The Art of Love and Murder (24 page)

“No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

****

Lacy sat close to Chance on the old-fashioned, velvet settee in the hotel lobby, her hastily thrown together night case on the floor at her feet. She sipped at a chai he’d bought her and inwardly smiled that he’d gotten himself one, too. Something in his attitude had changed since dinner. It could possibly be wishful thinking, but the crack in the emotional wall surrounding him had grown—a fissure big enough for her to walk through. And she would.

They waited, not speaking, for the police to tell them they could leave. He could’ve gone outside with the officers, yet he didn’t. He leaned heavier on the settee back, coming tighter against her shoulder. With the arrest of Clark, she’d experienced relief. Laura seemed the obvious for supplying him with a key, yet she held a strong disbelief that the young woman would knowingly give him one. The how seemed obvious, with or without Laura’s help. The why even more obvious now—he looked for anything Muuyaw. She expected him to be behind the attack of Chief and the curator’s death. All they had to do was find the sketches. He must have them.

A bit of sadness washed over her when she thought of Kitty. No mother would want to have her son involved in this. She couldn’t believe Kitty had anything to do with it. She
could
believe Carol would. Grandmother and grandson were identical leaves on the branch of this family tree.

“It shouldn’t be much longer.” His words stirred the hair atop her head.

“Do you think they’ve forgotten about us?” She turned her head, smelled the heat of him.

“I think I should go check.” As he stood, one of the officers came through the hotel lobby door.

“My bag with the sketches!” Lacy jumped up. “Where were they?”

The officer waited until he stood next to Chance to speak. “You recognize this bag?”

“Yes, it’s mine.”

“Can you describe the contents?”

“A dozen sketches of animals, a half-carved wolf and some photographs. Are they still in there?”

“I believe so.” She put her hand out, but the officer drew the bag back against his chest.

“Sorry, Ms. Dahl. We’ll need to keep these for now.” He looked at the sheriff with some unspoken communication.

Chance’s hand grazed her arm. “I’ll be back in a moment.” They left her standing and walked outside.

Big cop secrets. Now they had her sketches
and
her chest. Tired of sitting, she did a quick knee bend and walked over to the front desk. The Black Fairy hadn’t left her post and flashed a smile.

“Hey, Penny.”

She touched her hand. “Oh, Ms. Dahl, how are
you
doing?” Tonight, Penny wore a black, Spanish Mantilla atop her pile of hair. She added a touch of bizarre lightness to the whole evening.

“I guess I could do with a little less excitement.”

“I recognized the guy the cops hauled out of here. Did he steal anything from your room?”

“Nothing in my room worth stealing. You know Clark?”

“Not personally. He’s one of our maid’s husbands.”

“Laura.” Pity for the young woman pulled at her yet again.

“Oh, you know Laura?”

“Met her. Do you see Clark around the hotel often?” Keeping company with the sheriff must be rubbing off. She smiled inwardly.

“No, not often. Just met him a couple of days ago. Not that Laura seemed that interested in introducing me.” She leaned forward and whispered. “I think she’s ashamed to be seen with her own husband.” Straightening, she flung a gloved hand in the air. “The guy was kind of rude, actually.”

“That’s Clark, all right. I suppose the cops asked you all about him.”

The hotel door opened, and Chance returned alone. He motioned for her to join him.

“That and a lot more. They’re very thorough.” Penny waved to him and leaned close, lowering her voice. “The sheriff’s pretty cute in an older, rugged man kind of way.”

Lacy snickered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Penny.”

“Goodnight, Ms. Dahl.”

“Penny telling secrets?” He held the door for her.

“She thinks you’re old.”

“What?”

She laughed. “In a good way.”

“I don’t think I want to hear anymore.” He opened the door of his Cherokee, waited until she climbed in and closed it.

“Where did they find my canvas bag?” she asked as he pulled away from the curb.

“In Clark’s backseat.”

She sighed. “He attacked Chief.” A wave of nausea accompanied the thought of how she’d brought the old man into harm’s way. Anger quickly followed when Carol and her useless grandson came to mind.

“Gave him a good blow to the head, that’s for sure. Or at least he’s the suspect, but it seems pretty obvious.”

