by Debra Webb
Much later.
Nicole frowned. She supposed that calling her office and checking in would be appropriate, though she was on approved leave. If any witnesses from last night’s fire had described her to the police or the media, the guys at the office might get worried. Nicole would do that while Ian showered. Tamping down the images that thought immediately conjured, Nicole grabbed her dry lingerie and ID and tucked the items under her arm, then opened the door and breezed back into the room.
As Ian passed, his bag and freshly laundered suit in hand, he paused directly in front of Nicole. He offered the gun, butt-first, to her. “Don’t open the door for anyone,” he warned.
Nicole accepted the weapon without looking at him. As soon as he had closed the bathroom door behind him, Nicole laid the weapon aside and quickly stripped off Ian’s shirt. She held the fabric close to her face and took a long deep breath. Ian’s scent still lingered where his warm body had lain against her all night. Chastising herself, Nicole tossed the shirt aside and swiftly dressed. She felt a great deal less vulnerable wearing her own clothes. Wearing nothing but Ian’s shirt had somehow made her more susceptible to him.
All she needed now was her own weapon and Nicole would be whole again.
THE COMMERCIAL FLIGHT into Charlottesville, Virginia, had proven decidedly uninteresting in Nicole’s opinion. The hassle of obtaining approval to carry weapons on the flight had tried even the patience of the forever-unflappable Ian. Finally, all parties had agreed that, per the pilot’s request, the weapons would be locked away in the cockpit until landing.
Taking the Colby Agency jet would have alleviated the entire situation, but the whole point was to leave a wide, easy path for their shadow to follow. If Nicole had ever been this careless with her travel plans, she had long since blocked the memory. First they had stopped by her office and picked up a weapon from her personal office safe. Her bureau ID was a little the worse for wear, but still usable. Nicole made sure all her co-workers knew that she planned to take a little weekend trip to her cousin’s secluded mountain cabin. A few suggestive glances in Ian’s direction and the whole office assumed she and Ian were lovers taking a little getaway.
After that, Nicole had led Ian on a whirlwind shopping trip in Georgetown. By lunchtime they had everything they would need for a long weekend in the wilderness, from the eyewear to the hiking boots. Their wardrobes looked straight off the pages of L.L. Bean. Ian always wore suits, his appearance nothing less than impeccable. That look was right for him; fit his personality to a T. Nicole blew out a disgusted breath and forced her attention to the passing fall landscape. Who would ever have suspected that he would look so hot in jeans and flannel? The man was six feet two inches of lean, hard muscle. Nicole blinked the image of his sculpted body from her mind. Don’t go there, she warned that part of her that wanted so desperately to take whatever he would give during their short time together.
If that wasn’t bad enough, Nicole had also got a glimpse of the kid in Ian when he’d selected the SUV at the rental agency. According to Ian it was exactly like the one he was currently considering purchasing. Black with tinted windows, four-wheel drive, fully loaded, the Range Rover was nice, Nicole had to agree. She stole a glance at its driver. But she could have gone the rest of her life without having to see his pleasure at how the vehicle handled, at how much he admired the interior. She didn’t want to know the little things that pleased Ian. The more she knew about him, the more dangerous he was to her heart.
With only soft rock whispering from the speakers to break the silence, and two and one half hours of picture-perfect landscape behind them, the sign welcoming visitors to Town Creek was a truly welcome sight. Ian slowed to take in the view. Nestled between the gorgeous Appalachian Mountains, Town Creek and its Deep River proved a breathtaking sight no matter how many times Nicole saw it. Her cousin George, a psychiatrist in Richmond, was a diehard bass fisherman. In his opinion, there was no place on earth like the Deep River in Town Creek. He had been so impressed with the fishing as well as the friendly community that he had bought himself a vacation home here years ago. Nicole had visited a couple of times when George had had his thirtieth birthday or some milestone in his career he wanted to celebrate. The place was serenity exemplified. And George always left a key under the third rock from the front right corner of the cabin.
