by Cara McKenna
“I didn’t order a chaser,” he said smoothly.
“That’s handy, since I didn’t bring you one.”
A tight, cold little smile, one that told its recipient, And how long must I endure your presence, exactly? He watched as she took a long draw off her bottle. “Drinking on the job?”
“Hard to find good employees these days. I’d fire myself, but I know I’d just take me back in the morning, so . . .” She shrugged.
He degraded himself enough to solicit small talk. “You own this charming establishment?”
“I do indeed, and I like to get friendly with my regulars. And since I know your order, I’d say you qualify as one. What’s your name?”
His gaze was cool and steady. “Duncan Welch. And you don’t look like a Benji.”
Shit, that voice. That arrogant, overpriced accent. Plus, when he spoke, his words were dark and soft as velvet, rich as chocolate. Rich as the weave of that wool.
“I’m Raina Harper,” she replied, and put out her hand. Duncan’s shake was firm and smooth and . . . efficient. A hundred bucks said the guy ironed his underwear. Probably fucked like a surgeon, too—in and out with maximum precision, minimal mess, all perfectly antiseptic and punctuated by a snap of latex.
“My dad was Benji Harper,” Raina added as they set down their drinks in unison. “He opened this place when I was a baby.”
Duncan gave the front room a faux-appreciative scan with those pale eyes. “It’s very . . . rustic.”
“It does the job. Good, honest job, quenching good, honest people’s thirst.”
“Yes,” he agreed sweetly. “Downright saintly.”
“So what exactly do you do, Duncan? Something for Sunnyside—we’ve all gleaned that much. What specifically?”
He dug in his breast pocket, handed her an embossed business card. “‘Corporate Liaison,’” she read. “Are you another one of those property scouts, looking to get us desperate locals to sell up?”
“I’m not here to buy anyone out, Ms. Harper.” Goddamn, why’d her name sound so good that way, all prissy with the Ms.? “My job has many functions, public relations chief among them. That includes assuaging the fears of any concerned residents such as yourself, regarding what can be expected during the casino’s construction, and once it’s open.”
“Lucky me.”
He smiled faintly. “I’m not entirely sure who’s come before, but we’re not looking to displace anyone. Merely to coexist. And happily for everyone involved, our coexistence will mean hundreds of good, legitimate jobs for your delightful town.” Fucking Christ if that voice didn’t belong to the world’s most seductive robot.
“You’re a real people person, aren’t you, Duncan?” She stole his empty tumbler when he set it down. “Lemme freshen you up.”
Casey was handing somebody a pitcher, and he looked relieved at her return.
“Two minutes, my ass. Who you flirting with, anyhow? Miah was giving that guy the evil eye, the night of my party.”
Was he then? No shock there. Might turn hairy if he caught her getting friendly with the man. Not that Miah was one for loud, cavemanish scenes. But he did have a primitive side, one Raina had somehow managed to enflame once upon a time, the discovery surprising nobody more than herself. She glanced at Duncan, with his perfect posture, perfectly cut clothes. What might that man be like, enflamed? She ought not to care, but there was a warm, wicked mischief flurrying around inside her.
“Just some corporate rep,” she said, emptying her half-drunk bottle down the sink.
Casey made to leave, but she caught him by the sleeve. “Hang on, hang on. Deliver a drink to the tailor-made jackass and you’re free.”
“I got a limp, here.”
“Forgotten how many times I covered for you with my dad, back in the day?”
“Christ.” He waited impatiently, arms crossed over his chest, as Raina mixed another vodka and tonic. And oops, she got the ratios mixed up. What good value this place offered. Such strong drinks at rustic old Benji’s. “Here.”
Casey took it with a glare. “He’d better tip good. I didn’t come home to play cocktail waitress.”
Her curiosity shifted. “Why did you come home, anyhow?”
“I don’t even fucking know anymore.”
He left her, and as she wiped down the bar she heard him announce to Duncan, with an angry clack of glass on wood, “Your drink, madame.” She smiled, eyes on her task as Casey limped toward a table by the front windows.
