by LENA DIAZ,
MELISSA STOOD UNDER the massive portico that could probably hold back the pelting rain of a hurricane, if Colorado had hurricanes, and fit her key into the lock. Guilt gnawed at her for abusing her father’s trust, but no more so than the guilt she’d feel if he’d done everything Jace believed he’d done—or if, God help her, he really was involved somehow in Thomas’s death—and she did nothing to stop him or bring him to justice.
She pushed the eight-foot-tall front door open, one without any glass in it because her father believed all doors should be solid enough to stop heavy artillery.
Stepping into the two-story circular foyer, she disabled the alarm and looked around. “Silvia? It’s Melissa.” She tugged off her coat and laid it on one of the benches against the wall. No answer. She turned to tell Jace that Silvia was probably cleaning another section of the house. But he hadn’t followed her inside. He was leaning into the back passenger side of his car, apparently getting something out of the duffel bag he’d thrown in the backseat earlier.
“Jace?”
He straightened and shoved something into his pocket. “Right behind you.” He strode across the brick pavers and jogged up the steps.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
He tossed his jacket onto the bench with hers. “I was, oh, hello.” He smiled and looked past her.
She turned around.
Silvia stood in the middle of the foyer, a duster in her hand, her eyes wide with surprise. “Miss Melissa? Something is wrong?”
Leaving Jace to close the door, she hurried to the housekeeper. “No, no. Sorry. Did we frighten you? I’m sorry if we did.”
Silvia patted her hand. “It is my turn to be startled, no? You come to visit me?”
Guilt had her face flushing warm. She kissed the older woman’s cheek. “I should definitely do that more often than I do. I’ll come see you sometime soon. But not today. I’m here on business. I need to look through some of my old client files that have been archived off the computer. If I can target some discount programs at clients who gave us great reviews but never booked second trips, we might be able to create a bump in our summer tour reservations.” She waved toward Jace. “This is Jace Atwell. He works with me now. He’s going to help carry anything heavy.”
He took Silvia’s hand in his and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “You must be the infamous Silvia Conti. Mel speaks very highly of you.”
Melissa blinked. Mel?
Silvia’s eyes widened before a smile lifted the wrinkles around her mouth. Melissa wasn’t sure, because of Silvia’s olive complexion, but she just might have blushed.
“Mr. Jace.” She waggled her finger at him. “I am too old for this flirting nonsense. Save it for the younger ladies.”
He clicked his heels together and bowed, actually bowed.
“My apologies, madam.” He drew Melissa’s arm into the crook of his elbow and winked. “I’ll be sure to ply my wares elsewhere in the future.”
Melissa’s mouth fell open. Who was this man?
Silvia put her hands on her hips, the duster’s bright pink feathers providing a startling contrast to her drab brown uniform. “You need my help?”
“No,” Melissa said.
“Yes,” Jace said.
What was he doing? Having Silvia shadow them would make it pretty much impossible to sneak into her father’s office.
He let Melissa’s hand go and gestured to encompass the foyer. “This is quite an impressive home. How many square feet? Seven thousand?”
“Eight thousand two hundred forty-two,” Silvia answered. “You want the grand tour?”
Jace’s eyes lit with interest. “Miss Conti, I would be delighted, although due to our schedule, perhaps I could have the mini-tour, just some of the main rooms downstairs. Would you mind? I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”
Melissa lifted her hands in question behind Silvia’s back.
He ignored her and headed off toward the left side of the house, with Silvia prattling on about crown molding and Prussian carpets. Melissa didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Follow them? Try to break into her father’s study and snoop around? They’d never talked about taking a tour.
Jace stuck his head around the living room archway. “You coming, Mel?”
What was with him calling her Mel all of a sudden, a nickname she’d always hated growing up? Funny how she didn’t hate it when he said it. It actually sounded kind of . . . sweet.
“Mel?” he repeated.
What was she supposed to say? “Um, yes?”
He nodded approvingly.
She hurried to catch up and fell in step beside him as Silvia led them from the drawing room into the formal dining room at the front of the house. When Silvia turned to point at one of the paintings on the wall and recite its history, Melissa tugged on Jace’s sleeve to get him to lean down.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
In answer, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of dime-sized metallic circles that were flat on one side with tiny suction cups on the other side.
“What are those?” she whispered.
He bent closer to her ear but Silvia suddenly turned around. Jace closed his fingers over whatever he was holding and pressed a kiss against the side of Melissa’s neck.
She jerked in response, too shocked to even try to hide her surprise. And too surprised by the way her entire body flushed with heat from that tiny little touch to do more than stare at him with wide eyes.
Silvia shook her duster at them. “Not in my house, young mister and miss. Respect. You must respect Mr. Cyprian’s home.”
Since Melissa’s nerve endings were still firing sparks all over her body, she didn’t even try to respond to her housekeeper’s chiding.
