by Addison Fox
“It’s about a thousand degrees outside. Since it’s roughly the same temperature in this sweater, I’m going to go change.”
She took off in the direction of her office, stopping at the sound of his voice.
“You sure you don’t need my help this time?”
With a small smile she couldn’t quite suppress, she turned around. “Nah. I’ve got this one.”
* * *
Although he’d meant the joke about her clothing to lighten the mood, Reed couldn’t shake the image of Lilah in her bra. The woman was a vision. She had high, perfect breasts—small, but not too small—and creamy pale skin.
And she was toned.
He’d never thought about it until seeing her physique, but the woman was ripped, with thin layers of muscle clearly visible underneath her shoulders, biceps and back. Obviously working thick dough and managing frosting and large trays of cakes all day did something to one’s muscles.
Some very attractive things.
Reed shook off the vision, only to have it replaced by an image of that small, firm body tight in his arms, her lips feverish on his.
With an act of will he didn’t realize he possessed, he pushed that thought aside, as well. The kiss had been a bad idea. He didn’t get involved in his cases and coming on to the victim was a really shabby idea all the way around.
Now that he’d tasted her—satisfied his curiosity, really—he needed to let this crazy fascination go. She needed his help, not his come-ons.
He’d nearly convinced himself when she sauntered out of her office. The thick plastic shoes had been traded for a pair of nude pumps with heels roughly the size of ice picks. Her hair was twisted into a quick knot at the nape, and a thin silk blouse the color of rich emeralds shimmered around her when she moved.
With the exception of the bright pink streak in her hair, all sign of the baking fairy had vanished. The woman in its place was an attractive goddess, one who’d be readily accepted at any high-society function in town.
“Ready?”
It took him a moment to answer, his tongue having firmly implanted itself on the roof of his mouth, especially when he caught sight of her slender, muscular legs beneath a slim black pencil skirt. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”
She wended her way through the kitchen and into the main area of Elegance and Lace. He’d observed the design already—the long, rectangular shape of the shop, firmly cut off from the kitchen.
“This partition?” Reed asked as they moved through the entranceway to the main showroom. “This keeps the business officially separate?”
“Yes. It’s a fully functional kitchen without interference from the public areas. That’s why this space had worked out so well.”
She turned to look at him over her shoulder and he managed to shift his gaze from the delectable curve of her backside just in time.
“Had?”
“I’m not sure any of us would say it’s working out all that well right now.” She offered up a small wave at Cassidy, whose head was down, fully focused on a pattern on her worktable. “Headed out, Cass. See you in a bit.”
Cassidy waved, the motion abstract until she caught sight of Reed. She scrambled away from a long roll of material that lay on her worktable. “Where are you going?”
“A quick errand. Detective Graystone has a few questions and he thinks his mother might know the answers.”
“His mother?” Violet stepped up to the door of her office, her gaze on high alert.
Reed watched the byplay between the trio, amused to see the questions arcing between them, nearly deafening even though no one spoke a word.
“It’s a new detecting method.” Lilah’s tone was breezy and he could have sworn he saw her wink. “Apparently it’s all the rage.”
He wanted to say something—really, the woman was infuriating—but the twin smiles on Violet and Cassidy held him back. He’d be damned if he was going to be the butt of their collective joke.
“My mother knows people.”
“She must.” Violet actually did wink, the cheeky move only adding to the discomfort of the moment. “And you must be getting itchy for some answers.”
“What makes you say that?” He offered up the question, quite sure he wasn’t going to like the answer.
Violet took the few steps out of her office, coming over to smooth the lines of his sport jacket. “Men usually bristle at taking strange women home to their mothers.”
“Hey! I’m not stra—” Lilah broke off at Violet’s quelling glance.
“What makes you think I’m bristling?” he asked.
She gave his shoulder one last brush with her fingertips. “Are you?”
* * *
Reed was still digesting Violet’s words as he turned onto his mother’s street twenty minutes later. The afternoon traffic hadn’t hit its peak and they’d navigated the relatively short drive with ease.
He wasn’t bristling. Or bristled. Or... Damn.
He was wound up because he knew damn well his mother saw everything and she’d no doubt grill him later this evening about one Lilah Castle.
Pushing away the thought, he latched on to another one.
“I’m curious about something.” He slowed for a four-way stop and used the moment to turn toward Lilah. “Violet would make a good cop.”
“Oh?”
“She doesn’t miss much.”
Lilah laughed out loud at that. “No, she doesn’t.”
“So why does she do weddings for a living? It seems—” He broke off, not wanting to insult her friend. “It seems a bit frilly for someone so sharp and all-knowing.”
Lilah grew thoughtful before she answered. “Vi’s a realist. Eminently practical and always full of plans. Lots and lots of plans. It makes her exceptional with details. And don’t let her fool you. She likes the frilly, too. And she keeps us on track and in business with her terrifyingly organized brain.”
