Gossip (Desire Never Dies)

by Clara Grace Walker

“Of course, Sir.”

  She left and reappeared minutes later with his drink and a new bottle of wine for Darla, which she opened and poured into Darla’s glass.

  “How do you know Rod Skinner?” Nick asked, as soon as their waitress was gone.

  Darla went straight to drinking. “I met him at a club.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t keep track of all the clubs I go to.”

  He wasn’t sure he believed her. “How does your father know Rod?”

  She drank more wine and refilled her glass. “Peter doesn’t know Rod.”

  She was looking around the restaurant, not making eye contact with him. He definitely didn’t believe her. “How did your father know Patrice McKenzie?”

  To this, she responded with laughter. “That’s a good one. She met him at some party however many years ago. After his divorce from Odette, but before he married Lisbeth. Patrice called him about a dozen times after that.” Darla laughed even harder. “Kept trying to date him. Man, if she only had a clue. She is so not his type.”

  “Really?” Patrice could be a bit overbearing, but she was damn good-looking for a woman her age. Most men would have given her a tumble. “Why not?”

  Darla stopped laughing and drank more wine. “She just isn’t.”

  She had a tone, he noted. Like she’d just thrown up a wall. He wouldn’t push for now, but made a note to look into it further. “Let’s get back to Rod then. Did he ever mention Janelle?”

  “No. Ranted and raved plenty about Preston and Maggie Tyler though. Man does he ever hate them.”

  No surprise there. “What about your father? Did he ever mention Janelle?”

  “No. She wouldn’t have been his type either.”

  He felt relief hearing it. He didn’t need any more accusations about Janelle cheating on him. Unfortunately, however, he was batting zero as far as information gathering was concerned. “Tell me about your father’s business dealings,” he said. “How much do you know about them?”

  “Are you kidding me?” She finished up the better part of her next glass of wine. “Absolutely nothing. Peter doesn’t trust anyone where his money is concerned, including me.”

  “What about Sutton?” Nick referred to a brother eight years her senior who had lived in New York since graduating high school. “Is he involved in the family business?”

  “God no. He hates Peter. Hasn’t talked to him since he left home. He doesn’t even come home for Christmas.”

  That was news. It was well-known Sutton never ventured into Florida, but until now, Nick had never realized why. “Why does your brother hate your father?”

  Darla poured herself yet another glass of wine. “You’ll have to ask him that.”

  He would.

  She stared at him, licking her lips. “Can we start talking about us now?”

  “There is no us.”

  “Well, not yet, but there will be. When are you going to be done mourning Janelle and move into my bed?”

  She wasn’t taking his hints, and he needed to tread carefully with her. She could either be a potential gold mine of information, or another dagger for her father to lob in his direction. Especially if she got her feelings hurt. The obvious contempt she felt for Peter could easily be turned on him.

  “Well?” She toyed with her hair, leaning forward and smiling at him, her breasts nearly falling out of the top of her dress. “Any idea when you might be ready for me?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m still in mourning.”

  His cell phone rang and, seeing it was Jamie, he took the call. “Hey, there.”

  “I need to speak with you.” The normal cheeriness of her voice had succumbed to intensity. “It’s important. When will you be home?”

  He hadn’t seen her or spoken with her since that second kiss they’d shared. Either she was ready to come back for round three, or this was something really important. “I can be there in thirty minutes or so. What’s up?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it on the phone. Can I meet you at your place?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you there.”

  Nick slid his phone back into his pants pocket just as their waitress arrived carrying a tray of plates and a fold-out service stand. With nearly two emptied bottles of wine to her credit, however, Darla had rested her head on the table and now looked on the verge of falling asleep. “I’m not hungry anymore,” she said.

  “Sit up,” he said. “Unless you want more pictures Peter won’t like showing up in the paper.”

  She sat up at once, but there was no question she’d be unable to drive herself home. And he definitely wasn’t doing it. She’d use his presence at her apartment to intensify her attempts at getting him into bed. And given her reputation, anyone who saw him there might get the wrong idea. Looked like he was going to have to call her a cab.

  Chapter 24

  Jamie waited nearly fifteen minutes before the headlights from Nick’s car lit up the road in front of her. She watched him roll up the length of his driveway while sheets of raindrops fell like a curtain between the covered front porch, where she sat on a wicker chair, and the rest of the world outside. His car disappeared into the garage and a minute later he appeared at the front door, opening it to let her in.

  “I was glad to hear from you.” He smiled, never taking his eyes off her. “After your last visit here I thought maybe I’d done something to offend you.”

  She stepped inside. “Not at all. I’m sorry if I made you think that.” She touched the side of his care-worn face. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

  He closed the door and stepped behind her, pulling off her damp sweater and hanging it on the coat rack. “And you look like you’re freezing to death.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m from Michigan. Sixty-eight degrees is practically a summer day there. Even in the rain.”

  “Play it tough then, but you’re shivering.” He gripped her by the shoulders and goose pimples broke out on her skin. “You see,” he said. “You are cold.”

  “Maybe a little,” she allowed. A week away from him had done nothing to exercise the desire from her body.