“Sorry, had to distract her,” Jace whispered before straightening. And then he was rounding the dining-room table, his hand trailing underneath the carved top as he apologized to Silvia for his behavior. Somehow he managed to steer the conversation into a discussion about the silver tea service on the sideboard, and a moment later, to another one of the paintings, which he ran his hands around as if enthralled.
When they paused in the doorway to the kitchen, Jace turned. “Mel? Are you joining our little tour?”
“Used to live here, remember? For over twenty years?”
“Good point.” He waved toward the table as if he were the host. “We’ll be back in a few.”
She pulled out one of the chairs and sank down onto the upholstered seat. What had just happened? Her neck throbbed where Jace’s hot mouth had branded her skin. That one, incredibly brief touch was like a shock wave pulsing through her body, leaving her tingling and . . . confused.
There was no denying that she found Jace attractive. But until this moment, it had been tempered by the craziness going on around them: the fear, the doubts, the worries about their safety. She’d just never really stopped to think about him in that way.
But suddenly that was the only thing she could think of.
She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, feeling like a traitor for responding to him the way she had. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. But since when did hormones or passion follow the dictates of logic? She sat there for several minutes, keeping her eyes closed, selfishly shying away from the real reason she was there and clinging to the pleasurable memory of that unexpected touch from Jace.
“Melissa?”
She slowly opened her eyes and stared into a pair of stormy gray ones, just inches from hers. Jace was back already? Just how long had she sat there daydreaming? He was kneeling in front of her chair, his brow furrowed with concern. As if he genuinely cared about her.
A wave of aching loneliness crashed over her. Concern. Wouldn’t it be nice if he really did care? She’d felt so isolated, so alone for so long, with no one to share her burdens. It would be so wonderful to feel connected again, wanted . . . cherished. Even if it was just for a moment.
“Is
something wrong?” he asked. “Silvia’s off cleaning. We can—”
She traced her fingers against his lips.
His eyes flew open wide. “What are you—?”
“I’m so tired of being worried, Jace. I’m tired of second-guessing everything and everyone around me. For just a moment, I’d like it all to go away, to just . . . let go . . . and feel. Do you think you could pretend that you want me, that you care about me, for just one tiny little moment?”
He hesitated, his surprise obvious as he stared at her, as if he were trying to figure out how to turn her request down without being too cruel.
She groaned and dropped her head in her hands, her face flushing with embarrassment. Thank God she hadn’t been stupid enough to actually say the words she’d wanted to say. Kiss me. “Sorry. Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He gently but firmly forced her hands down and cupped her face. “Mel?”
Her breath caught in her throat at the hunger in his eyes. “Yes?”
“I don’t have to pretend.” He pressed his lips to hers.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Drowning. She was drowning in pleasure. Sweet heavens, this man knew how to kiss. He was torturing her with pleasure, taking her places she didn’t even know that she could go with only a kiss. And then he swept his tongue inside and took her to a new plane of existence. She whimpered and dug her fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him, drinking him in. He made a sexy noise deep in his throat and deepened the kiss even more, turning it from sweet to wild to inferno with one wicked sweep of his tongue.
Billy, Michael, Jonah. Thomas.
The memories of her other kisses, in high school, college, and later, flashed through her mind and went up in flames. Forgotten ashes on the hearth two seconds after he parted her lips and stroked her tongue with his. There wasn’t a cell in her body that didn’t burn for him, yearn for him, clamor for the molten heat of his touch.
Her belly tightened almost painfully, and her breasts grew heavy, hot, readying for . . . more. She wanted more. But all too soon the kiss changed, from volcano to a roaring fire, to smoldering heat, then, finally, to a whisper soft caress. It was as if he knew she’d be lost, cast adrift at the absence of his touch if he ended the kiss too soon. So he brought her out of her passionate haze gradually, until he was pressing soft, butterfly kisses against her lips, the corner of her mouth, the column of her throat.
And then he was gone.
But his hands remained, framing her face, anchoring her into the mortal realm instead of the fantasy world where he’d taken her moments ago.
Her eyes fluttered open, and the naked hunger on his face, just inches from hers, had her body mourning for what could never be. There were too many obstacles between them.
“Wow,” she breathed.
“Ditto,” he whispered.
Gradually the room around her came into focus, surprising her. She’d completely forgotten where they were. And just like that, the beautiful feelings he’d fanned inside her became memories she was forced to tuck away, to take out at some future time when she was alone, and lonely, remembering the magic and wishing for what could never be.
Seeing him on his knees on the dining-room floor sent an entirely new kind of urgency coursing through her. She glanced past him, then looked behind her, before pushing herself upright in the chair and forcing herself to let go of his shoulders.
“Where’s Silvia?” she asked.
“After our tour, I convinced her that I could find the dining room on my own. She went off to clean something-or-other.”
“We need to get out of here before she decides to check on us.” She scooted her chair back and stood. “What do we do now?”
“Not what I want to do, unfortunately,” he mumbled beneath his breath as he climbed to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go find those files.”
He herded her through the living room and into the foyer.
