The Pretender

by HelenKay Dimon

  It sounded fun . . . except for the drinking, the bar and leaving Harris. Really, none of it appealed to her, but she thought it was sweet for Ted to ask. “No, thanks.”

  “Craig is a good influence,” Kramer said over a mouthful of food.

  Ted laughed. “Man, I hope not.”

  For Craig’s and Ted’s sakes, she hoped Ted was right. “I always liked you.”

  It was almost nine by the time she left Kramer’s house. Dinner went longer than she expected. Trading stories did that. Time whizzed by and darkness had fallen.

  She walked into the guesthouse living room area and just stood there, staring down at the pile of pillows and blankets Harris had used for his makeshift bed last night. They were stacked beside the coffee table now. The room was dark except for the light in the lamp right by his head. He held his cell and she could tell from a quick look at the screen he’d been reading the news.

  When he glanced up, her mind jumbled. Outside of the guesthouse, she could keep her thoughts clear and focused. Now inside with Harris, the energy spinning inside her took on a different feel.

  She’d expected to be nervous around him. All this subterfuge made a woman tired. But this wasn’t about anxiety or exhaustion. The usual internal rush to walk away from confrontation, to go find an easier few hours before bed, didn’t hit her.

  Jumpy . . . excited. Those sounded more on target with the sensations moving through her.

  “Have a good dinner?” Harris asked from his seat on the end of the couch.

  She balanced on the armrest right next to him and her heart flipped. She could hear the slight uptick in her breathing. The revving inside her had her shifting around, trying to find a comfortable position on the wobbly perch.

  She wanted to blame the way they left things and the expectation that he could not let the conversation between them drop. He’d made it clear he wanted to know about the shovel . . . and her. Not that he’d demanded, but she felt his undercurrent of frustration. She could almost feel the clock ticking down to zero as her time ran out.

  “I’ve known Kramer for almost twenty years,” she said as she wrung her hands together.

  “And the son?”

  That sounded like an interrogation. Interesting coming from the art appraiser guy who hadn’t ventured near a painting while he was here. Not so far.

  But even that thought didn’t stick in her head. She wanted to question him, doubt him, but that wasn’t what her body craved. After fourteen months of locking her needs away, of hiding who she was and what she thought and all her dreams, she wanted to unleash. To feel something, anything. With him.

  She cleared her throat, trying to hold back the tidal wave of heat crashing into her. She glanced away from him, scanning the room. Seeing the family photos and the stacks of what her father called coffee table books. The piles of books her mother collected showing beautiful interiors of beach cottages. She’d loved the water. Loved blue and white and overstuffed furniture.

  Harris put his hand over hers. “Gabby?”

  The simple touch shot through her. Every need flipped into hyperdrive.

  “Ted Kramer is two years younger than me. Always been an overachiever. He was a bit of a player a few years back. Always decked out with a touch too much of cologne. The girlfriend is a good influence. He’s grown, become more serious and dependable.” She figured she’d give him Ted’s bio and save Harris the time. “He runs a landscaping company outside of Baltimore.”

  “Not an ex then.”

  Good lord. Here she was trying to block out the movie running in her mind of Harris stripping off that sweater and pulling her down on the couch, and he was busy thinking about her with other men. Talk about mixed signals.

  “Is that what the clipped questions are about? No, Harris. Never. I put Ted more in the brother category than partner category.”

  Harris released her fingers and his hand slid back down to the couch cushion next to him. “Does he know that?”

  It was the way Harris asked it. With a strange note of darkness in his voice. “I think he’d laugh his butt off at the thought of us being in a relationship. He sees me as an annoying older sister.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good.” She could actually hear the ticking of the clock on the wall now. She never noticed it being that loud before.

  Harris made a face. “Are you ready to pick up the conversation where we left off earlier?”

  Man, he was not getting this situation at all. Could he really not read her mood? She was all but sitting in his lap.

  For a second she worried she was the only one who felt this head-spinning buzz of attraction. It swamped her. He talked and she watched his mouth. He stared at her and her heartbeat sped to a gallop.

  “Actually?” She slid off the armrest. One knee landed on the cushion next to his thigh. She kept going until she straddled his lap, facing him. Not the smoothest move, but it put her where she wanted to be. “No.”

  He frowned at her. “What are you doing?”

  So much for subtlety.

  She trailed her fingers up his chest to the base of his neck then over his shoulders. “I want to do something other than talk this evening.”

  “Gabby?”

  Short of feeling him up through his faded jeans she wasn’t sure what she needed to do to get her point across. “Harris, please catch up faster than this.”

  His eyes widened. “Is this a pass?”

  Good grief, the man was off tonight. “You can’t tell?”

  He still hadn’t touched her. She was practically grinding on him and he sat perfectly still with his hands resting on the couch, so close to her thighs.

  “Gabby, look.” He slowly shook his head. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  That was sweet in a wow-you’re-not-getting-this kind of way. She cupped his jaw in her palm, let her thumb skim along that perfect jaw and all that sexy stubble. “I’m coming on to you.”

  “And you’re here, on this island, where it’s hard for you to—”

  “Harris?” She put a finger over his lips. “Shut up.”

