by Amy Olle
Cradling his chin in his palm, he tapped the pen against the notepad. “Have you pissed anyone off since you arrived?”
“You mean other than the Thief Island Police Department?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Yes, other than them.”
“No one that I’m aware of, no.”
His brows knitted together. “I imagine you haven’t had a lot of interaction yet. Maybe someone thinks you’re stuck-up.”
A soft gasp slipped through her lips at the accusation, one she’d heard a number of times in her life. “Or maybe one of your groupies saw you kissing me in a bar parking lot and is mad.”
“I did more than kiss you.” A conspiratorial husk came into his voice.
Her breathing hitched higher. So he did remember. Remembered, and was unaffected by it.
“I trust you can add the pertinent names to the list.”
He shoved the notepad away. “So to recap, you’ve never maimed, harmed, or in any way neglected, insulted, or offended a single creature on the planet. That you are aware of.”
“Is that sarcasm, Officer Nolan?”
“Not at all. I was just hoping you had a mortal enemy from childhood who I could charge with vandalism and wrap this case up tonight.”
The clock on the mantel chimed nine o’clock. Rather than give up, Luke propped his feet on the coffee table and crossed his legs at the ankles.
Agitated and weary from the poking at her sad, lonely life, she scrambled to come up with a way to get rid of him.
“If I give you a name, will you go away?”
“Depends on the name, I suppose.” His quick smile coaxed the dimples into his cheeks.
Her heart stuttered, but she held out against it. “There might be someone with reason to resent me.”
His smug smile vanished.
“But it isn’t likely,” she rushed to add.
“I’ll take anything you’ve got.”
She let out a slow, shaky breath. “Wh-when my dad died, a large part of his estate was willed to my mom.”
“Your dad? What was his name?”
“Harrison Cole.”
He scribbled down the name in his notepad.
“His wife fought the will, claiming he meant to change it before he died, but the court ruled in my mom’s favor.”
His head remained bent while his hand moved across the paper.
“But by the time the ruling came down, my m-m-mom had died, too.”
“Your mom died last year?”
“In September.” She took a sip of wine to dislodge the lump that formed in her throat.
“And your dad? When did he pass?”
“In the spring of that year.”
His head came up. “You’ve had a rough go of it lately.”
The gentleness in his voice surprised her, but she didn’t want his misplaced pity. “Harrison wasn’t a nice man.”
The gentle tone evaporated. “Care to explain that?”
She lifted one shoulder. “There’s nothing to explain. He was a corporate businessman and he didn’t tolerate imperfection.”
The pen poised between his fingertips as if he might break it in half. “Imperfection?”
She gave him a look.
His expression cleared. “You mean your stutter?”
“Not just the way I talk, but all of it.”
“All of what?”
With his scrutiny, fierce heat rushed into her cheeks.
He sighed and looked down at the notepad. “When did Harrison remarry?”
“When I was nine, or maybe ten.”
“So your parents divorced?”
She nodded. “When I was seven.”
“Any idea what went wrong?”
“I assume there were a lot of things.” Her fingers toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “Harrison was twenty-three years older than my mom, and he worked and traveled a lot.”
He sat in silence, waiting.
Memories crowded forward. Of the time Emily ran home from school, tears streaming down her face after Angie Lawson humiliated her in front of the entire class again. She’d flung herself into Audrey’s lap and soaked up her mom’s comforting words and caresses.
“You coddle her,” Harrison had said. “Why don’t you ever give me that kind of attention?”
“She’s a child.” The bite in Audrey’s tone had troubled Emily. “Not a grown man who should know how to take care of himself.”
Harrison glowered down at them. “She’s a dolt.”
Emily hadn’t known what that word meant. Not then, but she’d figured it out soon enough.
She shook off the memories. “I’ve always wondered if I was the cause of their strife. They disagreed on how to handle me.”
The pen landed on the table with a clatter. “What does that mean? Handle you?”
“My dad thought I needed to be p-pushed. That I could correct my speech and become more outgoing if I only tried harder. He was w-w-wrong.”
The room grew dark as night set in. She struggled to read his expression.
“What about the will?” he asked. “Do you think he meant to leave your mom in it?”
She stared into her empty wineglass, pondering his question. “It’s possible. He would’ve heard about m-m-my mom’s illness, and he probably knew we were drowning in bills. Maybe he meant the money to be used for her care. But I think his wife was right that he wouldn’t have w-wanted it to come to me.”
“How much money are we talking?”
“A million.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
It was a lot of money, and Emily hated every stupid penny for the stress it’d caused her mom and for the constant, daily reminder that her mom was dead. Emily would happily give the money away for just one more day with her mom. So far, she’d spent well over half of it buying Mina’s house and donating to research the disease that’d killed her mom.
“So it’s possible your stepmom has motive enough to make you uneasy?” The low timbre of Luke’s voice eased over her.
Emily shrugged. “It’s possible. Or her kids might.”
