From the Top

by Roxanne Smith

  “Sorry. Sorry. I just…no, you’re right. Wow. I mean, you’re okay, though? He didn’t touch you?”

  “He regrets it now.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and tried to stop feeling so shocked. He wasn’t truly surprised a woman like Seraphina could handle herself, but there was a pretty stark difference between knowing she could and seeing the evidence up close. Brendan cupped his groin, and blood leaked from his nose. Grant covered his mouth. “Jesus.”

  Hours later, Seraphina sat ready to pay the piper.

  They met at Oliver and Kay’s, where a very somber Kay admitted them. “He’s in the parlor.” She said nothing more, and didn’t even offer her customary bright smile. For the first time, Grant worried for Seraphina. The three of them filed into the parlor and sat on the sofa near a crumbling marble fireplace. And waited.

  Oliver paced angrily back and forth in front of them. His hands moved, emphasizing words he couldn’t quite articulate. No one had to ask who he was speaking to. “You… I cannot believe…you just. I mean, evidence. It’s evidence! And you… I just…”

  Seraphina, for her part, seemed unperturbed as she snuggled next to Grant on the sofa. Kay sat on her other side, casting Oliver annoyed glances but keeping silent. Grant figured Oliver had to get it out of his system.

  “I still can’t quite believe you.”

  “I wasn’t exactly expecting my little adventure to go down that way, Oliver. I had a hunch, okay? Brendan mentioned the appraiser off-hand. It was a long shot that he’d have taken the candelabras there.”

  “You’re asking for a lot.”

  “I know,” she conceded. She wasn’t immune to guilt, but she’d explained to Grant on the way over that everything she’d done had been in the interest of catching Brendan. And if she hadn’t, he would’ve kept pumping his noxious drugs into the city and beyond. “If you want me to come forward, I will. I was given care of the candelabra, so I’m naturally legally responsible for the damage I did, and the fact that I used said evidence without knowledge of the investigators. If I’ve got to face those charges, I will. I accepted that risk. But I also know that there’s a case against Brendan no matter what, and that I could not sit here and say the same had you been the one in that shop. It couldn’t have been you, Oliver, and everybody here knows that. Brendan had no idea I was working with you. He thought I was on my own. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have come after me. But he did. And he admitted to taking the drugs and planting the candlestick in their place. And I’ve still got the ticket. I expect Dr. Paul thought Brendan would shortly relieve me of the evidence. But do you think he would’ve ever given that information up to you? Or still had the ticket in the shop by the time you secured a warrant?”

  Oliver stared at her. “Goddamn. Just join the attorney general’s office already, will you? With a mouth like yours leading the trial, no one’s getting away with shit.” The compliment was a rough one, delivered in a dark tone.

  Seraphina glared back at Oliver while Grant beamed. Later, he’d find a way to privately express the fierce pride he felt for her. His ass-kicking, case-breaking…girlfriend? No, no. That didn’t cut mustard at all.

  Kay stood suddenly. She crossed her arms, and her expression matched Seraphina’s as she regarded Oliver. “She didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done in the same circumstances. You passed along your authority to Seraphina the second you asked her to be your eyes and ears inside Tanbee House. In that capacity, she’s done nothing illegal and nothing to jeopardize your case. In fact, she solved it for you. Now, say thank you and let these poor people go home. It’s late. It’s been a long day, everyone’s exhausted, and Seraphina will have to go through all of this again when she’s questioned at the precinct.” In a quick aside, she murmured an apology to Seraphina. “You’ll be talking to Cappy Don. He jumped on a red eye the second Oliver called. He’s gruff but kind.”

  There was tense silence as Oliver considered. His face was carefully blank as he looked at Kay. It softened suddenly. “I love you. You make me crazy, but I love you.”

  Then he turned to Seraphina. “You scare me. You always have. If it weren’t for the bruises on your arm where Brendan gripped you, I don’t think we could claim self-defense. You messed the guy up pretty bad. Broken nose, busted top lip, and I hear he’s been walking with a limp.”

