The Gems of Vice and Greed (Contemporary Gothic Romance Book 3)

by Colleen Gleason

  It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that he could come by later tonight and hang around to see if the specter showed up again, but the daddy gene he hadn’t realized he owned until a few months ago shut that idea down immediately. He wasn’t comfortable leaving Stephanie home alone overnight. And even if he did, he wasn’t certain how he’d explain that he was going to spend the night at her boss’s house.

  Teens could definitely be a complication.

  “Right.” Leslie seemed pragmatic as she set the flashlight down on a small table in the foyer. “And if she doesn’t reappear…well, maybe I could chalk it up to a— No, it wasn’t a dream. I don’t care how crazy it sounds; it was not a dream. I was wide awake. I was freezing and I heard the music, and I felt the hardwood floor under my feet.” Then her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “I’ve never sleep-walked in my life, so don’t even think about that.”

  “I wasn’t!” He grinned at the fierce expression on her face. She was all kinds of cute when she was determined. “So, do you want to go back down there?” He gestured to the patch of wall covering the hidden stairway.

  “I do, but I can’t right now.” She picked up the cell phone she’d left on the foyer table and checked the time. “The tile guy is going to be here in fifteen minutes, and then I have a conference call, and after that I’ve got to make decisions on window treatments so I can get the order placed with the decorator before John Fischer and Iva get here—”

  “John Fischer and Iva?”

  Leslie looked distracted. “He’s a writer…I think. You know, Jeremy Fischer? It’s him, but he’s undercover. And Iva Nath—an acquaintance of mine from Philly—wants to see if she can sense a ghostly presence here. I’m almost afraid to tell her about last night.”

  “Why?” he asked, though he recognized the name Nath as belonging to Leslie’s uptight lawyer escort. His stomach sank a little.

  “Because I don’t think I’ll be able to get her to leave after she hears that I saw a ghost.” Leslie laughed. “She’s a little intense.”

  Nath. How did H. Gideon fit into the picture with this Iva? And this John Fischer, maybe Jeremy Fischer, guy? Declan wanted to ask, but he realized it would make him sound like he cared too much—or was being too nosy. But all of her other visitors were “the tile guy,” “the decorator,” “a conference call”—none of them had a name.

  At least it wasn’t G-with-a-heart…except…oh, damn. G. Gideon.

  Gideon Nath.

  Declan’s great mood soured, but he kept his voice even. “I can come back and remove that drywall in front of the hidden door if you want—what time is Iva coming by?” If he was there he might be able to casually find out what the deal was with the Naths… Good grief. Was he actually considering rearranging his day in order to do that?

  “She’s coming at eleven, and thank you, Declan, but that’s not necessary. I know how busy you are. Didn’t you just get a big new project?” she added with a big grin.

  Right. He got the message on that loud and clear: get back to work, O menial laborer of mine. Just like Bethany Hamberg, once she’d gotten what she wanted from him. His mood soured. “That’s right,” he said. “I’ll just get going now.”

  Leslie seemed to notice his change of mood, for she looked at him funny, but then her phone rang. “Ugh, sorry, but I have to take this—it’s the plumber I’ve been trying to reach for two days now.” With an abashed smile, she answered the phone, leaving Declan to show himself out.

  To give her credit, Leslie did walk with him back to the kitchen and gave a little wave as he walked through the door. She even followed him out into the yard and looked over when he gestured to the empty tuna can.

  “See you later, Declan,” she called, covering the phone.

  Right. Maybe he’d check in on that massage thing at Beau Monde Salon. He could work out a few kinks—both physically and mentally.

  ~ NINE ~

  * * *

  “Oh, look—Orbra’s Tea House is giving out free tea samples!” Emily Danube smiled up at Declan as they pushed their way through the crowd of teenagers and parents toward the bleachers.

  The high school football stadium was packed everywhere—in the seats, walkways, and concessions and rest room lines. It was Homecoming, after all, and because of the upcoming multiyear reunion, there was an unusual number of people at the game, at least according to Emily.

