by Joanne Rock
Brad had asked the officers to look into the whereabouts of Angelica’s family that night, citing the Chiefs bumper sticker and his conversation with the woman earlier in which he’d pressed for more information about who in the family might be out to get Chloe. Privately, Brad had told Nikki that Angelica had admitted her grandfather had served on a mission in the northern Pacific, probably at the same time as Chloe’s mysterious Eduardo. But their exchange had been cut short by the investigators and she still wasn’t sure what to make of that information.
Nikki called to Killer before she locked up for the night. The dog raced through the screen door as she held it open, his nails skidding on the hardwood before he slowed his pace.
“Maybe they were just being diplomatic. They can’t appear to take sides, right? And a city councilman in a small town can be very influential, so it’s not surprising they’d be cautious where he’s concerned.” She rubbed a hand on her arm to ward off a chill. She’d thrown on a hoodie with a pair of pajama pants for the pow-wow on the lawn after the shooter had driven away, but they hadn’t been enough to prevent the evening from giving her goosebumps.
The chill had more to do with someone wanting her out of the house badly enough to fire shots at the place than any reaction to the spring temperature.
“Right.” There could be no mistaking the strong taint of sarcasm in his response. He punched the butcherblock countertop in the kitchen while she shut off the lights. “I’m telling you, the only way we’re going to get to the bottom of this is to find the diaries and see what secret Chloe sat on her whole life. I can’t believe if it was that damn important, her family wouldn’t have harassed her more while she was alive. Not that I wish they’d done that, but why the big press to find the books now?”
Nikki warmed inside at the fierceness of his tone, far too swayed by his he-man protectiveness. In fact, she was pretty sure her heart fluttered a little. Truly.
Fluttered.
“I don’t know. Maybe her family thought the diaries would be lost forever once they heard she’d been diagnosed with dementia. Perhaps they assumed she would forget where they were hidden and the books would never see the light of day. Which is sort of what happened, except they hadn’t counted on me inheriting the house and having access to search for them.” She twined her fingers through his and urged him toward the stairs. “But I discovered today that I didn’t know Chloe as well as I thought I did. I started reading one of the original diaries and a misplaced entry from the missing 1943 volume fell out of the pages.”
“You have some of the original diaries here?” He stopped on the third step near a painting of the Seine that Chloe had purchased from a street artist on a longago trip to Paris. “And you’ve never read them?”
“Chloe showed them to me ages ago. But I never read them because they were personal. She didn’t publish them unedited when she was alive because of the private nature of the contents.”
“Maybe the big mystery is hidden in the diaries you already have.” He started up the steps again. “Are they up in your bedroom?”
“Yes, but—” She hurried to follow him as he passed her. Quickly, she explained the revelation about a secret engagement to Eduardo. “So I’m beginning to think the edited diaries might vary quite a bit from the versions she first penned.”
They hurried down the hall, past an old mannequin wearing a negligee that would have been suggestive in its time.
“No doubt.” Brad dropped onto the bed where they’d made love just a few hours ago, now occupied by the sleeping ginger kitten he’d rescued from the oak tree. “Do you think her family even knows now about an engagement to this Eduardo guy? Could there be any reason they’d want to lock that down?”
He cracked open the journal that Nikki had already read while she rounded up four others that had been hidden behind the covers of various books Chloe kept on her shelves.
“This isn’t the forties. What taboos could there be about a marriage that would bother anyone in this day and age?” She stacked up the other diaries on the bed and sat down next to Brad to read. “I don’t think that’s it.”
Nikki wished she’d quizzed Chloe about the journals a little more, but the older woman had been so distracted at the end and Nikki hadn’t wanted to press.
An hour of side by side reading passed before Brad’s cell phone rang, startling them both and sending the recently rescued ginger kitten diving under a pillow.
“Riddock,” he barked into the phone. A long silence followed as he listened. “Of course we’re pressing charges,” he shot back finally. “If anything, the kid is probably guilty of a whole slew more of—”
His jaw went rigid as the party on the other line—a police officer, obviously—cut him off. Nikki stared down at the passage in Chloe’s journal that he’d been reading before the call came—the scene of self-discovery in the meadow that she’d read earlier. He said little else before disconnecting the call.
“They found the person who fired the shots?”
She didn’t realize she felt cold all over again until Brad pulled her hip next to his, wrapping her in one arm.
“They’re saying it was Angelica’s daughter and her boyfriend.”
“Emily? The cheerleader?” Nikki found it hard to believe. “I’m being harassed by a high school junior?”
“Apparently the boyfriend is a track star who ‘borrowed’ the starting pistol from the school to make the sound of gunfire. But since it’s a closed barrel weapon, there was no possibility of injury and the police encouraged us to let them off with a warning. At most, they could receive a misdemeanor for violating local noise ordinances.”
“They weren’t interested in asking the kids about the threatening text messages or the brick through the window?” As much as she’d like to think she’d been a victim of teenage mischief gone too far, it seemed rooted deeper than that.
“The boyfriend drives a brand-spanking-new Ford F-150, so it definitely wasn’t the old pickup that tore up the yard.”
