“So, other than you, who else would benefit from her death?”
“The only other beneficiary is the town animal shelter—I guess that would be Doug Horner, wouldn’t it?” She looked at him for a moment, then a thought struck her. “It was at his office that my tires were slashed...and he was at lunch when we went to the quilt shop. It could have been him who broke into the house.”
“Hm. Yes, he’s a possibility.” He didn’t sound convinced. Ethan was quiet for a long moment, drumming his long fingers on the tile-topped table in front of him. “Diana, what would happen to Belinda’s money if anything happened to you?”
“I don’t have any family, so I guess—” She stopped. “Jonathan.” She said it aloud without thinking as her stomach curled in upon itself tightly, hurting her. “It would have been Jonathan, if we’d gotten married.”
“But you didn’t,” Ethan said softly. “You aren’t.”
“No. But ….” Her arms prickled. Could that be why he was so insistent that they work things out? Then she shook her head violently. “Absolutely not, Ethan. That’s absurd. He doesn’t even need the money—he has a thriving practice. And aside from that, he seems to have accepted that it’s over.”
He just looked at her. “It’s usually the one closest to the victim ….”
“But I’m not the victim!” she returned, her eyes burning with tears. No, not this...not this on top of everything else.
Then, she remembered, and light-headed relief swept over her. “It can’t be Jonathan—he has an alibi.”
“An alibi?”
“Yes. Several of them, in fact. He was at a conference on the day the tires were slashed, I know that for sure, because it was in North Carolina and he had to speak. And, he called me from his office on my cell—Caller ID—after the first break-in. That night, that night I came home and someone was in my house.”
“And you thought it was me.” His voice was flat. “Well, I guess that leaves out Jonathan.”
“Yes, I did think it was you. You’d been in there uninvited once before—what was I to think?”
“Someone was searching for something,” Ethan said, ignoring her question. “Money, perhaps—if it’s someone who thought they were going to inherit but didn’t.”
“That could make you a suspect.” Diana looked at him closely, no longer believing it, but playing devil’s advocate. “After all, you did enter the house at least once without being invited.”
“Yeah, right. And I slashed your tires while we were at the quilt shop. And I murdered Belinda while I was in Princeton. Fat chance.” His voice was easy, as if he, too, knew she was just making an argument. He had an almost-smile on his lips.
How far they’d come from suspicion and judgment to casual discussion. No accusations.
The sun was gone, and the last light faded from the sky. The far-off rumbling of traffic reminded Diana that she was in Boston, not in Maine, looking into someone else’s back yard, not over Lake Damariscotta...and all of a sudden, she missed it. She missed the peace and the quiet and the slow hum of living...not the day-to-day race to work.
She smelled that someone was barbequing—it was nearly ten, but that wasn’t an uncommon time for the workaholic professionals who lived in the Back Bay to eat a Friday night meal—and it smelled artificial, like the gas grill on which it was cooked.
“Diana.” Ethan’s voice came to her, bringing her back to the tiny porch where they sat. “So you have no other family? You have no other relatives?”
“No. My father died when I was very young, and Mother never remarried or had any other children. Aunt Bee and Uncle Tracer were the only family I ever knew. Until I met Tommy and Bella. I guess they’re family now.” She stood abruptly, batting her hand in the air. “Bugs are getting bad.”
Despite the fact that he hadn’t seen one mosquito or even a no-see-um, he stood, helping to gather their dishes.
In the kitchen, he looked at her, allowing his emotions—the attraction, the need—to leak forward into his consciousness. He’d been trying to keep them at bay all evening, focusing on their conversation and not the way he felt, being here with her in a casual, informal, domestic sort of way. So comfortable. So right.
But now desire pushed inside him, struggling to have its way. A vision of Diana, sprawled among the mussed sheets of the four-poster mahogany bed that was just down the hall, formed, caught, and would not be dislodged.
And, almost as though she’d been waiting for it—maybe she had, maybe all she’d wanted was for the suspense to end as much as he did—she turned away from the counter and faced him. Their gazes caught across the kitchen, and her mouth opened in a soft little O.
