Texas Love Song

by Altonya Washington

  She moved closer and pressed a fist into the center of his chest. “Please don’t say anything.”

  “Hell, Setha.” He rolled his eyes.

  “I think I’m close, Khouri.” She flattened one hand to his chest and the other to her own. “I’m closer than I’ve ever been before. I know it.”

  “Doesn’t make me feel better knowin’ that.”

  “Look, Khouri. Carson Arroyo’s name was on that attendance list at the funeral today.”

  “Son of a b,” Khouri hissed and left the bed. “Guy’s not only psychotic, he’s stupid, as well,” he muttered.

  Setha moved into the spot Khouri had vacated. “I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  Khouri stopped just short of the master bath. “Because he signed the attendance book?”

  “I think he has a statement to make. He wants everyone to know he’s doing this and the only way we have a chance in hell of stopping him is to find out why he’s doing it.”

  Chapter 11

  The next morning found Setha in the midst of another cooking spree. She wasn’t suffering from a case of nerves, though, more like a case of happiness. She knew it was too soon to feel such bliss, but the feeling was there and there was no denying that. Would it go beyond that? she wondered. If her not-so-secret admirer kept turning up like a bad penny, she couldn’t be sure.

  Khouri was already out of bed, but didn’t let his hostess know that. Instead, he took a remote spot at the rear of the kitchen and watched her move around the space as she cooked. Since the day they’d met—officially met—he’d been telling himself that he was only so infatuated because of the circumstances of their first meeting. Then, he was telling himself that it was because she was so damn good to look at. While those reasons definitely had their merit, he now knew that there were lots more.

  He’d always told his sisters to let the guy get to know the person inside before rushing into the physical part. That was simply a ploy to protect their virtue. Personally, he’d never taken the time to get to know a woman on the inside—never really cared about it. The woman never seemed to care, either, so all was well.

  Then, Setha Melendez literally barreled into his world and he found himself reevaluating all he thought was right. There was so much more he wanted to know about her. What he already knew had him craving her company to the point of obsession. Approaching her at the funeral had nothing to do with coaxing information about her pursuer and everything with wanting to simply be with her.

  Bowing his head, Khouri brought his hands to his face and sighed. He had to at least try at snapping out of whatever spell she had cast over him.

  The sound caught Setha’s ear and she turned from the stove. A ready smile curved her mouth before she caught herself as if realizing she was giving away too much of her emotion.

  “Hungry?” she asked, casting a speculative eye about her kitchen. “I sure hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starved.” He gave her a playful frown. “This about nerves again?”

  She laughed. “No, it’s not about nerves. Promise.”

  “Regrets?” he probed, tilting his head to one side.

  “No.” Her wide, onyx-colored eyes sparkled briefly before she looked away. “But…”

  Khouri waited.

  She went to grab a dish towel and wiped her hands. “It’s just I—I don’t want you to think this is the way I do business.”

  He shortened the distance between them then. “Hey?” He pulled the towel from her fingers and tossed it to the dish rack. “I hope it is. You’d be the best damn business meeting I’ve ever had. Bet on that.”

  “Khouri…” Her cheeks heated. She had hoped for a little more seriousness on his part.

  He sobered a bit, cornering her in the angle at the stove and the counter. “Are you tryin’ to tell me you won’t sleep with me again?”

  Cheeks positively burning then, Setha turned her face away. “We didn’t sleep.”

  He put his hands on her, brushing his fingers against her thighs when he tugged the hem of his shirt she wore. “No, we didn’t exactly sleep, did we?”

  “We’ve got business, Khouri….”

  “Would you like to have sex again, Setha?”

  “Yes.” The word sounded closer to a moan that was silenced when his mouth fell upon hers.

  She didn’t need to be coaxed into a response. Eagerly, she splayed her fingers across the enviable expanse of his defined torso. Her nails curved into his pecs when she stood on her toes and deepened the pressure of her tongue in his mouth. His hands delved beneath the shirt. Simultaneously, he squeezed her bottom while caressing her sex.