Reed took it all in, the clear affection and respect more than evident in Lilah’s words. But it was her next question that caught him totally unawares.
“The real question, to my mind, is was she right?”
“About what?” Reed pulled through the intersection, his focus once again on the road.
“Have you ever brought a woman home to your mom?”
“I’m thirty-two years old.” He turned into the driveway, surprised at the snappish tone. Dialing it back, he softened his voice. “Of course I’ve brought women home.”
“How many?”
The question stopped him. How many women had he dated that he’d brought home to meet his mother? As he began doing the math, he realized the number was awfully small. “Two.”
“And how many of them were in high school.”
On a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Two.”
“I guess Vi was right.”
Lilah already had her door open and was out of the car before he could reply.
His mother had met several women he’d dated. At dinners. Summer barbecues. Even at various weddings they’d all attended.
So why hadn’t he brought any of them home?
He puzzled over that as he followed Lilah to the front door. Which, he suspected, was her point.
* * *
The man known as the Duke sipped an ice-cold glass of vodka as he waited for his team to escort DeWinter in. The shades were drawn in his home office, the oppressive summer heat to be battled at all costs.
The combination of dark paneling and drawn curtains kept the room in perpetual darkness and he had a small lamp angled toward his guest chairs as the only source of light.
He hadn’t seen DeWinter in a few years—not since he joined him for the man’s Chicago restaurant opening two years before. It had been a promising evening and h
e’d left pleased that he’d continued to invest in Steven DeWinter.
The Duke was always ready to back a winner and the restaurateur had big dreams and a maniacal willingness to see them through. The man ran a top-of-the-line kitchen and tolerated nothing but discipline and genius from those who worked for him.
But it was DeWinter’s solid streak of ruthlessness that really sold him as an investment.
An image of dealing with Robert Barrington flashed through the Duke’s mind and he nodded to himself. Oh yes, he prized ruthless discipline above most anything else.
The soft knock at the door—just as he preferred—punctuated his thoughts.
It was that discipline and attention to detail that mattered. Too many had lost that, so focused on their phones, their electronic toys and their endless rush to get somewhere only to find they’d gone nowhere.
He’d learned long ago it was only when you sat still that people actually paid attention.
“Come in.”
He ran his life with an order that appeared deceptively calm on the surface but was the outcome of rigorous expectations. On himself and on his staff.
Alex, his man of business, opened the door. The man still sported a fading bruise around his eye, delivered the week prior after one of his failed attempts to go after the women of Elegance and Lace. It still irked the Duke each time he looked at the mark, the evidence of what they’d still not accomplished. “Mr. DeWinter is here, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Steven came through the door, his standard-issue black slacks, black shirt and black Italian loafers pristine. For a man who worked with food, he was impeccable in his dress. Nary a stain in sight and covering a large, fit body that spoke volumes about the man’s discipline.
More traits the Duke admired.
“It’s good to see you.” Steven extended his hand and the Duke shook it, breaking his standard protocol in his private office. He played at the social game in polite society, but in his private world he preferred to avoid contact.
“You, as well. Word has it your Restaurant Week menu is a hit.”
“I’m pleased with the response. My new pastry chef’s not working out, but he’ll see us through the week.”
“Weak link?”
“Yes. The man’s got no creativity or innovativeness.”
The Duke knew DeWinter’s ex-wife had developed quite a reputation while they worked together and for all his success, he’d gone through his dessert chefs like water ever since.
How interesting that their recent project would now bring them full circle.
“Barrington and McCallum failed at their tasks.”
“Robert?” Steven leaned forward, surprise etching itself in his features. “He’s a good guy and deeply committed. I know I haven’t seen him in a while, but I recommended him with my full endorsement. What happened?”
“He failed.”
Whatever surprise had carried Steven into the conversation vanished. The Duke saw his mouth shift before he calmed himself, stilling any movement. “I see.”
“I’m not sure that you do.”
“Excuse me?”
“Charlie McCallum failed. Failed at his attempts to penetrate your ex-wife’s store and then further failed when he gave me false intel.”
“Charlie’s always been a bit of a doofus, but he’s committed. You must know I’d never recommend anyone I thought was subpar.”
“Yet you did, Steven.”
“Let me call them. I can get them both back in line.”
“I doubt that.”
“But I can. I’ll make it right.” Steven leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of the desk. The Duke fought the urge to swat at him and instead reached for the slim folder beside him.
His motions deliberate, the Duke slipped two photos from the folder. The first showed Charlie McCallum, his eyes wide-open, the kill shot marked at the base of his throat. The second was Robert Barrington, where he lay in an empty field at Fair Park, a bullet hole square in the center of his forehead.
Steven leaped away from the desk, fumbling the chair in his haste to stand. “They’re dead?”
“Yes. Quite.”
