Ladies' Night (47 page)

“For one thing, the paint. That was a brand-new can of orange paint, and a brand-new can of black paint. I didn’t have either of those here in the house, so whoever did it took the trouble to go buy paint and bring it along. So not really a crime of opportunity. Same with the fire. That wasn’t just a bunch of rags they used to start the fire in the living room. There were loads of old towels and sheets in the linen closet, but they didn’t use them to start it. They brought what looks like a new canvas drop cloth. Because, again, whoever set that fire was quite the little planner. Does that sound like kids to you?”

He stared at her. “Are you sure you haven’t been watching too much
CSI
?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think while I scrubbed that floor,” Grace said. “Shall I tell you what else I think is suspicious?”

“Shoot.”

Grace pointed toward the house across the street. The lawn was neatly mowed, and two green recycling bins stood at the curb. “There were three or four different kinds of beer cans in the kitchen sink, plus the Red Bull, plus the vodka. I think whoever did this caper wanted us to think they had a party, so they probably just scooped up some empty bottles and cans along the way. Today was recycling day, so every house on this street had full bins sitting on the curb last night.”

“Anything else?” Wyatt asked.

She walked into the living room, and he followed. She kicked at the remains of the charred thing on the floor. “I don’t think J’Aimee intended to burn the house down. That’s pretty scary, even for her. I think she just wanted to make a little fire. Why else just set fire to something like this? If someone really wanted a fire, they would have poured lighter fluid, or kerosene, or whatever all over the house. But it’s just this one little corner of the room that’s charred.”

“Why would she, or Ben, do any of this?” Wyatt asked. “How do they even know you’re working on this house?”

“Trust me, they read TrueGrace every day. J’Aimee steals my pictures and recipes all the time. Both of them have stopped by here. As to why, that’s simple. For revenge. The last time J’Aimee lifted one of my blog posts, and the photos and posted them on Gracenotes as her own, I got fed up. It’s copyright infringement, pure and simple. I e-mailed all their advertisers to let them know what was going on. I know at least one of their biggest accounts pulled their ads because of that.”

“Will you tell the cops?”

“I would if I thought it would do any good,” Grace said. “But all I have is a lot of theories. So I’m going to do the one thing that will piss them off the most. I’m going to start all over, and I’m going to make this house fabulous, even if it kills me.”

“Okay,” he said. “Count me in.”

50

Grace stood in the middle of the living room, her hands on her hips, and scowled. Wyatt came in just in time to catch her angry expression. “What now?”

“On top of everything else, she stole my damn iPod,” Grace said. “I left it in here the other night. The thing was, like, four years old, but it had all my music; my running music, my painting music, everything. Now it’s all gone. Dammit. I need my music to paint by.”

“I’ve got my iPod out in the truck,” Wyatt said cautiously. “But it’s getting kind of late, isn’t it?”

Grace looked out the shattered front window. The sun was hanging low in a bright orange-tinged sky. “Wow, it’s almost sunset. What is it, after eight?”

“Five after eight,” Wyatt said. “Are you ready to quit yet?”

“Are you?”

“I’ll keep working as long as you want to. But you’ve been at it all day, Grace. Since nine this morning, with only a half-hour break at lunch. Do you really want to keep going?”

“No,” she admitted. “As Rochelle would say, my get up and go got up and went. Maybe I’ll head home.”

“Good idea,” Wyatt said.

“Unless…” A smile crept over her face.

“Unless what?”

“I was just thinking, you might like to see my other design project.”

“I didn’t know you had another project.”

“It’s Mitzi’s condo over on Gulf Drive. She’s turning it into a furnished vacation rental, and she’s hired me to fluff it. The back of my car is actually full of towels and rugs and bedspreads and curtains for the place. I just started shopping for it yesterday.”

“Sounds nice,” Wyatt said, wondering where this conversation was headed. “But it’s getting kind of late for a sightseeing tour. Maybe you could show it to me this weekend?”

“It sits right on the gulf,” Grace told him. “The master bedroom has a balcony with a spectacular sunset view. And it has a king-sized bed. And I have the key.”