  “We’ll be lucky if we can get a seat in the bleachers close enough to see the girls,” she’d told him when they met up in the parking lot.

  It hadn’t been planned for them to meet up, at least on Declan’s part, but he didn’t mind that they had. After all, he was going to be sitting alone anyway, because Brad Beatty—who he’d normally hang out with—would be up in the press box covering the game for the paper. Dec hadn’t been in town long enough to get to know many other people besides a few of Steph’s friends’ parents.

  “It sure got cold overnight,” Emily said as they pushed their way through the masses of people to reach the temporary gazebo Orbra had set up for her sponsorship. “Normally I’d go for hot chocolate, but tea has fewer calories—and it smells delicious.” She smiled up at him, the tip of her nose red with cold and her breath making soft little puffs in the chilly air.

  “That’s Michigan for you,” Declan agreed. “One day it’s seventy degrees, and the next it’s forty. Part of the Lake Michigan effect.” He was glad he’d worn a hat and had gloves; it was going to get really chilly once the sun went down.

  “Tea samples!” called Orbra from behind her table. There was a flurry of activity inside the small square space, which was enclosed by a U-shape of tables and covered by a temporary awning. Four people worked busily, filling paper cups from the tall silver canisters on a table in the back. “Get your tea samples!”

  “Mmm. This smells good,” said Emily, taking a small cup. The scents of cinnamon and orange wafted through the air.

  “It’s my own special blend. It’s got whole star anise in it. Perfect for autumn,” Orbra said.

  “Hi there, Declan,” said Cherry with a particularly smoldering grin. “You ready to come in and try some hot yoga? Anytime you want, young man, you just let me know—I do private lessons too!”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He laughed, enjoying the meaningless flirtation—though Emily looked back and forth between him and Cherry as if she was scandalized.

  He accepted the steaming tea she offered him just as a woman he realized was Leslie turned around from where she’d been digging out a new sleeve of plastic-wrapped cups from a large box.

  “Stop bothering Declan, auntie,” she said. She met his gaze for just a sec as she handed the man next to him a cup of tea, and Declan was aware of a sudden jolt of heat that had nothing to do with the cup he was holding. Her eyes looked very blue, partly because she was wearing a thick hat knitted of cobalt and cream with a big puffball on the top. She looked adorable with the tip of her nose red and her hands in bulky fingerless mittens, and Declan forgot all about Gideon-with-a-heart and the fact that he was merely a laborer in her eyes.

  “Declan gets sweaty enough in his smithy, Aunt Cherry—he doesn’t need your hot yoga too!”

  Whoa. He blinked, then hid his surprise by taking a big slurp of tea. Too hot. Damn. He nearly scalded the inside of his mouth, and managed to hide the fact behind a nervous smile. What did one say to something like that? Was that comment meant to be as flirtatious as it sounded…or was it just meant to be a rebuke for Cherry?

  Not only did he not know, but clearly Emily, who was still looking back and forth between him and the tea ladies, did. “We’d better get some seats before the marching band comes out, Declan, or we’ll be standing all night. See you later, Orbra. Thanks for the tea! It’s wonderful.” She took him by the arm and tugged him away.

  Before Declan realized it, he’d been replaced at the front of the tea line by other eager customers and was back to navigating through the crowd with Emily alongside him. He c
ouldn’t believe how many people were here for a high school football game. It was a mob scene. Wall-to-wall people. He didn’t ever remember it being like this when he was in high school…though, come to think of it, he’d been on the field playing tight end, so he wouldn’t ever have experienced the crowds—except what he saw in the stands.

  Shortly after he and Emily managed to find two seats in the bleachers—really, it was so packed it was more like one and a half seats—she asked casually, “Who was that with Cherry and Orbra back there?”

  Warning bells jangled in his mind. This was not a good sign—this subtle possessiveness, the taking of his arm and directing him away, this questioning—no matter how casual. She was a nice woman, Emily, and great looking, and their daughters were friends…but they hadn’t even been on a date. Or kissed.