It was another half hour before the rest of the party arrived, preceded by a rumble of motors—Vince and his little photographer conquest entered first. Studying the girl, Raina had to wonder, was that sex hair, or helmet hair? Either way, on his bike or in his bed, Vince had laid a claim. Miah was next, shrugging out of his jacket as he entered.
The sun was dropping low, but it wasn’t a cool shiver of nightfall Raina felt. It was the memory of the warm hum of steel between her thighs as Miah rode her out to the hot springs on his old Triumph. The mean heat of the summer sun, then the restless heat of the water.
Ancient history, girl, and you closed that book yourself. Get over it.
Vince and Kim joined Casey’s table in the front, and Miah approached the bar.
She smiled at him. “Three times in three days, Miah. I’m not used to seeing you this often.”
“Unusual week,” he said stiffly. “Pitcher, please.”
“Sure.”
He rolled up the sleeves of his thermal, and Raina bet he had no clue what his forearms did to a weak woman. What Miah himself did. The man smelled of warm, honest things—dirt and horses and sweat and suede. Raina’s gaze jumped to Duncan Welch, struck by the contrast. Miah’s black hair brushed his collar, his stubble grown in thick since he’d shaved clean for Alex’s funeral. He’d looked like some goddamn gorgeous vision that day, all decked out in black. She’d felt guilty for even noticing, given the context.
God, the things they’d done to each other those couple months, two summers ago . . . They’d burned so hot back then, any real affection they might’ve held on to must have blown away in ashes. Shame. Raina liked to stay friendly with her exes. God knew she had enough of the fuckers.
“Here you go.” She set the pitcher before him and made change for his twenty. “Three glasses?”
“Make it four. Casey’ll mooch, no doubt.”
She stacked them on the wood.
Miah made that face he always did when he had something to say but doubted his words.
“What?” she asked.
He met her eyes with those black ones. “Vince talk to you about Alex? About his suspicions about how he died?”
She nodded. “And I think he’s crazy. Do you?”
“I think what he told me is disturbing—about what Alex said to him, about finding some bones or whatever. At least tomorrow he’ll be visiting the site in question, with that million-dollar prick back there.” He nodded subtly behind him, meaning Duncan.
“Oh?” God, she’d pay good money to watch Vince interact with Duncan, pop some popcorn and everything.
“I just hope if they don’t turn up anything, he’ll let it go.”
She smiled. “Vince can’t be told anything.”
“That’s what worries me. He seems convinced, and based on not enough, in my opinion.”
She reached out and put a hand on Miah’s wrist, just a hint of their old electricity sparking at the contact. “He’s got to be blaming himself. If he hadn’t agreed to meet Alex here, Alex might’ve just gone to bed, woken up hungover as usual.”
Miah nodded, watching her hand as she took it back. “I figured as much.”
“If this is his fucked-up way of grieving, let’s just let him have it.”
“He’s not grieving, though, I don’t think. He’s using this suspected-murder bull to put off grieving.”
She shrugged. “Probably. But like I said, the man won’t be told. Bad enough he’s fixated. Don’t make things wors
e, getting fixated on his fixation.”
He nodded again. “Yeah. Good point.”
“Besides, maybe this new girl will fuck some sense into him. She looks rational enough.”
Miah smirked and pocketed his change, leaving two singles on the wood. “Can’t be all she seems then, if she’s taken up with Vince.”
She laughed. “Fair enough.”
He dipped his head as he hefted the pitcher and glasses. “Raina.”
“Miah.”
She watched him go, wondering like always if she’d been an idiot to cut the man loose those two summers back, right when she’d caught herself feeling too much for him. Whatever. He was a good man—too good and caring and open to settle for a hard, cagey bitch like her. He wanted kids, and she didn’t; he wanted marriage, and she couldn’t see the point. Then her gaze moved to Duncan Welch, his vibe so icy, it probably made Raina seem as warm and welcoming as a bubble bath.