  Seraphina shrugged.

  Oliver sighed. “But you brought this home. You ended it. And Kay’s right. You did exactly what I probably would’ve done. Now I know why it drives the captain nuts. You realize that if I take credit, that’s exactly what I’ll get? You were the one who finally nailed Brendan, but it’ll be me the press claims was the mastermind. The other way, you might face charges, but there’s still a solid case, like you said. And in the end, you’d get credit for what you did today.”

  Sera laughed uncomfortably and scooted a little closer to Grant’s side. After what he’d seen she could do, he felt almost honored to realize she sought him for protection. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I just wanted to help, Oliver. Do you even know who you are without this case eating you alive? You carry it off well, but you’re a tortured soul. And whether you realize it or not, you’re dragging Kay down with you. You’ve made this her life, too.”

  Kay frowned. “Oh, gee. I hadn’t thought of that. What if he’s only interesting when he’s tortured?”

  Oliver cast her a narrowed glance, but a smile ghosted across his lips. “I’ll show you torture. Later.” He gave one last long-suffering sigh, and offered his hand to Seraphina. “Seraphina Fawkes, I’d like to officially thank you for carrying out my careful orders. At great risk to yourself, you followed instructions I passed along. The city owes you a debt.” His expression was a sober one.

  Grant gathered that while Oliver often juggled the rules, he seldom broke them outright. But in the interest of protecting Seraphina and allowing important evidence to be used in Brendan’s trial, Grant personally had no reservations about their decision. It was a matter of red tape versus the right thing. And getting Brendan off the streets and dismantling the drug ring was the right thing.

  Seraphina’s shoulders squared. She sat up a little straighter. “I’d rather the city not even know my name. And you’re welcome, Oliver.” Then she turned to face Grant. His heart swelled to see the love in her eyes and to know it was for him. “A debt is owed to you if one is owed to me. Thank you for trusting me, even though I know you didn’t approve.”

  He fought the urge to sweep her up into his arms. The occasion wasn’t quite right. He’d make up for it later. “You never need my approval, Seraphina. You have my love, and that’s enough to allow for any differences.” He grinned. “Besides, had I known you were going to kick Brendan’s ass, I’d have merely asked to ride along.”

  Epilogue

  Neve narrowed her eyes. “You know what it is? She’s a millennial.” Neve seemed too sharp for the delicate pale peach dress she wore, but with some skillfully applied makeup, and her hair styled into a crown of braids, she almost looked soft and feminine in the draping fabric belted high on her waist with a white sash.

  Kay rolled her eyes and picked up Seraphina’s train. Of course, she looked adorable in the peach frock. “So what if my age is the reason I won’t marry Oliver yet? We’re young. We both have careers. What’s the rush, anyway?”

  “None, of course.” Neve crushed the bouquet of pale pink tiger lilies into Seraphina’s silk gloved hands. “You’re just contributing to the breakdown of our society.”

  Kay cast Seraphina a sidelong glance. “Says the lady who doesn’t want kids.”

  Seraphina sniffed. “Well, that’s not fair. None of us want kids.”

  “Well, sure. But they’ll happen. Eventually. Are you ready?”

  Seraphina took a deep breath and turned toward the long gilded mirror. The dress was everything she e
ver dreamed it would be, studded with cubic zirconia and silver beads. She glittered like some fairy princess in the shaft of light that angled down from one of the high windows. The skirt was full, the bodice fitted. She’d skipped the veil. Instead, she wore a simple tiara nestled into the red curls artfully arranged on top of her head. “I think so.”

  Kay’s eyes went wide. “Think? You think you’re ready to become Mrs. Gallagher?”

  From the mirror, Neve’s reflection over her shoulder offered a sly grin. “In case you’re not, I have a car waiting.” Seraphina couldn’t see whatever look Kay threw Neve’s way, but guessed it was scathing. As was typical of Neve, she shrugged. “Who am I to deny her an escape route? I tried to bail on Duke twice before he actually got me in front of an altar.”

  “Still trying to figure out what bet he lost,” Kay mumbled under her breath.

