Rule Breaker

by Joanne Rock

  “If this was my house, I’d never leave it.” She ran a hand along the whitewashed log wall, then bent to sniff the tulips, a smile curving her lips when she straightened. “Do you come up here often?”

  “Not as much the last two years, since I started overseeing Mesa Falls.” He should leave her now that he’d shown her the suite, but his boots seemed nailed to the floor.

  He could still feel the softness of her skin against his lips from when he’d kissed the back of her hand. Still smell the hint of flowers and spices that scented her skin.

  Maybe his thoughts showed in his expression, because the silence stretched out between them, awareness crowding the suite. April folded her arms, opening her mouth to speak and then closing it.

  The second time she tried, she blurted, “I should get ready.”

  “Of course. I should, as well.” He nodded, giving her space even though that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted her in his arms, his lips fastened to hers as he kissed his fill. “And we can drive back to the ranch tonight if you like. It’s your call.”

  “I know. And thank you for that.” Her tone softened, the stiffness in her shoulders easing a fraction. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’m more concerned that if I don’t get ready for a visit to your aunt’s place now, we won’t make it out of the house tonight at all.”

  Her words, so unexpected and so wholly welcome, shot a jolt of pure lust through him. The idea that she was thinking along the same lines as him, that the attraction was every bit as unwieldy for her, threatened to torch the last of his restraint. And yet, the notion served as a reminder that business came first with April. She wouldn’t sacrifice her work for personal pleasure. Logically, he applauded that. It kept them on the same page. Ensured they understood one another.

  But no matter how often life had taught him to be disciplined and focused, a part of him wondered what it might be like to not overthink what was happening between them. To follow the heat and attraction and to hell with the consequences.

  “Just let me know when you’re ready,” he managed as he finally unfastened his feet from the floor. “And I’ll gladly show you how good things could be between us.”

  Turning on his boot heel, he walked out and closed the door behind him.

  * * *

  An hour later, April tried to put the simmering attraction to Weston out of her mind as she accepted a cup of tea in a mug covered with butterflies from his aunt Fallon. Seated beside him in the living room of Fallon Reed’s Alpine-style chalet perched high over the town of Kalispell, it wasn’t easy to forget that she planned to spend the night with him.

  He seemed to take up all the space in Fallon’s small living area, his long legs and broad shoulders within touching distance as he and April shared a love seat. They’d had no choice but to sit there, since the only other chair in the room was Fallon’s recliner with her sweater draped over the back and her crossword puzzle in progress on the seat. With steel-gray hair in a pixie cut and big sunflower earrings, their hostess seemed an interesting study in contrasts. Her leggings and long cashmere sweater were fashionably cut and modern, the fabric expensive-looking. High-end dishes sat on the open shelving beside a collection of campy salt and pepper shakers shaped like woodland creatures. Postcards from far-flung destinations decorated a corkboard near the front entrance.

  “Thank you,” April told her as she held the butterfly mug, her fingers savoring the warmth.

  A fire burned low in the painted brick hearth, but April still hadn’t warmed up from their trek through the snow to the front door.

  “Are you sure you won’t stay for supper?” Fallon asked as she poured a cup for herself. “I don’t have much here, but we can head into town—”

  “We’ve made plans already, but thank you.” Weston rose from the love seat to stir the fire, adding another log from the basket sitting next to it. The flames rose, sending a gratifying wave of heat into the room. “It was kind enough of you to see us on such short notice.”

  Fallon waved away the words as she returned to the living room in her stocking feet, carrying her mug over to the recliner. “You never need an invitation, Weston. It’s always a pleasure to spend time with you.”

  “I’m going to grab some more firewood for you.” Straightening from the hearth, he stalked toward a back door April hadn’t noticed before. “April can tell you about her case.”

  After sipping her tea, April hastily set aside the mug, placing it on the wooden tray resting on a trunk that served as a coffee table. She hadn’t expected to be thrust into the spotlight right away.

  “Of course.” She tore her gaze from Weston as he went outdoors without his coat, and turned her full attention to his aunt. “I’m not sure how much Weston told you—”

  “He said your firm has been hired to track Alonzo Salazar’s finances.” Fallon launched right into the topic as she crossed her legs, her manicured fingers wrapping around her mug. One pink nail tapped a ceramic butterfly thoughtfully. “I’m not sure how much I can help you, since Alonzo and I were good friends but not the kind of friends who asked those sorts of questions of one another.”

  “I’m also trying to track where he traveled.” April had learned long ago to ask more indirect questions in interviews like this. People often thought they knew nothing when they had helpful pieces of the puzzle without knowing it. “Do you know where he spent time when he wasn’t with you or in his West Coast home?”

  Hopefully, she could find leads in those cities.

  “That I can help you with.” Fallon pointed toward the front door. “At least half of my postcards are from trips Alonzo and I took together. He was the one who started me on the path to the humanitarian work I do now.”

  Surprised, April’s focus moved to the corkboard. “May I take a look?”

