Dangerous Proposition (7 page)

For a moment, Colin wondered whether there was another choice, whether or not he was doing was the right thing. But as he took the car up to ninety and sped out onto the highway, the thought escaped his mind.

* * * *

Spotting a lone shopping cart between two parked cars, Julia smiled in triumph. She tossed her handbag into the child’s seat and gestured to Abigail, making her way toward the automatic door that stood at the entrance to the supermarket.

As she entered the air-conditioned store, Julia slipped into her denim jacket and released a stifled yawn. She was exhausted from another long year of teaching elementary school. To boot, last night’s events had left her running on less than two hours of sleep. She would have just stayed home, curled up on the couch, and taken a well-deserved nap had Abigail not insisted that they were overdue for a girls’ night. Too exhausted to argue, she’d agreed.

Abigail did always know when she needed an ear. And after hearing Colin Westwood’s asinine proposition, Julia most definitely did.

With a smirk that was as wide as the state of Texas, the man had looked her straight in the eye and told her he wanted her to be his personal call girl. And instead of telling him to go to hell where he belonged and reporting her theory about his crimes to the cops, she’d done nothing. Nothing, that was, except helplessly envision doing what he had suggested.

When she was sixteen, her fantasy had ended with Colin Westwood carrying her up the hotel staircase. But now, she could see it all clearly in her mind. Colin beside her, his hands cupping her face, the sensation shooting from skin to core as his thumb smoothed across her bare, sensitive nipple…

“I think you should do it,” Abigail said, jolting Julia from her thoughts as she reached for a bag of potato chips.

Assuring herself she hadn’t heard right, Julia did an appraisal of the aisle. She released a breath, almost relieved to see that no one had been around to hear her friend’s preposterous suggestion.

“Are you out of your mind?” she exclaimed, thrusting her shopping cart forward. “Colin Westwood all but admitted that he belongs behind a set of steel bars. Either way, I would never be some guy’s live-in bimbo.”

She nodded, placing a bag of pretzels beside the chips. As she’d said, Colin’s baby blues were a death trap waiting to happen. The thing was, she wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t want to be locked inside of them.

Abigail said nothing as they cruised the remaining aisles, piled their purchases onto the checkout counter, and walked back to the car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Julia began to think she was home free. But as an indicative smile formed on her best friend’s face, she realized Abigail’s words of wisdom had barely begun.

“What if you only pretended to be Colin’s mistress,” Abigail said with a clever smile.

Julia turned sharply. “I kind of think the guy would notice if I’m not joining him for midnight romps between the sheets.”

“Not if you played your cards right,” Abigail said. “You can tease Colin and let him think you intend to sleep with him, while all the while figuring out what he knows about your dad’s disappearance. I think it’s the perfect way to get back at the guy for being such a presumptuous pig.”

A smile formed on Julia’s face. The idea wasn’t half bad. Deceiving a guy as slick as Colin Westwood would be a challenge for sure, but there was little doubt in her mind that she could pull it off. Abigail was right—he deserved to be punished, left out in the cold, and then some. So long as he kept his hands to himself, she could easily do the same. But what if he tried to seduce her?

Julia’s cheeks burned with heat. She recalled with vivid clarity what had happened to her the last time she and Colin got up close and personal. The way he ran his fingertips along the groove of her neck, the tender way he’d moved his mouth over hers. If he kissed her again, she wasn’t entirely sure she could persuade him to stop. She wasn’t sure she could persuade
herself
to stop.
Get a grip, Julia.

“Much as I’d enjoy showing the guy where he can stick it, I really don’t think it’s best to tempt fate a second time.” Rounding the bend, Julia pulled into her driveway.

After she turned off the engine, Abigail followed her out of the car. Her friend took a few of the bags from the trunk then tailed her as she walked across the porch and stepped inside the house. “Maybe I’m off base. But other than the cell phone, we have no other clues about your dad’s disappearance. Colin Westwood might very well be our only chance of finding him. At least give it some thought.”

