If Tomorrow Never Comes Read Free Page B

marched him toward an over flowing wastebasket
to chuck the plugs, neither making its mark.  

 
    Despite
Jake’s childish tantrums that were widening Margaret’s grin, her glare said she
anticipated an explanation.  

 
    “Don’t
ask,” he snapped impatiently.                  

 
    Admittedly
confused, nevertheless Margaret felt warm all over as if wearing a fur
wrap.    For the first time in two years,
Jake had completely lost control.      Anger was good, she decided, better than brooding and drinking.   Believing it best at the time, Margaret turned
and left making it to the other side of the door before giving into the chuckles
shaking her chest.

 
    Not
until the prisoner had been quiet far too long, did Jake think about the
possibility of suicide.    A sudden rush
of anxiety reminding him that he was never lucky brought him quickly to the
bathroom. Nose pressed against the wood, he shouted, “You have information I
want.    One way or another, you're going
to give it to me.   Until you do, you stay
where you are.”   The edge to Jake’s voice
said he meant every word.

 
    Listening,
growing steadily angrier, Jordan's response was sharp, decisive, “Well, you can
kiss your ass goodbye, Mr.    I strongly
suggest you don't turn your back on me because if you do the first chance I get
I'll spill every ounce of your blood.”

 
    As
her threat hung in the air, whatever the sensation was running along Jake's
skin, raising an abundance of hair, told him this female was not going to be
the airhead he presumed, the possibility stretching his nerves beyond the
max.   Jake’s heated reply shot back,
“Have it your way, bitch!   Believe me;
you're going to get mighty uncomfortable with no bed, no food, and no fix.”

 
    Though
the roaring in his head made hearing difficult, he did not miss the echoing
weird, bitter laugh piercing the cracks of the wooden door that said wait and
see, Mr.

 
 
    CHAPTER 4

 
 
    With
water dripping from his hair, a plush maroon towel hugging a trim waist, for
long moments Scorpio admired the physic reflecting from the floor length
mirror.    Except for pale blue eyes, with
jet-black hair slicked back, and dark skin, most would believe him to be
Italian, Mexican, or possibly Latin, even Scorpio did not know, nor did he
care.   Nationality, or little else,
mattered when you were, the entrepreneur of a multi-billion dollar drug
industry, influential and revered, accomplishments that never failed to bring a
smug smile to his thin well-shaped lips.  

 
    Selecting
a favored cologne costing one thousand dollars, he splashed an extravagant
amount over his face, and neck, his hands lingering much too long smoothing
over his chest.    Flexing well-toned
muscles, eyes running the length of his slim figure were finally
satisfied.    The most magnificent
creature in the world capable of turning both men’s and woman’s heads he
considered himself to be and as though a God about to be admired he moved
toward the door.  

 
    It
was the view through the partially opened portal that gave him pause. A
substantial master bedroom expressing wealth, the décor, imported carved wood
furniture, drapes of tapestry with fine art adorning the walls that cost
millions.   Yet the body sprawled on her
stomach on the bed hugging a satin pillow, a position he preferred, brought the
highest level of triumph.   Unknown to
anyone, Marla was his most treasured possession.

 
    Scanning
the nude form stirred a powerful surge of lust that began melting ice like eyes
and a steel heart, the rising desire parching his throat only his favored
trophy could quench.   She was like a cold
drink of water on the hottest of summer days. Savoring her well-proportioned
body, slender waist, perfect ass and the most luscious legs ever wrapped around
his haunches, was never enough.   So
frightening and ravenous was his appetite for Marla, though there were plenty
of