It was a new thing, feeling like a fool, his world turning inside out because of a woman. The only consolation was that Matt didn’t seem to be in any better condition, though he had quickly talked himself back inside Layne’s house. Matt’s intentions, on the other hand, were a mystery, probably even to him.
The phone rang a few minutes later. It was Riley, reporting the discovery of a listening device in Layne’s living room.
“Sophisticated,” Riley explained. “Longer range than the average off-the-rack bug. Somebody put money into it.”
“Crap.”
“It isn’t so bad. There can’t be more than a few places locally that do this sort of custom work,” said Riley. “Assad may identify the maker when he takes it apart in the lab.”
“Get him on it. But send someone else to hand the device off. I’m rotating the team—you’re at the Hudson house tonight.”
“Great. Layne said her aunt is making calzones for dinner. Apparently Mrs. Hudson makes the dough from scratch and stuffs it with homemade—”
Connor hung up.
If Riley had been in the room, he would have shot him on the spot.
* * *
AFTER AN HOUR trying to reach Detective Rivera, Layne stood in her living room, staring at the coffee table where Riley had found the hidden microphone. Would she ever feel the same about her house? At the moment she wanted to leave it forever.
“Hey, it’s okay. Nobody else is getting in here again. We’ll make sure of it,” Matt murmured.
She grabbed her purse, unnerved that he’d guessed how she felt. “Yeah. Um...I need to go grocery shopping. Aunt Dee is testing more recipes for the Babbitt this weekend and I have to get the supplies. I’ll talk to you later.”
He looked ready to protest but nodded. “Sure. Just give me a call when you’re leaving Carrollton and I’ll meet you here.”
“That isn’t necessary. I’m going to spend the night with Aunt Dee.” The decision had been spontaneous, but it seemed best. She needed the time to herself.
Layne thought she spotted one of the security vehicles as she drove to her favorite supermarket, but she couldn’t be sure.
She wandered up and down the aisles, consulting the recipes Regina wanted tested, putting groceries in the cart and feeling bad about Matt. The investigation was proving hard on them both. Until she’d entered his life, he’d been comfortable with his time at Hudson & Davidson and had liked Peter Davidson well enough to make him an officer at the Eisley Foundation. Now he was questioning his judgment and wondering if his stepfather was going to land in jail for theft and murder or blackmail.
Layne didn’t know herself.
Was Peter guilty?
She went back and forth, thinking he was just a skunk who’d abandoned his friend, to questioning whether he’d killed her uncle. Even the “at best” scenario wasn’t positive. At best, Peter was using blackmail to get away with nearly every penny from the company.
At Aunt Dee’s house Layne popped the trunk of the Volvo and saw Connor striding down the driveway. “What do you want?”
“Just to carry your groceries.”
She regarded him. Connor O’Brian was a solid, no-nonsense man with short silver-and-black hair and a muscular build. And he was attractive—not in the way Uncle Will had been handsome, but nice-looking with a direct gaze. She might get to the point where she forgave him, but she wasn’t sure about her aunt. Dorothy Hudson had a big heart, but being lied to wasn’t something she’d easily overlook.
“It was just a trick that morning with Finnster, wasn’t it?” she asked. “The way he clowned around here in the driveway.”
“Finn has specialized training. I like seeing how people act with a dog, and how they act with him. It tells me something. You and Dot have his unqualified approval.”
“But that wasn’t enough. You still went to the gallery.”
Connor let out a heavy breath. “She’s a beautiful woman and it seemed the only way we could meet. I knew it was a mistake and did it anyway.”
Hmm.
She turned around and regarded the grocery sacks in the trunk, thinking about her aunt’s face the past few days...full of life and energy, more vibrant than she’d been since Uncle Will’s death.
“Drat,” Layne said. “I forgot to get the irises for Aunt Dee. I’ll have to get them another time.”
She lifted a bag and Connor took it from her, scooping up a second, as well, while she got the other two.
Dee met them on the step and glared at Connor, but she didn’t stop him from carrying the sacks into the kitchen. As soon as he put them on the counter, she pointed to the door. “Out,” she ordered.
“Of course, ma’am.”
Connor dutifully exited, but Layne spotted the faint smile on his face. It was probably the first time he’d gotten past the threshold of the house, and she’d given him a hint about Aunt Dee’s favorite flower. She just hoped he wouldn’t get smug and blow everything.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ON SUNDAY EVENING Matt sat on his living room couch with Layne as she watched a new documentary on the Great Sphinx of Giza, fascinated more by her intense concentration than by the film itself.
When the credits rolled she made a few additional notes on her pad of paper before looking up.
“Thanks for watching that with me,” she said. “I forgot to set the timer to record it at my house. Justin Adler is doing the review for the Babbitt and he always asks me to research some of the facts. It’s easier if I see it, too.”
“That’s okay. Archaeology intrigues me.”
“Is that why you went down to see the Titanic?”
Matt shrugged. “Partly, and partly it was the adventure.”
“How did it feel?”
“Like I was a tasteless sightseer in a graveyard,” he replied honestly. “Yet I was still fascinated. I wanted to touch the ship and feel connected to it.”
