by Tara Thomas
Kipling couldn’t help but smile. “They are. I do wish I was able to see them more. I swear, they’re busier than most people half their age. My grandmother has the ear of a few fashion designers. Last time we saw her, she had just given her opinion on fashion accessories for the mature woman. There was a purse strap she said was going to revolutionize the industry.”
He chuckled. “I remember her exasperation that her three grandsons had no idea how impressive the strap had been. She’d mumbled something about testosterone and went to find Lena, who could better appreciate her brilliance.”
He glanced to his side, expecting to see Alyssa grin at the story, but instead he found himself unable to read her expression. “Are you okay?”
“Her purse,” she said. “My sister’s purse. That’s what’s missing in the crime-scene photo.”
“What do you mean missing?”
“Her purse was in the box of things the police brought over, but it wasn’t in the crime-scene photo.”
“Tell me what I’m missing, Alyssa,” he said. “Tell me why the purse should have been in the photo.”
She took a deep breath. “She never went anywhere without that purse and in the photo, she was dressed to go out. The purse should have been by her side, but it wasn’t. I remember seeing that purse in the box when they brought it to Mom. I couldn’t believe she was carrying it five years later.”
She didn’t say anything after that and Kipling glanced to his side. “What?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner. I got her that purse for her birthday. I was in scouts and I added a secret compartment. Oh my God. I’d forgotten about that. She used to joke that she could keep the secrets of the whole world in there. What she normally kept in there were things she didn’t want Mom to see. Notes from boys, that sort of thing.”
“Is it possible whoever found the purse also discovered the secret compartment, and later returned it?”
“Of course,” she said. “Whatever Allison had hidden in the purse, if anything, I’m sure is gone by now.”
He had pulled into the driveway of the beach house, but instead of heading to the main house, he took a small side drive and came to a stop at a much smaller property.
Kipling turned to her. “On the off chance that someone knows about this property, we added this cottage after we bought it and even fewer people know about it.”
Her half-hearted nod and faraway expression told him that her body was with him, but her mind was still thinking about a purse. He recalled that she was very thorough and would never leave any clue unexamined.
“Alyssa?” he asked softly, placing a hand on top of hers. “I agree with you. We need to get that purse and make sure there’s nothing in it.”
She looked at him in surprise. “But I didn’t say anything.”
“Not with your mouth, you didn’t.” It took all his strength not to brush her lips with his own. “I vote we get settled inside and you look at the picture again and I’m going to call Knox.”
“To see if he can find out anything about the purse?”
He shook his head. “To find out who became Jade’s guardian after your sister’s death.”
CHAPTER 9
They walked into the cottage and Kipling pointed to the outside patio where he suggested she could sit and look over the photo if she wanted, while he would ensure the house was ready for occupancy. It didn’t take her long to review the photo, just long enough to verify that the purse was the only item she had a question about.
She leaned back in the wicker rocker and watched as Kipling set about making sure the house would meet their needs for the next few days. Again it struck her how this giant of business and industry was just as comfortable setting up the cottage as he was running negotiations.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her how long it’d been since they ate. She got up and wandered into the kitchen to see if she could find something to fix for dinner. She found what she was looking for right as Kipling came up behind her.
“Did you find anything?” he asked. “I was going to take a shower, but it can wait.”
She shooed him out of the kitchen. “You. Out. Go get a shower. I can handle dinner.”
Once he was out of the kitchen, she pulled the frozen shrimp she’d found and grabbed the grits she’d discovered in the pantry. She didn’t cook a lot, but considered shrimp and grits one of her specialties. Within minutes, she had the shrimp thawing and the sauce cooking. By the time Kipling rejoined her, everything was coming along nicely.
“If that’s shrimp and grits I smell,” he said, coming up behind her so he could peek over her shoulder, “I’m yours forever.”
“You may want to wait until you’ve tasted it.”
“Nah,” he said. “I can tell by the smell that it’s going to be great.”
She didn’t say anything, but turned around to face him, expecting to raise an eyebrow. However, she was not expecting him to be standing quite so close and when she turned around; she found him in her personal space and swore she could feel the heat from his body. She forgot everything she was going to say and do.
“Yes?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.
“I had to do the grits a different way. They might not be good.” She didn’t know why she told him that, other than it was the truth.
She ducked around him and grabbed the two plates she’d set out earlier. Kipling took the plates from her with an “Allow me,” and carried them to the small table on the patio.
Flustered and hating herself for feeling that way, she snatched up the napkins and forks and followed. She didn’t know why she felt so out of sorts, but when she made it out to the patio and found him holding one of the chairs out for her, the out-of-sort feeling slipped away. At the sight of his easy smile and breezy confidence, she couldn’t help but feel the same.
