by Nico Rosso
“That’s what I keep asking myself.”
Kate gave her a squeeze then leaned back. “Well, you’re home now. And if anybody in the press shows up to harass you I will personally kick their ass.” Kate’s brows lifted. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“It feels good to be home.”
“You say that now, but wait until you’re tucked into that lumpy twin bed tonight and you hear dad snoring from down the hall.”
Kelly smiled for the first time in weeks. “Icing on the cake.”
“Speaking of . . . I hate to impose but would you mind giving me a hand out front? I’ve got a few orders I need to box up and I still have to ice two dozen cupcakes for Mary Clancy’s baby shower. Dad’s busy with a batch of dinner rolls.”
“You don’t hate to impose, but I’d be happy to help anyway.” Kelly shoveled the last bit of cheesecake into her mouth, stood, and grabbed an apron off the hook on the wall.
“Good thing you came home wearing jeans and a T-shirt instead of your usual lawyer regalia.”
Kelly draped the apron over her head and nodded. She didn’t think now was the right time to tell her sister she had doubts she’d ever wear another Brooks Brothers suit. Her colossal failure had led to a murderer’s freedom—and there was no doubt in her mind that Andrew Colson had murdered his wife. She couldn’t afford to screw up again.
Someone’s life may depend on it.
She followed Kate out of the small office tying an apron around her waist and preparing herself to dive back into life in Deer Lick. She’d taken a leave of absence to attend her brother’s wedding. But she’d also come home to hide. To lick her wounds. To overcome her guilt. If that was even possible. She hadn’t quite planned to shovel cookies and cupcakes into white boxes, but that’s exactly what she was about to do.
As she passed him in the kitchen she gave her dad a quick kiss on the cheek then headed toward the front counter. A glance over the top of the glass display case indicated a number of patrons reading the menu or pointing out sugary delights they intended to take home. Kelly’s gaze skipped over the fresh Neapolitan ice cream colors of the shop, the vintage photo of her mom and dad on the Sugar Shack’s opening day, and came to a sliding stop near the door. Back turned toward her, a wide set of khaki-clad shoulders blocked the summer’s glare off the patrol car parked outside.
She sucked back a groan.
Apparently karma wasn’t done playing gotcha.
Her hands stilled on the apron ties. Her heart knocked against her ribs. The knot in her stomach pulled tight. On the other side of the lunch counter stood another of her monumental screw-ups.
As if she’d called his name, he turned his sandy blonde head. His brown eyes brightened and a smile tipped the corners of lips that were sinfully delicious. She knew. She’d tasted them.
She took a wobbly step backward.
In her thirty-two years she’d been struck with accusatory scowls from a judgmental mother and murderous glares from convicted felons, but nothing had ever hit her below the belt like a smile bursting with sexual promise from one of Deer Lick’s finest.
Deputy James Harley.
His intense gaze perused her body like he was on the cruise of a lifetime and enjoying the trip. He’d looked at her that same way just a few months ago—braced above her on arms thick with muscle while the rest of his hot, hard body did the talking.
A tingle ignited from her head, sizzled like a fuse down the front of her shirt, and detonated beneath the zipper on her jeans. Her skin turned hot and a flush crept up her chest. All thanks to the memory of one night in James Harley’s bed.
As a deputy sheriff he’d sworn to serve and protect. During the hours she’d spent rolling in his sheets, he’d done both. At least from what she remembered.
The night of Kate’s wedding reception, Kelly knew she should have stayed focused on carrying out her maid-of-honor duties. But one too many glasses of exceptional champagne had dislodged a few of her bolts and screws and she’d completely given herself over to whim and mind-bending orgasms. Afterward, she’d made a promise to herself to get a serious handle on the sometimes uncontainable urges that never ceased to embarrass the hell out of her. Even if they did provide a real jolt of excitement.
She blinked away the sweaty memory of the hot, sexy man on the opposite side of the counter, sucked in a breath, and stepped up beside Kate. “What do you need me to do?”
“Could you box up that chocolate cake and then fill James’s lunch order?”
