Ready & Willing (37 page)

He felt her body begin to quiver then, and sensing how close she was to climax, Nathaniel moved to kneel before her. Circling her ankles with sure fingers, he pulled her forward, burying himself inside her—deep,
deep
inside her. Then he draped her legs over his shoulders and lowered his body to hers, braced his elbows on the mattress on each side of her and thrust himself deeper still. Over and over, he bucked against her, opening Audrey wider to receive him. She curled her fingers over his shoulders as he thrust, until they both cried out with their completion. For a long moment, they clung to each other, his body shuddering in the last of its release. Then Nathaniel was relaxing, falling to the bed beside Audrey, one hand curved over her waist, the other arcing over her head.

Audrey snuggled close and sighed against him, her left hand flat on his chest. He covered that hand with his own, stroking the indentation left by her ring.

She needs a new one to put there,
he thought.
Someday. Soon.

He stroked a hand lightly over her hair and said softly, “I have some good news.”

She looked up at him, her expression hopeful. Her voice was, too, when she said, “What is it? Is it about Edward?”

He nodded, threading his fingers through the dark silk of her hair. “My PI has found proof that Edward Dryden and Nicholas Pearson are in fact the same man. At least they are now. That wasn’t always the case. There’s evidence to suggest that in an effort to disappear after that triple murder he was rumored to have committed—and it appears that was much more than a rumor—Pearson also killed a man named Edward Dryden, assumed his identity, and proceeded to start anew here, in a city where no one knew him or the original Dryden and where he could take advantage of both business-friendly policies and downtown-revitalization efforts to start his own company.”

“He was trying to go legit?” Audrey asked doubtfully.

“Who knows?” Nathaniel replied. “Maybe. Or maybe he was just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to start his own crime syndicate or something.”

“But that’s why he seemed so squeaky clean when he came to town,” she said. “Because he’d stolen another man’s life.”

Nathaniel nodded soberly. “In more ways than one. Mick, my investigator, turned over everything he discovered to your friend Leo, and Leo’s brought in the FBI, since much of the evidence, in addition to the murder charge, involves interstate and organized crime.”

Audrey pushed herself up from his chest, bringing her face level with his. “And it’s solid evidence?” she asked.

Still afraid to hope, but feeling that way anyhow, Nathaniel told her, “It seems to be. Mick said they were going to bring Edward . . . I mean, Nicholas . . . in for questioning. Today.”

“That’s fantastic,” Audrey said. “When will you know something for sure?”

“Any time now, I hope. If it’s true that Edward isn’t who he says he is, then any contract I signed with him—any contract anyone signed with him—is null and void.”

“You won’t be associated with a criminal anymore.”

“Nope. And neither will anyone else linked to Edward’s development. The whole project will be scuttled.”

“You’ll get your soul back.”

“Yep,” he agreed. “And to make sure I keep it in good standing, I’m going to do whatever I have to do to make sure the land Edward wanted to develop is turned into the very thing the city wanted to put there: affordable housing for single-parent families, complete with facilities to make their lives easier.”

“That would, without question, ensure your soul stays put for the rest of your life.”

“And that it goes someplace warm and happy afterward,” he added. He threaded his fingers through her hair again, tucking it behind one ear. “Just like yours.”

She opened her hand over his heart, and he felt the warmth of her touch to his very . . . soul. His real soul. As in, one that had been returned to him. Because the place in his heart that had felt so empty after signing the contract with Edward suddenly felt full again.

“Audrey,” he said. “Don’t touch me.”

She arrowed her brows downward, looking stricken. “What?”

In spite of her distress, he chuckled. Warmly, at that. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, move your hand.

Move to the other side of the bed. Don’t have any physical contact with me.”

“Nathaniel, what . . . ?”

“I think my soul is back.”

Now her eyes went wide. She snatched her hand back and moved to the opposite side of the mattress, as far as she could go without falling off. He waited for the chill to return, as it always did whenever she wasn’t touching him. Waited for that bone deep, desolate, hopeless cold to settle into his every pore. But it didn’t come. Although he didn’t feel as warm as he had with Audrey snuggled beside him, neither did he feel in any way cold. He was about to tell her that when the phone rang beside his bed. He looked at the caller ID and laughed out loud when he saw who it was, then snatched it up and pressed it to his ear.

