Voyeur (18 page)

blanket of snow beyond the window and remembered being pressed against that very glass last night, yipping and yowling her head off. Then she

caught her breath, her pussy tingling beneath her jogging pants.

Get back to work,
she told herself. Riley and Sloane had just had spectacular orgasms beneath one of the pear trees in the garden—and not only that, but Sloane had, while stil lying prone atop Riley, spotted something shiny in a rosebush a few yards away, and they'd discovered it to be Mr.

Dorchester’s gold cuff links!

As Riley pul ed her top back into place, she said, "I didn't know Mr. D.'s cuff links were even among the missing items."

Sloane lifted his gaze from the links to her face, looking rumpled and sexy from their romp in the grass. "Neither did I."

"Does this mean we're now finding stolen items even your aunt and uncle don't yet
know
about?"

Five minutes later, after straightening their clothes and exchanging a few last kisses, Riley and Sloane walked hand in hand back up the

path, through the spacious backyard and into the Dorchesters' house. Riley would have enjoyed more cuddling time with Sloane, but the truth

was, she didn't know where this was leading. Sloane was only in town temporarily, until the mystery was solved, so perhaps it was wise not

to get too attached. For Riley, sex had always been part of a healthy relationship, so this was something new ... and potential y frightening.

She could only hope the affair wouldn't leave her too emotional y scarred.

"Aunt Winifred," Sloane addressed his aunt when they found her in the front parlor, "we need to talk to you for a minute,"

"Wel , sit down, you two, and let's chat. Any new clues?" "Yes" Sloane replied, opening his palm to reveal the gold links. "These. We found them in ..." He glanced over at Riley.

They'd not yet told anyone about discovering the garden, although they'd never discussed why. Riley couldn't help thinking it had started to

seem like their own special place, though neither had used such words to describe it. Final y, Sloane went on. "We found them in a garden,

back on the grounds beyond the vegetable patch. Someplace I'd never seen before. A beautiful little garden with a wal of high shrubbery

around it."

Mrs. Dorchester's face flushed noticeably. "Oh my. Wel then, I guess now you know our little secret."

Riley leaned forward slightly. "Little secret?"

Mrs. D. shifted her glance back and forth between them, then spoke confidingly. "Many years ago, when Mr. Dorchester and I were young,

we ... wel , we wished to have a private place, al our own. Oh, I know what you're thinking—we have this lovely house and the rest of the

estate, yet..." She stopped, sighed. "Sloane, you may be surprised to hear this, but your uncle Howard was one romantic devil when we were

first wed. And what with the servants and other visitors running hither and thither around this house, wel ... he wanted us to have our own

private sanctuary, someplace we could be alone without... wel , without fear of interruptions, if you know what I mean. That garden was our

private love nest for many years, and I'l tel you another secret, too. Had God ever blessed us with children, that's probably where the

blessing would have taken place."

Both Sloane and Riley flinched. Sometimes when Mrs. D. got on a rol , she forgot to shut up, and this seemed to be one of those times.

"We had many a romantic interlude there, and I remember one particular time," she went on, starting to say more—until Sloane held up his

hand.

"Aunt Winnie, stop. Too much information."

The older woman covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. "Oh me, I suppose I did get a bit carried away with myself, didn't I?"

Neither answered, and Sloane said, "Do you, uh, stil go back there with Uncle Howard?" Riley could feel the wheels turning in Sloane's head

—he didn't want to find out they'd al been rol ing around in the same grass, and neither did she.

"Oh no, not for a long while now," she said, and Riley mental y wiped her brow.

"But you stil keep the garden the same as it was?" Sloane asked.

Mrs. D. cast a merry little smile. "It's a sentimental place for us," she explained. "Wel worth the time it takes Hawthorne to keep it groomed and tidy."

Riley and Sloane immediately exchanged glances. Mr. Hawthorne had been the gardener for many years, and finding out he knew about the

garden meant that, final y, they had a suspect.

"Does anyone else know of the garden?" Riley asked.

