Voyeur (13 page)

—and she'd sent him away because she had a book to write? On the other hand, though, she couldn't be sorry, because the day flew by as quickly

as her fingers over the keyboard, Riley and Sloane's story spil ing out of her at record speed. She barely even had to think—the words simply

flowed, as if they'd been trapped in a big bucket somewhere inside her and it had final y tipped over.

As she'd suspected, Sloane was now a major part of the story. Riley remained completely in lust with him, but she stil wasn't sure how much she

trusted him. He was flirtatious and arrogant and thought he was God's gift to the world of private eyes—but when Riley and Sloane put their heads

together, things started to happen.

The whole question of why someone would steal a valuable antique broach only to hide it in a toolshed lingered. But working together, the two had

hit upon an idea: if someone had hidden the broach on the property, perhaps other missing items might be hidden there, too. For instance, just last

week, they discovered, Mr. Dorchester had lost a dividend check before he could take it to the bank. A rare first edition of
A Farewell to Arms,

signed by Hemingway himself, had disappeared from the library, too. The Dorchesters hadn't mentioned either until Riley and Sloane had started

prodding them—both Mr. and Mrs. D. had assumed they were just getting a little forgetful and had misplaced them. But now Riley and Sloane had

set off on a treasure hunt of sorts. If they could turn up the other missing items, perhaps the pieces of the puzzle would begin to come together.

And, of course, he'd kissed her again, too.

She'd been climbing up on a step ladder, back searching the tool-shed, checking the top of a large old wooden cabinet. Sloane's hands had come

warm at her hips, steadying her.

Riley feared there could have been a rattlesnake curled up atop the old armoire and she wouldn't have seen it—because al she could

concentrate on at the moment were the two warm palms bracketing her hips. She'd been touched by other men before, but Sloane Bennett

seemed to have an unusual hold on her—both literal y and figuratively. She tried to tel herself it was simply because he'd kissed her before

they'd even been introduced, that such powerful chemistry had been inevitable. Yet the explanation did nothing to dim her rather feral

attraction to him.

"Anything up there?" he asked.

Focus.
She saw some rusted pieces of steel that had probably once been attached to a cart or wagon, and a coiled garden hose. The hose

seemed a likely hiding place, so she reached into the center, where she couldn't see, to feel around.

Something scurried across her fingertips! She screamed and leapt into the air.

She landed in Sloane Bennett's capable arms, her heart beating too fast as she peered up into his deep brown eyes. "Spider;" she said on

a quivery breath. "Or at least it felt like one."

"I've never heard of a detective afraid of a little bitty spider, Riley."

"Who said it was little?" she whispered, nearly breathless from being so close to him.

"But I'l be happy to take your mind off it," he said, then lowered his mouth ful y onto hers.

It was the best encounter with a spider Riley Wainscott had ever had.

Of course, once the long and intoxicating kiss had ended, they bickered. Whereas Laura, prior to last night, had run from Braden every time she'd

had an orgasm, Riley bickered with Sloane every time he kissed her. Riley simply wasn't used to feeling so consumed by a mere kiss, a mere man.

She feared her overwhelming attraction to Sloane as much as she was drawn in by it.

As the writing day had gone on, the two sleuths had continued their search on the Dorchesters' grounds. Although Riley had lived next door with

Aunt Mimsey for many years—since her parents had died in an auto accident when Riley was a teenager—she'd never real y explored the

Dorchesters' estate nor realized how vast it was. She'd attended teas in Mrs. D's parlor or the occasional Fourth of July picnic in the sprawling

backyard, but as she and Sloane searched for clues, she realized the picturesque lands stretched farther than she knew.

They'd searched around the tal shade trees dripping with bird-houses, the wel -manicured shrubs and flowering bushes, the smal vegetable

garden where Edna and Mrs. D. worked together during the summer months—and then Sloane had spotted a path behind the garden that led back

through the trees. He'd taken Riley's hand and they began to fol ow it together . . .