Wyatt’s eyes lit up. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Would you think less of me if I were?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “And I promise. I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

*   *   *

They left Wyatt’s truck at Mandevilla Manor and drove to the Publix on Holmes Beach to pick up supplies. While he circled the parking lot, Grace made a sweep of the supermarket. She hummed as she careened through the aisles, tossing a bag of dog food, a bottle of wine, a six-pack of beer, a pound of boiled shrimp, some good cheese, a loaf of French bread, and some grapes into the cart. On her way to the cash register, she caught sight of herself in a mirrored display in the floral department. Ugh! She was a mess. She backtracked through the store and added a bar of scented soap and some shampoo and conditioner to the cart, and then, in a flash of genius, she added a jug of detergent because the condo had a laundry room.

“Get everything we need?” Wyatt asked, pulling alongside her at the entrance to the store.

“I think so,” she said, holding up the wine.

When they got to the condo, Wyatt snapped a leash to Sweetie’s collar and carried the grocery sacks, and Grace loaded her arms with the linens she’d bought. She juggled the packages while she dug in her pocket for the key. When they entered the apartment, it was already flooded with the dying light of the sunset.

Grace glanced down at her paint-spattered sneakers and kicked them off before stepping onto Mitzi’s pristine white carpet, and Wyatt followed suit.

Wyatt dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter and walked back to the living room, standing in front of the sliding glass doors that led out to the balcony. The sky was streaked with brilliant layers of colors, from navy to violet to scarlet, orange, and pink. “Awesome,” he breathed. Grace hurried into the bedroom and dropped her packages. By the time she got back to the living room, Wyatt had opened the wine and poured glasses for both of them, and Sweetie was curled up on the rug in front of the television.

“Come here,” he said, holding out her glass. She took a sip of the wine. He put his arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“Nice place,” he said, looking around the room. “Kinda white, though, isn’t it?”

“Mitzi’s a great lawyer, but, as she herself admits, she sucks at decorating. She gave me a five-thousand-dollar budget and a deadline of two weeks, but otherwise no restrictions.”

“Hmm.” He was nuzzling her neck. “Is it okay for me to be here?”

Grace chuckled, thinking of her conversation with her lawyer. “I think she’d be okay with it.”

He turned her toward him and slid his hands around her waist. “Pardon me for being forward, but didn’t you say something about a king-sized bed?”

“Mm-hmm.” She gave him a lingering kiss. “What about the sunset?”

“I thought you said the bedroom looked out onto the gulf.”

“So I did.” She kissed him again, then pulled away.

“Much as I hate to bring up the subject, I am absolutely filthy, and I smell like a goat. I’m just going to jump in the shower, and then maybe we can continue this discussion somewhere else?”

“Okay,” he said, running a finger slowly down her arm. “Need anybody to scrub your back?”

“Mmmm. Hold that thought.”

*   *   *

The master bedroom had a huge tiled walk-in shower with an adjustable rain-forest shower head. Grace hummed as she lathered her entire body, scrubbing at the streaks and specks of orange paint that seemed to coat every inch of her exposed skin. The hot water sluiced down her back and over her chest and her head. She washed and rinsed her hair and wished she’d brought along a razor to shave her legs. The thought struck her that she still had two weeks to work on the condo. She’d make sure and stock the bathroom with a razor—and a toothbrush and toothpaste—after her next shopping trip.

She towel-dried her hair and finger-combed it as best she could, then wrapped herself in another one of the big fluffy towels she’d bought. Then she gathered up the clothes she’d left on the bathroom floor.

Wyatt’s voice drifted in from the other room. It sounded like he was on the phone. She hesitated, then pressed her ear to the door.

“Hey Dad.” His voice was low. “How’re you feeling?

“That’s good. Did you have dinner? Did you eat the vegetables I bought you? No Dad, Tater Tots don’t count. Yeah. Salad’s good. Did you take the new medicine the doctor gave you?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know you’re a grown-up, but I just want to make sure you take your pills. Is that a crime? Okay, great. Callie didn’t call, did she? No, Dad, remember? You promised the judge you wouldn’t call her that anymore.