“I hope this table will do, ma’am,” he said with all seriousness as if he was indeed working in an upscale restaurant and not at his own family’s patio. “I’m afraid we’re rather busy tonight and this is all we have available.” His composure slipped on that last sentence and he coughed in what she assumed was an attempt to cover up a chuckle.
Playing along, she slipped into the offered seat with a sigh. “I suppose I’m not in any position to complain since I didn’t have the courtesy to call ahead.”
He nodded and turned away, doing something she couldn’t see. When he turned back around, it appeared he had a wine bottle in his hand that he held out as if expecting her to inspect it.
“Ma’am?” he asked.
He still had that playful grin on his face and she couldn’t imagine why. He took a step closer and she saw it wasn’t a wine bottle at all, but rather a plain glass decanter. She swallowed a laugh.
“South Carolina. Low county. Current year flat,” he said, his grin getting bigger. “It’s our best reserve yet. I thought that with what happened the last time I gave you wine, water might be the best choice tonight.”
She didn’t try to swallow her laugh this time; she let it out, waving at his seat across from her as she did so. “Please,” she said, between laughs. “Sit down.”
He finally relented, taking the seat across from her with a sigh. “I could never work in the service industry.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Was I really that bad? I thought I was most polite.”
“It’s not you,” he assured her. “I was just thinking about how it could be.” He poured himself a glass of water and sat back to take a long sip. “I don’t think I would last one night. I’d more than likely have to punch somebody out. Or maybe cuss them out? Either way, it wouldn’t be pretty and I would probably end up getting myself fired.”
“All that aside, I think you did a fine job out here on your parents’ patio. In fact, I thought I might set up a reservation for tomorrow night.” She twirled her wineglass that contained water. “I thought the service was exemplary.”
“If you think dinner service is good,
you should see this place at breakfast.”
There was nothing inherently suggestive about his statement. After all, they had shared several breakfasts together over the last few days and none had been remotely uncomfortable. So why was it her face heated at his statement and her heart raced?
Because there were hours to go until breakfast and the heated look he gave her led her to believe he had several suggestions on how they could spend them. Quite a change from what she thought he’d feel as recently as a month ago when she couldn’t picture him with a police officer.
But no sooner had that thought popped into her mind than she chastised herself for being so rude and disrespectful to Kipling in her thoughts. She had not once—not before they wound up together like they currently were or in the last few days when she was with him almost twenty-four seven—ever seen him hold himself above anyone or look down on anyone.
Kipling Benedict was not a snob. If anyone was being judgmental about class, or his bank-account amount, it was her. And that thought made her feel very small. Was she really so petty that she wouldn’t want Kipling because he was wealthy?
She heard his voice from the not-so-distant past, on one of the first times they’d met.
“For the record, I’m not just wealthy. I’m insanely wealthy. And guess what? News flash. Everyone is for sale. Even you. All I have to do is find your price.” His voice dropped a notch. “Would you like for me to try? Rumor has it I’m very thorough when it comes to something I want to buy.”
She realized his words now for what they truly were—a defense mechanism designed to keep him from getting hurt. If he could make the world think he was nothing more than a playboy, then no one would bother to get to know him. And that way, he would never get hurt.
He sat across the table from her, serving them both hearty scoops of grits followed by the shrimp she’d made to go over it. He caught her looking and smiled, but it wasn’t until he frowned that she realized she hadn’t returned it.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and she knew she had been a fool.
Who had hurt him so much that he no longer wanted anyone to get close to him? It had to be that girl from college. It was a good thing Alyssa wasn’t around in those days; she’d have taught that piece of trash a thing or two.
“Alyssa?” he asked, this time with concern in his voice because she realized she’d never replied.
“I’m good,” she said.
“Are you sure? You looked confused there a few seconds ago.”
“That was nothing. Just me hoping dinner doesn’t suck.” She picked up her fork. “Eat up.”
* * *
“I don’t believe you for a minute,” he told her. Though normally, if she didn’t want to tell him, no amount of badgering would get her to change her mind, he decided to try. “Tell me.”
She put her fork down with a sigh. “If you must know, I was thinking about that girl from college and how I wished I knew who she was, because I’d love to tell her a thing or two. Can we change topics now?”
Even though her response touched him, he did as she asked and changed the topic completely, launching instead into stories of his childhood when the Benedict clan came to their beach property. Even then it took some time for her to realize that he didn’t want to try a bait and switch. All he planned to do was talk about the past and occasionally tell something frightfully embarrassing about his brothers.
He told her about a sea turtle Keaton wanted to take home to Benedict House and how his brother had concocted a story about the turtle coming up to the beach house while everyone else but he was asleep. Keaton would let him in and they’d drink orange soda and eat Lena’s chocolate chip cookies.
Kipling leaned in close. “Lena told him that if she woke up and found that some sea turtle had tracked sand in all over the floor she’d cleaned, and on top of that he was being fed cookies? She’d never make them again. Knox jumped up and said no turtle was going to eat his cookies. He was going to go to the beach and capture that turtle and make soup out of it.”