  And, well…there was Leslie.

  Who may or may not be seeing a hotshot lawyer named Gideon from Philadelphia.

  And who was his employer, he reminded himself. Well, a client, really.

  Who was mostly interested in him getting some work done for her—

  Not that kind of work, he told his hormones when they leaped to attention at the double entendre.

  “That’s Cherry’s niece, Leslie van Dorn. She bought Shenstone House.”

  “Oh, right. I saw the article in the paper the other day.” Emily sounded less than enthused. “She doesn’t look anything like the photo that was in the article.”

  He had no idea what she meant by that, so didn’t comment. “I’m restoring the wrought iron stairway for her in the front foyer,” Declan said, then realized maybe he should have just changed the subject. Because now he felt Emily stiffen a little next to him, and then move a little closer. Even though they were already thigh to thigh on the hard bleacher seat.

  “I’d love to come over and see you working sometime,” she said, looking up at him with a very warm smile. She was wearing a warm hat, too, with a big POM MOM stitched on the front of it in silver glitter. Her cloudlike blond hair sprang in soft, perfect curls from beneath the hat. Little pompom earrings dangled from her ears, and her lips were expertly colored in with a subtle shade of pink. She—or maybe it was her coat and scarf—smelled like some very nice expensive perfume.

  “Sure,” he heard himself saying before he could stop himself. “Come by anytime. I’m usually in the smithy from noon till four or so, depending how things are going.”

  “Great. How about I come by on Monday? The salon is closed on Mondays, and then I could cook you dinner after. I make a mean lasagna. The girls can do their homework together.”

  “That might work,” he said cautiously. “I’ll have to see what’s on my schedule that evening. You know how it is with teenagers—they always have things going on they don’t tell you about, then spring it on you at the last minute.” Please have something going on, Steph. Anything.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like Emily. It was just that…whatever twinge of interest he might have had before meeting Leslie van Dorn had somehow fizzled out. And now he felt like crap, because clearly Emily was very interested, and thought he was too.

  Had he given her that impression?

  Hell, how was a guy to know where the line was between being friendly and being interested? Dammit.

  Their daughters carpooled, so of course he was friendly and hospitable to the woman who drove his daughter around. He wasn’t an idiot. Somehow, suddenly becoming the father of a teenaged girl had made even his personal life more complicated. And for all he knew, Stephanie might have helped exacerbate the situation by encouraging her.

  Emily was about to say something else when the sounds of the marching band reached their ears, and everyone bolted to their feet to welcome the musicians—who were followed by the cheerleaders and pom squad. The football team was introduced to the roar of the crowd, the national anthem was sung, and then the home team kicked off to their visitors.

  After that, Declan made certain to be very interested in the game (which was easy, because it was a good game against a nearby rival school), and to talk to everyone around them instead of limiting his conversation to Emily. He exchanged knowledgeable comments and some lamentations over bad plays with a few parents of both genders, all of whom were rabid football fans and not just there to watch the marching band, cheerleaders, or pom dancers.

  The game clock showed ten seconds left in the first half, and the home team had possession. The ball was hiked and the quarterback caught it just as the clock ran out.

  “Halftime!” squealed Emily, grabbing Declan’s arm just as everyone else in the stands surged to their feet to watch the Sematauk quarterback complete a beautiful pass to one of his running backs in the end zone.

  “Touchdown!” shouted the announcer as Declan and the other football fans went crazy, high-fiving at the last-minute score. “And Sematauk’s up by ten at the half.”

  “Halftime!” exclaimed Emily again. “We get to watch our girls!”

  Declan was still talking with the guy on the other side of him about that perfect touchdown pass when the squad came out onto the field with their shiny pompoms and long, slender legs.

  “Here they are!” said Emily. “Watch, Dec!”

