Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance)

by Smith, Angela

  “I don’t remember.”

  Garret asked more questions unrelated to the accident. How long had he been skiing, where’s his favorite place to ski? Dillon talked animatedly, his eyes clear and receptive when he discussed things that didn’t bother him. But when things did bother him, or he was lying, he wouldn’t quiet meet Garret’s gaze.

  That’s why Garret would bet on a million that he was lying about something.

  He just didn’t know what.

  • • •

  It took three days to retrieve the cell phone records of Reagan, Chris, and Ray. Garret spent those three days learning all he could about Reagan. That she liked her coffee with crushed leaves of fresh mint. How much she loved a foot rub, especially when it involved lotion. And her aversion for horror movies. Her lips crinkled with her eyes when she had her nose in a book and she cooked the most hellacious pot of beans he’d ever tasted.

  She’d agreed to watch a horror movie with him as long as he would cuddle. They ate a bowl of beans by candlelight. He took her skiing again and they made love. Lots of love.

  The FBI faxed the phone records to Air Dog and Chayton scowled when he told Garret they’d arrived. Without explanation, Garret took them back to Reagan’s condo and lazed on the couch with her as he scrolled through Ray’s and Chris’s phone records. He’d save Reagan’s for later when she wasn’t around. He highlighted numbers he knew in yellow — Chayton had called Ray several times throughout the month before he died — and numbers he wanted to check he highlighted in green.

  Garret wouldn’t stop until he determined whether or not Ray’s death was linked to Jonathan’s murder, if either or both were linked to Javier Mass, and how Reagan was connected.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” Reagan asked as she studied him. She had her hands buried in a stuffed moose that rested on her chest. Her feet were tucked under him and his over hers as they lay across from each other. The television played in the background, but she hadn’t been paying attention to it for the past five minutes. He’d felt the heat of her gaze on him.

  Reagan smelled like tangerines and mint, and he wondered when mint had become so sexy. Probably when he’d discovered the lingering scent of Reagan wasn’t the remnants of toothpaste or chewing gum. He’d kissed her hand and tasted the oily soapy balm of lotion she’d applied after a long shower.

  He’d been studying the papers when she’d stepped from the shower. The blue panties she wore could have rivaled the sky on a sunny day. They hung low on her hips, emphasizing the curves of her legs and rear. The matching bra was a front clasp, and Garret wondered if it was new.

  Her soft, smooth legs gleamed with the lotion she applied. She’d lain on the couch next to him and tucked her feet under him. He’d smiled but kept sorting through phone records. Bra and panties. That’s all she wore as she lay on the couch with him. As much as he would love to bury his problems, right now he had to focus on solving this case. Had to figure out if there was a case to solve. One glance at her would make him lose all focus, all control.

  “I’ll be happy to help,” she said again as she finagled her feet on top of his chest and traced her toes against his cheek. He’d never seen such heavenly toes. Soft. Feminine.

  He grinned as he looked at her and rubbed his arm up and down the leg that now taunted him. She wasn’t covered with a blanket, but the way she laid kept her thighs closed. Her eyes flicked downward, where his erection pulsed and grew.

  “Rubbing against me like that isn’t helping,” he teased. “And looking at me like that isn’t helping either. I’m almost finished, but I have to surf these numbers and see if anything sticks out.”

  “I see something sticking out,” she said as she leaned forward and cupped his erection. Even through his pants, his shaft throbbed under her touch.

  Moving her hand away, she groaned and stretched, resting her leg against the top of his shoulder, her foot near his cheek. This time the apex of her thighs was open and exposed and enticing. Just as he was about to throw the papers aside and go to her, he caught the number ingrained in his memory.

  Glancing at Chris’s record again, the number was like a firefly, snapping and flapping its flare for attention.

  “Damn.” Garret pushed Reagan’s foot aside and stood, his head spinning. The glossy taunt of Reagan’s body and the soapy scent of lotion were now claustrophobic.