Crap. “Sure.” Kill me now. Please.
Her hands uncharacteristically trembled as she opened a pastry box and lifted Dr. Robinson’s double chocolate birthday cake from the display case. She didn’t know why her stomach was so keyed up. She’d spent the last seven years in the heat of the spotlight, prosecuting some of the dirtiest criminals in the state of Illinois, and she’d never once been nervous.
So why did taking a lunch order seem so damned intimidating?
With a smile she handed the pastry box over the counter to Dr. Robinson’s nurse and rang up the bill on the register. She closed the cash drawer and wiped her hands down the front of her apron, leaving a streak of chocolate. When she looked up hot cop was standing at the lunch counter. Muscled arms expanded from beneath his short uniform sleeves while the fitted shirt hugged his wide chest and slim waist. Kelly knew that beneath all that khaki fabric was a talented body of pure strength and muscle. A very talented body.
God, her thoughts were a train wreck.
She grabbed the pencil and order pad. “Can I help you?”
A smile crinkled the corners of his brown eyes and a slow blink swept long, dark lashes across his cheeks. “You’re back.”
“Apparently.”
He chuckled. “And you’re not happy to see me.”
“I’m not not happy to see you.”
“Okay then. I’ll take that for starters.”
Oh, no. His days of taking from her were over. She was on a save your soul and sanity mission. No boys allowed. “And what would you like to eat?”
The spark in his eyes guaranteed she wouldn’t need a Geiger counter to detect what he was thinking. “Sandwich, Deputy Harley. What kind would you like?”
“I’d like two tuna subs. No tomato. Two iced teas.” He settled a lean hip against the counter. “And your phone number.”
A laugh escaped before she could stop it. “That will be nine fifty-six.”
“Is that a no?” He reached into his back pocket, withdrew a worn leather wallet, and handed her a twenty.
Her fingers curled around the money. “I’m sure you have all the numbers you can handle.”
James held on to the cash, just to be able to touch her for half a second. “I’d be willing to throw all those numbers away in exchange.”
Since she was a pro and could read a lie a mile away she probably thought he was bullshitting her. But he’d never been more serious.
One night with Kelly Silverthorne hadn’t been nearly enough. Once she’d hightailed it out of town he’d tried to discount the hours he’d spent with her in his arms but it had been impossible. Now here she was again. And everything inside of him was buzzing with awareness.
As expected she looked up and studied his face like he’d been named a prime suspect. He knew that look. On the job he’d used it himself once or twice.
“Without all those phone numbers what would you do on a rainy day, Deputy?” Her head tilted just slightly and her ivory hair fanned like silk across her shoulder. “I’d hate to be the cause of your ultimate frustration.”
“Nice jab, Counselor.” James steadied his breath as he watched her delicate fingers punch the amount into the register and slide the cash into the drawer. Kelly Silverthorne was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And he’d seen plenty. From the second grade he’d watched her, admired her, and had probably had a crush on her even though the only glances she’d ever returned had been rife with warnings to keep his d
istance.
The night she’d ended up in his bed? No one could have been more surprised. Oh, he wasn’t about to complain. No way. The counselor was hot. And sweet. And way out of his league. Though he knew he’d had his one and only shot with her, he craved her like a decadent dessert or a fine wine. One taste was just not enough to satisfy.
He watched as she grabbed the sandwich rolls, cautiously sliced through them, and spread a thin layer of mayonnaise across the surface. She topped the bread with perfectly rounded scoops of tuna salad and carefully placed leaves of crunchy lettuce on top. Every movement was smooth and calculated as if she’d be judged on her placement and presentation.
In an attempt to gain control over his body and all the odd stirrings around his heart, he looked away. A quick glance at the two sisters revealed the vast differences. Kate, his best friend’s new wife, was a bit taller and looked as if in a scrap she could hold her own. Her straight auburn hair displayed a meager reflection of her fiery personality. Whereas Kelly, a few inches shorter, teetered on the more delicate side. She looked like a woman a man would jump to protect. Her long ivory hair had a soft curl that made her glow like sunshine.