  “You want a drink?” He was already moving through the foyer and down a short length of hallway.

  “Sure.”

  “Scotch okay?”

  “Just a small one.”

  Walking through the kitchen, they wound up in the sunroom where Nick kept his bar. She waited while he poured the drinks. The memory of sitting here with him the day Janelle died rushed back to her. He’d motioned her over to him as he sat in his chair and pulled her down into his lap. After that, he’d kissed her. That first kiss. The one that started the ball of desire rolling in her like a boulder tumbling downhill. In the two months since, he’d gotten rid of the chairs. A new sofa sat in their place. A rust-colored, tweed one with a high back and large cushions. It looked comfortable. Like something a couple might snuggle or make love on.

  “Have a seat.” He handed her a drink, taking a seat on one end of the new sofa, patting the cushion beside him.

  She joined him, sipping the scotch. She didn’t like what she had to tell him, but she didn’t want him hearing it from anyone else. “I stopped by the office this afternoon and the police were there asking questions.”

  He nodded. He had one hand on the arm of the sofa. The other rested next to her thigh. “I guess that was to be expected. What kind of questions were they asking?”

  “They wanted to know if you and Janelle ever fought in public. What the staff thought about your relationship.”

  “That all?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “They were also asking questions about Rod Skinner.”

  Nick set down his drink and swallowed hard. “What did they want to know about him?”

  Keeping the sex film from him now seemed pointless. Her efforts to protect him from the truth seemed destined to be in vain. “They wanted to know if Janelle had mentioned him to anyone. Or whethe
r anyone had seen the two of them together.”

  He exhaled and sank back into the sofa. His gaze stayed fixed on some unknown point in front of him. “And you wouldn’t be telling me this unless someone had given an answer I wasn’t going to like.”

  “I didn’t want you to be ambushed with this when you showed up for work tomorrow.” As he turned to look at her, she saw the sorrow and glint of anger etched in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Nick.”

  “Don’t be.” He touched her hand. “It’s not your fault. What am I going to hear when I go to work tomorrow?”

  His touch sent her hormones into a tailspin. She couldn’t bear the feel of his flesh without wanting him. “Charlene told Detective Sanchez she saw Janelle having dinner with Rod at a restaurant in South Beach last spring.”

  “Charlene? You mean that mousy girl who works in accounting?”

  “Yeah.”

  A frown creased his brow. “She’s sure it was Janelle?”

  “She said she talked to her.”

  He sat quiet for a moment, as though processing the information. Then he drank down his glass of scotch and set it back on the end table. “Charlene’s sure it was Rod?”

  Jamie drank some more of her drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol settle inside her. “She IDed him from a photograph the police showed her.”

  He nodded. “Probably was him them.”

  The strain in his voice made her want to wrap her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Nick.” She didn’t know why she kept saying it. She just couldn’t think of anything else to say. Nothing that might take away the ache she saw in his face.

  “Did Charlene say what she and Janelle talked about?”

  Sure. Give him one more bit of news he didn’t want to hear. “She said Janelle asked her not to tell you she’d seen her there.”

  He gave a slight nod, his jaw clenched. “Nice to know my employees are good at keeping their mouths shut.”

  “She said she didn’t want to tarnish Janelle’s memory.” Jamie reached instinctively for his hand. “Nick, it could have just been dinner.” Except she knew it wasn’t.

  “Sure. That must be what was on the matchbook cover the police took from my house. Her confession she was meeting Rod in Miami, but it was just dinner.”

  She should have told him the truth when she found the damn sex tape. “The police took a matchbook cover from your house?”

  “A couple of weeks ago. I’ve asked Sarge twice what was on it, but the damn woman refuses to tell me.”

  “I’m sure she’s only trying to do her job.”

  “Especially if she thinks her job is to try and railroad me. I need to find Janelle’s killer, and not just so I can be the one breaking the story. I need to prove to Sarge, once and for all, I didn’t do it.”

  “No one who knows you would ever believe you could hurt Janelle.”

  “Tell that to Sarge.”

  “I will.”

  He smiled at her, but the heaviness in his heart still echoed in his face.

  “A dinner and a matchbook cover don’t prove anything,” she said, and felt like a liar. “There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

  “Like she really was having an affair with that asshole.”

  Would he be able to forgive her lie if he found out about the film? She’d been so sure she was making the right decision, but now it felt like a mistake. “Do you really believe she had an affair with Rod?”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore. She sure wasn’t sleeping with me. I just figured she had better taste than to be sleeping with Rod.”

  He sounded so lost. The urge to hold him, to comfort him, was so strong she felt herself faltering. “I should go.”

  She stood to leave, setting down her half-full glass beside his empty one, but he grabbed hold of her arm.

  “Please don’t go.”