Until they found themselves standing in a beautiful parklike square of thick green grass dotted with colorful flowerbeds, perfectly shaped

pear trees—each sporting a bright red or blue birdhouse—and in the center, a stone bench clearly placed there so one could sit and soak in

the tranquil beauty. A thick row of shrubbery—at least eight feet high—bordered the perimeter, so that it was impossible to see out and

equal y as impossible for anyone to see in. They'd discovered ... a secret garden.

"I never knew this was here," Sloane said, clearly in awe.

"Me, neither, and I've lived next door for years."

"I stayed here during summers when I was a kid and roamed these grounds—but I guess I never ventured this far from the house."

"Why do you think it's here?" Riley asked. "Why do you think no one knows about it?" She lifted her gaze to Sloane's, realizing they stil held hands. She made no effort to pul away, and neither did he.

He shook his head. "I can't imagine.” Then he looked around, stil taking in the wonder. "It feels like we're far away, though, doesn't it? From everything."

Riley nodded. The rest of the lovely estate was pristine and postcard-worthy, but something about this storybook patch of ground felt almost

magical. The kind of place that could make you forget the rest of the world existed. The grass was greener, the flowers more vibrant. If she

didn't know better; she'd swear the sky overhead was bluer.

As she stood there hand in hand with her dark-haired companion, she gazed about, soaking up every nuance of the place, feeling as if the

garden somehow cocooned them and was, in some ethereal way, pushing them closer together.

That's when she spotted the sliver of paper poking from the round opening of a little red birdhouse shaped like a barn. Rather than release

Sloane's strong hand from her grip, she pul ed him along behind her, and he fol owed, for once letting her lead. The birdhouse hung too high

for her to reach, but she pointed silently, and Sloane clearly saw what had caught her eye. He reached for it, extracting an oblong slip from

the circular door.

As he stretched it between his hands, they both peered down to see Mr. Dorchester's missing check! "Uncle Howard's dividends," Sloane

said as Riley gasped.

They, of course, had no idea what this might mean, but turning up another large clue felt like a supreme victory. On impulse, Riley threw her

arms around Sloane's neck, and he closed her in a firm embrace. "Final y!" she said. "Another missing item hidden on the grounds!"

"Final y," he repeated, but his voice had gone lower, smokier, and his lids were shaded, his eyes half shut in what Riley could only decipher as pure desire. "Final y, I get to kiss you again."

It had only been a couple of hours since the last time, but it felt like forever to Riley, too. His mouth crushed hard on hers, the kiss swal owing

her and making her forget everything else but this man and this secret space that felt so private, so perfectly isolated.

Riley had never made love to a man she barely knew, but as the kisses deepened, she understood that was where they were leading, and

she hadn't the faintest wish to stop them.

Of course, she supposed if she were serious about final y showing the world she could be a good detective, she should stay focused on

solving this mystery. This might final y be the one that would lead to a career in investigations. And yet...

Sloane's kisses, as they dropped from her neck to her shoulder; made her whole body tingle. And when he unbuttoned her shirt, she couldn't

help wanting him to see the pretty pink bra she'd just happened to put on this morning. Not that her choice of lingerie had anything to do with

him—she might be madly attracted to the guy, but how could she have possibly known they would stumble upon a secret garden that would

feel as seductive as Sloane himself?

Slowly, he stripped her free of her bra and sank his mouth to her aching breasts. Moments later, they dropped to their knees and Riley

wanted nothing more than to lie down and feel the cool greenness against her back as he made love to her.

And that's exactly what happened. The carpet of grass cushioned her as sweet as any bed while Sloane moved inside her in slow, deep

strokes that fil ed her senses. The rich scent of the grass mixed with the fragrance of roses nearby. The sun warmed her face. And Sloane

made her feel every ounce a woman.

Perhaps she should have said no. Perhaps it was too soon, especial y considering that she wasn't even sure yet if she real y liked him. But

she'd never met a man so tempting, and the lushness of their garden hideaway had seemed the final ingredient to something which—if she

were honest—she'd been daydreaming about since the moment she'd laid eyes on him.