  He was watching, but apparently he wasn’t allowed to talk at the same time—at least, according to Pom Parent Code. Some unrecognizable rap song blared from the speakers, distorted and half-muted at the same time, as the girls shimmied and kicked in time.

  “That’s my daughter there, in the front row,” he said apologetically to the man next to him. “The tallest blond with the highest ponytail.” It was hard to differentiate between the girls, but that was the best way.

  “Stephanie Lillard’s your daughter?” The man next to him smiled and offered a hand. “I’m Greg Hammady.”

  “Hammady? You’d be—uh—Paul’s father, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Declan Zyler. I guess I would probably have met you tomorrow night anyway. I understand I’m to be at your house for pictures for the Homecoming Dance at six o’clock, right?”

  “I think so. Nancy, the photos are at six tomorrow night, right?” Greg turned to the woman next to him, obviously his wife and clearly the keeper of the family calendar. “This is Stephanie’s father, Declan.”

  “Great to meet you,” she said, offering a mittened hand. “Yes, we’ll feed the group—I guess there are five couples going—and then we’ll do pictures at six. Then off to the dance by seven.”

  “Oh, you’ll be there too?” Emily asked, looking up at Declan. He could already see the invitation forming on her lips, and he swiftly turned back to the Hammadys.

  “Thanks so much for hosting everyone,” he said. “It’s a lot different than when I was a teen.”

  “Watch them, Dec!” Emily gave him a gentle nudge from the other side. “This is my favorite part.”

  As soon as the pom squad finished their routine, Declan excused himself to go up to the press box and say hi to Brad. Somehow, he managed to get away without Emily insisting on going with him. As he jogged up the bleachers, taking two steps at a time as he dodged the people who were descending, he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about blowing her off.

  He knew what it was like to be blown off. To think there was something going on, but really there wasn’t.

  Although he hadn’t really done anything to make Emily Danube think they were together…unlike Bethany, who’d teased and flirted and made herself very available to him until he finally succumbed and went to bed with her in between sessions working on the wrought iron railing of her Antebellum gazebo.

  He’d done some very fine work there, at her charming Charleston home—both on the railing and in the bedroom. Even now, he couldn’t contain the ghost of a smile. Fine work indeed. But Bethany hadn’t been interested in anything more than a fling, and once she was finished flinging, Declan had been relegated to nothing more than laborer status.

  He’d learned his lesson, no doubt about it. New rule: no sleeping with the cli
ent. Made things a helluva lot easier when it came time to collect his check and move on to the next project.

  Which was why it wasn’t the greatest of ideas to be noticing Leslie van Dorn’s bluer-than-blue eyes, the way her jeans cupped such a nice ass, and how she softened the minute he mentioned the stray cat and its broken tail. Not to mention the way she got all businesslike and frosty when she was explaining about hiring his daughter. An interesting woman, to say the least.

  “Yo, Dec!” Brad was glad to see him.

  “How goes it, bud? Hey, any chance I can watch the rest of the game up here?” Declan asked. “You’ve got one hell of a view going for you.”

  And there weren’t any clingy pom moms either.

  ________

  Leslie was so busy serving free tea samples she completely missed the halftime show—which included pom squad, marching band (playing a bunch of eighties songs that had been re-popularized by Glee), and Mayor Underwhite announcing the Homecoming court.

  Fortunately, things settled down once the game started again, and she was able to take a break, leaning a hip against one of Orbra’s tables as she tried out a sample of the tea herself. She’d been working so hard that she’d taken off her down vest and handwarmers after a while, but now that she wasn’t moving as much, Leslie pulled the vest back on.

  “You’re going to have to get moving on things,” Cherry said to her as she picked up her own cup of tea. “Or you’re going to miss the boat.”

  “What are you talking about?” Leslie was genuinely confused.

  “With Declan. That was Emily Danube with him when he came up to the table—didn’t you see her? The tiny blond with the big boobs?” Cherry calling anyone tiny was rather amusing, for she was only five foot two (not to mention platinum blond) herself. “She practically dragged him away—did you see that?”