In two strides, he was there next to her, his hands curving under and around her bent elbows, pulling her body to his. Where it fitted. Where it belonged.
He felt rather than heard her small gasp of pleasure and protest, and ignored the insistent pressure of her hands molded to his chest as he lowered his mouth to hers.
“No,” she whispered, even as she raised her chin to bare the softness of her neck to his lips. “God, Ethan, don’t tempt ….” Desperation swathed her voice, and he heard the unmistakable soft sigh of pleasure that faded into a groan when he finally captured her lips with his.
“Oh, yes,” he murmured, and a scorching heat flashed through him when she moved, pressing her hips into his, welcoming the swell of his pounding erection against her belly. “Jesus, Diana.”
He lost all but three points of coherent thought: the direction of the bedroom, the swell of breasts against him and the warm juncture of her thighs parting as he hoisted her against him.
Moments later, they were on the bed—he had no recollection of getting there—and he’d pinned her wrists into the feather pillows with one hand while the other tore off her clothes. He had no memory of what she was wearing, nor how he got it off, he just knew the taste of her mouth, sweet with wine and Diana, and the trembling of her body as he touched her.
Ethan was heavy and warm and solid, and Diana arched into him, reveling in the feel of strength and his pleasing, masculine scent. His mouth kissed and coaxed, slid and sucked, demanding her response, and all the while she kissed him back, she fought back the despair of knowing she would regret this moment of abject pleasure. But she needed it—Lord, she needed it. She needed him.
When he closed his mouth over one breast, Diana jolted in surprise from the change of smooth, sensual kissing to deep, driving passion. He sucked, pulled, hard, as though trying to take everything from her, trying to gain her satisfaction there, and she shuddered and trembled as pleasure rolled through her. It was good...so good.
Ethan’s breath came heavy and fast, fanning heat over her skin, and he released her wrists, pulling up and away to yank off his shirt. Diana couldn’t just lie there—she had to touch him, to slide her splayed hands through the hair on his chest, over the smooth sinews of his shoulders and along his ribs. His hair, as thick and dark as her own, curled wildly in all directions, giving him a darkly angelic look as he stared down at her with deep, burning eyes. The sight of his mouth, his glistening lower lip, firm and sensual, sent that driving lust through her again and she reached for his belt.
He groaned with relief when she yanked open the zipper and pulled him free, to hold his heavy erection in her hands, to stroke the throbbing length of him and to close her fingers around it.
And then, before she could catch her breath, he caught her hands again, taking them from their torture, and kicked off the rest of his clothes with a fierce, determined look on his face. She pulled free and slid her arms around him as he came up to kiss her, opening her legs and easing him in...slowly, tortuously, endlessly slowly, keeping him from slamming into her as she knew he needed to do.
It was exquisite torment, teasing him, teasing her, as she guided him, holding him back with her hand, sliding in...then out, then in a bit more, until they were both breathing like they’d just broken the surface of water. She wanted t
o scream with frustration and smile with control.
He trembled—his arms, his legs, his shuddering mouth as he tried to taste her everywhere at once. “Diana,” he murmured, desperation coloring his voice as his fingers slid between them. He found her hot and ready, and he brought her to the edge, teasing her just as she’d been teasing him.
And then, knowing she was ready for it all, she moved her hand, and with a shift of her hips he filled her. Completely.
She cried out, sobbing, shaking, climaxing. He followed, groaning her name in release.
And then...they slept.
* * *
“Toe-curling.”
The soft murmur in her ear awakened Diana and for a moment, just a moment, she allowed herself to bask. Ethan was next to her, warm and solid, his body textured with rough hair and soft skin and firm muscle. Oh, and naked.
Completely naked.
She couldn’t help a smile as he nuzzled her neck, softly and lightly, gentling her awake. “Mm-hm. I’d say that was toe-curling, mind-blowing sex,” he said, his words hot against her skin. His hand slid around to cup her breast, lightly stroking her responsive nipple as she felt herself begin to tighten and swell elsewhere.
