Sinister Summer

by Colleen Gleason

  Ethan nodded, then turned his attention to Cady as if he didn’t want Diana to see what was in his eyes.

  But did Jonathan think she’d finished the will? And if so—

  “Look, I know what you’re tiptoeing around, Ethan,” she said. “And I understand why. I watch crime shows too—occasionally. Well, rarely. But enough to know how to look for the perpetrator. If I had changed—or written—a will, Jonathan would be a prime suspect. But I didn’t.”

  “There’s still time,” he snapped, glancing briefly at her with furious dark eyes, then whipping them back to focus on Cady. “You’re not dead yet, Diana. And if he’s the one who suggested changing your will—”

  She said something unladylike that had him looking up at her in surprise.

  “Look, there’s no way Jonathan killed my Aunt Jean. I know him. I’ve—I’ve been with him. I know him. He’s just not like that. And even if you don’t believe me, the facts are that he couldn’t have done it. He was in Vegas at a conference when she died—I know, because the day I found out, I flew out there to meet him. That’s when I saw him with Valerie the Vicious Vixen—but that’s another story.” She paused to take a fortifying gulp of wine as the corner of his lips quirked at the alliterative nickname for her fiancé’s lover.

  “And,” she continued passionately after she swallowed, “the night of the break-in—when I came home—I’d just returned from taking Jonathan to the airport.”

  “You didn’t stop anywhere on your way home from the airport?” Ethan asked mildly. “You drove straight back?”

  She glared at him. “Well, I had dinner on the way home.”

  He lifted a brow and she rolled her eyes.

  “Then Jonathan called me later that night—when he got back to Chicago. After Captain Longbow left. It was around midnight.”

  “How do you know where he was calling from? He could have been calling from Grand Rapids, for all you know. Was he on his cell phone?”

  “Of course—wait. No, I don’t know—he called me on the land line. Said he couldn’t get through on my cell.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Ethan, please. I know what you’re trying to do—I know you don’t like the man—but he’s not a murderer. And he’d never hurt me. And besides—he has no motive. No reason.”

  “All right then,” he said flatly. “I said what I had to say.”

  “Well, technically, I said most of what you wanted to say,” she replied. “But I appreciate your concern, Ethan. I really do.”

  He gave her a noncommittal nod, then pushed himself off the sofa with jerky movements. “More wine?” he asked.

  That tension was back—that sour mood—and Diana nearly declined. “Yes, thank you. It’s really good.” She handed him her empty glass.

  He walked past her to the kitchen in bare feet and she noticed how long and narrow they were. They were nice feet, she decided. For a man. And men never needed pedicures—lucky them.

  Hm. Maybe the wine had gone a little bit to her head, especially since she’d had a glass at Trib’s.

  “Besides,” she said as he walked back into the living room with her refilled glass, and a beer for himself, “aren’t we fairly certain the person who’s been breaking into the house is someone who was at that conference? Someone who wanted to retrieve something Aunt Jean had?”

  He spewed out a sigh and settled back in his spot. “Yes,” he said. “Someone seems to want something. But whatever it was, presumably it’s destroyed now because of the fire.”

  “So we may never know.”

  “Doubtful.” He tipped up the dark brown bottle—which, strangely, was lacking a label—and drank. “So…back to the card that was mysteriously on the lawn this afternoon when you returned to the house. Oh, I meant to ask—where are the cards now?”

  “I have them. They’re with my other things in the guest room. So, are you going to guess something besides The High Priestess?”

  He contemplated her for a moment, and the weight of his gaze brought a warm flush to her cheeks. “Something relevant to the situation, you said.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which particular situation?” he asked after another long moment as his attention lingered over her.

  If he’d been a witness under cross exam, she would have described him as struggling internally with wanting to tell the truth, but being unwilling or unable to.

  Either that, or perjuring himself.

  “Which particular situation?” she replied teasingly, holding his eyes with hers until they connected and that sizzle zipped into her belly.