  “Please do,” Fallon offered, rising from her chair and hurrying toward the back door, where Weston was shouldering his way inside, snow-covered and arms full of split logs.

  April watched their easy interaction, Fallon chiding him for doing the job and Weston insisting he wasn’t done yet. There was obviously a warm family connection between them, the comfort of people who’d spent a lot of time together. It surprised her a bit, since his relationship with his immediate family sounded so strained. Tearing her gaze from Weston’s broad shoulders as he moved through the living room, April focused on the postcards as she neared the narrow hall table under the display board.

  Photos from rural Mexico and Argentina were pinned beside pictures of cities in South Africa and Poland. April turned a few over and saw they all were dated. A card from the Philippines read, “Torres house, January 2015,” and underneath that, someone had scrawled an address in Luzon. The back of another postcard from Egypt read, “Antoun house, August 2016,” with an address in a place called Al Minia.

  While Weston stacked firewood, April took photos of the board and several postcards.

  “Finding everything you need, hon?” Fallon called from the fireplace, where she was moving her poker set to make room for more logs.

  “You mentioned humanitarian projects.” April spotted a photo of Fallon—before she had gray hair—with an arm draped around Alonzo Salazar. They were dressed in overalls and T-shirts, smiling in front of a small house and flanked by a young man and his very pregnant wife. “Like what?”

  “Alonzo gave a lot of time to building homes for people in need.” Fallon joined April by the corkboard as Weston went back outdoors for another load of kindling. “Sometimes he worked on bigger projects like developing clean water systems for small villages, but he was so good at building houses and getting the beneficiary families involved that he ended up working on those the most.”

  April’s vision of Alonzo shifted yet again. Had he given his time, or money too? The financial records she’d seen hadn’t hinted at donations to these kinds of causes, but perhaps he’d f
unneled some of the book revenue in that direction. If he was genuinely sorry for writing Hollywood Newlyweds and causing the family it was based on so much grief, perhaps contributing to a charitable effort eased the guilt.

  “How did the two of you meet?” April asked, not just out of social politeness, but because it could give her a better picture of their relationship.

  Anxiety flitted through her that she didn’t normally feel at this point in her cases. These people were so real to her now, and Weston was becoming important in a way she hadn’t counted on.

  “When Weston started spending more time in Mesa Falls, I went down there to check out the place for myself. Alonzo was staying there that week too, and we ended up bonding over an interest in travel.” Fallon smiled as she traced the photo of the two of them together with her finger. “He’d already done so many of the things I was interested in doing—making a difference in the world. Giving back. When he suggested I go with him on his next trip to build houses in Mexico, I laughed at first. But he was completely serious.”

  “And you went?” April turned to study her hostess more carefully, searching the woman’s face for any resemblance to Weston, but finding none.

  “Not that trip. But he sent me postcards, and we started emailing more. By the end of that year, I joined a larger trip to the Philippines and got hooked on good works.” Fallon glanced over her shoulder toward the back door, where Weston has disappeared outside. “I’m not sure how much you know about Weston’s family, but the Riveras aren’t the most giving people. Weston and I get along because we aren’t like them. But his mother—my sister—has always been driven to let the world know she’s wealthy and successful, and she married a man who is the same way. Weston is a black sheep in that clan, but believe me, that’s a good thing.”

  The back door opened again, and a blast of cold air accompanied Weston into the chalet. He was hardworking. Steady. Quietly taking care of his aunt without being asked. All of those things appealed to April so much.

  He took one look at them together and shook his head.

  “You’re not filling her ears with stories about my family.” He used his foot to shut the door behind him, then toed off his snowy boots on the mat.

  “I just outlined the basics.” Fallon didn’t sound at all apologetic, but she did hurry over to help him, taking a couple of logs from the top of the armful he carried. “I thought she should be forewarned.”

  Weston shook his head while he stacked the new batch of wood. “I live three states away from them so I don’t have to worry about it, remember?”

  The two of them bickered in a friendly way that April envied. And she felt the draw of him so strongly she had to look over more postcards to distract herself. She snapped a few last pictures. She could find travel records now that she had dates and knew where to look. The visit had been beneficial to her case even if it had added another confusing layer to her relationship with Weston.

  What had caused the divide in his family? And did it extend to the brother who remained a part owner of Mesa Falls Ranch and, she supposed, Weston’s friend? She wasn’t sure how to ask, especially when they’d already shared painful pieces of their pasts today. She guessed he wasn’t any more eager to wade into those waters again than she was.

  When they left Fallon’s house, his hand on her elbow, the temptation to be with him ramped up all over again. The desire to lean in, to be close. Once they were alone again, she knew he would confront her about what she wanted to do next. They could have dinner and then drive back to Mesa Falls. Or they could have dinner and spend the night.

  He’d made it clear the decision was hers. That even if she wanted to spend the night in Kalispell, she had her own room and her own space.

  But did she want to be alone?