  With a gentle tugging motion, he pulled her back down. She landed, whether by design or accident, on his lap. Heat from his body seared through the thin fabric of her linen slacks. Desire scorched every inch of her. Making love with him would be like swimming in a pool of liquid ecstasy. Ecstasy that would drown her if she ever let herself dive in. “I should leave.” Even as she spoke, however, she made no attempt to move, temptation pulling her to him, no matter what logic said. She ran her fingers across the stubble of five o’clock shadow surrounding his mouth, offering no resistance as he pulled her closer.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

  What would happen if she just gave in? Sated her desires? Would she finally get him out of her system, or be left wanting more?

  Lifting her by the waist, he sat her down straddling his lap, exposing her loins to the heat of his manhood. Need burned like wildfire inside her. When he pressed her close, she offered no resistance to his kiss. Sighing, she parted her lips, allowing his tongue inside, tasting him as fully as one kiss would allow. Desire no longer described the throbbing sensations in her loins. Intense need, stronger even than those college days with Dean, tore through her. She had stepped onto the diving board and stood staring down, ready to fall in.

  Nick pulled back from the kiss just long enough to devour her with another. Pressed against him, feeling every part of his desire, from his bulging chest, to his taut abdomen, to the hardening shaft of his manhood, Jamie matched Nick’s next kiss with an urgency of her own. The protestations in her brain shut down. Glued beside him, she held her breath as he moved his lips from her mouth to her ear lobe, to her neck, farther down to the cleavage of her chest, exposed through the open top snaps of a thin cotton blouse. His hands moved against the sides of her breasts, cupping them with a soft touch.

  “Nick.” His name came out in a whisper.

  He stared at her, his eyes pleading. “Be with me tonight. Please.” Reaching his hand inside her shirt and around her back, he undid the hooks of her bra. “I want you.”

  She guided his mouth back to hers; tasted him again; his scotch; his distinct maleness; and closed her eyes, offering nothing but acceptance as his hand cradled her breast and his lips moved steadily in that direction. The urge to let him do with her as he would battled her determination to maintain control. Feeling a mild sense of panic, Jamie reopened her eyes and saw a flash of light outside the window. Shock jerked her away from him. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” He followed her gaze over to the window.

  “I’m not sure. I thought I saw something.”

  He frowned. “What did you see?”

  “It looked like a camera flash going off.”

  He lifted her from his lap and got up, walking over to the window. Turning his head, he looked in one direction, then the other. “I don’t see anyone. It may have been a light from a boat on the water.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “It may have been.”

  He came back and reached out for her, but the moment had passed, and reason had reclaimed her. Trying to expunge her desire by giving into it was a stupid idea. She stood, and this time stepped away from him. “I’m sorry, Nick. I have to go.”

  Chapter 25

  “Darla, you disappoint me.”

  “I’m sorry. I seem to be good at that.”

  Peter didn’t miss the sullen pout on her face. She stood in his office, just inside the room to the left of the door with her arms folded over her chest. Her hunched shoulders and defensive posturing betrayed her fear. Damn brat was more trouble than she was worth. And she looked like his former fucking gardener. A constant reminder of his first wife’s infidelity.

  “Do you mind telling me why there’s a naked photograph of you and Rod Skinner on the front page of The Tattletale?”

  She grimaced, cowering like she was afraid he might slap her. “Nick told me he wouldn’t print that picture.”

  Her whining grated his nerves. “And you believed him?”

  She glanced at him quickly before returning her stare to the wall behind him. “Yes. I believed him.”

  “Of course you d
id. But naturally, you have missed my point.”

  “I have?” She sounded genuinely surprised.

  “Yes, you have. My point, Darla, was I told you to seduce Nick. Not Rod.”

  “But I like Rod.”

  He nearly choked. “You like Rod? Do you honestly believe Rod has any interest in you, beyond his obvious appetite for sex?”

  “I think he might.”

  “You think he might?”

  “Yes.”

  Whining again. “Well, dear girl, until you know for sure, focus your efforts on Nick. As long as you insist upon naked photos of yourself showing up all over the place, I might as well get some use out of them.” Picking up the newest edition of The Tattletale, he rolled it up and shook it in her face. “And quit providing news coverage for my competitor! Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Peter. I understand you.”

  “Good.” He opened the door to show her out and nodded at Gina, who waited for him outside his office. “Gina, baby, come in.”

  She walked in smiling and handed him an envelope. Pride gleamed in her eyes. “Open it,” she said. “I think you’ll like it.”

  Peter closed the door and pulled the photo Gina had snapped of Nick and Jamie Jennings from the envelope, looking it over with satisfaction. His protégé stood close to his side, eagerly awaiting his appraisal. Setting the picture down on his desk, he smiled and pulled her into his arms. “You’re showing great promise, baby,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She looked up at him with such delight it nearly made him laugh. “You have a sort of talent for this.”

  “Enough to be your number one girl someday?”

  She wanted to please him. Wasn’t that cute? Unfortunately, her charms were starting to wear thin. “You never know.” He kept his tone neutral. “Keep this kind of work up and you could be. There’s just one thing though.” He picked the photo up, looking at it critically now. “You can’t see Nick’s face. You’ve photographed him with his face inside Jamie’s shirt. All you can see is the back of his head. Without you to substantiate it, there’s no real proof this is Nick.”