Nikki stared unseeing down at Chloe’s journal in her lap as she thought about the dismissive attitude of the police. Even if the kids hadn’t been the ones to tear up the lawn, they were joyriding, shooting off things that could be mistaken for gunshots—what if some poor scared homeowner shot back? Wasn’t there a zero tolerance policy for underage kids with things that clearly looked like guns? Rules should be rules no matter how rich your daddy was.
“My head’s too foggy for this,” she announced, slamming the book closed in her frustration. “We’ve been puzzling over this for too long and it should be simpler. If Chloe didn’t reveal what happened to those original diaries in the first place, she must have felt some sort of security that I’d find them without her help, right?”
Brad shrugged. “You knew her a lot better than me.”
Nikki nodded. “I don’t want to waste my time left with you by talking about ancient history. I feel like I’ve shared my whole life with you these last few days and I hardly know anything about you besides the fact that you’re a kick-butt volleyball player and you can climb tree branches like Tarzan.”
Shuffling aside the stacks of leather-bound volumes, she lay down on the rumpled white chenille bedspread, plucking the kitten from its resting place to resettle the animal under her chin.
Brad switched off the bedside Tiffany lamp so that only the moonlight and the glowing numbers from a bedside clock lit the room. Her heartbeat jumped and skipped at the sensation of having him here, in her bed, all to herself. Last night had been fueled by a need to take a risk and indulge her pleasures for the sake of feeling fully alive and uninhibited. Earlier today she’d been overwhelmed by gratitude at what he’d done for her in rescuing the kitten. But right now, there was no urgency. No rush to prove anything to herself.
Just a room ripe with the possibility for intimacy.
“Don’t forget my mad skills with a tractor,” he prompted, reaching toward the bedside table to retrieve some thing.
/>
A daisy from the wildflower bouquet she’d collected on her walk this afternoon.
He held it over her, allowing a droplet of water from the stem to fall on the skin bared above the zipper teeth of her hoodie. The bead rolled down into the hollow at the base of her throat.
“Brad?” Did he know he was dripping flower water on her? By the way he held the stem, poised and steady above her, she’d say yes.
“Hmm?” He scooped up the kitten with his other hand and tucked it onto a pillow on the floor.
“What are you doing?” She noticed the flower stem never wavered even with all his maneuvering.
“I’m helping you get to know me better.”
Drip.
“How so?” The droplets warmed against her skin, then rolled down the side of her neck, pooling somewhere along the base of her scalp.
“I’m making sure that the next time you list the things you know about me, you include something like ‘Sexual Dynamo.’” He said it with a perfectly straight face.
As if he really felt his bedroom prowess was on par in importance with his military training or his strong sense of honor. Maybe she knew more about him than she gave herself credit for.
“And covering me with flower water will help your cause?” She decided to feign ignorance of what he had in mind. It served him right when she had the strong suspicion he’d led the conversation away from himself very purposely.
Dropping the stem to the zipper on her sweatshirt, he used it to lower the teeth inch by inch. Slowly, he revealed the lace-and-silk bra she’d wriggled into after the gunfire sounded. Then, popping the zipper free at the base, he skimmed the flower petals along the tops of her breasts.
He brushed the petals down onto the navy blue lace of her bra, circling the nipple so lightly she began to fully appreciate his intent. He meant to recreate the scene in the diary. The sensual encounter in the secret garden meadow.
She would have smiled if she hadn’t been frozen in place by the erotic tease of such a delicate touch when the heavy heat of Brad’s hands waited so close by—restrained by his need to build anticipation.
Instead, a gasp caught in her throat, a soft inhalation that whispered against her lips. Her eyes slid closed, her body focused on the trail of the silky soft petals along her skin.
Being distracted had never been such a pleasure.
BRAD PROMISED HIMSELF he’d talk to Nikki more later. That way, he didn’t have to feel like he was being purposely evasive.
Right now, he just wanted to stock up on memories with her to take with him when he left in ten days. After reading the scene in the meadow that Chloe had written—and knowing that Nikki had dreamed about him in that very same spot today—he wanted to implant himself in that moment somehow. He couldn’t be there with her earlier, but he could give her the sensual thrills for real that she’d only imagined. When they were half a world apart, he wanted to know he’d imprinted himself in her memory in every way possible.
“I think you need to be more naked for the full impact,” he observed as she strained against the clothing he’d left on her.
Setting aside the flower, he tugged down the straps of her bra before he unhooked it. He was careful not to touch her too much because his restraint couldn’t be trusted. If he started, he might not be able to stop.
The lace cups fell away from her breasts and his mouth went dry. He’d never get tired of seeing her.
“Just keep in mind that turnabout is fair play.” She undid the ties on her pajama pants for him, the sound of silk sliding through her fingers like a sigh.
“I’m very aware.” He allowed himself one kiss just below her navel, his tongue darting across her skin for a taste while he shoved the filmy fabric down her legs. He straightened to find her panties—
Absent?
He swallowed his tongue. Her body was utterly perfect in the moonlight, her breasts puckering for his kiss. Her legs parted just enough to give him room there.
“You went commando,” he finally managed, the word pushed from a dry throat as he fought the urge to cover her.
