A Lover's Vow (10 page)

When they heard two raps on the door indicating Ambrose couldn't bend the rules any longer, they stood. “I feel better now that I've told you,” Dalton said, releasing a deep breath. “Every time I came here and saw you, the guilt I felt beat me down.”

That explains why he hasn't come here as often as the others
, Shep thought, coming around the table to hug his son. “It was not your fault, Dalton. It was never your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

“Thanks, Dad. I know this might sound crazy, but after all these years, I needed to hear that.”

Twelve

D
efinitely déjà vu, Jules thought as she sat parked outside Dalton's place exactly three nights after the last time. This time she wasn't questioning her sanity, mainly because she had a plan. She was fully aware of the Granger brothers visit to their father and, thanks to Shana, she'd known things hadn't gone the way Sheppard Granger had hoped. She also knew that yesterday her father, keeping his word to Sheppard, had met with Jace, Caden and Dalton at Granger Aeronautics. From what her father told her that morning at breakfast, the three appreciated his meeting with them but were fully aware of the risks in the decision they'd made. They were determined not to back down and had the blessings of their wives. Jules thought all that might be fine and dandy with them, but one of those wives happened to be her sister, so it wasn't fine or dandy with her. Although her father had stressed it was their decision, and the Bradfords needed to honor it, she wasn't that compliant.

So here she was again, for the second time this week, at Dalton's home, trying to get him to go along with her way of thinking. As far as she knew, he had not changed his mind about attending Shana's party tomorrow night, but the matter she now needed to discuss with him was much more important. To her, it was a matter of life and death.

After the briefest of hesitations, she opened her car door and got out, noticing how much the temperature had dropped since the noon hour. Her leather coat was little protection from the cutting cold and icy winds, the result of an earlier downpour.

There was no need to be concerned with the car that had followed Dalton home tonight. Stonewall Courson was no longer being discreet. He'd parked and was sitting with the window down as if he were enjoying the chilly weather. She could tolerate a lot of things, but cold weather was not one of them. After living most of her life in Boston, she should be used to it, but she wasn't. She was aware that Stonewall had noticed her vehicle the moment he had parked. He had glanced her way, seeming to acknowledge her presence, after which he ignored her, knowing she was no threat.

She decided to speak when she passed by his car. “Stonewall.”

He tilted his head in a nod. “Ms. Bradford.”

Was that presumption she saw in his eyes, like he knew the reason for her late-night visit to Dalton? At the moment, she couldn't have cared less what he assumed and continued to make her way to Dalton's front door. Suddenly, it began raining again, and she increased her pace when the showers began coming down in earnest.

Before she had time to react, a huge golf umbrella covered her. She glanced up into Stonewall's face and realized she hadn't heard him get out of the car. The man was too much like a panther—sleek, deathly quick and quiet—for her peace of mind. Oh, she needed to include muscular, as well.

“I'm sure Dalton wouldn't want you to get wet.”

Honestly?
Dalton wouldn't care if the rain drowned me,
she thought, forcing back a laugh. Stonewall had the nature of her relationship with Dalton totally wrong, but she didn't have the time or the inclination to explain anything to him. Instead, she simply accepted his gesture of kindness. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

As soon as her feet touched the floor of Dalton's covered porch, she heard Stonewall say, “Enjoy your night,” and then he was gone through the rain and back to his car.

Enjoy her night? In Dalton's presence?
He had to be kidding. In fact, he might be a witness to just how much she and Dalton disliked each other when he opened the door to find her standing there. Dalton might slam the door in her face or even refuse to answer it. She knew she was taking her chances coming here unannounced tonight, but she'd also known he wouldn't take a phone call from her if she'd made one.

The rain began pelting down harder, and because of the wind the covered porch did little to shield her from it. She tightened her coat around her with one hand and lifted the other hand to ring his doorbell.