Before he even uttered a greeting, a familiar voice on the other side said, “Sorry to call so late, but you told me you wanted to know the minute it happened, no matter the time. They just arrested Edward Dryden, AKA Nicholas Pearson, and charged him with half a dozen crimes. Including identity theft, fraud, and a little thing called murder. Any business you—or anyone else—had with the guy is now concluded.”

“Thanks for the report, Mick,” Nathaniel told his PI. “I appreciate all the work you did on this thing.”

“I’ll write up my report and courier it to your office tomorrow. And the feds are going to want to talk to you about this.”

“Send the report to me here at home, and tell anyone who needs to find me that I’ll be here.” He looked over at Audrey, who smiled and began to make her way back across the big bed. “All day,” he added before dropping the phone back into its cradle without even saying good-bye. Mick would understand. In spite of being a shady PI, the guy had a good soul.

Audrey stopped before touching him again, but she pointed to his chest and smiled. “How’s the weather in there?”

“Balmy and warm,” he told her. He dropped his gaze to her naked breasts and grinned. “And getting warmer all the time.”

“You got your soul back,” she said.

“I got my soul back,” he confirmed.

“So that was good news you received just now?”

“Excellent news,” he assured her. “Best news I’ve had since . . .” He grinned again. “Well. Since a woman named Mrs. Magill entered my office and told me my soul was in danger.”

“That wasn’t good news,” she reminded him.

“Maybe not. But the messenger brought a lot more with her than dire predictions. She brought salvation, too.”

Audrey covered his heart again, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “And you, Mr. Summerfield, have returned the favor tenfold.”

It wasn’t the only favor he did her that night. And salvation wasn’t the only thing she brought him. It may have taken a lost soul for Audrey and Nathaniel to find what was missing from both their lives. But once found, neither was going to let love go too far.

Epilogue

CECILIA HAVENS WAS PAINTING THE LIVING ROOM OF
her new apartment overlooking the Ohio River when Stephen and Finn arrived with a basket full of treats from the restaurant and some interesting news. The three of them settled into the living room, the one room Cecilia had finished decorating with furnishings more suited to a rambling Victorian house in Old Louisville than a one-bedroom condo in a recently completed highrise. The fireplace was one of those portable gas ones that turned on with the flip of a switch, and above it, she’d hung a housewarming gift from Audrey—the portrait of Silas Summerfield.

Finn and Stephen made themselves comfortable as she poured tea, the three of them chatting about the recent wedding of Audrey and Nathaniel and the new development going up downtown, and about how the newlyweds had drafted all three of them to volunteer in the charity they’d begun to fund scholarships for the kids who would be living in that development. But as Cecilia sliced the cheesecake she’d prepared for the visit, Stephen dropped an interesting tidbit into the conversation.

“You might be interested to know, Cecilia, that Vincent Strayer has been hospitalized.”

Her hand stilled in her task, and her fingers twitched involuntarily on the knife. “What?”

Stephen helped himself to one of the slices she’d completed and blithely repeated, “Vincent has been hospitalized. A mental hospital.”

Now Cecilia looked up, her mouth open, her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Stephen leaned back on the sofa and smiled. “Evidently, he went a teensy bit crazy. We heard all about it from the manager of one of his restaurants.”

When Cecilia said nothing, only continued to gaze at him blankly, he continued, “He thought he was being haunted. By, oh . . . like fifty ghosts. All women who had been mistreated by their husbands or lovers when they were alive. Or so he said.”

Cecilia turned to look at the portrait over the fireplace, telling herself she only imagined the way Silas’s smug little grin grew more smug.