“Take the next right,” Nicole said abruptly, almost forgetting that Ian didn’t know the way. Her voice sounded strangely loud after the long drive without speaking.
Ian made the turn and began the winding journey that would take them high into the mountains and deep into the woods. Though the cabin was only ten or twelve miles from town, the narrow, winding road made the going slow. With the dense forest of soaring trees closing in around them, the dim light of dusk swiftly gave way to total darkness.
Thirty minutes later, Ian braked to a stop in front of the rustic one-story cabin. The place wasn’t very large. There was a great room that served as a living room, dining room, and bedroom. A small kitchen and an even smaller bathroom lay beyond that. There was no telephone or cable television, but there was electricity and running water compliments of a heavy-duty generator and a deep well. George always restocked before he left. There would be canned goods in the cabinets and a full tank of gas in the generator, with additional fuel stored in the small out-building.
“You have a key?” Ian asked as he shut off the headlights and then the engine.
“No, but I know where he keeps it.” Nicole reached into the back seat and retrieved the flashlight Ian had purchased with the rest of the gear.
Nicole tried to ignore Ian’s brooding presence directly behind her as she made her way to the corner of the cabin, but it was impossible. She could feel the masculine warmth emanating from him in seductive waves. His heat pulled at her senses, made her want to turn and face him and then move into his arms. Giving herself a mental shake, Nicole crouched down and collected the key from beneath the rock. She dusted the dirt from it and strode purposefully toward the porch. Ian followed, saying nothing. But when Nicole inserted the key into the lock, he placed his hand on her arm.
“Let me go in first,” he said, more of a quiet command than a suggestion.
Nicole shrugged off his touch. “Whatever.” She stepped back out of his way. Let him play the big, tough protector. What did she care as long as the mission was accomplished?
Ian unlocked and opened the door. Nicole offered him the flashlight, knowing that would be his next request. At least if she handed it to him first, he wouldn’t have to ask for it, and she wouldn’t have to hear his voice unnecessarily. Nicole shook her head slowly in resignation. The situation was completely and utterly ridiculous.
The beam of the flashlight moved over the great room. Hewn and chinked log walls, four windows, three interior doors, wood floors embellished with braided rugs, and cathedral ceilings with huge wood support beams. George’s taste in decorating was “bare and essential,” but his housekeeping was immaculate. Though the furnishings were sparse, Nicole knew them to be comfortable. A round wood table with four chairs, an overstuffed sofa with matching arm chairs flanking it, one chest of drawers, a bookcase, and a huge king-size brass bed. The sight of the bed always caught Nicole off guard. Everything else in the place was wood, or plaid upholstery. But the bed—unfortunately singular—was shiny brass and covered with elegant linens.
“Lights?” The sound was hardly more than a whisper, but it glided along every nerve ending in Nicole’s too-attentive body.
Nicole reached for a key on the hook by the front door. “We have to start up the generator,” she said quickly. “It’s around back. We can go through the kitchen and out the back door.”
This time Ian led the way. He paused at the back door and surveyed the perimeter outside within the boundaries of the flashlight’s beam. Satisfied that no one waited in the bushes, he descended the steps. Nicole followed.
The generator started a little sluggishly. Nico
le supposed that it had been a while since her cousin’s last visit. With him traveling around promoting his latest published work, she felt certain he was far too busy for fishing. But, knowing George, he would make up for it another time.
Nicole located the breaker box behind the kitchen door and flipped the breaker for the lights and the well pump. The cookstove and the hot-water heater were gas and only required that the pilot lights be lit. Ian insisted on lighting them, which suited Nicole just fine. She had been up close and personal with too much heat in the past couple of days as it was.
Once their gear was unpacked and stored away, Ian prowled the place like a caged animal. He adjusted the primitive country curtains to his liking, and examined the locks on the doors, twice. Bored with watching Ian’s precise, methodical movements and trying to stay unaffected, Nicole pushed up from the comfortable sofa and strolled into the kitchen to do a little prowling of her own. She might as well inventory the supplies. They did have to eat for however long they would be here. That, at least, would occupy her restless mind.