  Days before Ray died, a number called Chris. The same number that had always linked to murder, somehow, someway.

  The number had been ingrained in Garret’s memory since he’d taken this assignment eighteen months ago. They hadn’t been able to trace it, never could prove it belonged to the Mass organization. But the FBI was certain.

  Every time that number appeared, dead bodies popped up.

  Chris had been involved with Javier Mass. Did Ray know? Had he found out? Was his death no accident? Was it an accident Reagan was involved with this same family? Maybe the whole family was involved in something Ray wanted no part of. Maybe that’s why his mother refused to speak with him.

  Muscles twitchy, he paced.

  “Garret?” Reagan asked. Her gentle voice should have been calming, but was more like a chunk of ice had been ditched into a vicious firestorm, hissing and steaming and crackling, leaving an ashy pit of soot in the bottom of his stomach.

  Edgy and discontent, he longed to get out on his skis and lose himself to the world. He glanced at Reagan. He could lose himself in her arms, but right now he felt too agitated and distrustful of her.

  He’d taken too many risks with this investigation. Too many risks with her.

  “Are you okay?” Reagan came up behind him and encircled him, nuzzling her face into his back and her pelvis against his rear. He immediately hardened. Even through his pants, he felt her. Longed to experience her moist heat, skin on skin. She stroked his stomach. “You’re tense tonight.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered.

  She massaged his neck. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll give you a massage?”

  He closed his eyes. He’d already lost himself. He wasn’t sure what it was about Reagan that made him so vulnerable, but he wanted to trust her. He’d kept himself closed to love for so long that he’d convinced himself he didn’t need it. But when Reagan touched him this way … it made him forget about the evil in this world.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reagan woke to the smell of caramel and cinnamon. That was the only way she could describe the spice wafting from the kitchen. Golden shavings of sunlight drifted above her stomach like sprinkles of snow, spewing out a prism of colors across the room as they struck the music box she’d tried to repair.

  She could see her next painting in her mind’s eye. A woman, lying across the bed in tumbled sheets, the sunlight spinning a web of colors throughout the room.

  Giggling, she sat up, but didn’t rush out yet. Garret was preparing breakfast, she could hear the sizzle of bacon now, and no matter how tempting the coffee, she didn’t want to ruin his surprise.

  Breakfast in bed. She would add a man to her painting, holding a tray and stepping across the floor to his woman.

  His woman? Though the painting idea was intriguing, the suggestion that she was his woman was … what? Where had the thought come from? Stretching her hands above her, her legs out along the bed, she yawned.

  Right now, she’d do anything to be his woman. She’d never felt more content with life, like maybe she was finally in the right place, doing the right thing. That revelation terrified her. Good things always turned bad.

  Something bothered him, but he wouldn’t say what. That was okay, he had a job to do and it was none of her business. She was only grateful that, once he touched his lips to hers, he didn’t bring his troubles with him.

  The door squealed open. Reagan jumped and sat up, plopping against the mound of pillows.

  “Hello, sleepyhead,” Garret said.

  The painting in her mind didn’t include balloons. She gasped as his feet
shuffled against the floor, an array of colorful balloons trailing behind him as he held a tray of food and a flickering candle.

  “Happy birthday,” he said as he sat the wooden tray on the bed. The balloons were tied to the side and one red rose reached across the tray.

  “What is this?” she asked, her mind a muddled mess of confusion and contentment. “It’s not my birthday.”

  “Maybe not today, but it’s the first time I’ve celebrated it with you. Besides, it gives me an excuse to woo you.”

  “You need an excuse?”

  “Mmm,” he groaned as he leaned over and kissed the side of her mouth.

  “Actually, my birthday is next week.”

  “Ah. I knew it was coming up sometime soon.”

  She didn’t ask him how he knew. He was an investigator after all. Or maybe she’d mentioned it. Either way, she took this as a sign he wouldn’t be available for her real birthday.

