by Leslie Kelly
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is I had nightmares every time I started planning my wedding.”
“Sorry,” she replied. “But remember, you can’t tell anyone.”
Gwen nodded. “Of course I won’t. Wow, I should have figured it out…the pseudonym is a dead giveaway. Colt, Winchester, makes perfect sense. What does the R. F. stand for?”
“Really Female.”
Gwen snickered. “Wow. Can I have your autograph?”
Sophie had to pause at that. “I’ve never had someone ask me that before.”
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded. “Okay, as long as you promise you won’t tell anybody. I still can’t believe I told you. I came here intending to talk to Jared, because I figured he’d understand.”
“And since he’s out of town you spilled your secret to me instead. You must be dying to talk about it if you risked telling me when the police chief is in the house.” Gwen nibbled her lip. “Not to mention Hildy and her friends.”
Sophie knew what Gwen meant. Her grandmother, Hildy, was an eccentric who knew everything, thanks in part to her Casper-type friends who haunted the Little Bohemie. Sophie had often hoped to meet one of the gangster ghosts, believing Gwen and Jared when they said the stories were true. So far, no such luck.
She wondered if Daniel believed in spooks. Given his lack of faith in ESP, she figured not.
“So what are you going to do about this notebook/murder plot thing? I heard people talking about it at the store yesterday.”
“Oh, great. Were they all picking out which flowers they’d send to my funeral?”
Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Old man Shin claimed lily rights.”
Sophie made a face. “Ugh. I hate lilies.”
“I know,” Gwen replied with a grin.
Before Sophie could comment on the flowers she’d prefer on her casket after she was murdered, Hildy Compton entered. The “little old lady” lived up to the label physically, but definitely not when it came to her personality. Hildy was a feisty, tart, outrageous old woman who’d apparently lived quite a life in her younger years. Sophie didn’t know the details, but she knew Jared was including Hildy in a book about organized crime of the twenties.
“I got an idea,” the old woman said as she came in and helped herself to a cup of tea. She carried it over to the table, carefully balancing it with her wrinkled, slender hand, then sat in a chair next to Sophie.
“You have an idea about what?” Sophie asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. “And where’s Dan…Chief Fletcher?”
“Locked in the attic. Wanted to get rid of him for a bit.”
Sophie leapt to her feet. “What?”
Hildy waved her back down into her seat. “He’ll be fine. Lots of interesting stuff to get up to in our attic. Eh, Gwen?” Gwen’s face turned an interesting shade of pink, telling Sophie she’d had firsthand experience with attic adventures. Sophie had the feeling she didn’t want to know any more, since they probably involved Jared. That’d be almost as bad as hearing about her own brother’s romantic escapades.
“Why did you lock Daniel in the attic?” Sophie asked.
“Oh, I didn’t,” the old woman replied with a cackle. She slapped a bony knee with her bonier hand, probably not doing much damage through the black leather pants stretched over her skinny old lady limbs. “Moe locked him in. Then he told me what you two have been talking about.”
“Moe?”
Gwen nibbled her lip. “A ghost.”
Ohhhh…right….
“Here’s what you do, sugarlips,” Hildy continued. “Write an anonymous note to the police, apologizing about the notebook. Tell the truth—that it was just ideas for a book, never meant to scare anyone, blah, blah, blah. And that you didn’t want to come forward because you feel foolish about everyone knowing you’re trying to write a novel.”
Sophie thought about it, realizing the old lady was onto something. The explanation was plausible. The note could have been from anyone in town, but would be linked to the notebook because of her handwriting. “You’re brilliant.”
“Well, you don’t think it’s just my stellar good looks and talent in the sack that hooked your grandpa, do ya?”
Okay, mental note: There was definitely something worse than hearing about the romantic escapades of her cousin or big brother. Hearing them about her grandfather.
Judging by the look on Gwen’s face, she didn’t want to think about that, either.
