by Grey, S. R.
“Really?” I squeaked, pretending to be unaware. “Did Adam know?”
“He found out right around the time they got engaged.” This I had not heard. Helena continued, “Adam was home for spring break, and the four of us went out one night in Harbourtown. We ended up getting wasted and calling a cab. But instead of taking us home, Chelsea directed the driver to take us to some rundown bar down by the river.”
Billy’s, I thought.
“J.T. was already there. Just sitting at the bar, all by himself. But he kept glancing over and giving us these weird looks. It was actually kind of creepy. Anyway, at some point, Chelsea said she had to go to the bathroom. About ten minutes passed, and Nate had to go too. Adam asked him to find out what was taking Chelsea so long to return.” Helena stopped long enough to take a drink from her cup, and then she took a deep breath. “Well, Nate found out what was taking her so long when he walked into the men’s room, because there was Chelsea. Down on her knees in front of J.T.”
“Oh God, no,” I gasped.
“It’s true.” Helena paused, as if even in retelling the story she still couldn’t believe it had happened. “Nate threw J.T. up against the wall outside the bathroom, and, get this, Chelsea started screaming at Nate to leave J.T. alone. Adam and I witnessed the whole exchange when we ran over to see what all the commotion was about. Then, worse yet, Chelsea had the nerve to ask Adam to make Nate stop. She kept saying it was all a big misunderstanding.”
“Oh, Helena,” I said, shaking my head. Though it may have been foolish, my heart ached for Adam. Nobody deserved to be treated like that. “What did Adam do?”
She sighed. “He just turned and walked away, disgusted. He knew then, Maddy. Everything he’d ever suspected, rumors he may have heard, everything. In that instant, he knew it was all true.”
“That’s terrible,” I mumbled.
Helena raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s bad? It got crazier two days later.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Chelsea calls to inform me she and Adam had just gotten engaged.”
“What?” I said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Tell me about it.” Helena shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. But think of it this way: If someone knew something about you, like, maybe it’s something nobody else in the whole world knows. Maybe it’s too dangerous to reveal.” I was mesmerized as Helena continued, “If that person who knows your secret threatened to expose it, would you have a choice? Other than to go along with whatever that individual wanted?”
“I guess not,” I said, shaking my head. What was this secret?
“There’s one more thing.” Helena leaned in close to the table. “Nate confronted Adam a few days after the official engagement announcement.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“Nate asked him outright if Chelsea was blackmailing him, because there was no other possible explanation. Not after what went down at that bar with her and J.T. O’Brien.” Helena made a face of disgust.
“Did he have an explanation?” I leaned in close to the table as well.
“He didn’t deny it, but Nate told me it was the one and only time he ever feared Adam.” Helena met my eyes.
“Why?” I was on the edge of my seat. Literally.
“He said Adam was defensive, not like himself at all. He insisted Nate drop it. But it was the way Adam said it that bothered Nate. He told me he knew then that whatever it was Chelsea was holding over Adam, it was probably going to end badly.”
I swallowed hard. “You don’t think Adam—”
“Of course not,” she cut in.
I didn’t want to entertain the possibility of Adam playing a role in the disappearance either, so I changed direction. “Well, do you think Chelsea was still seeing J.T.? I mean, after that night?” I thought about how Jimmy had said she started bringing J.T. back to Billy’s. Even after he was married to Jennifer, after Chelsea and Adam were engaged.
“Maybe not at first,” Helena said thoughtfully. “But I always suspected it started back up again not long afterward. The crazy thing is that two weeks after that whole incident in Harbourtown, J.T. ran off with Jennifer Weston to Vegas to get married.”
“That’s odd,” I said, trying to sound like I hadn’t already been privy to this information too.
“Yeah, poor Jennifer. Guess J.T. married her on the rebound, probably to one-up Chelsea for getting engaged.”
“Oh, Helena.” I sighed in resignation. “It’s so much more complicated than I even imagined.” I rested my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands.
“I know, Maddy,” she replied in a soothing tone. “But it’s all in the past. Adam really is a good guy. Don’t let those ghosts from the past haunt the present.”
I ventured a tired glance up at Helena. “You’re probably right.”
“Trust me, I am,” she said.
More than anything I wanted to believe Adam was a “good guy.” My heart believed it, but my head was spinning, filled with uncertainty. How much had Adam known? Obviously his suspicions were confirmed by what he’d witnessed at Billy’s. But had he also known when Chelsea and J.T. resumed their relationship? And though I’d not breathed a word to Helena about what I’d discovered at Billy’s, I had to wonder if Adam had been aware of everything Chelsea was up to, including the random men…and the mystery blonde.
Lies, blackmail, affairs, deceit.
Not to mention were things really over between Adam and Lindsey? I certainly had no intention of becoming Adam’s new side dish.
The earlier excitement I’d felt about my impending date with Adam was waning. Sure, the man was incredibly appealing, but it seemed like I was being repeatedly reminded of why I should back off. Like fate was trying to warn me.
But instead of backing off, I chose to dive in deeper.
Chapter 8
Despite my misgivings, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation when I heard Adam’s Porsche pull into the driveway of my cottage. Seven o’clock sharp, the clock in the front hall confirmed with a series of lyrical chimes.