"I've never done this before," she told him. "Made love to a man I don't know very wel ."

He grinned heatedly down at her. "You know me now, honey."

If this was how they celebrated every time they found a clue, she had a feeling that solving this particular mystery was going to be a lot more

fun than usual.

Laura smiled at the screen, having ended the chapter. She had no idea if her editor would let such a scene fly in what were general y quaint and

family-friendly novels, but for now, she was fol owing her muse, and her muse was definitely thinking about sex today. At the moment, she wasn't

sure her muse would ever
stop
thinking about it. Since getting acquainted with Braden, she'd had sex on the brain, and now that he was here, she didn’t expect that to change anytime soon.

Just then, the front door opened, letting in a smal blast of brisk air. Another sunny day had fil ed the house with solar heat, so she wore only a cami and joggers. She looked up, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chil .

Braden appeared rugged and cold in his ski gear, like a man you wanted to wrap up with in a blanket next to the fire. "Fun skiing?" she asked, pushing to her feet to greet him.

"Yeah. Great day out there. I'm beat."

"Oh." Wel , that was okay. She might have sex on the brain, but the blanket-and-fire idea appealed, too, so she'd make the best of it. She'd skied a little herself, and she remembered that a long day on the slopes could leave you exhausted.

She could only assume her disappointment was written al over her face when he said, "Don't worry, snowflake. I'm not
that
tired."

She practical y felt her nipples harden at the deep promise in his voice. "Wel , if you were, I'd understand. I mean, it's not like I need sex constantly or anything."

He chuckled. "Too bad, because that's how often I plan to give it to you."

She drew in her breath. "If you insist."

"I do. Right now, in fact. I want you in the shower."

A soft gasp escaped her. She'd envisioned them making dinner together, maybe talking a while, getting to know each other a little better—
then

having more sex.

"What’s wrong?" He stripped off a sturdy pair of black ski gloves, tossing them in the corner of the tiled foyer, then flung the basebal cap with the Vail resort logo from his head, as wel .

She bit her lip. "Nothing."

He stripped off his ski jacket and let it drop to the floor to reveal a soft fleece pul over. "Did you go al sensible and conservative on me again today?" he asked, moving toward her, down the two carpeted steps into the sunken living room. He drew near, resting his hands on her hips. "Is this where I have to convince you, persuade you?" He let his palms glide upward to the sides of her breasts. She wore no bra, so her nipples jutted

prominently through her top as he stroked his thumbs over them, and her pussy surged.

"I don’t think," she said, her voice breathy as her hands curled into the fleece at his chest, "you'l have to work too hard to get me where you want me."

A slow grin spread over his face. "Good. Let's go get wet together."

They stood in the bedroom, outside the massive marble shower, Braden’s eyes sparkling with mischief and sex. Part of Laura wondered again how

she'd found herself in such a game—where she was wil ing to do whatever this man wanted and he knew it. Fortunately, she brimmed with more

anticipation than trepidation.

"Pants," he said, pointing to hers, then the floor.

Pul ing at the drawstring below her navel, she felt the fabric loosen, then pushed it down. The pants dropped, and she stepped smoothly out of them,

leaving her in a pink cami and white cotton bikini undies. "Shirt," she said, fol owing his lead and lifting one finger toward his fleece.

He took it off over his head and tossed it aside, but stil wore a mock turtleneck and ski pants.

"That one, too," she added, nodding toward the turtleneck.

He smiled softly, then removed it, as wel . "Top," he said.

Slowly, never taking her eyes off his, she pushed down one shoulder strap, careful y withdrawing her arm, then the other. Hooking her thumbs into

the neckline, she peeled the fitted cami down, hotly aware that she enjoyed revealing her breasts for his hungry gaze. She pushed the little top past

her waist, wiggling her hips to help its descent, until final y it dropped to her ankles. His eyes burned through her, making her feel whol y owned by him.