She sighed to herself. “You sure know how to pick ’em, girl.”
• • •
Miah brought the pitcher over and Vince slipped him a few bucks. They’d met up at the spot an hour ago and talked in only the broadest terms about Kim maybe sticking around Fortuity, some bull Vince pulled out of his ass about her being charmed by the desert, wanting to linger to photograph the area for herself. He’d told his friend about the day’s drama, but not about his mom’s prediction—too much to get into just now. Miah had seemed amenable enough, promising he’d ask his folks if they had a room to spare. He was probably imagining Kim would stay a week or two, when in reality Vince had no clue how long it might take his mother’s vision to unfold and reveal itself.
Details, details.
He filled everyone’s glasses, then lay a hand on Kim’s lower back. He felt her body stiffen under his palm and dipped his mouth to her ear. “Got some quick business to take care of with that corporate icicle over there.”
She eyed Welch. “Go to it.”
“While I’m gone, try not to register how fucked-up everything in my orbit is and run out that door like any sane woman would.”
She laughed. “No promises.”
“I got business with you later.”
“Oh, do you?”
He gave her waist a subtle stroke. “Like I said, don’t run off—or if you do, wait till I’m watching. What’s the saying? I hate to see you go, but I love looking at your ass.”
“I don’t think that’s quite it.” Her gaze was skeptical but her cheeks were pink, and Vince hoped his chances tonight were good. It was a lot to ask of a woman, that she stick around through this drama and that she still consider taking him to bed. But no gall, no glory. He left her and Miah and Casey to talk, and headed for Welch.
“Hey,” he said, setting his glass on the high table.
“Mr. Grossier, good evening. I was going to talk to you after I finished this rather alarmingly strong cocktail.”
“You got papers for me?”
“I do,” Welch said, and opened a classy leather dossier.
“How do you manage to wear a wool suit around here in August?” Vince asked.
“I’m exceedingly vain. Please look these over, if you would.” Welch arranged papers before Vince, three sets of them, and a pen. “They’re all quite straightforward. These grant you permission to visit the construction site,” he said, tapping a stack, “provided you agree to abide by the protocol outlined on the third page. The next set is much the same, but for Sunnyside’s records, not the contractors’. And the final page is a waiver stating that you agree not to sue Sunnyside Industries, Virgin River Contracting, nor any individuals employed by those entities, should you be injured during our visit.”
“I get copies of all this bull?” Vince asked, skimming blindly over the legalese.
“You do. Will electronic records suffice? I could send them this evening.”
“Paper’s better,” Vince said, signing. “Can’t remember what the fuck my e-mail address is.”
Welch’s gaze shifted toward the bar. “Perhaps the proprietress owns a photocopier she’d let me use.”
“You can ask her.” Vince tossed the pen down. “But you’d probably get a warmer reception up the street at the drugstore. We all done here?”
“We are. If I don’t have your copies shortly, I’ll bring them tomorrow.”
“Fine. Thanks,” he added, picking up his beer.
Welch removed a patterned square from his breast pocket and pressed it to the ring left by Vince’s glass. “It’s been my infinite pleasure, Mr. Grossier.”
“Sure it has.”
Vince returned to his table, and the four of them angled themselves to watch as Welch approached the bar. Vince smirked. Raina had her most impassive face on, her mouth a taut O and lashes batting as Welch asked his favor.
“He’ll be lucky,” Casey muttered. “Woman was riding me the second I limped in. She’s in a ball-busting mood.”
Raina’s dark eyes gave Welch a pointed up-and-down as she considered his request. She always made a man work for it—even when it was as innocuous as the use of her photocopier.
Miah looked annoyed, turning his attention elsewhere until Casey laughed and said, “Oh, what do you know? Lord Fancy-Pants is in.”
Miah’s eyes narrowed, following as Raina led Welch into the bar’s office, her hips swaying.
“Chill,” Vince said. “He’s nothing to her.”
“Doesn’t matter to me either way,” Miah said tightly, not fooling Vince at all.