“But I don’t—”
“They were your recommendations.”
“Yes. As guys I trusted to do the work you asked. Clearly, they weren’t given enough time.”
The Duke pushed the photos farther across the desk, pleased when Steven’s gaze skittered over them once more.
“They were given ample time and resources. And they failed.”
“But—”
The Duke held up a hand. “I’d suggest you keep any further recommendation and endorsement of their skills to yourself. As you can see, further defense is moot.”
Steven nodded, the motion counter to the sudden shaking of his shoulders.
“Sit. Please. We have some details to work out, you and I.”
Chapter 6
Lilah took in the posh surroundings of Diana Lange’s home and marveled at how warm and comfortable it all felt. The house had to be over eight thousand square feet, but instead of feeling cold and distant, it was warm and inviting.
Just like Diana.
The woman’s gray eyes were a match for her son’s, but that was where the resemblance stopped. For all Reed’s impressive size, his mother was a tiny little thing. But any thought that tiny meant weak vanished as his mother invited her into the sitting room, then summoned Reed to the hall.
“Reed Edward...” Lilah had heard a hiss as his mother dragged him out of the room. Although she hadn’t heard the rest, the tone and the addition of a middle name had Lilah convinced Reed was getting taken to task for bringing a woman home without calling first.
Served him right.
Especially since he hadn’t brought a woman into his mother’s house since high school.
When she stopped and thought about that fact, that persistent warmth filled her chest, spreading outward in a wave.
Who was this man?
And why did he keep catching her off guard?
He was a cop, for Pete’s sake. And the only reason he’d come into her life was because she and her business partners were in grave danger.
They’d worked hard to put that sense of imminent threat out of their minds, but it was there all the same. Violet had set the alarm behind her as she and Reed left Elegance and Lace. And she also knew Tucker was scheduled to come down to the shop and stay there as soon as he finished an afternoon meeting at a job site, his partner Max likely in tow.
Despite their best efforts to keep busy, they were on high alert. Her fight over the afternoon’s wedding consultation with Violet had been just one example in a string of many over the past few days.
While she hated the not knowing, she was having a hard time believing Reed’s mother held any answers. The woman seemed lovely, and even with an ear to the ground, Lilah had no idea how Diana could ever manage to help them figure out who was behind the attacks.
With one hand on her purse strap, she walked around the room, looking at one photo after another. Several photos of Reed through the years filled frames. A small baby with chubby hands was framed next to what had to be his first day of kindergarten. His smile was broad as he waved from the entrance to the school bus.
She continued through the room, stopping at his graduation photo as well as one of him in his dress blues.
Breath catching, she stilled as she took in the photo. No matter how she sliced it, the man cut an impressive figure. Tall, steady and sure. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three in the picture, but it was evident, even then.
He was a protector.
Muted voices carried down the hall, drawing Lilah’s gaze away from the photo of Reed and
onto one of Diana in a wedding gown. His mother stood next to what had to be her current husband.
They were a striking couple and Lilah took an extra moment to look at them both. Reed’s stepfather appeared to be well into his fifties at the time the photo was taken, and she could see the trim, fit strength of him. He was several inches taller than Diana, with a piercing gaze and that slight smile the elite were fond of giving the camera.
Too toothy makes one look too eager.
The words leaped up and slapped her, effectively ending her review of the photo.
Steven had given her that advice the first time they made the society pages. Even now, she could remember how excited she’d been to be photographed with him and mentioned by name.
And then he’d ruined it by admonishing her about having too wide a smile.
“Lilah?”
Reed’s voice was quiet at her ear, the warm, rich tone pulling her fully from the memory. “Yes?”
“Would you care to sit down?”
She turned to face him and didn’t miss the questions stamped in his gaze. She could see he warred with asking again how she was, but a quick glance at his mother had her smiling broadly.
“I’m sorry. I was caught up in the photos. So many good ones, Mrs. Lange.”
“Diana. Please.”
Reed’s mother waved them over to the seating area, where she busied herself with a pitcher of iced tea and a tray of cookies.
“Here. Let me,” Reed said as he reached for the pitcher, gesturing his mother to sit.
Again, Lilah was struck by the simplicity of his gesture. She knew—knew—that Steven DeWinter wasn’t the typical man. While spousal abuse wasn’t exactly uncommon, it wasn’t in the mainstream, either.
There were good men out there. Men like Cassidy’s Tucker and his partner, Max. Men who worked hard and who wanted to share their lives with the right woman.
But even despite knowing that, the simple sweetness in Reed’s gesture still caught her off guard.
“It’s good to see you again, Lilah.” Diana leaned forward. “I must admit I’ve thought about your petits fours more than once.”
“If they’re even half as good as her cream puffs, I know why.” Reed settled the heavy glass pitcher of iced tea on the table in a small dish to gather any moisture.