“I dressed in a hurry,” she reminded him, smoothing her palm down her hip and halting just above the cradle of her thighs.
He watched, mesmerized, as her fingers played over her skin. Then, recalling her threat about turning the tables, he put the daisy stem in her hand.
“Why don’t you show me where you want me first?” He’d have to work up to teasing her with the flower when he wasn’t plagued with this fierceness to have her. As it was, his pulse slammed through his veins harder than if he was facing down a booby-trapped bomb.
She surprised him by skimming the petals higher. Higher. Finally landing on her lips to circle her mouth.
“Oh, yeah, I want that, too.” Leaning over her, he claimed her mouth in a hungry, possessive kiss. He stroked her tongue with long, sinuous licks, savoring her like the last of an ice cream cone.
She followed his movements with her own, her fingers clamping around his neck to keep him close. He inhaled her. Devoured her. And she writhed under him impatiently, arching her back to graze her breasts against him.
With superhuman effort, he forced himself back, inserting some space between them on the bed.
“Where else, Nikki?” He gazed down into her dark, slumberous eyes glittering in the moon glow. “Where else should I touch you?”
The daisy had grown a little bedraggled, crushed between them during the kiss. But she splayed the petals against her neck and rubbed them along her throat, lingering at the soft depression at the base.
He leaned forward, eager to follow through. Dying for another taste of her. But she placed her palm on his chest and held him back with gentle force. Confused, he saw her continue the flower’s journey. Lower. Lower.
His head swam.
He had a vague impression of her circling back up to the rosy pink crests of her breasts, but by then, he was already on her. He slid his thigh between hers, bracketing her hips with his hands to keep her steady. He kissed her neck, taking a straight line to the deep cleavage between her breasts. She smelled like flowers and meadows, soap and sex. He’d only known her a short time, but he’d recognize the scent of her anywhere.
He couldn’t kiss her enough and shed his clothes, too, but he made a hell of an effort at both. She helped him, her hands shoving away his shirt and hauling down his shorts whenever his attention lingered too long on her. He throbbed to be inside her, his erection straining to painful lengths. She helped him there, too, pulling a whole strand of condoms off the nightstand until she managed to tear off one and roll it over him.
“I can’t wait,” she pleaded in his ear, her words a strange manifestation of what he’d just been thinking himself.
Palming her thigh, he shifted her where he wanted her, his thumb grazing the damp, pulsing heart of her sex. She rolled her hips toward him in blatant invitation and he plunged deep. Hard.
Their shout of satisfaction mingled into one sound and he stayed there, buried inside her, for a long, hot moment. He cupped her face in his hand, needing to connect with her in every way possible. The commune that went on there was wordless but profound. He could have lost himself in her dark gaze. Breaking the moment with a blink, he slowly withdrew from her, only to return harder. Deeper.
They danced together that way for endless moments, as if time stopped to give them the gift of the night. He wrapped her in his arms and rolled her on top of him, wanting to see her, poised above him with her dark hair tousled in a wild, silken tangle, her lips full and red from his kisses, a slight sheen on her skin.
She was more than beautiful. She was The One.
The realization startled him almost as much as her sudden arch against him, her body racking in spasms so hard he could feel them squeeze his release from him in turn. His breath left his body in a whoosh and he wasn’t sure if it was ever coming back. But the grand finale she’d wrung from him was so amazing he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
/> For long minutes they lay beside each other in the half light, breathing in the cool spring air blowing in the open window. He wasn’t sure what to say next. The moment seemed so fragile and so ripe for shared declarations neither of them were ready to make yet.
If anything, the connection he’d felt to her scared the hell out of him when he didn’t have his head screwed on straight and didn’t know what the future held for him—professionally or personally. Too late, he understood Doc Leonard had been right and that Brad should have been focusing on getting to know her better—and not just in the physical sense.
Funny that he’d initiated sex because he hadn’t been ready to share anything more about himself when she’d wanted to talk. Yet what they’d just shared had somehow tied them together more deeply than he could even begin to comprehend.
And as scared as he was of screwing up with her and sending her running, he realized he couldn’t avoid the inevitable any longer. Not with a woman who’d given herself to him the way Nikki just had.
Come hell or high water, he’d at least give her what she’d asked for.
“I couldn’t defuse a bomb fast enough.” He hated trotting out his baggage for a woman he really didn’t want to send running. “That’s what happened to my leg.”
The trees outside the window creaked and moaned in the gathering wind, the overgrown branches scraping the window screen like fingernails on chalkboard. Or maybe it was just because the truth raked him raw that the sound went right through him like that.
“Is that why you had a nightmare on the futon?” She lay very still beside him, staring up at the ceiling as the cool breeze blew through the room. “Because of that bomb?”
“Pretty much. The explosive in the dream is a little different. The circumstances more muted. But I know what it means. It started coming to me right after that accident.”
“You’ve had it more than once?” She sounded concerned, and she hadn’t even heard about the Iraqi farmer or his kid yet.
His chest hurt and he had to tell himself not to be such a candy ass. His leg would heal. He had to keep in perspective how lucky he’d been.