“Yeah,” Stephen continued, “every time the guy turned around, there was another woman there terrorizing him. So he said. At work, at home, at play . . . No matter where Vincent went—so he said—there was another ghost scaring him stiff.” He winked at Finn. “But not in a good way. It finally got to the point where he just . . . went nuts. Completely bonkers. God knows when he’ll get out. Since, even in the hospital, he says he’s still being tormented by dead women.”

“My goodness, that must be hell,” Finn said, reaching for his own cheesecake. “So what kind is this, Cecilia, honey? Is it that orange one again? I love that one.”

“Uh, yeah,” she told him. “It is the orange one. Only I tried something a little different with the Cointreau this time. Tell me if you taste a difference.”

The two men visited the entire afternoon, and no sooner had they left than Silas materialized in the doorway between the living room and dining room.

“Silas, what did you do?” Cecilia asked with a smile.

“I thought Vincent might be lonely after you left him,” he said. “I thought he’d like to have other women like you to keep him company.”

“That was . . . very thoughtful of you,” she replied.

“Yes, I thought so, too.”

“So . . . what do you want to do tonight?” she asked. “We could watch
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
again if you want.”

He shook his head. “No, I think I should like to sit out on the balcony with you and watch the river. And then . . .” He threw her a look she could only compare to soulful. “Then, you should go to sleep. Because I have plans for us in your dreams tonight.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

He nodded. “Wear that red thing I like so much to see you in.”

She laughed. “Okay. But only if you wear what I like to see you in.”

He smiled his slyest smile. “Nothing?”

“That would be it, yes.”

He chuckled in a way that sent hot shivers down her spine. “Oh, Cecilia. You have been so good for my soul.”

“And you,” she said, “make my life absolute heaven.”

Dear Reader,

 

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about Louisville during Derby time, which is my favorite time of year in my hometown. Once again, however, I’ve taken some literary license for the sake of keeping reality fictional. For instance, addresses on Third Street in Old Louisville actually include four numbers, not three, as Audrey’s does in the book. And 1400 Willow, where Nathaniel lives, actually only has twenty-one floors, so Nathaniel would be living on the roof, were he actually living on the twenty-second. And please forgive me, my fellow Louisvillians, for playing fast and loose with a few streets and locations downtown for the sake of Cecilia’s tour with Silas.

Some aspects of the story are, however, true. Old Louisville really is considered one of the most haunted neighborhoods in the country, and there have indeed been whole books written about it. If you’d like to learn more, I’d recommend local author David Dominé’s
Ghosts of Old Louisville.
Or visit the website at
www.ghostsofoldlouisville.com
. If you ever visit Louisville, you can even take a tour of haunted Old Louisville. Maybe, if you’re very lucky, you may run into a riverboat captain or two . . .

 

Happy reading!
Elizabeth

by Elizabeth Bevarly

 

 

 

 

 

 

NATALIE BECKETT SURVEYED THE ARCHITECTURAL
wonder that was the ballroom of Emmet and Clementine Hotchkiss’s palatial estate and decided that only a complete loser could mess up a party thrown against a backdrop like this. It was as if she’d just walked into the court of Louis XIV, from the cloud-and-cherub-spattered ceiling to the gilded moldings to the beveled Palladian windows that virtually formed the far wall. The late afternoon sun spilled through those windows now, imbuing the room with a luscious golden light, but at night, all those crystal chandeliers hanging overhead would toss diamonds onto the inlaid hardwood floor. Yep, it would take an abject, absolute loser not to be able to throw an amazing, full-to-the-gills party in this place.

Which made Natalie an abject, absolute loser.

Clementine Hotchkiss was the ideal client, one who had spoken those words every professional event planner longed to hear: “Money is no object.” Even better, she’d meant it. Clementine had been Natalie’s aunt’s best friend since college, and she and Mr. Hotchkiss were soiled to their undergarments by their filthy lucre. Clementine had told Natalie to do whatever she wanted with regard to the party—theme, decorations, catering, you name it—that she was turning the party over into Natalie’s trusted, talented hands, and please, just let Clementine know to whom she should make out the checks and for how much. There was no way anyone could mess up a golden professional opportunity like the one Clementine had offered. No one except an utter, unmitigated loser.