  “Khouri…do more,” she pleaded when she felt him barely spread her and barely ease a fingertip inside her. “Take me back to bed.” The words sounded close to a purr.

  He chuckled amid the kiss. “What’s wrong with the counter?”

  Setha’s laughter ended on a gasp when he deepened the caress and made love to her with more fingers. She didn’t care where they were as long as he didn’t stop.

  Khouri used his free hand to probe into the shirt and help himself to the suppleness of her breasts. He kissed his way down the line of her neck, stopping briefly to nibble the satiny flesh at her collarbone. Both hands cupping her breasts, he hid his face in the molasses-dark valley between them and inhaled. Setha bit her lip, captivated by his gorgeous profile when he angled his head to suckle a nipple.

  Sensation ran wild in the kitchen. Khouri was seconds away from freeing himself, when the phone rang…and kept ringing. The machine answered after four rings, but the caller was clearly set on speaking with the mistress of the house.

  Khouri had Setha perched neatly atop the counter. The ringing of the phone once again persisted, however, sending tension down like an anvil. Instinctively, Khouri knew Setha’s trembling had nothing to do with him…but her unease at over who the caller may have been.

  “To hell with this,” he muttered and went to snatch the receiver from its mount near the refrigerator.

  Setha watched, her expression a cross between amazement and disbelief.

  “Yeah?” The greeting came off as harsh as the look shadowing his appealing features. “Yes. No—no, you have the right number. Good morning.”

  Setha blinked, uncertainty creeping into her expression when his voice softened.

  “Ms. Melendez is busy just now, could I take a message? Mmm-hmm…sure I’ll remind her—no problem. Good morning to you, too.” He replaced the phone. “That was Valerie,” he announced coolly, referring to Setha’s assistant. “She doesn’t want you to forget to sign off on the requisitions for the center.”

  Obviously relieved by the caller’s identity, she made a mental note to handle the requisitions first thing. Her curiosity kicked in when she tuned in to Khouri on the phone again. It sounded as if he was speaking to friends that time. Friends who owned a security firm.

  “Khouri?” she whispered, wriggling down off the counter while fixing his shirt she wore.

  In no mood to listen, Khouri simply turned his back while making arrangements for a consultation to obtain a quote and set dates for a security system installation.

  “…right, but we’re headed out of town day after tomorrow…Mmm-hmm…Right…All right, sounds good. Thanks.” Once again, Khouri replaced the receiver. That time, he received a slap to his shoulder and turned to face Setha’s frown.

  “You had no right to do that.”

  “No right at all, Ms. Melendez?” he challenged, taking her wrist in one hand while the other disappeared beneath the hem of the shirt. “Hmm?” he inquired, watching as her lashes fluttered in response to his probing fingers.

  “This is my home,” she managed to say. Barely. “I make the decisions.”

  “Trouble is, you’re not makin’ any
to protect yourself, sugar.”

  All the while, he caressed her intimately. Setha couldn’t stifle her response. “I don’t want my family to know,” she moaned.

  Temper heating, Khouri forgot his arousal. “You didn’t see the way you just shut down when that damn phone started to ring.”

  “I was just caught off guard is all,” she argued though she was rattled by the sound of his voice. “Hasn’t that ever happened to you?”

  “Not like that.”

  “Right.” She pushed at his chest. “Don’t big strong men get startled from time to time or is that emotion reserved for us little ole gals?”

  “Stop.” He leaned against the refrigerator and eased his hands into his trouser pockets. “Stop tryin’ to make it out to be about that. I’m not one of your brothers. You won’t pull me off topic by getting me all riled up about bein’ a chauvinist.”

  Setha blinked and couldn’t ignore the shiver that danced up her spine. He figured that quickly—too quickly. It was her preferred manner of getting out of uncomfortable talks with her family. She was usually out of the vicinity by the time they’d figured out what she’d done.