He smiled.
At least she’d lit up his world. For a night.
“So what made you leave the windy city and come all the way back to our little town?” he asked as she wrapped each sandwich in white paper as carefully as if she’d been swaddling a newborn.
“Just needed a break.” She slid the packaged sandwich into a crisp white bag.
“Most people who need a break hit a tropical beach. Not some dusty back road to nowhere.”
“Maybe nowhere is exactly where I want to be.” She shoved the second sandwich into the bag a little less carefully.
Whoa. Was it his imagination or was he detecting some underlying aggression?
“Well, I’m sure your family will be happy to have you around for a little while,” he said, watching her graceful fingers fold down the top of the bag.
She gave him no response as she set the bag on the counter, grabbed two paper cups, and began to fill them with iced tea.
“So . . . exactly how long of a little while will that be?” he asked.
The glass pitcher thunked on the counter and tea sloshed up the sides. “The length of my stay is really no concern of yours, Deputy Harley.”
“True. But I’m more than willing to change that if you are.”
A smile tilted her soft, full lips. “You really are incorrigible.”
He mirrored her expression. “It’s a cross I bear.”
She set the cups of tea down in front of him and pushed plastic caps over the rims. “I hope you enjoy your lunch, Deputy Harley. Please do come again soon.”
“Is that an invitation?” Say yes, Angelface.
Her delicate brows pulled together over sea green eyes. “Are you serious?”
“As a tortoise trying to cross the road.”
“I’m sorry, Deputy—”
“I think we know each other well enough to be on a first name basis, don’t you?” Her slight hesitation gave him hope.
“Like I said, I’m sorry, Deputy, I’m not here to engage in anything other than some rest and relaxation. I need a break. Not an opportunity to . . . lose control,” she whispered.
James smiled. He knew exactly how loudly Kelly lost control. And exactly what made her lose it. Then again, he was more than willing to invent new techniques to make that happen too. Even if it took all night. Please, God, let it take all night.
If Princess Prosecutor imagined him as a man who gave up easily she’d be very wrong.
“You know . . .” He leaned closer and spoke low for her ears only. “If you give me your number you might just have a little fun losing a little control for the little while you’re here.” He lifted the bag and cups from the counter, stepped back, and gave her a good long appreciative once over. “Or is that what you’re afraid of?”
An Excerpt from
A MOST NAKED SOLUTION
by Anna Randol
Lady Sophia Harding: beautiful, blonde, and . . . capable of murder? That’s what Lord Camden Grey intends to find out.
Sophia knows that to keep her family’s secrets she must avoid any entanglements with the powerful and brutally handsome man. But the pull of their mutual desire is all-consuming. Can Sophia trust Camden with the truth when she knows it might kill the love that grows between them?
CHAPTER ONE
Weltford, England, 1816
Sir Camden Grey glared at the ink-spotted paper in front of him. Damnation. Was that a six or an eight? Perhaps a three? He placed his quill back in the ink and pressed the heels of his hands against his bleary eyes.
He should have stopped working on the equation hours ago, but the solution had seemed so close this time. If he’d worked only a little harder or faster, perhaps he’d have been able to—
A knock again sounded on his door, reminding him of what had startled him into splashing ink everywhere in the first place.
“Yes?” He knew his tone was harsher than it should have been, but he hadn’t slept in—he checked the clock—twenty hours, and his servants knew better than to disturb him. If that fool Ipswith found an answer first, Camden would never again be able to set foot in the Royal Mathematical Society. The chairman, his father, would see to it. Just as he had seen to convincing Ipswith to research the exact same theorem to put Camden in his place.
The door opened and Rafferty entered, his stoic butler façade remaining in place despite the crumpled papers littering the carpet at his feet. “There is a . . . man to see you, sir.” There was a significant distaste in his pronunciation of the word man.
Camden raised his brow. What was he then, a goat? Really, it was no wonder he found conversing such a waste. It was an imprecise medium. “What is his business?”
“He wishes to speak to the Justice of the Peace.”