I smoothed the long, lacy sleeves of the black, crinkled-silk couture dress I’d fortunately thought to pack before leaving LA. Turning to check out the back view in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall near the front door, I was pleased to find the dress fit snugly in all the right places, the short hemline showing off a fair amount of bare leg. Definitely quite a sexy little dress, I thought, hopeful that Adam would agree.
Just then the doorbell chimed. I quickly stepped into my black leather stiletto heels with the trademark red soles. With a nervous touch to the tendrils of my upswept hair that were framing my lightly made-up face, I took a deep breath and opened the front door.
Nothing could have prepared me for the breathtaking sight of Adam dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit; crisp, white button-down shirt; black silk tie; and a pair of what I was sure were exorbitantly expensive black dress shoes. I looked up and caught Adam’s deep blue eyes darkening as they oh so slowly descended down the curves of my body appraisingly.
After a moment of pretty much blatantly ogling me, Adam raised his unapologetic gaze to meet mine. A surge of warmth coursed through my veins, while a crooked, knowing smile played at his lips. “Maddy,” he said in a velvety voice, “you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
“Thank you, Adam,” I replied, thinking the same thing applied to him. But I kept it to myself; he was cocky enough.
Adam’s eyes stayed on mine for a beat longer than necessary, making me wonder if he could guess all the sinful things I’d already dreamt of doing to him. See, cocky enough, I thought, looking away.
Adam extended his hand in a formal gesture. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Walker is back at the hangar, and Boston awaits
.”
“Walker?” I questioned, picking up my black velvet clutch in one hand, while placing the other in Adam’s. The name was familiar; Oh yeah, I read it in the case files. Walker was the name of Trina’s boyfriend back then. Could it be the same guy?
“Walker will be flying us to Boston tonight,” Adam answered as we walked to his car.
He opened the passenger door for me, moving his free hand to the small of my back. “Would this be the same Walker who once dated your sister?” I asked, sliding into the car.
Adam looked down at me, scrutinizing my face briefly. Oops, Adam had never mentioned that bit of information before. As he closed the car door, I heard him mumble under his breath in annoyance, “Helena.”
Nope, Adam, it wasn’t Helena who told me, I thought to myself.
Adam slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. As the powerful engine roared to life, he responded, “Yes, it’s the same Walker, but he’s not just my sister’s boyfriend anymore; he’s her fiancé. In fact, they’re getting married in the spring.”
“And he’s your pilot?” I asked. “I thought you flew your own plane?”
“I do, usually. Walker’s a commercial pilot by trade, but he helps me out when I’d rather be focusing my attention…let’s say, elsewhere.”
“Oh,” I said, fidgeting slightly.
“Like tonight,” Adam added, flashing me a dazzling smile before placing the car in reverse and peeling out of my driveway.
Driving to his private runway, which was located on the far east side of his property, took only minutes with Adam behind the wheel.
“Maddy,” he chuckled when we pulled to a merciful stop at the end of the runway. “I sure hope you’re more comfortable with flying.” Adam nodded to my iron grip on the passenger door handle.
“You’re not flying the plane tonight, right?” I inquired, only half-mocking.
“Ha-ha. Funny girl,” Adam replied as he smoothly exited the car, just as graciously as he’d gotten in.
A Gulfstream III corporate jet sat idling on the runway, bright lights blazing against the backdrop of a teal and charcoal-streaked twilight sky. A smaller Cessna aircraft, most likely the plane Walker flew in on, was visible in the open hangar to the right of the runway.
Adam opened my car door and once again offered me his hand. “Nervous?” he asked.
“About?”
“Flying, of course.” Adam caressed the back of my hand with his thumb. “What else would I mean, Madeleine?” he added with a wink.
“Ha-ha. Funny boy,” I retorted, throwing his earlier words back at him as I swung my legs out of the Porsche in such a way as to afford him an eyeful of thigh. He sure was in fine form tonight, but so was I.
Adam’s eyes raked up the full length of my body. A wicked grin spread across his face as I steadied myself on my heels. “Are you coming, Maddy?” Adam asked in a low, husky voice, leaning in close enough for me to see the mischievousness in his eyes.
Guess two could play at the innuendo game. I blinked up at him as he straightened to his full height. “Coming?” he asked again, this time with no hint of sexual innuendo. But my mind was still replaying the way he’d said it the first time.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded weakly.
Adam laughed, and then we made our way across the runway. “So you really own this jet?” I asked as we reached the base of the aircraft’s metal stairs.
“I really do,” Adam replied.
“Impressive,” I whispered to myself because, really, it just was.
Walker met us at the top of the stairs, and while Adam engaged him in weather condition and flight path-related conversation, I craned my neck so I could glimpse into the cabin interior.
Wow! The jet was equipped with all the expected—as well as some unexpected—passenger luxuries. Plush, oversized leather seats lined the sides of the cabin, some with small tables between them, bolted down to the floor of the plane, of course. Fresh-cut flowers in crystal vases topped most all of the tables, an obvious addition for tonight.