  Oh, yes, the wine had tiptoed straight up to her head when she wasn’t paying attention. She blinked, breaking the connection. “The fact that I had just finished a difficult conversation with Jonathan and was sitting on the steps of a burned-out house?”

  She wouldn’t come right out and tell him she’d ended things with Jonathan. It would feel as if she were putting a lot of pressure or obligation on him—or her. On the situation.

  To do so felt too coy. Too manipulative. Just as it had been the night she asked him to answer the telephone when she knew Jonathan was calling.

  Besides, she was going back to Chicago tomorrow, so what did it matter anyway? When or if she saw Ethan—or Wicks Hollow—again, it would be months.

  And now that the house was mostly gone, she had no real reason to stick around.

  But what about the get-away for the kids? The two girls and a boy—and the big black dog?

  Whoa. Diana glared at her half-full wine glass and set it firmly on the table next to her.

  That was enough of that.

  “Well,” Ethan mused quietly from his corner. “What about The Lovers?” His dark eyes held hers, then eased away as he adjusted a pillow behind his back.

  She scoffed. “No.” Then she looked at her wine glass and considered it, but ultimately kept her hands in her lap. “One more guess.”

  “I don’t remember that being part of the rules.” His lips quirked.

  “It’s implied: three strikes, and all that,” she replied airily.

  “All right. Then I’ll take Cady out.”

  She understood that was his way of graciously saying goodnight. Quelling a little pang of disappointment, she kept a casual smile on her face and nodded. “It’s been a long twenty-four hours. One more guess, Ethan.”

  “How about The Fool?”

  She lifted her brows and, smiling, shook her head. “You lose,” she teased, then rose from the sofa and collected her wine glass and his empty beer bottle. A little breeze buffeted through the open windows as she padded into the kitchen, followed by Ethan and the clicking of Cady’s nails on the hardwood floor.

  “Thanks for your hospitality again,” she told him as she carefully began to wash the wine glass in his sink. And so as to keep him from feeling awkward, she added, “Good-night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He halted in the doorway to the screened porch when she started into the guest room. “Aren’t you going to tell me what card it was?” He opened the door for Cady, and the chocolate-black canine bolted out into the darkness.

  “Oh, right. It was Death.” And she closed the door to the bedroom.

  Ethan had just stepped outside with Cady under a moonlit night when it sank in.

  Death.

  Not only a burned-out, ruined house.

  But a difficult conversation with her fiancé.

  The card was perfect for that particular situation.

  He froze, and swore under his breath as it sank in.

  Dammit, Murphy. You’re an idiot.

  It had been all he could do to keep himself seated at the far end of the sectional tonight, safely distant from the prim, dark-haired goddess, occupying his hands by holding a beer and petting Cady instead of reaching for Diana.

  Her teasing smile, the light in her dark blue eyes, the way she grew serious and intense when she was trying to tell him he was wrong…and the enticing way she filled out th
at gray tank top—

  Damn. You idiot.

  He looked back toward the cabin, where the light in the guest room burned low and he could see the vague movement of shadow in there.

  By contrast, the windows of the cabin’s upper floor, where the master suite was located, were dark and uninviting.

  But that, he knew, was where he’d be tonight. Upstairs, and very much alone.

  “Come on, Cady. Inside.”

  Damn.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A loud crack of thunder woke Diana from a restless sleep. The clock next to her bed was illuminated by a great flash of lightning. It was three-thirty.

  She stared at the ceiling, watching shadows come and go as lightning flickered in the distance, then closer as a boom of thunder shook the log cabin.

  All at once, another crack of thunder shook the house and a gust of wind sent hard, sharp rain against the window. Suddenly Diana remembered the row of tall windows open in the living room. Had Ethan closed them?

  She flipped the blanket back and hurried out of the room, the indulgence of her silky nightgown soft and sleek against her skin.

  Brilliant flashes of lightning helped her find her way to the living room, and just as she was getting to the windows, she heard a clumping coming down the stairs.

