* * *
Wesley checked his watch. Jasmine Carmody had less than five minutes to show her face. He hoped she would be on time because the last thing he felt toward her was tolerance. She had already pushed the wrong buttons with him and he wouldn't suggest that she tried pushing any more.
Although he hadn't seen her again since that night, he had a feeling that she had shown up on his property sometime today, right before he had come home for lunch. When he had rolled down the window to punch in the numbers to open his security gate, he had noticed the footprints in his flower bed.
Evidently she'd come looking for the locket and had been highly disappointed to discover his gate locked. He was glad he had thought to secure it that morning before he'd left. Otherwise Ms. Carmody would have taken the liberty to snoop again. Well, she was going to find out tonight that she had sniffed around one time too many. He was intent on teaching her a lesson that she would never forget.
He glanced toward the entrance of the coffeehouse the moment she walked in. Even minus the scarf that she'd worn on her head that night, he would have recognized that face anywhere. If he'd thought she was attractive in the moonlight, here in the glow of lanterns that hung on the walls and illuminated her features, she was strikingly beautiful.
His gaze did a slow study that started at the mass of braids that covered her head and ended at the polished toes of her feet. She was impeccably dressed in a blue blouse and a pair of black tailored slacks that gave her a cool sophisticated look. It was a look that was wreaking havoc on his male hormones. Even the anger he felt toward her couldn't diminish that fact, which was something that didn't sit too well with him at the moment. Nor did he appreciate the way his skin had tightened or the sudden feeling of raw, hungry desire that swept through his entire body.
Damn!
The last thing he needed was to be lusting after a woman whom he considered the enemy. But still, enemy or not, he couldn't stop the way his body responded when he watched her push her long braids back over her shoulders. And when she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue while glancing around, he thought he would literally go up in smoke. He definitely felt more than a slow burn coming on. It felt like someone had lit him with a blazing torch.
Heaven help him. A groan slipped past his throat the exact moment his senses took over, making him acutely aware of her. He tried to remember the last time he'd been with a woman, and then quickly decided it had been way too long. Several business deals had forced him to put his sex life on hold for a while, but seeing Jasmine Carmody made him remember just what he'd been missing.
He noted the exact moment her gaze found his and watched her breathing change, becoming as irregular as his own. Something, he wasn't sure exactly what, hung in the air between them. Electrifying heat washed over him and he would swear she felt it, too, although a distance of about ten feet separated them. There were just some things that a man who'd been around as much as he had, knew. And the one thing that was clearly obvious was that he'd made a big mistake in asking her to meet him at the coffeehouse.
He should have confronted her where she worked. Once there, inside the walls of the newspaper office—a place he detested—he would not have cared if she were naked.
That was a lie and he knew it. He would have cared if she was naked—a lot.
She wavered before moving toward him and he hesitated before standing to make sure his knees wouldn't go weak on him. As usual, the coffeehouse was crowded and the last thing he wanted was to make a spectacle of himself. He tried to clear his head, but when the same luscious scent he now associated with Jasmine wafted into his nostrils, the idea was useless.
"Mr. Brooks," she said curtly, before taking a seat. She didn't offer him her hand, which was just as well since he probably would not have taken it anyway. They weren't friends and there was no need to pretend otherwise. Besides, he didn't want to touch her. Touching could lead to things he'd rather not think about.
"Ms. Carmody," he acknowledged, reclaiming his own seat. She was mad, he could tell. Evidently, she was used to having the upper hand, but tonight things would be different.
He watched her, saying nothing, as she skimmed her index finger across the tablecloth and met his gaze, showing him she wasn't easily intimidated. Her eyes were the color of chocolate chips, and staring into them was effortless.
When moments passed and neither of them made conversation, she finally said, "You indicated you had something of mine, Mr. Brooks."
The corner of Wesley's mouth curved into an amused smile when he heard the impatient edge in her tone. Did she actually think he would return her locket without first letting her know what he thought of her for invading his privacy? He didn't appreciate her using the Danforths as her ticket to fame. They were good people. He could attest to that. For the past fourteen years, they had been the only real family he'd ever known, and he didn't take kindly to anyone trying to dirty their good name.
He leaned back in his chair. "Yes, I did indicate that, didn't I? But first I want to know what you were doing going through my garbage that night."
Her tongue did a nervous sweep of her bottom lip and he wished she hadn't done that. He found himself shifting in his chair to relieve the pressure of a sudden ache in his lower body. And her scent wasn't helping matters. He would be in serious trouble if he didn't get a grip and push aside the sensual effects Jasmine Carmody was having on him.
"What makes you think I was going through your garbage?"
He lifted a brow at her question. Did she intend to play dumb? Then he would educate her quickly. "Because I saw you, Ms. Carmody, How would you like to be the one to make the front page for once? I can just see the headlines now and wonder what your boss at the Savannah Morning News would say if I told him what you did. There's a law against harassment and invasion of privacy, not to mention trespassing." From her expression he could tell that she didn't want to think what her boss would say, or the charges Wesley could possibly bring against her.
She sat up straight in her chair. "I was just doing my job."
He gave her a considering glance. "Since when did your job include breaking the law? If that's the case then maybe you should switch professions."
Jasmine breathed deeply, knowing he had a right to be upset and she would give him that right … to a point. "Look, I admit I went too far that night. I've never gone through anyone's garbage before. I was desperate."
Wesley narrowed his eyes at her. If she thought he would accept that as a good excuse then she had another thought coming. Caroline Perry had been desperate, too, and he had learned the hard way that desperate women, especially in her profession, couldn't be trusted. They didn't care who they hurt as long as they got their story.
"I'm glad you can easily admit to your desperation, Ms. Carmody, and I for one know that a desperate person will do just about anything. But I can't let you do that since you're so hell-bent on ruining the Danforths' good name. So I've decided to give you a taste of your own medicine. I want you to know how it feels to be followed and spied on every single day."
She contemplated him for a long moment, as if trying to figure out what he was saying. "What are you talking about?" she finally asked.
He smiled, but the smile didn't quite touch his eyes. "What I'm talking about is you not respecting the privacy of others. I will become your shadow."
He watched as she comprehended what he'd said. Her eyes widened then flashed with anger. "You're going to stalk me?"
Wesley rolled his eyes upward. "Call it whatever you like, however, I think stalking is too strong a word. I see it merely as a way to keep you in line and out of trouble, especially until Abraham Danforth's senate race is over." It was easy to see that she was livid. Hellfire mad was a definite. Pretty damn pissed wasn't far behind.
"I have a job to do, Mr. Brooks," she stated in a clearly agitated voice like that was all the reason she needed.
Their gazes met, held, clashed for several seconds before he said, "Then do it, Ms. Carmody, but not at the expense of hurting innocent people. I know your kind. You're a reporter who will do anything for a story. I suggest you ask your boss to transfer you to the life style section of the paper or the fashion column, something that suits you better."
"Now you look here—" she began, looking both hostile and beautiful at the same time.
"No, you look here," he said, his tone brittle. "I will follow you around whether you like it or not. And if you complain to the police with some foolishness about me stalking you, then I will gladly file charges and have my attorney hit your newspaper with a gigantic lawsuit. And as far as your locket, I will keep it until I feel you deserve to have it back."
"That's blackmail!"
Wesley smiled. "I want to think of it as an investment of my time in your rehabilitation. It will be my guarantee that you'll leave the Danforths alone."
She glared at him. "That won't happen."
"Then I'll continue to be your shadow and I'll keep your locket."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "You can't keep it. That locket belongs to me and I can prove it."
"Prove anything you want, but you'll have a hard time explaining to a court of law how you lost it on my property."