  “It is about that, Khouri. It’s always about that—always about strength and who has it. Men don’t think women have enough to fill a thimble.”

  “Christ, Seth, is that what you think?”

  She pressed her lips together, anger slowly fading from hearing her name shortened on his tongue.

  Khouri was too heated to pay attention to her reaction. He rubbed all ten fingers through the cropped riot of curls atop his head and pushed off the refrigerator.

  “Why can’t this just be about me being scared that some idiot out there might be tryin’ to kill you?” He shook his head, bright eyes locked and unwavering on her. “I’ll do what I have to in order to prevent that.”

  Setha began to shake her head then, too. “Why? You—you barely know me.”

  “Hmph.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “One reason is because it’s the right thing to do.” He looked at her then. “The other is because I barely know you. I damn well intend to have a chance to. So could you please stop tryin’ to be a Billie Badass and let me help you?”

  Blinking and nodding, she made her silent promise to him.

  Khouri turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen entryway. “I like my toast dry,” he said over his shoulder.

  “I didn’t make any toast.” Her voice sounded small.

  He kept walking. “You better get to it then.”

  “Where are you going?” She was smiling then.

  “To get one of my cards. It’ll have all my numbers on it.” He stopped to look back at her. “Email, snail address, you can even hit me up on Facebook or tweet me if that floats your boat.” He made a move to turn.

  “Khouri?” She waited for him to look her way again. “Thank you.”

  He smirked, took the time to graze her body hidden beneath his shirt and then pivoted about. “Finish my breakfast,” he called.

  * * *

  Avra was finishing up her breakfast at The Archway, a local eatery not far from Ross Review. She’d hardly picked at her food, more interested in picking through the notes she’d been collecting on the evolving story behind Wade Cornelius’s death. No one spoke on it during the funeral but the news was out that the man most certainly did not die of natural causes. He’d been stabbed once, but the cut nicked an artery. He had bled out slowly while trying to make his way from the secluded home he kept across town to get help.

  Why would someone want him dead? Avra chewed the edge of a fork handle. Every instinct told her it all had to do with a story. Could that story have been about Melendez?

  Then there was the news she’d received from David and Noah the night before. The research had turned up another very interesting link.

  “Eating alone? Unsurprising.”

  Avra grimaced when the familiar rough baritone touched her ears. “Seeing as how we’ve got no business to discuss—thank God—there’s no need to be civil.” She kept her eyes downcast.

  “May I join you?” Samson asked. “I’m sure you’re not expecting anyone.”

  She gave him a phony smile. “Table’s all yours. I was just leaving.”

  “Be a pal, Avra. Stay a little longer and trade barbs with me.”

  “Mornin’, Mr. M.”

  Samson’s dark eyes shifted slowly off Avra and he grinned at the young man who’d approached the table. “What’s goin’ on, Jared?”

  “Get you a drink, Mr. M?”

  “Just coffee.” Sam turned back to Avra then. “Black—no sugar.” He watched her until she met his gaze. “Ms. Ross’ll have another—she takes just a trace of cream in hers…right, Av?”

  Were she stronger, she could’ve bent the fork handle in half. She was just that tense if her clenched jaw was any indication.

  “That’ll be fine, Jared,” she told the young waiter.

  “See?” Sam’s grin broadened in a roguish way. “Isn’t this nice?” He unbuttoned the champagne-colored suit coat and settled his big frame into a chair.

  “Did you know all the Melendez murder victims shared the same address?” she asked, eager to wipe the satisfaction from his all-too-gorgeous face. Her plan succeeded.

  “How’d you—?”

  “Oh, surely you didn’t think this was a dead-end story?” she cut into his question, leaning across the table to study him with exaggerated curiosity. “We’ve had people on this since the first victim turned up.”

  Samson took a minute to scan the semicrowded restaurant dining room. “Could be a waste of time following up on that, you know?”

  “Why? Because Ross only writes fluff for Melendez? I wonder why that is?”