  She lowered her mouth until it hovered just above his. Before their lips met, he took over. Strong hands landed on the sides of her waist. With a sexy little tug, he pulled her closer. Then he kissed her.

  This wasn’t a quick get-to-know-you peck. No, he dove in. Controlled and devoured. His lips crossed over hers with a mouth warm and inviting. It was the kind of kiss that pulled her in and sucked her under. Her mind went blank and her body hummed. The need to curl up in him and drag their bodies even closer rocked her.

  When she finally lifted her head, all she could think was, Damn, the man could kiss. He tasted like he looked—inviting . . . intoxicating.

  His hands roamed over her back then slipped to her waist again. His hips cradled hers.

  “Shit.” He brushed his forehead against her cheek. “I feel like I’d be a dick if I didn’t try to put the brakes on here.”

  His words said one thing but his hands did another. Even as he talked about breaking apart, his fingers went to work on the buttons of her shirt. He had three open and his warm palm rested against her chest with his fingers sliding under the seam of her bra.

  Lower. She needed that hand to move lower, for him to really touch her. All of her.

  “Do you want to stop?” If he said yes, she silently vowed to dropkick him into the Bay.

  “Fuck no.” He whispered the words against her neck.

  That deep voice vibrated against her, blocking out any ounce of doubt. Her fingers slipped into his hair and she held him there. Tried to find her breath as his tongue swept over her skin.

  “I told you I’ve been numb.” She fought to say the words as his mouth traveled along her collarbone. Her whole body shivered at the contact. “Tonight I want to feel something. With you.”

  He lifted his head and stared at her. His gaze searched her face, but just for a second. Heat flashed in his eyes as he wrapped her
tight against him and started falling. He turned her in midair and she landed under him with her back on the couch cushions. She had no idea how gravity or inertia hadn’t taken them tumbling down to the floor except that he was in control. Full control.

  He lifted up on his elbows and ducked his head to kiss her again. She melted even faster this time. That mouth knew how to take and when to retreat. And when his tongue swept against hers, her brain blitzed out on her.

  His body covered hers and the heat pulsed between them. She shifted her legs to make room for him between her thighs as her hand skimmed down his back. Every muscle, every line, was perfect. His body was lean, and when he covered her, she felt anchored for the first time in a long time. Safe yet desperate for more.

  When he started to move she almost thanked him. His mouth slipped to the base of her neck. He sucked on the skin there, making her back arch off the couch. But he kept going. His tongue slipped under the material of her bra to flick across her nipple. The intimate touch had her grabbing on to his shoulders, spearing her fingers through his soft hair.

  “God, yes.” He said the reverent words as he peeled the top of her bra down and took the tip of her breast in his mouth.

  His lips, that tongue . . . pure magic.

  Unable to wait another second to feel skin against skin, she tugged on his sweater, pulling it up his back to his shoulders. He lifted his body up from hers and broke away long enough for her to pull it off. Then he was back, with his mouth learning every inch of her breasts as his hands dipped lower.

  The button on her pants popped open. “This is one way to stop me from asking questions.”

  The words crashed through her. It was as if her body had been dunked in an icy pool. Everything inside her froze and shriveled.

  One of her hands went to her bra as she struggled to pull it up again and cover herself. The other went to his shoulder. She slammed her fist against him. “What did you just say?”

  “Fuck.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Nothing.”

  She shoved at his chest and moved her legs, trying to kick him off her. “You think this is stalling?”

  “I didn’t—”

  She kicked harder. “Move.”

  He pushed up to his knees and his arms fell to his sides. “Gabby, please.”

  “No.” She took in his T-shirt, which was pulled up to his chest, showing off his flat stomach. The ruffled hair and the swollen lips. He looked like a guy who stood one small step away from having sex, but he’d blown it when he reminded her this was all a game to him.

  She tried to sit up, but his body weight pinned her. “I mean it. Get off me.”

  “Done.” He put one foot on the floor and lifted his body off hers. His hands shot up in the air. “I won’t touch you until you say I can.”

  That was never going to happen. “You’re an asshole.”

  “I’m not arguing with you.” He stood on the floor now, staring down at her with an odd expression.

  She refused to see the concern and regret shining in his eyes. He’d traveled to the island to collect data, to gather information. He had a job and she was it, and for a few minutes she’d let herself forget that.

  “For the record . . .” She tried to hold her voice steady and she sat up and finished fiddling with her bra to get it back in place. “If I want to avoid a conversation. I avoid it. I don’t use sex to hide.”

  His hands dropped to his sides again. “Understood.”

  The quick acceptance just made her more furious. “I made a pass because I wanted you.”

  “Gabby, I—”

  “And now that’s over.” She bent over and picked up his sweater. Threw it at him and watched him catch it against his chest. “Get out. Sleep on the grass for all I care.”

  Chapter 9

  Harris spent the next morning doing an inventory of the artwork in the downstairs hallway of the main house, mostly to provide cover for Damon, who was snooping around the house. Being the lookout wasn’t his usual thing, but it gave him an excuse to stick close to the front door. He hadn’t made it back to the library and Damon didn’t push . . . yet.