There was one longer table situated in front of two connecting seats that bore a closer resemblance to a loveseat than to any kind of standard aircraft seating. Atop that particular table, a bowl of fresh fruit, a bottle of iced champagne, and two flutes rested.
Adam cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to the tawny-haired, brown-eyed man in front of me. “Maddy, this is Captain Walker Adair.” Our pilot extended his hand, and Adam continued, “Walker, Ms. Madeleine Fitch.”
We shook hands, his grasp firm yet gentle. There was a kindness in his demeanor, and I found myself instantly liking Captain Adair. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Fitch,” he said.
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied. “And please, just call me Maddy.”
Walker nodded and excused himself to the cockpit. Within moments the sounds of soft jazz filled the cabin. Adam led me to the two connected seats—the ones that looked like a loveseat—and I sat down on the side closest to the window, sinking into the soft, buttery leather.
Adam sat down in the seat next to me and proceeded to swiftly uncork the bottle on the table. “Champagne?” he offered, a crystal flute poised in one hand.
I nodded, and he poured us each a glass as the plane began to taxi down the runway. Our knees accidentally touched when Adam handed me my flute, and a rush of electricity pulsed through my body. “Shall we toast?” he asked, raising his glass.
“Sure.” I raised my glass to his.
Adam hesitated and then said, “To a wonderful start to what I hope will be a memorable evening. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I said, tapping my glass to his as the plane lifted into the air.
Adam and I tipped our glasses back simultaneously, but while I took a dainty sip, Adam emptied his flute. He then settled back into his seat, loosened his tie, and closed his eyes with a sigh.
Angling to get a better view of him, I shifted in my seat, all the while sipping my champagne. But far more delightful than the sweet, bubbly liquid in the glass, I drank in the glory of Adam Ward at rest. Even dressed in his fine attire, his raven-black hair was still a sexy mess. I longed to run my fingers through it, much like I’d seen him do the night I’d been caught on his property. I bit down on my lip and sighed when my eyes fell upon his full lips, glistening with a touch of wetness from the champagne. Replaying the teasing, feather-soft kisses from our time at the lighthouse sent more tingles through my body than any amount of alcohol ever could. Even so I tipped my head back and drank the last bit of bubbly from my glass.
Leaning forward, I placed my glass on the table. When I sat back and glanced next to me, I was surprised to find a seemingly amused Adam, eyes open and a knowing smirk on his face. A blush rose to my cheeks because, eyes closed or not, he was clearly aware that I’d been checking him out.
“How was it, Maddy?” Adam’s voice was even and betrayed nothing, but his eyes danced wickedly.
“How was what?” I asked innocently.
“The champagne, of course.” Adam leaned his head back against the rest and waited, watching, for my response.
Two could play at this game, so I licked my lips and said, “Mmm, it was amazing. The aroma…the full bouquet…I’d have to say it may have been the most suc-culent thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Adam cocked an eyebrow, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It would seem our dear Mr. Ward was quite enjoying this little exchange.
Reaching into the bowl of fresh fruit on the table, he purred, “Personally I prefer a sweeter juiciness against my tongue.”
I was rendered momentarily speechless by Adam’s suggestive words, and surely that had been his intention. Holding up a plump, ripe strawberry, he added smugly, “I’m talking about the strawberry, Maddy. Would you care to try one?”
I swallowed hard, nodding. Good God, he was killing me. I reached for the strawberry, but Adam pulled it away, short of my grasp, at the very last second.
With a dark smile, he crooned, “Uh-uh-uh. It will be much better for you like this.”
Adam poured champagne into his empty flute. He then lightly dipped the strawberry into the fizzing liquid, tapping the side of the fruit to the rim of the glass before lifting it to my lips. “Open your mouth,” he demanded, in such a way that I readily parted my lips.
Adam brushed the strawberry across my bottom lip, held it still for a beat, and then used the champagne-moistened fruit to lightly trace the outline of my lips, his darkened eyes meeting mine. “Lick the tip,” he said, his voice low and silky.
Eager to comply, I tentatively touched the end of the strawberry with the tip of my tongue. Champagne sweetness hit my taste buds. What we were doing felt sinful and thrilling. Emboldened by the decadence of it all, I artfully swirling my tongue around the tip of the strawberry and met Adam’s gaze.
He pulled the strawberry away. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. I readily acquiesced and felt him shifting in his seat—the heat of his body closing in on mine. A swirl of liquid, a light tapping against the crystal rim of the glass. “Do you want it, Madeleine?” Adam asked, every word laced with the suggestion of so much more.
I nodded demurely, and Adam purred, “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it, Adam. Please.” And, holy hell, I’d never wanted it so badly in my life. I didn’t care about the damn strawberry itself, but every fiber of my body was on fire, and I wanted Adam to be the one to give it to me. “Please,” I whispered again.
Suddenly the champagne-moistened fruit was at my lips—tracing, teasing, taunting. I let out a stifled moan, and Adam stilled the movement of the strawberry. “You’re not peeking, are you?” he asked.
I shook my head, my lips brushing against the pebbly texture of the fruit. “OK, be a good girl now”—Adam prodded my lips open with the fruit— “and suck.”