“What if I got with her?” Casey asked.
Miah drained his glass. “Shut the fuck up, Case.”
Vince smirked. Love—too goddamn messy to bother with. And not the good, literal kind of messy, like sex. He eyed Kim, his blood feeling hot and thick and having nothing to do with the alcohol.
Welch reappeared shortly and handed Vince his still-warm copies, ignoring the daggers Miah glared at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Grossier.”
“Lucky you.”
Welch offered Kim, Casey, and Miah a curt nod of acknowledgment, then headed for the exit.
After another twenty minutes, the pitcher was empty and small talk was waning. A quartet of young female ranch hands flurried in as a single giggling ball of energy, shouting greetings to Miah, who waved in reply.
“Goddamn, Mr. Popular,” Casey teased, surveying the group. “How can you still be hung up on Raina with a harem like that?”
“They’re my employees, dumbass.”
“Oh, right . . . They legal?”
Miah just rolled his eyes.
“Take that as a yes.” Casey rose to follow the girls, like a dog after bacon.
Kim put a hand to her mouth, not hiding a broad yawn.
“You want to head out?” Vince asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, soon. It’s been a long day. A long, weird day.”
“My fault. I’ll take you back. You don’t know what kind of men prowl this town after dark.”
A hot little smile. “I bet I have some idea.”
“C’mon,” he said softly. She let him take her by the arm with no more protest than a glance at his bossy hand.
“We’re off,” he said to Miah, and slapped him on the back.
Miah set his irritation aside long enough to give Kim’s hand a shake. “Nice meeting you. I’ll let Vince know about that dinner tomorrow. See if my mom can’t set a couple extra places.”
“Thanks. I’ll look forward to it.”
Vince shouted a good-bye to Casey, but the man was thoroughly distracted. Good. Maybe he’d garner a little sympathy for his flesh wound, realize sticking around Fortuity had its perks—fast girls being chief among them. Though they really did need to have a chat later tonight.
“Case!” Vince called, louder.
His brother turned.
“I’m waitin’ up for you, back home. We’ll have that talk.”
Casey signaled his agreement, then went back to playing his Purple Heart card. God knew
how many kittens he was claiming to have saved, earning that limp.
“Let’s go,” Vince said, his hand sliding to Kim’s waist. He felt her muscles shifting under his palm as they walked, the sensation heating him up.
He was going to try something when they reached her room. Not as pushy as that first night—nothing that’d undo whatever little bond they’d managed to forge. Nothing that would have her deciding not to stay. He needed her even more than he wanted her. Which was saying a fucking lot.
She’d wanted him back, this morning, been ready to take him home—had the impulse been scared off by all the day’s chaos? The question was easily answered.
He mounted his bike and passed back the helmet when he felt her join him. Those strong, slender arms circled him, lighting him up. He rode her back to that same motel parking lot, damn slow, the sun just dipping behind Lights Out. His two favorite clothes-on sensations in the world—bike between his thighs and a woman pressed to his back. He cut the engine, and just about went into mourning when she climbed off, stealing all that heat.
He backed himself into the space beside Kim’s Jetta and she hung the helmet on his bar grip.
The world felt real quiet, then. Real small with dusk falling, populated by just the two of them in the glow of an overhead light. He walked her up to her door.
“Thanks for the beer and the ride,” she said, staring at his boots.
Vince’s hand came up, catching her under the chin with his curled finger, tilting her face so their eyes met. There was surprise in hers. Or anticipation?
She swallowed as Vince took his hand back.
“Thanks for still being here,” he said. “After everything you saw and heard, most people would’ve run for the hills. But you stuck around. Hell, you played nurse through some shady-ass DIY surgery, for my brother. Got spooked by my crazy mom.”
“Just tell me there’s no more Grossiers left to meet.”
He smiled. “I’m the last one you gotta lay your eyes on.” Ask me in. Take me to bed. After all the things they’d seen today, his mom’s illness and the secret they shared now . . . Even Casey didn’t know about the visions. Not yet.