“To be part of the story.”
“Exactly. It’s one of the great tragedies. The whole time I kept thinking, if one tiny thing had changed, everything might be different today. Who knows how it would have affected history.”
“Yeah, the what-ifs can drive us crazy.”
Matt knew Layne was thinking about her uncle. He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “I’m hungry for dessert.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a choice between Cherry Garcia and Cherry Garcia.”
“Not to be clichéd, but I wasn’t thinking about that kind of dessert.” He stood and tugged her off the couch, unsure if his motive was a desire to distract her...or just desire. But at the moment he didn’t care. “My bedroom has great views of the city lights. Very different from this side of the building. Want to see it?”
* * *
A TINGLING HEAT spread instantly through Layne’s abdomen. Though she’d told herself that sex was out, she’d still gone out and bought new condoms to stow in her purse, all the while thinking what a fool she was.
“Um, sure,” she murmured. “I love city skylines at night.”
Matt’s bedroom was just as stark as the rest of the penthouse, and it was huge. Hardwood flooring stretched to an enormous bed, positioned to take advantage of the vistas through two walls of windows. Like the kitchen and living room, everything was immaculate, the bed neatly made with one corner folded down, revealing navy-colored silk sheets.
A reporter at the Babbitt had written a story the year before, talking about how infrequently the average single American male changed his sheets. Celina had obviously never been in Matt’s penthouse. He had to have a maid. Nobody kept a place this spotless unless they were OCD, and Layne had spent enough time with Matt to know he wasn’t obsessive about anything.
She wavered.
It was the sort of bed that gorg
eous, coolly sophisticated women expected. And she couldn’t help wondering, why her? Why someone so opposite to the tall, perfectly proportioned blondes he’d always dated?
It had to be convenience and the forced intimacy that their investigation had created. Yet the unpalatable thought shattered as Matt drew her into a slow dance, humming quietly.
After a moment she giggled. “That’s the theme song from Gilligan’s Island.”
“Just making sure you’re paying attention.”
He began humming something else and she laughed harder. “The Addams Family? Now that’s romantic.”
“You know your classic TV theme songs, but you’re forgetting that Gomez was terribly passionate. He adored his Morticia.”
“True.”
Matt dramatically began kissing her hand and moved up her arm to her throat and down her shoulder to the other hand. “Mind if I go around again, Tish?”
“Very well, Gomez.”
This time he stopped at her throat and headed toward her breasts as he unbuttoned her blouse.
Layne gulped. “Uh...this is prime-time television.”
“The Addams Family was in reruns by the time we were born.”
“Oh. That’s right.”
She stepped back and her heel struck the bed, throwing her off balance. They both tumbled to the mattress. She lifted her head and checked the two walls of windows, feeling exposed in the well-lit room for more than one reason.
“Are you an exhibitionist by any chance?” she asked politely.
“Nope.” Matt reached up to the wall and touched a button; the lights in the room went off, but it wasn’t truly dark. There was too much illumination from the city. “I can lower the blinds if you want it darker. Still feeling exposed?”
She thought about it. Matt could see her, but mostly in shadow. As for someone in another building? Maybe with a pair of binoculars, and not easily.
Layne pulled her blouse over her head and threw it across the room. “I’ll deal with it. You got protection?”
Matt grinned. “Not that I was planning ahead or anything, but yes, I picked up a box the other day.”
Good. That meant she didn’t have to confess to doing the same thing, though he’d probably be glad she didn’t have baby plans on her mind.
She pushed Matt flat on his back and straddled his hips, unbuttoning his shirt and splaying her fingers across the smooth, taut skin on his chest. He wasn’t a hairy guy, but a neat arrow of dark fur went down the middle of his chest, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. It was incredibly sexy.
“Not bad, Gomez,” she whispered. “I miss the moustache, of course.”
Reaching behind her, she unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. In the faint light she could see his gaze focus, humor forgotten as he stroked the slopes and gently rounded curves. He hadn’t touched her breasts, but Layne felt her nipples tighten with anticipation.
“What pleases you, Layne?” Matt whispered. “This?”
He teased the aching peaks, then pulled her closer to draw one into his mouth, sucking hard one moment, and soothing her with his tongue another.
Her pants and his jeans landed somewhere and he drew her underwear down her legs, taking his time as he followed their progress with kisses.
Layne spared a thought to being grateful that Matt hadn’t pushed the issue of what pleased her. The women he’d known were probably too sophisticated to hesitate about saying exactly what they wanted and where. To hear her friends talk, it was the modern thing to be solely concerned about your own pleasure, not your partner’s.
I’m responsible for my own orgasm.
How many times had she heard that?
Another friend had put it bluntly. “My husband enjoys it no matter what, so I might as well take care of myself and let him do the same.”
Layne didn’t know, but she had a hard time believing give and take had gone completely out of fashion. It was the way two people...
Her thoughts shattered as Matt eased her thighs apart and stroked the aching center between. Her muscles clenched and released and she tried desperately to keep from going off altogether. She grabbed the top of the mattress for leverage and shimmied away.
“You don’t like that?” Matt asked hoarsely.
Like it?