“It’s over there,” she whispered, motioning toward the door to the right of the stairs.
The barely perceptible shake of his head had her dropping her hand.
“She’s already checking on us.” His voice was so low she barely heard him. But she shifted their direction toward the main staircase.
They climbed the stairs to the top landing, discussing tours and the fictitious marketing campaign she was supposedly planning. After turning right, they walked down a long corridor, stopping in front of the door at the end.
“This is it.” She pulled the door open and flipped on the light inside. A narrow, steep set of stairs greeted them. “What now?” she whispered.
His hand moved to her neck, his thumb tracing across her skin in a gentle caress. He leaned in toward her. “Don’t turn around. She followed us. We’ll have to keep up the pretense.”
He waved his hand for her to precede him up to the attic.
Chapter Eleven
Melissa plopped down on one of the larger boxes and dumped her newest collection of folders on top of another box she was using as a table. She flipped through the first folder, trying to focus on the pages inside instead of the man standing a few feet away, peering out the attic window at the backyard. Because if she thought about Jace, if she thought about what had happened downstairs between them, it just . . . cluttered up everything inside her, confused her.
“Do you think you could pretend that you want me, that you care about me, for just one tiny little moment?”
“I don’t have to pretend.”
What had he meant when he’d said that? That he didn’t have to pretend that he wanted her? Or that he cared about her? Or both? And how could he have given her that scorching kiss that curled her toes inside her sneakers, then act as if nothing life-changing had happened between them? The world had stopped, or tilted, or something. Had that only happened for her?
How humiliating. Somehow, she had to put that disastrous kiss behind her and pretend it hadn’t happened. That it hadn’t mattered. That it hadn’t . . . changed her, awakened her from the cold, bitter shell where she’d existed since Thomas’s betrayal. She’d gotten used to being numb, to locking all of those feelings away. Not feeling, wanting, or caring was comfortable, easy. No one could hurt her there.
Damn you for making me feel again, Jace. For making me care.
The pages crumpled in her hand. Great. Now she was destroying important company documents. Documents that really did have useful marketing information on them. She smoothed the papers out and studied them more closely. Yes, this was the kind of data that could give her an advantage in the marketplace. She tossed the folder into the box on the floor and grabbed another folder.
Jace turned away from the window and crossed to her. “That box is already two-thirds full. Don’t you think you have more than enough to convince Silvia of our cover story for being here?”
“Maybe,” she said, absently. “Huh. I remember these clients. They had a terrific time, gave us glowing reviews. Swore they’d be back the next year. But I’m 99 percent sure they never booked a second tour. I wonder why?”
“I think you might be taking this fake marketing idea too seriously.”
“Who says it’s fake? Repeat business is the lifeblood of any corporation. If I can use this sampling of clients to try new strategies, I might be able to increase our market share.”
Jace motioned toward the window. “Looks like Silvia’s taking advantage of the milder temps today.”
She leaned over to see out the window. Silvia was wearing a light jacket over her brown uniform, crunching through the melting snow on what would be a manicured, pristine lawn when winter released its hold, and the gardeners worked their magic.
“She’s probably going to the greenhouse to cut some fresh flowers.” She turned back to her folder. “There’s also a stream about a hundred yards back with a bench and a view of the mountains. Maybe she’s taking a break and wants to dip her toes in the water, if it isn’t iced over. Although, even if it isn’t, it’s still got to be close to
freezing. She’s likely to get frostbite. So maybe that’s not where she’s going.” She flipped another page, fascinated by the potential in front of her.
Jace gently tugged the folder out of her hand and grinned. “Earth to Mel. Silvia’s out of the house. This is our chance to get inside your father’s study. You know, the whole reason we came here in the first place?”
“Oh. I guess I got . . . distracted.” Her face flooded with heat, and she started straightening the folders.
“You think?” he teased, laughter heavy in his voice. “We’ll take all of these so you can look at them as much as you want later.” He tossed the entire stack into the open box. “Come on. We may only have a few minutes before she returns, and I want us to be inside that office by then.” He tugged her behind him out of the attic.
When they made it down both flights of stairs without a Silvia-sighting, they hurried to the double doors that guarded her father’s domain. Jace set the box down and crouched in front of the keyhole.
“I’ll keep an eye out for Silvia.” Melissa turned her back on him, listening intently for the distant sound of a door or footsteps across the polished-marble floors. “How long do you think it will take you to—?”
“You coming or not?” his teasing voice called out.
She whirled around. Jace was standing inside the office, the box of folders sitting on the floor in one of the eight-by-eight-foot rectangular patterns of inlaid wood.
“Huh. That was fast.” She stepped into the room, and he locked the doors behind her. “How did you get the door open so quickly?” She kept her voice low, so the sound wouldn’t carry. “How did you get it open at all?”
He held up a long, thin piece of metal no larger than a bobby pin. But before she could examine it closely, he slid it into his hair over the top of his right ear. It immediately disappeared.