  “It’s your paper.” He waved a hand. “Maybe you should have a talk with your father.” His eyes flashed with sudden intrigue. “What’d you mean about all the victims sharing the same address?”

  “Just that.” Avra relaxed in her chair. “Their work applications at MM all show the same address. At one time or another, anyway.”

  “How could you know that if it’s—?”

  “What? Confidential?” She let out an abrupt, humorless laugh and tugged the lace cuff of her navy blouse. “Sam, Sam…I know the good ole boy world is alive and kickin’ in your neck of the woods, but this is the electronic age. This wasn’t all that hard to dig up. Only question now is—where is it?” She stabbed a page with the fork she held. “The address doesn’t turn up on any map or GPS locator—interesting, huh? Maybe you should be having a talk with your father, to?”

  Jared returned with the coffees then.

  “Put mine in a to-go cup, hon.” Avra gathered her things. “Mr. M will be dining alone.”

  * * *

  “All this contact information just for me? I hope I won’t make anyone jealous,” Setha teased.

  Khouri smiled but continued making the cut into a portion of juicy beef sausage. “I’m a lone wolf, Seth—my love life is a sad story.”

  “But certainly not a lonely one.”

  Intrigued, Khouri brought his luminous gaze to her face. “You’ve asked about me?”

  Setha barely shrugged. “Wasn’t hard to do—especially when my mostly female staff heard I was meeting with you. I swear I never had so many offers for help.” She reached for her mug and held it poised inches from her mouth. “I believe the term ‘heartbreaker’ was tossed about a time or two.”

  Khouri’s playful wince was followed by a soft chuckling. “Lies,” he swore while focusing on the folder of notes she’d collected.

  “Hmph.” Setha finished her coffee and then left the table to prepare a second helping of the sausage and egg breakfast.

  “Seth?”

  “Yeah?” She didn’t turn a
way from covering the biscuits.

  “Look at this.”

  Setha finished at the counter and then rounded the small kitchen table to peer over Khouri’s shoulder. He held the John Holloway obit and read from it while she looked on.

  “…survived by his wife, Vita, and two sons, Shane and Carson.”

  Dazedly, Setha backed away and slowly reclaimed her place at the table. “Could be coincidence,” she breathed.

  “Could be.” He stroked his jaw. “Carson’s not a very common name, though.”

  “No, not very.” Setha held her head in her hands and groaned.

  Chapter 12

  Setha was smiling and on the verge of a full-blown grin. The credit for her easy mood went to the stack of glossies she’d pulled from the main group of possible photos. Not all the pictures were lurid depictions of women as sex objects. Some were quite good—artistic even.

  She smirked, brushing her fingers across a picture that held a Western motif. She liked it in spite of the fact that the woman was dressed in chaps and not much else. She leaned against the hood of a well-maintained but dusty early model Lincoln Continental that was parked in front of a saloon.

  Unfortunately, the shot couldn’t keep her preoccupied forever. She set it aside and then buried her face in her hands as memory surged. Carson Arroyo is Carson Holloway?

  At least she knew this wasn’t all about her. Some psycho hadn’t singled her out for some sick reason. While the circumstances were still grim, the knowledge of that was somewhat comforting. But could she tell her family? She knew Khouri wanted that and she was no fool. She’d love to share it with them but knew they would just as soon hunt down Carson Arroyo and kill him as to look at him.

  There was reason behind this. The man wasn’t just some mindless creep out to hurt whoever crossed his path. Sadly, he didn’t possess all the necessary skills to articulate his issues. Moreover, the need for vengeance had overruled all other sensible thought. She couldn’t bring her family in on this—not yet. She needed to know if he was just lashing out at his father’s employer because the man had worked too hard. Had Carson lashed out at Wade Cornelius for perpetuating a story that made his father look like a broke man who saw suicide as his only way out? Or had his father’s employer played more of a role in contributing to the man’s death? Had Wade Cornelius reported on a suicide that really wasn’t?