Julia set her bags on the counter. She had given this thought. A lot of thought. And other than climbing up the side of a three-story mansion, posing as a maid, and stealing some sort of evidence the cops would consider admissible, she honestly didn’t know what to do.

She looked Abigail’s way with hesitation. It didn’t seem as if she was getting out of this without at least considering her friend’s suggestion. Though, she definitely wasn’t keen about being away from town for any length of time, even if the school year didn’t begin again for another three months. She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess it could be worth a shot.”

“It’s ingenious,” Abigail said, removing a bottle of soda from one of the bags. “You’ll call Colin and tell him you’ve decided to accept his offer. Once the two of you are living under the same roof, you’ll have a world of opportunities for gathering information right outside your bedroom door.”

That seemed true enough. But Julia wasn’t about to dive headfirst into the frying pan without considering every angle. She folded the bag Abigail had emptied. “What makes you think Colin isn’t going to demand I make good on my end of the bargain the minute I walk through the door? The guy is a vulture who practically crushed me to death. He’s either horny as sin, or else he gets a twisted kick out of scaring women out of their minds and pinning them against his mattress.”

Abigail offered a cynical glance. “The threat of a little danger has never stopped you before. I bet it wouldn’t even take that long. If I know you, you’ll have what you need within twenty-four hours. That is, unless there’s some other reason why you don’t want to do this. Like maybe you don’t think you can handle another kiss from the arrogant mouth of Colin Westwood.”

“Of course I can handle it,” Julia snapped impatiently.

With a grin that was highly unnerving, Abigail took an apple from the bowl on the counter. Biting into it, she said, “Then I guess you know what you’ve got to do.”

Julia shook her head. She knew what she had to do all right. She only wondered what “handling the situation” really would entail.

Late in the evening, Colin sped down Fox Hill Lane. He turned the wheel of his Mercedes and parallel parked in front of Julia Dyson’s cabin. Made of stone and probably worth less than a hundred grand, the place wouldn’t even have been noticeable if it weren’t the only house on the block.

Colin shifted into neutral, holding his foot on the brake. Darkness settling around him, it was just after five—nearly three hours after Julia’s phone call telling him that she’d decided to accept his offer.

As he turned off the engine, he smiled to himself. He released a slow breath, allowing the tension of the last twenty-four hours to seep through his nostrils.

His plan was working out nicely. So nicely, in fact, that he’d surprised himself. When he’d learned Tucker was missing, he’d had little to no idea of how he was going to find him. But now that John Rizzo had given some direction, he was feeling a glimmer of hope.

Eyeing the wooden door that stood at the entrance to Julia’s home, Colin grinned. It had been a good long time since he’d been this intrigued by a woman. Julia Dyson was extremely attractive, and not just because of her exceptional good looks. Her bold personality ignited his engine like a fire starter to a candle wick. He was disappointed they wouldn’t be spending more time with one another, but he planned on pushing her buttons thoroughly during the course of their evening together. And per the terms of their “agreement,” they would be ending the night at the apartment he kept in the city, Julia warm and willing in his bed.

Stepping onto the cabin’s miniscule porch, Colin considered peeking through the window above the door. Last time, he’d enjoyed the look on Julia’s face almost as much as he had enjoyed watching her drop her phone and bend to retrieve it. He stepped forward, lifted his brows, and peered through the glass.

To his disappointment, there was nothing in the living room but a pile of junk mail and an orange cat. Both were scattered across a small sofa, the fabric of which was covered in bright-yellow daisies. In front of the hideous object stood a small white coffee table. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

He stood in place a full two minutes. Just when he was about to dial Julia’s cell phone, the door opened. A petite woman with blonde hair stood before him, holding the cat he’d seen on the sofa. Her pretty brown eyes were narrow and suspicious. The striped creature in her arms glared at him as she thrust her hand forward. “Abigail Newberry. You’re late, Dr. Westwood.”

Colin’s mouth went dry. It took him several seconds before he regained his voice. “Ryan’s wife. It’s nice to finally put a name with a face.”