One can of coffee, three cans of chili, six cans of beef stew, a twelve pack of canned sodas and several cans of juice. And wine. Nicole smiled. More than a dozen bottles of wine. Nicole searched through the remaining cabinets. Cleaning supplies, fire extinguisher, condoms. Nicole did a double take.
Condoms?
Under the sink?
She shook her head, closed the cabinet doors and stood. Now where would he hide the Godiva? George had a sweet tooth that only Godiva chocolate would assuage. Nicole shared in that little addiction. She rummaged through the cabinet drawers. It had to be here. George always kept a supply on hand.
“Hungry?”
Nicole snapped to attention and whirled around as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, her face flushed guiltily. “I was inventorying supplies,” she said quickly. “We’ll need a few provisions to carry us through the weekend,” she added for good measure. Nicole moistened her lips and avoided that analyzing gray gaze. Ian probably didn’t have even one bad habit. He was perfect.
Too perfect.
“If you’d like to rest, I’ll take care of dinner,” he offered in that smooth, liquid voice that made her quiver inside.
Nicole pushed away from the cabinet. “That’s a good idea,” she answered without looking at him. She paused long enough to take a look inside the fridge when she passed it. Nothing. The motor whined a bit, struggling to cool the warm interior now that electricity flowed again.
Standing in the middle of the great room, Nicole considered where George would hide his decadent treasure if not in the kitchen. Dammit. She wanted some chocolate, and she wanted it now. If she couldn’t have Ian, at least she could have that.
Nicole resisted the urge to stamp her foot. What was wrong with her? Ian was off-limits. She glanced at the wide, inviting bed. And what were they going to do about that? Nicole released a big breath. Sure the bed was big, like the one at the hotel. But no matter how wide the bed, their bodies would draw each other like light to the dawn once sleep robbed them of conscious restraint.
Ian would just have to sleep on the couch.
With that decision behind her, Nicole resumed her search. She shuffled through the books and magazines in the bookcase. Her hands slowed as one title caught her eye. Burn, Baby Burn. Nicole’s expression twisted into one of distaste. When she leafed through the publication, her suspicions were confirmed. Numerous sexual positions were described in graphic detail, pictures included. Aphrodisiacs of all kinds were enumerated. Nicole slapped the cover closed and shoved the magazine back into its original position, but not before she checked the address label on the back cover.
When had George started ordering such sexually explicit material? Several other shocking titles speared her attention. Nicole shrugged off the curiosity. Maybe he was working on a new medical journal. Sex and its many various and associated problems was often the subject of medical journals. After all, George was a shrink. He most likely had patients who needed counseling in that area.
Nicole moved on to the chest of drawers. Socks, underwear, pajamas. More condoms. Nicole frowned again. What the hell was George expecting? An orgy?
No chocolate there either.
Pacing back and forth as Ian had earlier, Nicole worried her bottom lip. Maybe George had depleted his supply the last time and had simply forgotten to bring more. Or perhaps he intended to replenish his stock the next time he visited.
The bathroom.
Nicole knew it was a long shot, but it was the only place she hadn’t looked already. Aspirins, antibiotic ointment, alcohol, peroxide, the medicine cabinet contained them all, but no Godiva. The linen cabinet contained towels, washcloths, soap, feminine products. Nicole did another double take. Since when did George need feminine hygiene products? Okay, so maybe he brought his girlfriends here sometimes. Maybe one of his lady friends had left the intimate items. One brow lifted in skepticism when she eyed the array of scented bubble bath. Nicole closed the cabinet door and shuffled back into the great room. No chocolate. She looked up to find Ian pouring wine into stemmed glasses.
And damn if he didn’t look good enough to eat. The perfect combination of elegance and danger.
She swallowed, hard.