Then Sophie thought about Hildy. The old woman had come into the kitchen knowing what they were discussing. Meaning…”Did a ghost really tell you what we were talking about?”
Hildy nodded. “Oh, ayuh. Moe likes your books. Thinks they’d make good movies. He says he wishes Clara Bow wasn’t dead because she’d be great in the one you wrote about the beautiful teenager murdering all the teachers at her prep school.”
Sophie could only shake her head, not quite sure what to believe anymore. One thing was sure, though. Somebody had locked Daniel in the attic. And somebody was going to have to go up and let him out.
DANIEL DIDN’T GET A chance to see Sophie during the day on Monday. After his attic adventure at the local inn—he still couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten locked in there, or why the owner hadn’t even noticed he’d disappeared from her tour—he’d driven her back home so he could go to Mick’s office.
After he’d made the offer on the house, he’d spent the rest of the day thinking about the sudden twists and turns his life had taken in the past few days. He was buying a house. He was finally aware of what living in a small town really meant. He was questioning his family life, his childhood, his relationship with his parents. His past. His future. Everything.
And all because of her.
He was falling in love with Sophie Winchester. He had never held out much hope that it would happen, since he’d never come close to anything beyond affection, liking, or the hots for any woman he’d ever dated.
He’d moved to Derryville hoping he’d eventually like small town life. Hoping at the very least to find someone who interested him, someone he felt comfortable enough to settle down with. He’d certainly never expected to find real love, the kind that made his palms sweat and his heart trip over itself when she smiled. The kind that filled him with abject terror, which no man ever wanted to admit having, when he thought of something happening to her.
Something happening…well, that worry seemed to be over now.
Daniel still wasn’t totally convinced, but the note that had been slipped under the door of the police station overnight certainly looked reasonable. It matched the handwriting in the notebook, of that he was fairly certain. Whoever wrote it swore he or she had never meant any real harm to Sophie, claiming the whole thing had been some kind of crazy research for a book.
He just wished the writer had come forward in person. He didn’t completely buy the idea that the guy was just embarrassed to have anyone know he was trying to be a writer. In Daniel’s opinion, starting a murder panic in a town the size of Derryville should have at least deserved an in-person visit to the police station. Not to mention an apology for the long hours he and his crew had logged since last week.
Besides, something about the note—one particular sentence—had been niggling in his brain all morning. Just the way the writer had asked that they “let this case die its own natural death” had been driving him nuts because it had seemed both unusual and familiar. But he couldn’t figure out why.
In any case, he had to let Sophie know about this latest development. He hadn’t wanted to talk to her at the church, where people came in and out all day, so he’d called her instead, asking if he could meet her at the house that night.
He’d heard a tiny hesitation in her voice. “Is this a personal visit? If you’re hoping for more soup, I’m afraid it’s all gone. And my mother is still out of town, so my cupboard is pretty bare.”
He chuckled. “Burned toast is okay with me
.”
She fell silent again, obviously thinking. He wasn’t even aware at first that he was holding his breath, waiting to see if she wanted the visit to be personal.
But he finally admitted, “Look, something has happened with this notebook thing, and I’d like to talk to you about it.”
“Okay,” she said softly. “Come by at seven.”
So a few hours later, at a few minutes before seven, he stood at Sophie’s door, holding a bag filled with cartons of Chinese food, and a bottle of wine.
Her eyes widened when she saw them. “Fried rice, egg rolls and wine? You’re sure this isn’t a social visit? That ranks right up there with chocolate and roses for me.”
“I’m saving you from a night of burnt toast or cat food.” Mugs suddenly stuck his head around the corner and meowed, sounding insulted. Loudly. Damn, it was the cat, not his owner, who had ESP.
Following her into the house, he thought of how quickly he’d become comfortable here, and with her. Quite a change from just the other night, the day after he’d met her.