  It sounded like an army, but it was really just six feet: Ethan and Cady.

  She was struggling to close the windows when they came in. The wind was blowing in through them and their panes were wet. “I’ll get them. That one on the left sticks.”

  She moved out of his way and walked over toward the screened-in porch to see what the storm looked like. She and Cady slipped into the enclosure and peered out to see trees bending and swaying with the wind, and jagged white lines of lightning spearing into the forest and onto the lake.

  Since this was on a different side of the house, only a smattering of rain came in through the screen, but the cool, crisp rainstorm air filled changed the scent and temperature.

  Another boom shook the house and Cady whined, pushing her damp nose into Diana’s leg—which was bare under her short silky nightgown. The chill of it startled her, but this time, she bent down to pat the dog on the head instead of pushing her away.

  Ethan joined them on the porch, a sleek, dark shadow. “Looks pretty nasty.”

  Another flash of lightning illuminated him: his hair was standing up in endearing tufts, and he hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt—though he was wearing loose boxers. And the long, silvery slide of the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms was illuminated like a photograph.

  “I love storms,” she murmured, peering into the darkness. “Especially at night.”

  “Me too.”

  He stepped closer to her, and Diana found herself holding her breath in anticipation and nervousness as he came up behind her. Her hands were a little clammy, and her insides were a hot mess.

  A very pleasant, albeit nervous, hot mess.

  “Are you cold?” Ethan asked, resting his hands lightly, very lightly, on her bare upper arms. His fingers were warm against her chilled skin, which had become damp from the spray of rain. “Diana.” He said her name on a quiet exhale, and she recognized that something, somehow had changed.

  She felt the imprint of each of his fingers as they lightly caressed her arms, almost brushing the sides of her breasts. “It feels good. The…fresh air. And…” You touching me. She moistened her lips, aware of the pounding pulse in her throat.

  Something had definitely changed.

  Lightly, Ethan slid his hands down to her elbows and back up to her shoulders—once, twice, three times. And then he paused, cupping her elbows in two warm palms.

  Another crash of thunder made Cady whine, but Ethan said nothing. He was very close behind her; she could feel the heat rolling off his bare chest, the barest touch of one of his toes against the side of her foot, and she could smell his fresh, male scent.

  “It’s beautiful in its power, isn’t it?” Her voice was low and unintentionally husky. She wanted to lean back against him, to tip the back of her head into his solid chest. “Nature always amazes me.”

  His hands moved again, once more up to her shoulders, and she felt his fingers brush the ends of her short hair, skim over the sides of her neck. More shivers erupted over her skin and down her spine, and a hot, liquid heat began to gather in the lowest part of her belly. Ethan gently massaged her shoulders, his fingers brushing over the slender straps of her night chemise.

  “I saw a tornado once.” His voice was low and quiet in her ear as he stepped closer, slipping his arms around her from behind, crossing them over her belly—which jumped and fluttered. “It was one of the most incredible things I’d ever witnessed. I should have been in the basement, but I had to see it first…and Fifi and I made it down there just in time. My mother was furious with me for keeping my sister out there too.”

  “How old were you?”

  He shrugged against her. “Oh, twelve maybe. Thirteen.” There was a smile in his voice.

  “Ah, yes, the age of invincibility.” She was trying to keep her breathing slow and steady even though her heart was racing, for fear he’d realize how much his embrace affected her.

  They stood there for a moment, watching the storm as it tossed the trees and splattered rain against the screendoor and closed windows. Even Cady seemed to have calmed, only giving a little whine at the loudest of thunderclaps.

  “I guess I’d better head back to bed,” Diana said after awhile. But she made no move to slide from his embrace.

  “I’d very much like to join you.” His words, unexpected, soft and heavy with desire, speared her middle and caused her to draw in her breath. “Diana,” he whispered near her ear.

  Before she could respond, his lips settled on her neck, in the secret spot just below her ear. Sensation exploded through her body, hot and delicious, and she caught her breath, shivering as her eyes sunk closed.