He did all he could to keep an amiable expression. Wife of one of his closest friends or otherwise, it was common knowledge that Abigail Newberry was one of the biggest gossips in town. Perhaps it wasn’t in his best interest to be spending time with Julia Dyson after all, considering the company she kept.

The young woman brushed past him, and an uncomfortable knot formed in Colin’s stomach. Something about the way she was acting didn’t sit right. It was as though she knew something he didn’t. It took him a moment to get his bearings before he realized that Julia had stepped into the doorframe, wearing a ghastly white T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

At the sight of her wardrobe selections, Colin’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He blinked, wondering whether he’d fallen asleep in his car and started dreaming. “You can’t possibly wear those clothes. You’ll blow our cover in a millisecond.”

When Julia didn’t flinch, he scanned her figure more slowly, eyes resting upon her shapely, round breasts. Giving them a lengthy stare, he couldn’t help thinking that she looked pretty damn appealing in spite of her tacky wardrobe. The woman dressed like a farmer, yet he couldn’t seem to help picturing her wearing nothing but that gold pendant she had around her neck.

“No one had a problem with my clothing when I came to your shindig,” she said, adamant.

Broke into my home, you mean, Ms. Dyson.
He drew a sharp breath. “You forget the terms of our agreement,
mistress
. It’s your job to be pleasing to the eye. Not that I don’t find you enticing in even the plainest attire. But I had something more feminine, with a little bit of style, in mind.”

“Why, you arrogant son of a—”

“There will be a lot of people where we’re headed tonight. In case you’re not aware, I have an image to uphold.”

She scoffed. “I’ll try not to put a smudge on it.”

“You’ll do more than try. Change. I’ll wait in the car.”

Julia’s porcelain face grew crimson. “Not happening.”

Colin clenched a fist. His patience was wearing thin. He hadn’t come there to argue. As it was, they were running a lot later than he was comfortable with. Whoever John Rizzo was working for, these weren’t the sort of men you kept waiting. He brushed past Julia, making his way through the doorframe.

“Hey!” she shouted, coming up behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Ignoring her, Colin made his way through the living room, wedging his way between the couch and coffee table. To his right was an equally small space—the kitchen. Brightly colored dishes were stacked inside the cabinets surrounding the dinner table. To the left was a hallway.

Colin opened the door at the end of the hall and shook his head at the sight of the Julia’s unmade bed. There was clothing everywhere, on the quilt, and on the floor beside the mattress. Her dresser was covered in junk as well—accessories, laundry, shampoo bottles.

Moving in swift steps, he made his way to the closet and opened the door. “Either you put on something else, Ms. Dyson, or I’ll have no choice but to rescind my offer.”

“Rescind away,” Julia snapped. “I’m not some lap dog who’s going to jump and hand you your slippers.”

“You no longer care about what happens to your father?” Colin raised a skeptical brow.

“Of course I care,” she said after a moment. “But if you think I’m about to sell my soul to the devil, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“I suppose you think I’m the devil. That probably isn’t too far from the truth. But if you think that calling me names is going to entice me into changing my mind about our arrangement, then you, my dear, are the one who is mistaken.”

“Then leave,” Julia said, planting her hands on her hips. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m changing my clothes for you.”

Colin opened his mouth to reply, but quickly decided against it. Just a few short hours ago, she’d been so agreeable. Where was the woman who’d called him in a panic? Said it would be her pleasure to accompany him?
Thanked
him for his generous offer? Perhaps he’d been so eager to get her back into his bed that he’d misunderstood her.

Wanting very much to remind Julia Dyson just how deep her desires ran, he placed his hand on her shoulder. Bringing his mouth beside her ear, he whispered, “You didn’t seem so offended by my advances last time.”

Her auburn brows twitched. “I was barricaded and couldn’t breathe. I would have kissed a crocodile if I’d thought it would get me out from beneath that boulder you call a body.”

“It was that bad?” he probed, disbelieving.

She released a strained sigh. “Why does it even matter to you?”

Reassured somewhat by the hesitancy in her voice, Colin said, “Do you honestly think I would ask a woman to be my mistress who I didn’t believe was interested in holding down the position?”