* * *

Dalton had stepped out of the shower and begun drying off when he heard his doorbell. Stonewall was parked outside, so if the person had gotten past his watchdog, that meant there was no threat. The one thing he'd figured out about Stonewall was that he pretty much had everything under control. The man was there when he left in the morning and was on his tail when he came home at night. Dalton just didn't get it. It was storming outside—who in their right mind would want to sit in a car all night in the rain? He had invited him inside, but Stonewall had refused his offer, saying he would be fine. He liked the rain and cold, because during those years he was locked up, he'd been without both.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked out of his bedroom toward his front door. Playing on the side of caution, he took a look out the peephole and blinked. WTF? Jules? Again? What the hell did she want?

He opened the door and stepped aside to let her in, telling himself there was no need for him to stand in the doorway and catch pneumonia, even if it looked as if she had a mind to. Why was she out in the pouring rain? “You better have a good reason for coming here at this hour and in this weather.”

“We need to talk.”

“About what?” he asked despite his irritation, closing the door when she walked in. “I thought I made it clear the other night that I have no intention of going to your sister's dinner party tomorrow night.”

‘That's not what I want to talk about.”

“Umm, let me guess. You've changed your mind and are making a booty call, after all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get serious.”

“Baby, I am serious.” He tried not to notice how her hair, damp from rain, hung down her shoulders, giving her a sexy look. Too bad the rain hadn't washed away her scent; it was there drifting through his nostrils, inciting all sorts of ideas in his mind. “So if you're not making a booty call, did you come by for another kiss?”

She snorted. “Not on your life.”

He frowned, no longer interested in playing guessing games. “So what brought you to my doorstep in the pouring rain, Jules? What is it you want to talk about?”

After a moment's hesitation, she said, “I intend to find the person who killed your mother.”

* * *

Jules watched. First his eyes widened, and then his lips drew in a tight line while he eyed her like she'd suddenly become a strange phenomenon. And while he was doing all of that, she was studying him, as well. There was no use arguing the point that perhaps
ogling
was a better word as she gave him a long, in-depth perusal from head to toe.

“Now that's an interesting joke,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm curious to hear the punch line.”

Somehow, she'd known he wouldn't take her seriously. “No joke. No punch line. I will explain things in detail after you put on some clothes.”

He glanced down at himself and smiled as if he found the very idea that she was bothered by what he was wearing rather amusing. But when he met her gaze again, his smile had been replaced with a deep frown. “What makes you think I want to hear anything you have to say?”

Jules thought that was an easy question, one with several answers, but for now, she would give him the one that mattered. “Because you know your father is innocent of a crime he's spent the past fifteen years paying for.”

Dalton stood there a moment and stared at her, as if he was trying to decide whether she deserved to waste any more of his time. But she knew as well as he did that what she said had pulled him in. If nothing else, he was intrigued. It wouldn't take much thought to determine what was more important. That towel wrapped around his waist or hearing what she had to say. The towel lost.

“It won't take me but a minute to change into something more appropriate. I would suggest you make yourself at home, but I don't imagine you will be here that long.”

He turned and walked away. Was that arrogant strut from the room supposed to be for her benefit? Deliberately done to cause that familiar ache between her legs? It would be her luck that Dalton Granger was sex incarnate on the most luscious pair of legs any man could own.

She removed her coat, hung it on the coatrack and began pacing. It was either that or stand still and lick her lips dry while that ache intensified. Why was she allowing him to get to her this way? Yet she was here, while it was pouring rain outside, to offer her services. But not in the way that could definitely relieve the horniness that had been racking her mind and body for days.

“Ah, you're still here,” he said, coming back into the room. Thankfully, he was no longer wrapped in that towel but had slid into a pair of khakis and a T-shirt. She tried not to act surprised when she read the large words emblazoned across his chest.
I lick.
She meant to ignore it, but then she decided that since he'd probably put it on to annoy her, she intended to show him it hadn't worked.

The corners of her lips curved into a barely there smile, just enough to let him know his T-shirt didn't bother her. “Nice shirt. I need to get one for myself, because I lick, as well.”