“Have a seat, it’s ready,” he told her when she made no move to come closer. “Beef stew and a great red wine.” He directed one of those rare ten-thousand-watt smiles in her direction.
Keeping her eyes on the hypnotic movements of his hands, Nicole slowly walked to the table and sat down. Ian settled into his own chair directly across from her and sipped his wine.
“Your cousin has outstanding taste,” Ian commented, then licked the residue of wine from those full, firm lips.
Nicole blinked. What was Ian implying? Oh yeah, the wine. She grabbed her own glass. “Thank you,” she said tightly. “I’ll tell him you said so next time I see him.” Nicole all but gulped the rich, red liquid. She had to get a hold of herself. The case. She had to concentrate on the case.
“How long has he owned this place?”
Nicole’s head came up. “What?”
That silvery gaze connected fully with hers then. “You shouldn’t worry so much, everything is going to be all right, Nicole.”
Nicole’s relief was palpable. He thought she was upset about the case. “I know,” she replied quietly, then quickly averted her gaze.
“You should eat and then get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”
Why did he have to do that? Make her feel like she mattered more than anything else in the world to him? They were partners in solving this case. Nothing more.
That lie reverberated clear through to her bones.
Nicole took another big sip of her wine. Eat, Nicole, she ordered herself. The sooner you eat, the sooner you can leave the table. Three feet wasn’t nearly enough space between them. Forcing herself to chew, then swallow, Nicole finished off her beef stew. She turned up her wine-glass and emptied it as well.
“I’ll take care of the next meal,” she offered as she pushed back her chair and stood. “We can take turns.” Nicole grabbed her plate and empty glass and headed to the kitchen without looking back. If Ian responded, she didn’t hear him. Nicole rinsed her dishes and dried her hands. Now what? No TV. She supposed she could read. Several of the available titles flitted through her mind. Nope. That wouldn’t do.
The chocolate. She had to find that chocolate. Nicole walked back into the great room and considered where else she could search. She had looked everywhere already. Hadn’t she? Nicole frowned and scanned the big open space once more. Ian was busy clearing his dishes from the table. She ignored him.
A smile sent the corners of Nicole’s mouth upward. The bed. She hadn’t looked under the bed. Desperation driving her on, Nicole dashed across the room and dropped to her knees next to the bed. She lifted the spread and peered into the semi-darkness beneath the big brass bed. A few dust bunnies skittered across the fl
oor. Nicole’s smile widened to a triumphant grin. She tugged two large plastic containers clear of the bed. Through the translucent sides she could see that the boxes contained a variety of items. Godiva chocolate had to be in there somewhere. Nicole just knew it.
Nicole opened the first container and elation surged through her veins. Two large gold boxes were perched atop the other contents. The shiny gold winked beneath the light as Nicole quickly opened one package. A moan of pleasure escaped as she placed a small chunk of the heavenly chocolate in her mouth and closed her eyes in pure ecstasy.
“What’s all this?”
Nicole’s eyes popped open. Ian crouched right next to her. She had been so engrossed in finding her treasure that she hadn’t even realized he’d moved. Pleasure exploded on her tongue and another tiny groan seeped out.
“Chocolate,” she murmured with delight. “The very finest chocolate on earth. I adore it. George is absolutely addicted to the stuff.”
“No, I don’t mean the chocolate,” Ian explained quietly. “I mean this.”
Nicole stared down at the container as Ian moved aside the boxes of chocolate. Her eyes bulged in disbelief.
“It looks as if chocolate isn’t Cousin George’s only addiction.”
The array of sex toys was far too comprehensive and—Nicole stared, agog, as Ian lifted the lid from the other container—too state-of-the-art to be called anything less than a very serious hobby.
“I take it the man likes to play games.” Ian picked up a set of handcuffs and dangled them.
Nicole fingered a bottle of expensive-looking body oil. George into S and M? That couldn’t be. He was much too straitlaced for that. The memory of the magazine with his name and address on the back cover flashed through her mind, along with a half dozen other titillating titles.