  Still standing, he gave her a bite of muffin and she took it, nibbling his finger in the process. Garret had so many things to hurt over, but he was still an optimistic lover. Losing three friends so close to each other could not have been easy. She wished she could erase his past, his pain, but she chose not to say anything. If he wanted to talk, she would listen, but she wouldn’t broach the subject and worsen his grief.

  She would do everything she could do to help figure out what happened to that necklace, and where it came from. She’d called Kyle, planning to taunt him with it if it was his. She wouldn’t admit it was missing now. She would threaten to file charges for fraud and theft.

  He hadn’t answered his phone yesterday. But she would keep trying. The blizzard was over and the weather clear, but she didn’t want to leave yet. Garret promised he’d look into her money problem if she stayed and the bank had insured her account.

  Garret pressed his knee into the mattress and crawled toward her. His eyes were bright and potent as the sunlight caught the maze of greens and blues.

  “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” he sang, a deep, smooth and throaty resonance that shook her to the core. As he came toward her, Reagan reached out to touch him, resting her palm on his scratchy sexy cheek.

  Pulse pitter-pattering wildly in her throat as she tried to keep tears at bay, she knew in this instance that her heart was going to break when he left her.

  And he would leave her.

  • • •

  Garret took Reagan snowmobiling, packing two backpacks full of gear and promising her a night she’d never forget.

  They drove to a cabin skirted by trees and bordered by mountains. Too busy staring at the vista before her, she stumbled as Garret helped her from the seat.

  “What is this place?”

  “A fishing cabin.” Garret, guiding her by the elbow, sidestepped a boulder of snow without stumbling. She kept tripping over both feet as she trudged through the thick powder, sinking into the snow, then wrenching out each foot as if it were an anchor to dive down again.

  Garret laughed as she gave up trying to lift her feet and she stayed there playing, burying deeper. “We’ll go snowshoeing later, then you won’t sink.”

  “I’d rather see you sink,” she teased. “Inside me.”

  “I plan on doing that,” he said as tugged her out of the snow and brought his mouth to hers.

  As his tongue circled hers, she tasted a blend of snow, spruce, and dirt all combined to create a delicacy better than anything she’d find in the supermarket aisle. It was barely above zero outside, but her body hummed with a passion that left her panting and burning for breath.

  Pulling away, he whispered, “We’ll finish this inside.”

  White frosted the roof, pouring a thicker concoction on the deck bordering the house, but it wasn’t until she stopped on the deck and looked behind her that her wings soared.

  “Oh, my, God.”

  The house was situated on a cliff that overlooked the town from miles below. Buildings, barely perceptible, hung under a thin layer of clouds.

  “We better go in before we catch pneumonia,” Garret said, the wispy trail of his breath like smoky vapors in the air.

  “But it’s beautiful out here.” She’d grown used to a numb face and numb hands.

  “The cabin is encased in windows. You can still see everything from indoors.”

  He wasn’t joking. Windows lined the backside of the cabin, looking out into a frosty stretch of hills and craters. Trees punctuated the downward slopes, and icy peaks of white jutted upward, baring no vegetation. She was closer than ever to heaven, but the terrifying grandeur could be misinterpreted for hell.

  As they dusted the snow from their outfits and unzipped each other’s riding suits, Reagan forgot the view, she forgot the cold, she forgot everything but Garret.

  • • •

  Garret pierced a marshmallow with a stick and handed it to Reagan to situate into the fire. As she did, it melted, much like her heart melted right now.

  “This is what romance is made of,” Garret said as he slathered chocolate over graham crackers.

  “Hah,” Reagan teased. “What do you know of romance?”

  Garret’s eyes glowed in the firelight. He positioned the graham crackers on a plate and set it beside the fireplace, added melted chocolate and marshmallows between two crackers, and split half with Reagan.

  “I know plenty, even wrote the owner’s manual.”

  The fire sighed as he stoked the flames, generalizing Reagan’s warm fuzziness.