“You have siblings?”
“Two.” The callused-over notch on her heart gave a little wrench. “I’ve never met them. It’s possible they don’t even know I exist. Or didn’t, until Harrison’s will was read.”
“You’ve never met your siblings?” An edge crept into his tone.
“Once, in high school, I got the silly idea to contact them, but Harrison put a stop it before I met either of them.”
“Any idea where they are now?”
“One goes to school in California. UCLA, I think. The other is married and lives in Denver.”
“What are their names?” he asked, and wrote down the names she gave him.
“I seriously doubt any of this is relevant to the present situation. If I wanted a million dollars, I wouldn’t think throwing a rock through a window might help me get it.”
“You never know what motivates desperate people. I’m glad you told me.” A disarming warmth wrapped around his words. “Thank you.” His head turned toward the fireplace. “It’s late.”
He scooped up his notebook and pushed to his feet. She stood, and when he brushed past her, the warmth from his body arched through her. At the front door, she held it open and he stepped out into the night.
She was easing the door shut when he turned back. Shadows cut across his face, but his voice reached out from the darkness to wrap itself around her.
“Goodnight, Emily.”
The pounding inside Emily’s skull began as the first fingers of daylight peeked around the edge of the curtains. She drew the covers up over her head.
Get up.
Shut up.
After Luke had left, she’d locked up the house and crawled into bed. With the dredged-up memories, desolation spread through her. Like spilled paint seeping over white paper, it blotted out what little peace she’d recovered over the last few weeks.
It
might be hours before she found the will to even attempt to get out of bed. She’d started to doze when a hammering jerked her back to wakefulness.
She lifted her head, listening. When the noise resumed, louder this time, she realized it originated from her back door. Who would be knocking on her back door—she squinted at the clock on her nightstand—at six thirty in the morning?
Her head dropped onto her pillow. It must be Mina. No one else would come around to the back of the house.
With a sigh, Emily climbed from the warm cocoon of her bed. Her limbs heavy, she dragged the quilt off the bed, wrapped it around her shoulders, and trudged through her suite to the kitchen.
In the mudroom, a trio of obnoxious thumps rattled the glass-paned door. Through the frosted window, she made out the figure of a man. Not Mina, but maybe Noah?
She yanked open the door and blinked into the morning light.
Bathed in a stream of golden sunlight, Luke’s dark hair shone and his eyes sparkled like jewels. He wore blue jeans and a light blue T-shirt that conformed to his broad shoulders and lean-muscled frame. She grew a little light-headed.
A fierce scowl contorted his features. “Why aren’t you up?”
“Why are you here?” Her scowl matched his. “Did you find who threw the rock?”
“No. I’m reporting for duty.”
She gave a small shake of her head.
“I’m here to cook breakfast. Unless…?” He cut her with a look. “You weren’t teasing me with that crack about me being your chef, were you?”
She gaped at him. “Yes. That’s exactly what I was doing.”
“We need to work on your delivery.” He pushed past her.
She scrambled into the kitchen after him. “You don’t have to make breakfast.”
“I’ve seen what you can do to a cookie.” He plunked a grocery tote onto the countertop. “I shudder to think what might happen to a poor, defenseless omelet.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can cook.”
“That’s debatable.”
Well, she could learn. Any skill she might have had, had been geared toward preparing food her mom could swallow without choking.
He pulled open a cupboard door and then closed it. “Oh, and I should warn you, I’m not cheap.”
“Is this about what Max said?”
He yanked the next cupboard door open, and closed it, too.
“Because I don’t think he was serious when he made that remark.”
“What remark?” With his head inside a cupboard, his voice sounded muffled.
“You know what remark.”
“Remind me.”
“He said the last thing he needs is a cop hanging around.”
Luke slammed a cupboard shut. “Tell me you have a skillet.”
She flung the quilt onto the island and crossed to the stove. She retrieved a skillet from the bottom drawer and held it out to him.
He reached for it, but at the last second, she jerked it away. “Is this about Max?”
Rather than answer, his green gaze flared and dropped to her breasts. She ducked her chin to see what he saw. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples poked through the thin fabric of her nightshirt.
His gaze riveted to her breasts, his tongue slipped out to lick his full bottom lip.
Heat, both embarrassed and aroused, swept through her.
He snatched the pan from her grasp. “If a cop’s the last thing he wants hanging around, that’s exactly what he’s gonna get.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“Probably not, but until I know for sure, you’re stuck with me.”
“What, like barnacles?”
He bared his teeth. “Cute.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, pleased with herself.
“See if you can toast a few slices without burning down the house.” He tossed her a loaf of bread.
Caught off guard, she bobbled the loaf and it hit the floor with a thud.
When she’d recovered the loaf, she slid slices into the four-slot toaster while Luke cracked eggs into a ceramic bowl. He added a splash of milk and whipped the mix with a whisk before pouring the contents of the bowl into the skillet. Then he retrieved an onion and a green pepper from the grocery tote.