Alyssa laughed softly. The first time she’d done so all evening. “How did Keaton take that?”
It hit him that with her family situation being what it was, she probably didn’t have many stories to share about her sister. “Alyssa, I’m so sorry.” He shook his head. “I never meant … I mean, I go on and on all the time, and it never occurred to me to stop and think that you…”
He looked up, expecting to see her upset or possibly sad, but instead the reverse was true. She looked serene, for lack of a better word. The late-evening light touched her hair in a way that almost made her look like she glowed. Or at least made her look otherworldly. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to perfectly describe how she looked, but the effect was stunning. She was stunning. All at once, he found his mouth so dry, he couldn’t speak.
Seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him, she ever so gently placed her hand on top of his. “You’re worried about telling me about you and your brothers growing up because you know I don’t have anything similar to share about my sister?”
He winced slightly and put down the glass of water he’d taken a sip from. “It made more sense in my head than it did to hear you say it out loud.”
She didn’t move her hand, and he swore he felt her touch echo throughout his body. “I can only imagine that the way you grew up, with two brothers, makes my childhood look very boring and bleak. But I had fun; there were some good times, too.”
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“I know that.”
She still hadn’t moved her hand. A quick glance at the table told him she had finished her dinner.
“Ah,” he said. “I knew you were mistaken about something.”
His only response from her was an arched eyebrow. He loved how she used that perfectly sculpted brow to convey any number of sentiments. In the past, she’d lifted it at him in annoyance, in disbelief, and like now, in question. He imagined that same brow had been lifted a time or two at work as well and he suddenly wanted to see her in her element.
“You’re killing me with the eyebrow,” he said.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me what I was mistaken about.”
“The grits,” he said. “You said you thought that they would be awful, but they aren’t. They’re wonderful.”
She glanced at his plate. His empty plate. “Or perhaps,” she said, “you’re just a typical male, and will eat anything that is put in front of you.”
He didn’t answer for a few seconds, instead choosing to look at her and gaze into her eyes. When he finally answered, his voice was low and she had to lean forward to hear him. “Do you really think I’m a typical guy?”
This close to her, he could see she was trembling. It wasn’t cold, and she wasn’t frightened. That left one thing. Other than the one kiss they had shared, they had ignored this thing between them for the most part. That was going to end tonight.
“Do you, Alyssa?” he asked again. She tried to jerk her hand back, but he wouldn’t let her. He didn’t hold on to it tightly, but gently. And when she stopped trying to pull away, he brought it to his lips and kissed it.
“Do you?” he asked again.
“No.”
No. That word said in answer to any other question at a point like this would’ve stopped him. But said in response to the question he’d asked, it made him move forward more.
“Thank you,” he said. “I have to admit I’d be rather put out if you were to think I was typical. For the record, I don’t think there’s anything typical about you, either.”
“Kipling,” she said. “What are we doing?”
“At the moment, the only thing we’re doing is talking. We’re two people who just finished a delightful meal and we’re sitting at the dinner table enjoying each other’s company.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
He knew she was going to say that. It made a part of him deep inside feel very pleased with himself
that he was able to predict her so well. “In that case, you must have asked the wrong question. Perhaps what you should have asked was ‘What are we going to do?’”
He might be pleased with his ability to guess what she was going to say next, but the laugh she gave at that moment told him she knew him just as well. “What?” he asked, though he had a feeling he didn’t need to ask.
“As soon as I said that, I knew what you were going to say,” she said.
“What am I getting ready to say now, Alyssa?”
But she didn’t reply and dipped her head instead. Trying to hide the color that his question brought to her cheeks, he assumed.
“I don’t know,” she said.
He stood and she looked up, but if she thought he was getting ready to leave the patio, she was sorely mistaken. He held his hand out to her and she took it, getting to her feet.
He decided to be silent and wait for her to say something. When she lifted her head and looked at him with her intense eyes, he could no longer be quiet. “I want you, Alyssa.”
There was no surprise in her eyes. She knew how he felt.
“I know,” she said, and he appreciated that she appeared neither embarrassed nor coy. She was matter-of-fact about the entire thing. He had no idea it would be so refreshing for a woman to act that way.
“I know,” she repeated. “And by now, you must know that I want you, too.”
“Yes,” he said, giving her the same straightforwardness that she had given him.
“The thing is, I’m not sure what I want to do about it.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “I sure as hell know what I want to do about it. Come to bed with me, Alyssa.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”
He brought her hand to his lips again, but this time kissed her open palm and hiding his smile when she sucked in a breath and her eyes flew open. “You do know.”
Now that her eyes were open, he saw they were dark with desire. “Yes,” she admitted.
“Tell me what’s making you hesitate.”
“So you can tell me why I shouldn’t feel that way?”