  Yes.

  His mouth was warm and light, and as his lips moved tenderly up the side of her neck, her knees went embarrassingly weak. Pleasure goosebumps erupted everywhere, her nipples surged and hardened, and she gave a soft sigh as he tightened his arms around her, drawing her back against him.

  His mouth nibbled near her ear, kissing a vulnerable spot just behind her lobe, still gentle, coaxing, erotic. His hands slid around to cover her breasts and she heard his intake of breath as he found her ready nipples where they jutted through the silk of her nightgown. Sharp, hot pleasure jolted through her when he teased them, sliding the sensual fabric over their sensitive tips.

  “I want to make love to you,” he murmured unnecessarily, for she could feel every bit of the heat and desire gathered in his strong body.

  He found his way beneath the skimpy straps and down into the deep vee of her neckline, cupping her breasts and using his thumbs to taunt and stroke her nipples into hard, ready points.

  She could have turned to face him, to slide her hands up over those broad, naked shoulders, but he kept her firmly in place, in a gentle imprisonment of growing arousal. The silk of her nightgown was clinging to her everywhere, and although the cool rain’s breeze filtered through the screens, she was warm and liquid, heavy-lidded in the eyes—but yet very much awake. Alive.

  “Mm…yes,” he murmured when she closed her eyes, resting her head back onto his shoulder, his mouth close to her ear. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

  One of his hands eased down over the clinging silk chemise to its hem, and the next thing she knew, his fingers were sliding up her bare thigh. Smooth and sure, his hand moved to the warm, moist center between her legs and Diana gasped softly when his clever fingers found her center. A hot, pleasurable throb reverberated through her body, swelling and pounding as his fingers went slickly to work, exploring and teasing her until she was a panting, shivering mass.

  Now, both hands worked to hike up the hem of her nightgown over her bare thighs, and he lifted his face from where he’d been
nuzzling her neck. Diana opened her eyes.

  In the window in front of her she could see their reflections: she, with her dark head flung back, exposing a stark white throat and white thighs, he with a shadowed face, staring into the reflection. His hands pinned her against his body in some erotic game, and as she watched, their eyes met in the mottled image.

  Behind her, she felt his chest move with ragged breaths and he pulled a strap off her shoulder so that one pale breast slipped out from the nightgown. Her nipple, full and tight, was dark in the center of the white skin beneath the long expanse of her throat. In that moment, instead of herself, Diana saw some exotic movie starlet, flush and lush with passion, captured in place by a pair of solid tanned arms.

  The image aroused her even more, and perhaps him as well, for all at once, two probing fingers slipped deep into her wet sheath.

  He groaned from deep in his chest as she gasped and pulsed around him. “You are so ready,” he muttered into her ear. “Come with me now, sweetheart. Come…with me.” He slid his fingers in and out and around, massaging her own tiny, swollen erection, brushing over the plump, sensitive skin around it.

  Diana felt herself gathering up, the heat rushing and surging through her as his rhythm never faltered. Her toes curled into the wood floor, her fingers closed around his arm as she bit her lip, trying to keep from crying out as she drew closer and closer—and then all at once, she went over the top, her world exploding like a bright flash of lightning.

  She gave a cry of release, of triumph, as the pleasure undulated through her limbs. Her knees gave out and she clung to his arms as he chuckled softly, deeply into her damp neck.

  “That’s what I meant,” he said, pleasure and delight evident in his voice. “Ah, Diana…” He turned her suddenly and wrapped his arms around her, at last crushing her into his arms to kiss her. His hand brushed the hair from her cheek, and she could smell her own muskiness on his fingers.

  Diana raised her face to meet him, to take his lips, and she felt his trembling from pent-up desire. His mouth was as sensual and his kiss as beautiful as she’d remembered, but grew hot and sleek as their bare skin connected. Now she could touch him, at last: her hand could slide up his arms, over his broad, warm shoulders, her fingers traced the curve of his collarbone; she pressed her hips into his.