He selected a knife and she handed him a cutting board. His fingers worked, expertly dicing the vegetables. She grew absorbed in watching him, the way the weariness faded from around his eyes while he worked, that she startled when the toast popped. Indeed, a little overdone.
Admitting defeat, she left him to it and went to grab a shower. She ran through her routine as quickly as possible, throwing on jeans, a clean bra, and a T-shirt before returning to the kitchen.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room and he slid a fluffy omelet from the skillet onto one of her white platters.
Her stomach let loose an angry growl.
One of his dark eyebrows lifted.
“Sorry. It smells amazing.” She carried a stack of plates and utensils to the dining room table and he followed with the omelets and toast.
“You might as well eat,” he said.
She hesitated all of one second before scooping a healthy serving of omelet onto a plate and taking a warm, gooey bite.
A hand shot up to cover her mouth, stifling her moan of pleasure. “Omigosh, this is really good.” She licked the corner of her mouth. “Like, really good.”
A glimmer of light flickered in his eyes. “I’m glad you like it.”
With her next bite, she couldn’t quell her groan of ecstasy.
He coughed and his open expression slammed closed. “I’ve gotta get to work.”
She set her plate on the table and followed him to the front door.
His hand on the doorknob, he stilled and gazed down at her, an odd expression on his face.
She ran a hand over her hair. “Wh-why are you looking at me like that?”
A flicker of baffled confusion played over his face. “I want to kiss you.”
“Y-you do?”
His eyelids grew heavy and green flashed brilliant with the heat. “I really do.”
So that’s what a smoldering glance looked like.
A thrill rushed through her with dizzying speed. She told herself the light-headedness wasn’t specific to Luke. After a lifetime of scarce male attention, any man would’ve caused her heart to race and her palms to sweat. Any man who looked at her with naked hunger would’ve made her insides turn all hot and liquid.
Any man would’ve made her yearn to get naked for him.
It just so happened, Luke was that man. The first to flirt with her in forever, and while she didn’t yet understand the rules of the game they were playing, she suspected she’d suck at it when she did know.
He was a Harley Davidson when she needed training wheels, but she wouldn’t let her ignorance rob her of the chance to ride such a supreme vehicle. Whatever game they played, she’d learn along the way, and what better way to learn than with a man like Luke?
She lifted her chin. “Then why don’t you?”
The soles of his shoes scuffed against the marble-tiled floor as he closed the distance between them. “I’m all twisted up inside.” He fondled a strand of her hair near her ear. “Afraid I can’t compete with all your other lovers.”
He was teasing her, and for once, she didn’t mind. Indeed, she liked it. She liked that he caught her by surprise, and that he spent time thinking of ways to do so. She liked the intimacy of sharing a joke with him.
“Well, the only way to improve is with practice. Lots and lots of practice.”
Surprise touched his features. “You’re teasing me?”
She nodded. She couldn’t explain it, except he made her bold.
“I’m so proud of you.” His head bent low, until a mere whisper separated their mouths. “I should reward you.”
Her heart slammed against her breastbone. She’d pleased him, and the thought excited her. Probably mo
re than it should.
“Lucky for you, I respond well to praise.”
His smile faded, chased away by the heat in his eyes.
He took a small nip of her mouth, and another. His lips nudged hers apart and his soft tongue explored her. Tasting, savoring. He tasted like lemon drops. Sugary and sweet, potent and tangy.
Their joke wasn’t far from the truth, except Emily was the student learning from Luke, the pro. She mimicked his slow, erotic kisses. With her first tentative nibble, he moaned, and her world spun.
The kiss deepened and held, and his hands came up to cradle her head.
Then it was over.
His fingers lightly toyed with the hair at her temple. “Have you had a kiss better than that?”
“Tons,” she breathed.
“Tons of kisses or tons better?”
“Hmm-mm,” she purred.
His smile flashed only briefly. “Damn, I’ve got a lot to learn. Better get some more practice.”
His head slanted over hers and his mouth came down with greedy possession. He suckled her bottom lip and a jolt of yearning spiraled through her to simmer low in her belly. A moan dragged from her and her hands sought out the warmth of his flesh. She smoothed her palms over the taut skin of his abdomen.
He tilted her chin, and with each slow lick of her mouth, liquid fire pulsed between her legs.
Her fingers danced along the waistband of his jeans.
On a gasp, he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “God, Emily, you make it hard to breathe.”
She held on to both of his wrists to keep herself from sinking to a puddle at his feet.
He gripped a fistful of her hair and nipped several more kisses.
When he pulled away, she nearly cried out with the loss of him.
He opened the door. “I have to go.”
“Wh-why?” She didn’t care that her desperation showed.
He snatched her to him once more. This time, he kissed her with several slow, lingering licks.
Releasing her, he backed away, but his heel caught and he tripped over the threshold. “Good-bye, Emily.”
She scowled at his retreating back.
Chapter Ten