“How did he know I left the bag with Chief?”

“He was in the bar when we got our lunch. He watched us go in White Wolf
,
and he watched us get on the cycle.”

She remembered. Tales to Kitty were the worst thing she imagined Clark would spin. If he’d attacked Chief...she shuddered.

“You know what he was looking for in my room, don’t you? The chest. He didn’t find it at the museum, so he figured I still had it. He killed the curator.”

“We can’t make that assumption.”

“Oh, come on, Chance.”

“How did he know you’d sent for the chest? That it arrived and the curator had it?”

“He...he...” Chance was right. He couldn’t have known. “You don’t think he had anything to do with his death?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What
are
you saying?” She wanted this to end. She wanted him to tell her that the arrest meant the nightmare had ended.

“Do you like those little miniature marshmallows in your hot chocolate?”

“Yes, but—”

“I make a mean cup of hot chocolate. Just the thing to get you all cozy for bed.”

****

Until Lacy had mentioned Jenny, he’d forgotten she’d be at Laura’s all night. He’d wanted to offer a disclaimer—
Really, Lacy, this wasn’t intentional.
Saying he’d forgotten seemed to drive his point well enough.

A part of him wondered if he hadn’t purposely forgotten and sabotaged his own resolve. Chief and Jenny had made good points. And Lacy as much as invited him into an affair without needing any full disclosure. The picnic conversation couldn’t be viewed as anything else. She talked as if she wanted a casual affair.

And he wanted her.

“This is the guestroom, Ms. Dahl, person of interest.”

Chance refused to discuss the case anymore. Her frustration showed in her eyes, stress marring her beautiful face. And he couldn’t concentrate on it anyway, not when he’d brought her home—alone.

“Don’t you think I can lose that title now?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh, really? What does that mean?” She smirked, hands on hips.

“Let’s start with the hot chocolate and see how that goes.”

Their verbal sparring put him on the burner, ramping up the heat in advance of the chocolate. He wanted to take this slow, but Lacy’s sassy expression couldn’t be ignored.

“Soften me up, eh? You’ll have to play good cop/bad cop all by yourself.”

“I’m the sheriff, remember?” He took her bag from her hand, set it down and wrapped his fingers around her forearm.

“Oh, yes, the authority figure.”

“Yes, and don’t you forget it. Right now, I’m authorizing you to come into my kitchen for hot chocolate.”

“Whatever you say, Sheriff.” She batted her thick, black lashes.

He could’ve bent her over backwards right there, kissed the smirk off her face and made good use of the guest bed.

No. He had to take it slow—partly for the enjoyment of the verbal foreplay, but mostly to give her time to reconsider.

And
he
needed time to reconsider.

The kitchen was at the other end of the house, and he let go of her arm to lead the way. He forced himself to relax. With Clark and Muuyaw’s art in custody, Lacy didn’t need his protection tonight—though she might need protection from him. He couldn’t kid himself any longer. He wanted her. And there would be no going back; if he crossed the line with her, it would be for good.

At the kitchen door, he spun around, and she practically ran into him. A wisp of hair fell into her eyes, and he brushed it back. His fingers trailed down her face; his thumb grazed her bottom lip. The stirring of desire rippled.

“You’re going to love my hot chocolate.” He brushed a kiss across her lips before ushering her onto a kitchen chair.

She sat, speechless. He smiled inwardly. Her quietness made her appear almost timid, not the way she acted on the picnic. Unless she pushed him away at some point, he wouldn’t be able to stop the direction they headed.

He poured the milk and mixed the cocoa and sugar together, knowing all the time she watched him. “Come stir while I get out the marshmallows.”

When she took the wooden spoon into her hand, he purposely rubbed his fingers against the backs of hers. Her shallow breath and the flutter of her lashes gave away what was going on inside. Thoroughly enjoying this slow progression, he held back.

“Stir continuously.” His words were intentionally innocent while his thoughts ran in an entirely different direction.

As he stretched overhead to snag the bag of miniatures, the direction of her glance was obvious. A tiny smile tipped her mouth. He nudged her with his hip. “I’ll take over.”

Lacy relinquished the spoon without comment, but didn’t break contact with his hip. Her arm reached across him, inching over his abs to clutch the bag of marshmallows and bring it back.