  The charcoal drawings and Edward Hopper paintings should have kept his attention. Normally, he’d be running a tally in his head for the estimated values, but not today. Amazing how wanting to kick his own ass made doing any actual work harder.

  Last night . . . sweet damn.

  Harris shook his head as he turned over the Arthur Dove pencil sketch he’d never seen before and studied the frame. His mind kept blanking out. He couldn’t concentrate because he’d messed up big. Gabby’s big pass had taken him by surprise. He’d expected her to walk back into the guesthouse, emotionally shut down and head off to bed. He’d been prepared for her to change topics. When she’d curled up on his lap he almost swallowed his tongue. His fucking erection had nearly ripped through his jeans.

  Yeah, he needed air.

  He put the sketch on the hall table and pushed the screen door open, letting it bang shut behind him. He almost swore when he saw Kramer and Ted standing at the bottom of the porch steps. Kramer held a Weedwacker and Ted looked up from where he was kneeling on the grass by the flowerbed.

  Harris didn’t even try to hide his disappointment at not being alone. “Shit.”

  The rumble of noise whirled to a stop when Kramer shut off the trimmer. “You screwed up last night, son.”

  Apparently everyone knew he slept alone. Harris really hated the island. “Excuse me?”

  Kramer nodded in the direction of his son. “Ted saw you racing out of the guesthouse with your clothes in your hands.”

  “It’s hard to get privacy around here.” A man couldn’t even fuck up his sex life without everyone running up to talk about it.

  It was bad enough he’d had to sneak into the main house last night to sleep. Damon almost shot him from the top of the stairs. Now this. Harris preferred to take his chances with the gun.

  “Whelp.” Kramer set the trimmer down on the path. “I’m thinking we need to talk.”

  Ted rolled his eyes as he sat up straight. “Dad.”

  With his elbow balanced on the porch railing, Kramer eyed up Harris. “No, Mr. Tate here—”

  “You can call me Harris since you’re about to walk all over my personal life.”

  “—needs to understand a few things.” Kramer glared, as if daring Harris to say no.

  Harris almost let the temptation to walk away win. “Go ahead.”

  “Gabby is off-limits.”

  That was it. Kramer dropped that little threat bomb and stood there with one eyebrow lifted and the dare still lingering from his defiant tone.

  “And?” Harris asked, knowing he would regret not dropping the conversation.

  “That’s it. One thing. Don’t touch her.” Kramer nodded and picked up the Weedwacker again.

  “He’s overprotective when it comes to the Wright family,” Ted said.

  Kramer jumped right on the end of his son’s comment. “And there’s only one family member left, so I plan on making sure no one messes with her.”

  “I’m not going to . . .” Kramer turned on the trimmer and the buzzing sound drowned out anything else Harris might have said. When he held up a hand in mock surrender, Kramer flipped it off again and stared at Harris. “I get it. You work for her. You’re loyal.”

  “You don’t understand a thing.” Kramer shook his head. “The Wrights weren’t like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Dad.” Ted got up and stood beside his father. “That’s probably enough.”

  The conversation had just gotten interesting. No way was Harris ready to drop it now. “Tell me.”

  “Nah, Ted’s right. You’re not worth it.” Kramer turned his back on Harris and followed the hedge away from the door.

  He wanted to end the talk? Fine, but Harris wasn’t about to let this be a one-sided battle. “Okay, you’ve had your say. Now I’ll have mine.”

  Kramer looked at Harris o
ver the hedge. “I don’t remember making that deal.”

  “Gabby is a grown woman. Whatever happens between us is none of your business.”

  “Tough talk,” Kramer mumbled under his breath.

  Ted winced. “She did seem upset at breakfast this morning. She didn’t specifically say anything, but she wasn’t very talkative.”

  “Is that where she’s been going every morning?” Harris figured she walked around the island or spent an hour dreaming up ways to drown him without anyone knowing.

  Kramer stepped back to the front of the porch, right in front of Harris. “You don’t know much. Do you, son?”

  “I know I will work it out with Gabby.” Harris didn’t know that at all, but he refused to admit that. Not to these two, who he barely knew. It was bad enough he had Damon riding his ass.

  “This should be interesting to watch.” Ted laughed. “My money’s on her.”

  Gabby managed to avoid Harris all day. She tried to avoid all of them. Every single man on the island. Their numbers seemed to be growing by the day.

  She traveled around the island, and in between ducking and hiding, checking and rechecking, she’d searched for the map and the papers. Someone had taken them or moved them. Since Tabitha was the only other person who knew where they were buried, that meant it had to have been her. There really was no other reasonable explanation, and even that one wasn’t all that reasonable.

  Tabitha didn’t have any reason to dig out that rock. Gabby hated to think the paranoia had gotten to her. She would have called, right? But since the why and when would never be known now, Gabby tried to push those questions out of her mind and focus on what she could do.

  She pulled everything apart in the guesthouse. Drawers, bookshelves, turned the mattress. Then she tried the boathouse. Tabitha didn’t go in there very often but maybe that made it the best new hiding place. A building she rarely ventured into might be the last place anyone would look.

  No luck.