It surprised her how readily her body answered to his touch, how quickly she became hot and damp. And when he eased himself closer, fitting together with her, Diana pushed away lingering sleepiness and opened her eyes to enjoy.
Some time later, the sun blazed brightly through the window and she woke once again. This time, with wakefulness came uncertainty and regret. Hesitation and distance.
As if sensing this, even though she hadn’t moved or spoken, Ethan opened his eyes and all at once they were gaze-locked. Close, so close, she couldn’t hide what was surely in her expression.
“Regrets already?” he asked, his voice mild but his body easing back. His eyes dipped into wariness and he didn’t move to touch her.
She drew in a breath to deny it—but what would be the purpose? Everything in her life was in an upheaval. She might as well own up to another disruption. Another shaft of pain. “I didn’t expect you to stay. I didn’t expect to ever see you again,” she managed and shifted away, her body sliding into the cooler area of the bed.
“Same here,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “I didn’t even want to come here, but Joe Cap guilted me into it.”
“Oh.” Diana couldn’t help the cold vise that closed over her heart. Nothing like a blast of honesty.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Even though you left Damariscotta so abruptly, as if you were ashamed or, well, regretful about what happened. Or you felt guilty, because of Wertinger.” He looked down at her hand, splayed on the bed between them as she held herself half upright. “That’s why I didn’t want to come. Not because I didn’t want to see you, but because I knew you didn’t want to see me.”
He flung back the sheets and bedcovers with a quick, smooth motion and was out of the bed before she could respond. He stalked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaving Diana with a pounding heart and the impression of a very nice set of legs topped by a very fine ass—as Mickey would say.
Moments later, he came back out and their eyes met across the room. “I guess I should be going,” he said. His face was blank. Empty. He’d pulled on his shorts.
Something shifted in her chest and Diana curled her fingers around the bedclothes. It’s now or never. “I saw the papers,” she said. “In your office.”
He stilled, confusion coming over his face. “Papers?”
“The ones, the notes about me. So I know that this is just...well, it doesn’t really mean anything,” she fumbled, spreading her hand to include the rumpled bed and the whole evening. “It’s just a side benefit,” she said, smiling crookedly, “of your research. And that’s okay. I’m just coming out of a relationship, and I don’t want—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, suddenly moving. He was back at the edge of the bed, standing there with his thighs bumping the mattress. “You saw my notes, about you?”
“Yes. The morning after...the storm. They were on the floor in your office, they’d blown all over in the wind,” she added defensively. “I wasn’t snooping around, but I couldn’t help but see...‘the subject.’ Me being the subject. So...I knew. I understand.”
Comprehension dawned in his eyes. “Is that why you got so...cold? Why you left so quickly?”
“Well, partly,” she said, unwilling to completely lay herself bare. “I wasn’t interested—I mean, I live here, and you’re in Jersey, and there wasn’t really any point ….”
“Is that why you left? Because you thought you were a research project to me?” This time, his voice was sharp and cold.
Diana nodded, unsure why he seemed so angry. “I’d just broken up with Jonathan—something I realized was long overdue—and I wasn’t about to let myself get hurt again. Surely you can understand that,” she added with a bit of flintiness in her own voice.
“I can completely understand that,” he said, his voice softening. “But, Diana, you need to know...I’m falling in love with you.”
Her throat went dry with shock and emotion. “What?” was all she could say.
“You’re not just a research project to me. Yes, I was making notes and observing, but it was an excuse to be around you. To spend time with you, knowing you were already involved with someone else. It was the only way I could justify...how I felt about you.” He was on the bed now, sitting next to her, reaching to lay his capable, tanned hand over her narrow, pale one.
She looked up at him, her heart slamming in her chest as she tried to comprehend—to believe—what he was saying to her. It was impossible to accept. It didn’t make sense. Why her? Why would he want her?