  “There’s an owner’s manual?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Reagan bit on her s’mores and sipped on a glass of red wine, the taste igniting the passion she was already feeling inside.

  “You have the set-ups here,” Reagan said. “Marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate, and wine. You’re prepared for this, aren’t you?”

  “Consider it a late Valentine’s and early birthday, all rolled into one.”

  “Oh, you mean I shouldn’t expect this for my next birthday?” she taunted. She didn’t expect to see him during her next birthday but tried not to think of that.

  He’d arranged the room while she changed into something more comfortable. By the time she came out of the bathroom after heavy primping, he had the fire roaring, the food prepared, and a blanket spread on the floor.

  “Is this left over from your last romantic encounter?” Reagan asked.

  Reagan could never tire of hearing his deep chuckle or seeing the crinkles under his eyes and around his mouth when he smiled.

  “Not unless you count a night with Chayton. We did roast marshmallows and wieners though. This is the cabin we came with our dad to fish. We’ve never brought a woman up here. It was considered taboo.”

  “Taboo? So why me?”

  Garret topped off their wine and leaned closer toward her. His breath swaggered across her cheek with warm confidence, as if it belonged. “It’s time to break that chain. Let go of old ghosts.”

  “How will Chayton feel about that?”

  Garret shrugged and swept his thumb across her neckline. Heat tunneled through her, tingling her toes and igniting the tips of her fingers. “He’ll get over it, I imagine.”

  “Are you trying to seduce me?” she asked, her breath raspy as she curled her fingers through his hair, as if that would ease the prickling he’d lit in her limbs.

  “Of course,” he said. She tasted the wine from his breath and her head spun as if drunk from breathing him in. “Is it working?”

  “Not the least little bit,” she lied. “Takes more than wine and strong words for me.”

  “What does it take?” He stole her wineglass and placed it next to his on the mantel, as if in coupling. She was jealous. Their wine glasses were closer together than they were.

  His breath moved against her mouth, never fulfilling what it promised. He flicked aside her hair and brushed the buttons of her top. She combed his hair with her fingers and opened her legs, wanting nothing more than to take him in.<
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  “Is this any closer?”

  “Not even.”

  “Not even close?” he asked.

  She could only let out a murmur when his lips barely graced the lobe of her ear and traced the edges with a light caress of his tongue. His fingers skimmed her neckline, along her collarbone, and down to the crevice of her breasts.

  “What about now?” His voice boomed across her skin. She felt, more than heard, his question.

  “You’re learning,” she said. She opened her eyes, grabbed her wine, and gulped. She tried her damnedest to look bored, certain her performance was pitiful. Her eyes wanted to roll in the back of her head with the giddy warmth of seduction. “Slowly but surely.”

  “What if I sang love songs in your ear?”

  “That might work,” she teased. “But I doubt it.”

  He traced his tongue across her ear and laced his warm palm behind her neck. He sang a deep, low vibration in her ear that drove fire to her core. She arched back her head, grateful for the support of his hand behind her neck, and bit back a cry.

  He lowered her to the floor and into the blankets, that low hum still within her body. Her shirt and bra came off, her pants and panties followed, but he never really touched her, only brushed his breath and fingers against her skin and slid his eyes across her body in a scintillating dance. He kept singing; she wasn’t sure the name of the song but it felt sexy and right.

  She arched her hips upward as he brought his face to the lips of her sex, but he didn’t touch. He kept singing, a deep and throaty song full of baritone and bass. His breath caressed her heated body, teasing her as he kissed the inside of her thigh and lightly trailed his tongue across her pelvis.

  She cried out, arching upwards, needing more from him, needing his mouth on her.

  She clenched her hands into fists in the blankets and closed her eyes, as if that would ward off the pain. “Oh, God.”

  “I don’t know about you,” Garret said as he stopped and pulled away, “but I’m feeling seduced.”

  She opened her eyes to meet his, the pull they held like the magnetism aligning the planets with the sun. Her eyes burned, heat spreading to her temples, down her throat and erupting in her core.