find another way.”

The defiance in her gaze stunned him. Back in San Francisco, where he’d known her as a charming hostess and a lovely ornament, he would never have believed she could possess such an iron will. But her will looked to be all she had left. She was like a guttering candle, on the verge of burning out.

“You should go back and finish your dinner,” she said. “I’ve got my rain poncho. I can catch a matatu back to the clinic.”

“One of those rickety little buses? You’d end up walking for blocks, alone in the rain. I’ll take you.” Cal wouldn’t have minded inviting her upstairs for a hot bath and a chaste, restful night in his suite’s second bed—as a simple act of kindness. But she was certain to turn him down. And even if she accepted, he didn’t trust himself to behave. For all her devious ways, Megan was an alluring woman, made more so by her surprising strength and the unspoken challenge in her manner. The urge to bury himself between those slim, lovely legs might prove too much to resist.

But an idea had taken root in his thoughts—one so audacious that it surprised even him. First thing tomorrow he would make some calls. What he had in mind might be just the thing to restore her health and win her trust.

* * *

Minutes later Megan was huddled beside Cal in the cab’s backseat. The rain had stopped, but the night was chilly and the black blazer she’d worn to look presentable was too thin for warmth.

“You’re shivering.” Cal peeled off his Burberry coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, enfolding her in the heat and manly scent of his body. A thread of panic uncurled inside her. She willed it away.

“We’ve talked about me all evening,” she said, making conversation. “What’s new with you?”

“Nothing much, except that I’m here. The company’s doing fine. So is the foundation. I’ve hired a team of professionals to do the fund-raising. But they don’t have your elegant touch. I miss you and...Nick.”

Megan hadn’t missed the beat of hesitation before he spoke her late husband’s name. “That time seems like a hundred years ago,” she said, then tactfully changed the subject. “Any special lady in your life? As I recall, you always had plenty to choose from.”

“Having a special lady requires an investment in time. More time than I can spare.”

“Remind yourself of that when you’re a grumpy, lonely old man,” she teased. “You’re what? Forty?”

“Thirty-eight. Don’t make me out to be more decrepit than I already am.”

“Fine. But one of these days you’re going to look back and wish you’d had a family.”

“You’re a fine one to talk,” he countered.

“Well, at least I tried.” She remembered telling him about the baby. Had Nick let him know she’d miscarried? Or had her statement made him think of her wedding day, when his best man’s toast had congratulated the two of them on the new family they were making together?

His answering silence told Megan she’d pushed the conversation onto painful ground. Cal had been as devastated as she was by Nick’s death. Devastated and angry—or at least, there had been anger on her part, when she’d learned about the embezzlement. Cal had seemed determined to find some way to clear Nick of any blame...which had meant shoving that blame on her, instead. Now, more than two years and half a world away, she was sitting beside him with his coat wrapped around her. It was as if they’d come full circle. She’d done everything in her power to put the past behind her and find peace. But it was no use. Being with Cal had brought it all back.

Three

Cal had offered Benjamin a cab ride back to Dr. Musa’s. The distance wasn’t far but by the time they arrived, jet lag from the long flight had caught up with him. He was nodding off every few minutes.

“Won’t you come in, sir?” the husky youth asked as he climbed out of the cab. “I can make you tea.”

“Another time, thank you. And give my best to the doctor. Tell him I’ll ring him up tomorrow.”

As the cab headed on to the hotel, splashing through the backstreet ruts, Cal reflected on his evening with Megan. Nothing had been as he’d expected. She was so fragile, and yet so powerfully seductive that he’d been caught off guard. It would have been all too easy to forget that the woman had either stolen or driven his best friend to steal millions from the foundation before killing himself, and that the money was still missing. In the days ahead he’d do well to remember that.

A few evenings out weren’t going to break down her resistance. He was going to need more time with her—a lot more time, in a setting calculated to put her at ease. A safari would be perfect—days exploring Africa’s beautiful wildlands, and the kind of pampered nights that a first-class safari company could provide.

Tomorrow he would put his scheme into action. First, as a courtesy, he would ask Dr. Musa’s permission to take Megan out of the clinic for a couple of weeks. If need be, he could fly in another volunteer to take her place. Arranging a photo safari on short notice shouldn’t be a problem. Business tended to slow during the rainy season. Most companies would be eager to accommodate a well-paying client.

Not until everything was in place would he let Megan in on his plan. She might argue. She might even dig in her heels and refuse to go along. But in the end she would go with him. If he had to knock her out and kidnap her, so help him, she would go.

Evenings were long and peaceful on safari, with little to do except eat, drink, rest and talk. As for the nights...But he would let nature take its course. If things went as planned, Megan would soon be stripped of any secrets she was hiding.

But first he wanted to cover all his bases. Tomorrow he would compose an email to Harlan Crandall. If the man was sharp enough to locate Megan, he might also be able to ferret out more details about the last months of Nick’s life. He might even be able to locate the missing money.

For now—Cal punctuated the thought with a tired yawn—all he wanted was to go back to the hotel, crawl between the sheets and sleep off his jet lag.

* * *

On a cot veiled by mosquito netting, Megan writhed in fitful sleep. Her hellish dreams varied from night to night. But this one from her time in Darfur dominated them all, replaying as if it had been burned into her brain.

Saida had been just fifteen, a beautiful child with liquid brown eyes and the doelike grace of her people, the Fur. Because she spoke fair English, and because her family was dead, Megan had given her a translating job at the camp infirmary, with an out-of-the-way corner for sleeping. Bright with promise, Saida had one failing. She had fallen in love with a boy named Gamal, and love had made her careless. Checking on the patients late one night, Megan had found Saida’s pallet empty. Earlier, the starry-eyed girl had mentioned her trysting place with Gamal, a dry well outside the camp. That had to be where she’d gone.

Leaving the camp at night was forbidden. Beyond the boundaries, bands of rogue Janjaweed mercenaries prowled the desert like wild dogs in search of prey. No one was safe out there. Megan had known that she needed to find the two foolish youngsters and bring them back before the unthinkable happened. Arming herself with a loaded pistol, she’d plunged into the darkness.