“Listen, Dad, I’m, uh, probably not coming home tonight, but I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to get the animals fed and open up.

“What? None of your business. I’ll see you in the morning.”

How sweet is it that he calls his dad to check on him?
Grace thought.
This is somebody I could love.

And then something else occurred to her. She grabbed the jeans she’d dropped on the floor and dug her cell phone out of the pocket. It was Thursday night, which was ten-dollar-pitcher night. Hopefully, Rochelle would be too busy to answer her phone. She really did not want to have a variation of the same conversation Wyatt had just had with his father.

The phone rang once and went right to voice mail. “Hi Mom. Just wanted to let you know I’m not coming home tonight. I’ve got so much to do, I think I’ll just camp over here tonight. See you in the morning.” She disconnected hurriedly.

Wyatt was standing by the sliding glass doors in the bedroom when she emerged from the bathroom dressed only in a towel and a smile.

He gave a long, low wolf whistle when he saw her and held his arms open.

Grace padded across the room to him. “Take off your clothes.”

He grinned. “If this is your idea of foreplay I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

“Don’t be smutty,” Grace said primly. “I bought detergent at Publix, and I’m going to wash our clothes so we have something clean to wear after … dinner.”

He reached out and grabbed her. “Does this mean we get to have dessert before … dinner?”

She kissed him lightly. “We’ll see.”

He set his wineglass on a table by the window and made a huge production out of stretching and yawning.

“Oh man,” he said. “I am soooo tired. I think I’m so tired I’m gonna need you to undress me.”

Grace wrapped her arms around his neck. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “Please.”

Grace blushed. “You know I haven’t been with another man in a really long time, right?”

He cradled her face between his hands and kissed her again. “It’ll come back to you. It’s like riding a bike.”

She tugged his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor, then ran her hands over the flat plane of his bare chest, resting her fingertips on his nipples. She kissed his ear, then his collarbone, and worked her way to his chest. Wyatt slid his hands around her waist and kissed her hungrily.

Grace slid her hands down lower and felt him inhale sharply. She worked her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans and nimbly unfastened the metal snap before slowly easing the zipper down. She rolled the waistband of his cotton briefs over his slim hips, brushing her hand lightly over his erection.

“Oh God, Grace,” he whispered in her ear. She slid her hands around to his rear, cupping her hands on the smooth, cool flesh of his butt, while he kissed her neck, the warm spot at the base of her throat, and then her lips again, parting them with his tongue, both hands entwined in her damp hair.

Grace tugged the waist of his jeans and briefs lower, past his hips, feeling the bulge of his erection pressed against her groin, lower, until she could wrap one bare leg around his and ease the jeans down to his ankles with her toes.

“Nice trick,” he murmured in her ear. He released her long enough to kick free of his jeans, then, naked, pulled her to him again.

He flicked the edge of her towel and it dropped to the floor. He took a step backward and gazed at her pale body, silhouetted against the deep-purple sky outside. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “So beautiful.” His hands roamed slowly, lingering on her butt, traveling up her spine and then around her ribs, until he cupped a breast in each hand. His head dipped, nuzzling and suckling each nipple until Grace could hear her own ragged breaths in the still of the darkening room.

She ducked her head and felt the blush starting at the roots of her hair and spreading downward. He pressed a finger under her chin and she looked at him from beneath her lowered lashes.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said. He took her hand and led her toward the bed.

51

Grace lay on her side, gazing out the sliding glass doors at the deep-blue sky. At some point, Wyatt had opened the doors, and they could hear the waves washing ashore. He was spooned up against her back, his arm draped over her side, with his hand cupped against her breast, his thumb rhythmically brushing against her nipple. He was already aroused again. For that matter, so was she.

She rolled over to face him. “You’ve got to stop that, or we’ll never get any dinner.”

Instead, he bent his head and kissed her other nipple. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“I’m starved,” she announced. He caught at her hand, but she neatly slid out of the bed. Still self-conscious, she groped around on the floor for her forgotten bath towel, finally crawling over to where Wyatt had dropped it, several feet from the bed.