Camden glanced at the clock. “At three in the morning? Has there been a death?”
Rafferty cleared his throat and didn’t make eye contact. “It is three in the afternoon, sir.”
Camden swiveled to stare at the drawn curtains behind him. Indeed. Amend that—he’d been awake for thirty-two hours instead of twenty. Suddenly exhaustion hit him like a blow to the side of his head. He scrubbed at the grit in his eyes. “Did he say if it was urgent?”
As impressive as the title of Justice of the Peace sounded, it usually only amounted to settling squabbles about sheep and stolen chamber pots. He wouldn’t have accepted the appointment to the position at all if there had been any other men who met the requirements in Weltford save drunk-off-his-arse Stanfield.
“The fellow claims to have information on the Harding death, sir.”
Camden straightened in his chair. That would be worth delaying sleep. “Where did you put him?”
“In the library, sir.”
Camden stood, twisting side to side briefly to loosen the knots in his back, then strode past his butler and down the stairs.
He smelled his guest before he saw him. The air in the corridor stank of stale onions and spoiled ale. And he wasn’t even in the same room yet.
Camden stepped into the library, then silently groaned when he saw his guest. “Mr. Spat?” Lloyd Spat, less than affectionately known about the village as Tubs, sat in the center of the room, his enormous girth filling the settee from arm to arm.
“Ah, Sir Camden! A pleasure to see to see you. A real pleasure.” He tried to struggle to his feet but gave up after a single attempt. “There was a reward for information on the death of Lord Harding? A sizable one?”
“If your information proves to be of use.” But he had offered the money over three months ago at the death of Viscount Harding. While he still found it difficult to believe the death was a result of a poacher’s misplaced bullet, he found it more difficult to believe that Tubs wouldn’t have come forward if he had real information. The man would do anything for his next pint. “Why w
ait to come forward?”
“Well, I feared for my life. Near trembled at the thought of what would happen to me if they found out I spoke.”
“If who found out?” Camden focused on breathing through his mouth only.
“The men.”
He was too tired for this. His only hope was a strict linear line of questioning. Camden spun the standing globe next to him absently, tapping every third line of longitude. He returned to the original question. “Why tell me now?”
“Well you might ask, sir. Mr. Haws, that greedy old bastard, has decided that my word is no longer good enough for him. He says if I’m wanting another drop of ale from his tavern, he needs to be seeing some of the coin he’s owed. Now I’m rightly offended at such rudeness and I have a mind to take my business to another tavern, but my health’s no longer what it was. And I need to be close to my lodgings and my dear Mrs. Spat.”
So he’d decided that his next drink was worth more than information that might cost him his life. That logic would have been too much to follow on a day when fully awake; Camden stood no chance of sorting it out now.
Tubs rubbed his hands together, then glanced nervously about the room. “No one will find out the news came from me, right?”
“Not unless you tell them.”
Tubs nodded, his chin disappearing into the rippling folds at his neck. “Well, then. The day after the murder I was at the tavern.”
Camden had never seen him anywhere but at the tavern.
“I was sitting at my table in the corner when I heard voices behind me. It was two blokes discussing getting paid. Now I normally keep to my own business but one of the gents says, ‘The deed is done?’ Now I know that when men are talking about deeds, that’s not something that I need to be hearing, but I was right there so I couldn’t not hear them.”
Camden stopped spinning the globe, his hand coming to rest somewhere in Russia. Tubs finally had his full attention. It wasn’t Camden’s responsibility as Justice of the Peace to investigate crimes, only to rule on small squabbles, or for more serious matters, to decide if there was enough evidence for a criminal to be sent on to the formal court. While he gave the cases he heard his full attention, he’d never been tempted to become involved past his limited role. It was the responsibility of the victim or his family to prosecute the crime. But something about the Harding case had seemed suspicious. Camden had finally ruled with the coroner’s jury because he’d had no evidence to contradict the theory of the poacher’s bullet, but it had always seemed too convenient. As if someone had decided three plus three equaled five because they didn’t want to be bothered to count to six.