“I...but we live so far away,” she said lamely. Knowing it didn’t make sense—but the whole situation didn’t make sense. She wasn’t his type. “From each other.”
Ethan shrugged, his eyes still on her. “That’s not a deal-breaker.” But that wariness was back and she could see that he was beginning to retreat.
She didn’t know what to say. Did he really mean it? “I didn’t expect...it never occurred to me that you could...feel that way. About me.”
“Well, maybe you could at least tell me if you’d want to see me again,” he said. “That’s a start.”
“I definitely want to see you again,” she said, her palms damp and her insides fluttering. Joy began to fill her. “Definitely. For certain.”
He smiled, and she felt as if something warm and liquid rushed over her body. And then he eased onto the bed next to her and that warm, liquidy feeling became pleasure and contentment.
TWELVE
“I saw him too!” exclaimed Pauline Whitten, fluttering blood-red fingernails at her throat. She was at the quilt shop because it was a Wednesday and didn’t interfere with her Thursday Scrabble games. “And I thought, I thought to myself, he looked just like a murderer—with those beady eyes and slouching shoulders.”
Diana choked discreetly behind her cup of tea and settled it into its hand-painted saucer. She reached for a scone, trying not to let the giggle escape from between her lips.
Despite—or maybe because of—the trials and problems with her law firm, it was good to be back in Damariscotta.
“I called Chief Tettmueller right away and reported him.” Helen Galliday barreled on with her own description, her voice overriding that of Pauline’s. “I told him I saw that man take three boxes of matches from the Green Oaks Grille and a handful of toothpicks, and if that ain't the sign of a vandalizing-murderer, why I don't know my own grandson!” She snapped her head in a vehement nod and dumped three lumps of sugar into her own teacup.
Diana had only been back in Damariscotta since yesterday morning, and already she'd been invited—or, rather, summoned—to tea twice, lunch once, and was being strong-armed into joining the quilting ladies for dinner that evening. They seemed to be intent on keeping her occupied wh
ile at the same time doing their own detective work and finding Aunt Belinda’s murderer—not to mention blocking quilts and selling them to the slowing stream of summer tourists.
If it weren’t so horrible a situation, Diana would have found it even more amusing. As it was, she chalked it up to motherly concern—at least, in everyone except Helen Galliday—and went with the assumption that Joe Cap was working on the case even harder than the gaggle of ladies.
However, in the grand scheme of things, Diana decided it was better for them to expend their energy staking out innocent tourists and identifying “suspects” rather than sticking their collective noses into her personal life. The very first question she’d been asked yesterday at tea was about Jonathan, and when she confessed that they were no longer together, a frightening, calculating gleam settled in Helen Galliday’s eyes. The subsequent inquisition included enough implications about Ethan that Diana was bound and determined not to let the ladies know that she and Ethan were already...whatever they were.
More than three weeks ago, in early August, he’d come to Boston to tell her the results of the autopsy. Since then, they’d seen each other twice: once they’d met in New York, a fairly central location, and once he’d come back to Boston.
And the weekends had been filled with relaxation, conversation, and, of course, great sex. Really, really great sex. Her stomach became all fluttery just thinking about it.
“Are you feeling all right, Diana?” asked Rose Bettinger suddenly. “You look a little flushed. Could be coming down with something. ”
Diana blinked and realized all eyes had settled on her—including Helen Galliday’s all-knowing, all-seeing ones. “I’m feeling fine,” she said. “I got a little bit of sun yesterday. So what did Chief Tettmueller say when you called and reported your suspicions?”
Helen took a long slurp from her tea before replying. “He took down the information and told me he'd check up on that man—but in the meantime, he says, ‘you ladies keep your eyes peeled for other suspicious-looking strangers in town.’ I told him I'd be happy to take on some of the investigation myself—interviewing B&B hosts, and restaurant owners to see if they knew anything...but that Chief Tettmueller says it's better for me to be discreet because that way I won't tip them off that I'm working with the Department on the case.”
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 24