The movement was pure calculated sensuality. Picnic Lacy was back.

While she removed the twist tie, she brought her leg into full contact with his, dipped her hand in the bag for a tiny marshmallow and popped it into her mouth. A tiny dusting of white powder glistened on her bottom lip. The strain of ignoring the urge to lick it off further heated his desire.

“Mmm... How do you know when it’s ready?”

“Just before it boils.” Steam rose into the air, and he figured at least half of it came from the hot chocolate. “Give me one of those.”

“Open.” She brought the sweet treat to his mouth. “Stick out your tongue.”

He obeyed, and she set the white confection on his tongue, let her fingertip slide over the tip and along his lip.

“Is it getting close? To boiling?”

“Mmm.” He smiled and she snickered. “Very close.”

“Get a couple of mugs from the cupboard over the sink, okay?”

She bumped his hip and complied.

He filled the mugs, sprinkled on cinnamon and topped with a handful of the teasers. He motioned for her to take a seat, and they sat opposite each other.

“Careful. It’s hot,” he warned

With the mug poised on her bottom lip, green, teasing eyes peeked at him through the steam. “Yes, it is.”

Her tongue curled out, lapped up some melting white sweetness. White on pink, slow seduction. A sipping noise followed. His thighs tightened.

“This is good. Maybe I should add Chance’s hot chocolate to my menu at the Lacy Latte. Will you part with the recipe?”

“I’d have to give you my wooden spoon, and I can’t part with that.”

“I’ve got wooden spoons.”

“Won’t work.” He shook his head. “Has to be seasoned like mine.”

“Damn.”

The thought she could be heading back to the valley crossed his mind. “Are you anxious to get back to work?” He liked her in his house. Comfortable. He’d miss her.

“I’ve only been gone for three days.” She ticked her head side to side, took another sip. “They’re fine without me.” She set her mug down and met his gaze. “I could do without all the drama of burglary and murder, but the rest of the trip has been worth it.”

“You mean discovering your mother is the artist?”

“Discovering a few things about myself, too, and...”

He tried to read her meaning, if any of that included him. If she meant she was capable of a casual relationship, he’d have to set her straight. Her foot pushed at his under the table. The simplest of gestures had his heart doing double time. He captured her foot between his boots.

“And?”

“And you.”

He pushed his chair back and stood. The blood rushed from his head as the heat rose. In two strides he reached her, kicked her chair back from the table and scooped her into his arms.

“It’s time we made some discoveries together.”

Chapter Fifteen

Lacy’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest when Chance kicked her chair back from the table. She had no time to react as he swooped her into his arms; her breath caught on an inhale, choking off any exclamation of surprise. He smiled down on her with a wicked half grin; the copper glint beneath his lashes sent her stomach into somersaults. She wanted to drink his hot chocolate breath, melt into his chest. Strong arms and hot-blooded hands touched her where she had only imagined being touched, and she wondered if she’d faint from the sensation.

He paused at the guest room door. His heart thumped twice against her breast, then he continued on down the hall, stepped into another room and shut the door with the toe of his boot.

This had to be his bedroom. Stripes of moonlight slipped between the slats of the shades revealing glimpses of the masculinity of the room.

Her hands trembled, so she clutched his neck tighter. Worry crowded her pleasure that she wouldn’t remember what to do. Conrad had been the only one...ever.

Oh God, what if she didn’t please him, didn’t—?

“Lacy?” He’d stopped beside the bed, tipped his chin to stare into her face.

“Yes, Chance?” She cuddled closer, took a deep breath.

He kept staring—that damned, seriously sexy expression looking right into her. She brought her lips full against his, whispered, “Yes,” and kissed him.

The fluid, gentle motion as he lowered her to the bed reminded her of the sensation of flight when a car takes a descent into a mountainous dip in the road. He floated her down into softness and covered her in the warm hardness of his body. She threaded her fingers in his hair, clutching the strands as the kiss grew deeper. His hand moved along her thigh, clasped tight and brought her slightly off the bed to snug against him as he sank between her legs. His hardness registered; her pulse rate tripled. She needed to get undressed, needed to feel his skin on her.