  Watching Weston take care of his aunt, April felt a new longing for him, something far outside the ever-present physical attraction. He was a giving man—something that Fallon had spelled out in no uncertain terms. He had a conscience about being unable to save his friend, and he’d gone into volunteer rescue work to save others.

  And beyond all that, he’d rescued April on a mountaintop when he didn’t have to. When he’d been trying to stay away from her.

  She saw that act in a new light now, understanding him better. For a woman who was used to bearing her family burdens, the one who did the giving, it was a heady new feeling to have someone sacrifice for her.

  She didn’t want to be alone tonight. Not when she had the chance to know Weston Rivera’s touch.

  If only just this once.

  * * *

  On the road from Fallon’s house back to his retreat cabin, Weston glanced over at his lovely but silent passenger. Squinting in the low light from the setting sun, he acknowledged that April wasn’t an easy woman to read. Had her investigative work taught her the impassive observation skills she employed so easily? He hated to think that her life experience—the teenage stunt that had gone so awry for her—had resulted in her becoming more of a bystander to her life than an active participant.

  But there was no denying that she seemed reserved tonight. Introspective.

  “You’ve been quiet since we left Fallon’s,” Weston noted after he’d pulled into the long driveway that led to his cabin. “Are you having second thoughts about staying in Kalispell? We can get back on the road if you prefer.”

  He’d been thinking about kissing her again all day long, his hunger becoming even more insistent after he’d shared the details from his past and she hadn’t seemed to judge him harshly for his failures. Her acceptance had made him rethink what he wanted out of their time together, and he couldn’t deny that—more than anything—he wanted her.

  “No second thoughts here,” she assured him as he parked the Land Rover in the double garage. “I was just thinking through my next steps on the investigation so I can set work aside for the night.”

  Her words sparked along his skin, igniting a flame he hadn’t wanted to fan until he was certain how she wanted the night to end.

  “That sounds promising.” He shut off the engine and moved to the passenger side of the vehicle to open her door, stepping around the snowy tracks left by the tire treads.

  She took his hand and let him help her down, her boots stepping close to his. The overhead light in the garage cast uneven shadows, but he caught a flash of something like anticipation in her blue gaze.

  “How about we ban all work conversation over dinner?” she suggested, not moving away from him. “No talking about Salazars or finances.”

  “Excellent idea.” He shifted his hold on her hand, threading his fingers deliberately through hers. Squeezing. “While we’re at it, we could rule out discussion of our pasts too. Live in the moment.”

  A smile hitched at the corner of her lips.

  “This is sounding better all the while. Although I’m not entirely sure I know how to live in the moment if I’m not climbing a mountain.”

  It clicked in his head then why she loved climbing. Why she’d seemed different on the mountain—less reserved. Freer, somehow. She left her cares behind when she hiked, forgetting about all the things that tethered her to her day-to-day life.

  He could understand that. He’d logged plenty of miles running from his own demons.

  “I know how to fix that,” he assured her, drawing her with him toward the entrance to the house. “I’ve got a surefire way to keep you anchored in the present.”

  She followed him up two steps and through the door to the mudroom. Inside, a motion light clicked on to illuminate the muted gray travertine tiles and wrought iron coat hooks on the walls, a slim mirror reflecting the image of the two of them.

  “You do?” She let go of his hand to shrug off her coat, but he took over the task for her, forcing his hands not to linger on her shoulders. He hung the long wool trench on a hook beside his shearling jacket. “I’ve tri
ed meditation, but I’m not good at it.”

  He laughed lightly, returning to her side even though he knew he should start dinner. They’d had a long day, and he wanted to be a good host.

  But he’d been ignoring the need for her for hours, and every moment he spent with her wound him tighter.

  “Meditation isn’t going to do the job.” He shook his head and stepped closer to her, contemplating the vision she made in her elegant black pantsuit and the long, wild curls that had rebelled more as the day wore on. Her hair had grown springier and fuller.

  “No?” Her eyes tracked him, darting back and forth, as if she couldn’t quite figure out what was next.

  “No.” He couldn’t wait to touch her any longer, so he didn’t. He slid his hands under all that luscious hair, letting it tickle his knuckles while his fingers splayed over her shoulders and back. Breathing deep, he caught a hint of her fragrance, something subtly spicy and vaguely floral too. “If you want to feel the present moment, to really dwell in the here and now, you need to make the moment memorable. Make it worth cataloging every minute detail.”

  Sliding one of his feet between hers, he let himself feel the heat of her body close to his without pressing himself against her. He felt a warm, delectable anticipation of what was to come.

  Her eyes widened, her lips rounding into a small, silent O of either acknowledgment or surprise. Her breath huffed over his mouth, scented with mint and lemongrass tea. Her lips were bare, the natural pink color calling for closer examination before he could describe it.

  He looked forward to that. But first, he lowered his voice for close range, stroking a finger just beneath the curve of her jaw.

  “The secret to making a moment last, April,” he confided, his whole body tense with wanting. Waiting. “Is kissing.”