While she got out some silverware, he opened the wine and poured two glasses. As they ate, he told her about the note.
“You’re sure it’s the same handwriting?”
“I’m not an expert, but I’m sending it to one at the Illinois Crime Lab to make sure of it. But I’ve studied the notebook and the note for hours, and I’d say, yeah, I’m almost certain one person wrote both of them.”
She breathed a visible sigh of relief and sat back in her chair. “Then I’m in the clear.”
He shrugged, still not totally convinced, but not wanting her to think he was an overprotective caveman.
He had a feeling, when it came to Sophie, he could be one.
A variety of emotions crossed Sophie’s face. There was certainly relief, but also something that looked like a flash of regret, or sadness, as if she wasn’t entirely pleased with the good news he’d delivered to her. He had a feeling he understood why. In spite of how concerned he’d been about her, a part of Daniel hadn’t minded the need to keep Sophie close by.
He wasn’t nearly ready to let her go.
“So,” she said as she later cleared away the mostly empty cartons of food. “I guess that’s it.”
“I guess so.”
She wouldn’t meet his eye as she tidied up the kitchen. “You’ll be back to your regular routine, I suppose.”
“Uh-huh.” He murmured, unable to take his eyes off the simple but graceful way she tucked a long strand of her dark hair behind her ear. Sophie had a way of moving that made him just want to stop and watch. “And you will, too.”
“Right,” she said. “Back to my normal life.” Then she added, in a voice so soft he almost couldn’t make out her words. “Whatever that is.”
He understood what she meant. Her words further confirmed what he’d suspected. He wasn’t the only one who’d fallen fast and hard here. He couldn’t explain it, or try to make anyone else understand, because he’d never have believed it possible, himself. But it was true, nonetheless. He’d fallen in love with Sophie Winchester, the sweetheart with the acid tongue, the sexy-as-sin church secretary. The woman who’d made his world pause for a minute the first time he’d set eyes on her.
And she, apparently, didn’t want to lose him, which meant she had feelings for him, too. That explained her hesitation tonight. It explained everything.
He stood.
“I guess you’re leaving now.” Her voice sounded so vulnerable, so regretful, that he almost relented and told her he wasn’t going anywhere.
But not quite yet.
“I can’t go without doing one more thing.”
Dropping the dish towel on the counter, she turned to face him and raised an inquisitive brow. “I thought the case was solved, that everything was over.”
“The case is apparently solved. But things are definitely not over.”
Stepping closer, he finally let her see the intensity in his eyes, the hunger that had been clawing at him since she’d practically fallen into his arms Thursday morning. His pure, undiluted desire for her.
“I’m afraid I’m not going anywhere until we get one thing settled.”
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice a breathy whisper.
“Well,” he said, coming even closer until one of his legs slid between hers and their breaths mingled, “I’m afraid I can’t do anything until I decide whether I’m going to make love to you right here on the kitchen counter, or just pick you up and take you straight to your bed.”
SOPHIE FROZE, HER LIMBS immobile as her breath caught in her lungs. Daniel had changed the subject so quickly, not even giving her time to realize old Hildy Compton’s idea about a note had worked. Sophie had added the touch of leaving it at the police station, hoping to get this thing resolved as quickly as possible. Apparently, she had.
She’d barely had time to acknowledge that fact, or to regret the continuation of her deception with Daniel, whom she was beginning to care deeply about, when he’d totally changed gears on her.
“Um…did you say what I think you said?”
He nodded and stepped closer, like a big, lithe cat, stalking its prey. “I did.”
She sucked in a breath, deeply, inhaling the pure, sensuous promise washing off Daniel as easily as she took in oxygen.
“Oh, Lord, finally,” were the only words she could manage. Then she slipped her arms around his neck and tugged him down.
“Kitchen it is, then,” he whispered as their lips met in a mating of hunger and sweet emotion.