Bam.
As she expected, heat suddenly swirled in his eyes. Men. They could try to be cool, smooth and suave. But at hearing the first word connected to sex from a woman's lips, they would become primitive creatures who thought a good lay would ease all of their troubles. She hated admitting it but, at the moment, she was thinking the same thing.

“Then maybe we can have a licking party one of these days,” Dalton said, intruding into her thoughts.

She momentarily tightened her lips to refrain from saying,
Yum yum
. Instead, her response was, “Trust me, that won't be happening.”

He shrugged as he gestured for her to sit down on the sofa while he sat down in the wingback chair. “I'm listening.”

There was no doubt in her mind as she sat down that Dalton knew just what women thought of him. Some would even find him irresistible. Eye candy so sweet it could be considered sinful. She'd watched when he eased down in the chair and noted the way his khakis stretched over powerful thighs. The thought of a female's body being held tight by those thighs while he rode her to glory had her shifting positions in her seat.

“You okay?”

His voice was a rough caress that seemed to rake sensuously across her skin, sending luscious shivers down her spine. But, of course, she wouldn't tell him any of that to feed his already overstuffed ego. “I'm fine.”

“Glad to hear it. Now you were saying...”

How could a man look intrigued and sensuous at the same time? She held his gaze, and was it her imagination, or had the air surrounding them taken on a deliriously stimulating aura? And why had it begun feeding her sexual hunger? Forcing the thought from her mind, she said, “As I stated earlier, I intend to find your mother's killer.”

“Why?” he asked with obvious annoyance in his tone. “You never knew my mother, and you don't know my father. As far as I know, you've never met him.”

“No, I haven't,” she agreed. “But I don't need to meet him to want an injustice overturned. Besides, my father met him, and his opinion is good enough for me.”

He waved off her words. “Stop trying to sound so damned noble. I refuse to believe that you don't have an ulterior motive for wanting to find my mother's killer.”

She didn't respond immediately but gave him a long, hard stare. “You're right. I do have an ulterior motive. My sister. Your brothers might not have a problem with dragging their wives into your family madness, but I do.”

Dalton leaned forward, and the anger that stiffened his jaw was radiating off him. “My brothers do have a problem with it, but I was told that it was those same wives, especially your sister, who reminded them of the vows they took together. That
we promise to love and protect each other
bullshit.”

Jules wished at that moment she could say something in Shana's defense, but she couldn't. That's why she hadn't discussed any of her plans with her sister. Since falling in love, Shana's entire attitude and outlook on things had changed. Jace wasn't just her husband. He was now her soul mate...at least, Shana was convinced he was. In Shana's present state of mind, there was nothing she wouldn't do for her husband, including agreeing to place her own life in danger.

And Jules could probably say the same for Caden's wife. She'd seen the pair together and could feel their love and affection, the strong hold of their commitment and dedication to each other. That degree of love for another person was downright scary.

“Okay, we can agree that it's Shana's and Shiloh's choice, but I intend to do something about it before somebody gets crazy. Somebody like the actual killer.”

“And you think you can just walk in and solve a case that's been closed for fifteen years?”

“And you and your brothers don't intend to try doing that same thing? I assume you were going to hire a PI to check things out.”

“Yes, but before you get some kind of crazy inkling that the PI should be you, there's something you might want to think about.”

“What?”

“Dad is convinced the last person my grandfather hired to prove his innocence ended up dead.”

The smooth arch of Jules's brow rose. “Are you saying the man was murdered?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.”

* * *

Jules was pacing.

Dalton thought about saying something about wearing out his carpet. But who gave a damn about carpet when he was getting a front-row seat for the most incredible pair of legs any woman had a right to own?

She was wearing a skirt and blouse, and to say she looked good in both would be an understatement. What he'd told her about Imerson had her thinking. She was in deep thought, and so was he. The woman had such an indescribably sexy force that he was totally captivated. Definitely an amazing sampling of femininity—he'd been hard fifty times over and was still expanding. He'd switched positions on the sofa to relieve the strain on his crotch, and she hadn't even noticed.