  Seraphina coughed to hide her smile. Her gaze kept coming back to the image in the mirror. It could easily be someone else in the white gown, being fussed and fawned over by her closest friends.

  And someone else marrying Grant Gallagher. Perish the thought.

  He was enough in his own right, but through Grant, Seraphina would have the kind of family she’d always wanted. Kathleen had cried at Grant’s surprise proposal. Which, true to his style, he had executed during lunch in Kathleen’s room at Heritage Acres one day. Kathleen had been as emotional as Seraphina. Through tears she’d sent Seraphina a lengthy text message—as Seraphina had sat there gaping, utterly awestruck at a marriage proposal—and promised Seraphina that no matter what she said, yes or no, Kathleen considered her a daughter.

  No matter what. No matter what, she had a family. She blinked back tears so they wouldn’t ruin her painstakingly applied makeup. Kay would be furious.

  She hadn’t given Grant an answer that day. He’d turned a brilliant red, and the rest of the meal was strained. She’d gone home alone that night but not slept. She spent the night alone and in a complete stupor. The next morning, Grant arrived on her doorstep. His expression was thunderous. He’d demanded and begged for an explanation in turn. Seraphina finally came to her senses and dragged him to the bedroom, where she spent the rest of the day assuaging any doubts from Grant’s mind.

  And now, here she was, rich in ways beyond her most cherished dreams. She laughed softly, delicately wiping moisture from beneath her lashes. “You’re right, Kay. I don’t think I’m ready to be Mrs. Gallagher. I’ve been waiting my entire life for it.”

  THE END

  Men Like This

  Rumor has it, she can’t resist . . .

  A Long Shot Romance

  by Roxanne Smith

  Can she trust a man who pretends for a living?

  Horror author Quinn Buzzly knows all about the dark side, but when she meets actor Jack Decker, she’s moved to explore something completely different—at least on paper. With his sexy good looks, intriguing manner, and charming Irish-tinged English accent, Jack is the perfect model for her next hero. Quinn decides to spend one year in London writing a historical romance inspired by him. Until real life butts in . . .

  Jack’s jealous ex-fiancée sparks a media storm when she accuses him and Quinn of having an affair. But Jack knows how to play this game. At his insistence, Quinn agrees to go along with the faux romance until the chatter subsides. Then they’ll stage a quiet breakup and go their separate ways. Yet Jack is a shameless—and irresistibly convincing—flirt, and Quinn has to remind herself it’s an act. Or is it? If Jack means business, he’ll have to find the words to convince a wordsmith that their love is the real thing . . .

  Chapter 1

  Quinn gaped at Richard as if he’d grown an extra appendage in front of her eyes. He might as well have. He was alien to her, despite having known him for many years. “I’m giving you about three seconds to explain.”

  He had the nerve to smile. It showed off the large glaringly white teeth inside his too-perfect mouth on his too-perfect face. “You don’t like it?” His dark gaze wandered, his approval apparent. “I really thought you would.”

  They were at a nightclub called Sabini’s in Hollywood—Quinn deplored Hollywood. A small treasure of a private bar hid deep in the bowels of the rowdy club: quiet, classy, and far from the maddening wump-wump-wump of the dance floor down the hall. Yes, she liked it.

  No, she wasn’t going to admit it.

  She crossed her bare arms, partly from the chill but mostly to show Richard she meant business. “Our relationship demands trust. Why would you lie to me, Richard?”

  He spared a quick glance at her defensive posture. “Cold?” When she didn’t respond, he waved off her concern. “All I’ve done is taken you out. Is that so bad?”

  A jolt of agitation shot through her. Had he lost his mind? Had one too many cocktails earlier? “Yes, I’d say it was! You dragged me across a nasty dance floor wearing a silk ball gown and diamond brooch worth more than your house. You said my sister planned this. I want an explanation, and I want it now.”

  Richard continued to scan the bar, unruffled by her outburst. “I brought you through the front because I left my key to the private entrance at home. I apologize.” He sat on one of the backless cowhide bar stools and lifted a hand for the bartender. “Bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.”