Then there weren’t any more words, just long, deep, wet kisses that tore the veils of doubt from her mind and the emptiness from her body. He filled her from toe to tip with just his kiss. She couldn’t even imagine how full of delight she’d be once he actually made love to her completely.
His hands fell to her hips and she ground against him, almost cooing as she felt the rock-hard reaction of his body.
“You nearly fried my brains in the car Saturday morning. If those teenagers hadn’t beeped, this would have happened then. In broad daylight. Right there in the car.”
“I know,” she mumbled, frantically reaching to tug his shirt from the waistband of his pants.
He was doing the same, pulling her sweater up and off, tossing it away. Mugs would probably be lying on it in twenty-two seconds, unable to resist the soft angora any more than Sophie had been able to. But right now, she didn’t give a damn.
Daniel seemed to touch and caress her everywhere at once. Softly at her waist, teasingly over her belly and midriff, then running the tips of his fingers against the soft underside of her breasts until she quivered with sensation. Finally, unable to stand it, she grabbed his hands and pulled them up, demanding that he ease the ache in her nipples with his touch.
“Impatient?”
“Dying.”
He chuckled as he finally caught her nipples between his fingers, squeezing delicately until her legs went weak and she sagged against him. He lifted her onto the counter so he could taste her; his mouth left a trail of heat from her earlobe, down her neck, across her collarbone, until finally he drew one taut tip between his lips and suckled deeply.
She jerked and moaned, feeling restless. “I’d love to finish right here, but we need to go into the bedroom,” she whispered, remembering the lone box of condoms burning a hole in the bottom drawer of her nightstand.
“Covered,” he muttered, moving his mouth away only to suck on her other breast. “You don’t really think I came over here without shoving a fistful of condoms in my pocket, do you?”
“You were that sure of me?”
He pulled away to meet her eyes, saying more with his expression than he did with his voice. “I was that sure of us.”
His words made her hesitate for a second. Sophie hadn’t been thinking much beyond this, this incredible pleasure, this delight, this release of the pressure that had been building between them for days. She hadn’t thought of tomo
rrow. Of any kind of tomorrow for them. Because their tomorrow would come after a today when she’d continued to lie to him.
“Don’t think about it, Sophie,” he urged her, obviously seeing the indecision on her face. “Whatever happens afterward is for then. Now, there’s just this.”
He nibbled on her neck, running his tongue along her jaw before catching her mouth in another one of those crazy-wild kisses that made her body limp and loose. And wet. Very wet.
She might not have tomorrow. But she was damn sure going to take today while she had a shot at it.
Instead of telling him, she showed him. She reached for his shirt again, which she’d never gotten around to removing, and tugged it up, sucking in a breath when she caught site of the solid ripple of muscles across his middle. Then she pulled higher, admiring the swirl of dark, spiky hair on his massive chest. He lifted his arms so she could push off the shirt, and she couldn’t resist running her hands over those hard shoulders, and those massive arms. “Good God, you’re amazing,” she whispered, unable to decide which part of his body to look at next.
Then she knew. A wicked smile crossed her face as she reached for his belt buckle.
“You’re going too fast,” he admonished. But he didn’t try to stop her, giving in with a throaty growl when she unzipped his pants and caressed him through his tight briefs.
He seemed to realize she meant to have him right here, right now, and didn’t want to wait. Because Daniel pushed up her jean skirt, and when she lifted her bottom off the counter, pushed it up around her waist. He hissed when he saw the thigh-high stockings she wore beneath. “Wicked.”
She smiled. He made the word a compliment. Then her smile faded and her mouth fell open as he reached up to tug her tiny white panties off her hips. His fingers scraped across the curls between her legs, taunting, teasing, raising the tension and her desire. “Oh, yes.” She was incapable of anything more coherent.
He grabbed a condom out of his pocket, then pushed his khakis and briefs down. When she saw his thick erection, and realized he’d be inside her in mere seconds, she moaned. Loudly.