Of course she liked it.
“Sure, but it’s my turn to experiment.”
Smiling in anticipation, she kissed Matt’s chest, exploring the arrow of hair and the smooth skin everywhere else. He tensed so much it was almost like kissing sun-warmed stone.
Satisfaction went through her—at least right now, at this moment, he wanted her. She’d have to be content with that because it was all she was ever going to get.
Down to his belly button, a gentle dip of her tongue, and then she shook her hair over his groin, teasing his hard length before touching him.
Almost instantly Matt dragged her up his body. “Experimentation is over,” he informed her in a low, rough tone. “Or I’m going to do something I haven’t done since I got too excited having sex the first time.”
He reached over to a drawer in the sleek bedside table and pulled out a condom. A few seconds later he was inside her and they were moving fast together, the heat building, her boundaries dissolving, everything coming apart. It was wonderful, terrifying, mind-ripping...and she finally exploded, vaguely aware that Matt had followed her a few seconds later.
“Oh, God,” he gasped after a few minutes, his breath still coming in deep shudders. “My heart...I may need an ambulance.”
“Don’t exaggerate. You’re only thirty-two. Your heart is fine.”
Lucky for me, she thought. Her body was still shaking, though Matt’s gentle caresses were helping. She curled tighter to him and closed her eyes. It was early and she ought to be doing something, but sleep was too tempting.
* * *
MUCH LATER MATT gazed down at Layne as she slept, illuminated only by the moon and city lights shining in the distance. Damn. She had the softest skin and hair. Just remembering how she’d left a trail of nibbling kisses down his chest and belly, until the silky ends of her hair drifted over him like a thousand curious fingers...
Matt groaned.
How was he getting out of the mess he’d gotten into? He could almost see a future with Layne and it scared the hell out of him. His father married and divorced on a regular basis, breaking hearts and making headlines. The people who got hurt were his wives and girlfriends and kids—S. S. Hollister just went merrily on to his next romance, seemingly oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.
If there was one thing Matt knew, it was that he didn’t want to be like Spence. Besides, too many marriages ended in divorce, and couples that stayed together often didn’t seem happy.
Matt had never committed to having a cat or dog or even a goldfish, much less a relationship.
Still, Layne was right; he had made a commitment to his grandfather’s charitable trust. He hadn’t thought of it that way. He’d just seen something important that he wanted to do. It hadn’t been a snap decision. He’d thought it through, carefully weighing the changes it would require in his life, and knowing that it couldn’t just be for a few weeks or months. It had to be something he’d do for years to come.
But running the foundation was a far cry from considering a long-term relationship with a woman. And that was even presuming Layne wanted anything beyond clearing her uncle’s name. At this point he didn’t know if she’d get up in the morning and start rearranging the furniture, or pretend they’d never touched each other.
And he still didn’t know which one he wanted it to be.
* * *
“ARE YOU SURE you won’t stay for dinner?” Dorothy asked the next evening as Layne and Matt gathered the documents they’d been review
ing. The stack of boxes in Will’s study was finally gone, and they were working on the last of the contents.
Layne shot a glance at Matt. “Uh, thanks, but we’re driving into Seattle for the night. We want to call more of Uncle Will’s old employees and can’t do it too late. Besides, it’s creepy at my house right now, knowing someone was listening to me.”
Dorothy nodded. She’d agreed to have Riley Flannigan check inside her own house for the same reason, though luckily nothing had turned up.
She hugged Layne goodbye and shook Matt’s hand. It was apparent he’d charmed his way back into her niece’s bed and Dorothy didn’t know how she felt about the whole thing.
The doorbell rang a few minutes later and she hurried to answer. The first thing she saw was a large arrangement of flowers, mostly formed of white Dutch irises.
“Uh...are you Dorothy Hudson?” asked the delivery person, a teenage boy who was trying to look around the bouquet.
“Yes.”
“I’m from Da Vinci Flowers. These are for you.” The bouquet was extended and Dorothy tried not to fumble as she grasped the vase. “Have a nice evening.”
“Wait, I’ll get my purse.”
The young man shook his head. “I’ve already been given a tip, ma’am.”
Dorothy closed the door and took the flowers into her dining room. They were gorgeous. She pulled the small card from the envelope and read it. “Patrick.” One word. Not “I’m sorry” or “Forgive me” or anything else.
Honestly. He was pushing things, signing the name he’d used to lie to her. In the beginning she would have been angry enough to pitch the whole thing into the creek below the house, but the flowers were lovely. Dutch irises appealed to her artistic senses, though she’d never captured the cool elegance of the flowers on canvas to her satisfaction. The ones in the vase were white with purple tongues, and there were small yellow tulips tucked here and there for accent.
Dorothy looked out the window and saw Patrick in the backyard, repairing a damaged plank on one of the planter boxes. She was still angry with him, but it was interesting the way he was attempting to make up for his deception. He’d gotten a load of firewood, stowing it at the side of the house. He had carried groceries and cleared brush from the edges of the yard. Not only that, various specialty teas and spices had appeared on her doorstep, along with a small stone box carved from Irish marble, with a Celtic design inlaid on the lid.
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