  The busty young woman who could’ve still been driving on a learner’s permit smiled. Her gaze roamed freely over Richard before she dashed off to fulfill his glamorous request.

  Quinn fought the urge to stick her finger down her throat. Champagne? Who was he kidding?

  He turned back to her and patted the seat beside him as if beckoning her to join him like she were some wayward, spoiled child. “Your feet must hurt.” His eyes were kind, and his smile knowing. “Angie has excellent fashion sense, but you shouldn’t have let her talk you into those heels.”

  He spoke the truth.

  Quinn’s feet throbbed from the towering stilettos she had no business wearing. She planned to set fire to the outrageous instruments of torture the very day they lifted the burn ban in L.A. and fight harder for the ballet flats next time.

  She scowled at Richard for being right but sat anyway. The blood rushing back into her feet made her woozy with relief. With some effort, she refocused on Richard. “Quit stalling and tell me what we’re doing here, or I’m walking out. If I have to call a cab to get home, I swear, I’m taking my next project to someone else.”

  Richard’s dark and impeccably shaped eyebrows shot up. His mouth fell open. Finally, a dent in his smooth surface. “You wouldn’t.”

  He didn’t sound so certain.

  Quinn smiled at having the upper hand. “I damn sure would. Like I said, this is a trust thing. It was odd when you told me Emily wanted to get together in Hollywood, but I told myself you wouldn’t do anything weird. Then you go and order champagne. It keeps getting weirder, and you refuse to tell me what’s really going on. You don’t own a white windowless van, do you? Or have duct tape in your suit pocket?”

  He didn’t appear amused. In fact, he managed to appear unaffected, his impenetrable feathers were back in place. Her show of humor must’ve left him with the incorrect impression she’d be easily managed.

  “You’re over thinking this. We had a successful night at the fund-raiser. You’re gorgeous. I wanted to have an after-party drink with my favorite client. There’s nothing weird about wanting to prolong a nice evening with a friend.”

  He couldn’t have mocked her any clearer.

  She couldn’t have cared any less. “Except for your conniving, I’d agree. Why didn’t you simply ask?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled his horse-toothed smile. It ruined everything he had going for his face. “Surprise.”

  The champagne arrived. He handed her a dainty flute. “Drink this.” The sweet condescension in his voice nearly undid the frail threads holdi
ng Quinn’s temper in check, but she kept her grip on the reins—until she glanced at her glass.

  It practically brimmed over with the sparkly wine. A sudden burst of insight hit her. “You’re trying to get me drunk.”

  “Now, Quinn—”

  “You used my sister to lure me here knowing I’d never come willingly. Real classy.” Quinn came out of her seat, disgusted and angry. She growled at the sharp jabs of pain shooting through the soles of her feet.

  Richard must’ve taken the growl as meant for him. “Quinn, calm down, please. Yes, I’m attracted to you. Yes, I thought this was the only way I’d ever get a date with you.”

  “This is not a date!” Despite her pain, she stamped her foot. The small click of her heel failed to make the desired impact.

  Richard placed a hand on her arm. “Obviously.”

  Her fingernails dug into her palms as her hands formed angry little fists at her sides.

  Richard didn’t notice. His primary concern seemed to have shifted from her to their audience. “You’re causing a scene. You asked for an explanation, now allow me to give one before you get us kicked out.”

  Quinn seethed but didn’t interrupt this time. A lift of her brow invited him to continue.

  He cleared his throat and straightened his black silk bowtie. Since they’d come from the prestigious city fund-raiser, he was in a tuxedo jacket and slacks.

  They’d been a striking pair. Quinn wore a black strapless gown and styled her long blond hair into an elegant chignon that displayed the diamond drops in her lobes. They matched the cluster pinned to the front of her gown.

  In this casual setting, they looked like a bad joke. Overdressed and ill behaved. “You have to understand, Quinn. We work together closely. We talk every day. It’s not strange I’m attracted to you. Asking you out seemed unprofessional.”