Mrs. D. tilted her head first one way, then the other, thinking. "No, I don't believe so. It's not so much that it's a secret we try to keep, you understand, but we've simply never mentioned it to anyone. On the occasions we strol to the garden, wel ... knowing it's ours alone makes

the visit somehow a little sweeter."

Riley could certainly understand that, given her own recent experiences in the garden.

"Of course, now you two know about it," Mrs. D. said, but then she smiled. "Not that I mind. I've always been fond of you both, and who knows, perhaps our little love nest wil hold the same magical romance for the two of you, as wel ."

Riley practical y leapt to the end of the couch, away from Sloane. They'd let no one in on their affair and hadn't planned to, having decided

there was no need to get their relatives involved in something that was just between them. "Why on earth would you think
that?”'
Riley asked, trying not to sound flustered.

Mrs. D. looked uncharacteristical y dour, again switching her gaze back and forth between them. "I guess you two think the rest of us around

here are blind, but it's been clear you have the hots for each other since the moment you walked in that door; Riley Wainscott." Mrs.

Dorchester pointed toward the foyer; and Riley shrunk back into the sofa.

So they knew. About her and Sloane.

Yet for some reason Riley couldn't quite explain, even to herself, she stil wasn't ready to admit the truth, even if the cat
was
out of the bag.

Because Sloane's stay here was so very
temporary.
As was their relationship. She had to remember that, and to protect her heart.

Before Sloane could do anything stupid like confess, she spoke up. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Mrs. Dorchester. Sloane and I have a purely

professional relationship and intend to keep it that way."

Sloane propped his elbow on the arm of the sofa, perched his chin comfortably on top, and flashed an utterly dry look in her direction. "That's

too bad."

She swal owed nervously. "Why's that?"

"Because you don't know what you're missing."

At the end of the last scene, Laura stopped to freshen her coffee, then returned to the computer. Outside, the first snow to fal since her arrival

began to waft down in soft, pretty flakes. She thought of Braden's sil y pet name for her—snowflake—and smiled.

That’s when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. He'd slept in this morning, but she'd refused to let herself stay in bed with him. She'd been

burning to write—and thinking that snuggling too much with her lover could only lead to her doom, just like Riley with Sloane.

"Hey, snowflake, what's shakin?"

She turned to find his hair mussed, and the lower half of his body clad in flannel pants dotted with miniature beer mugs, which she thought cute. His

bare chest, however, far
surpassed
cute.

"My book’s shakin’,” she said, getting to her feet. "Sleepyhead."

He cast a lazy grin. "You wore me out last night."

She met him halfway across the room in a comfy embrace. "Try having four orgasms in one night, buddy," she teased.

He tilted his head, peering wistful y off into the distance. "I did that once. Many years ago, back when I was a young stud."

"What are you now?"

"A more mature stud," he said with one arched brow, "who’s only good for a mere two or three." He concluded with a wink.

Her breasts practical y swel ed as she remembered their shower, and their sex in the window. "Mmm, last night’s two were heavenly." She lifted a smal kiss to his sumptuous mouth.

"I was thinking," he said slowly, "that we could make today fun, too—in a different way."

"Oh?"

"Why don’t you let me steal you away from your work for an afternoon on the slopes."

Laura pul ed in her breath, weighing the invitation. Part of her was thril ed, and dying to accept. She hadn't skied in ages and knew she'd enjoy

spending a snowy day with Braden, even if he had to give her a refresher course on the finer points of the sport.

"Fresh powder coming down," he said, motioning toward the window in an attempt to sway her.

And she was just about to say yes—when she stopped herself. "I can't, Braden."

He looked sincerely disappointed. "Real y?"

"I've backed myself into a corner with this book," she explained. Which was the truth. "I have a looming deadline, and if I stay on my current pace, I
might
be able to keep paying my rent. But if I stop writing now, even for a day, there's a chance I'l lose my rhythm—I'l get too far away from the story and won’t be able to get back into it with the same speed." She pressed her palms to his sexy, muscular chest. "I would
love
to ski with you, but I real y can’t. Forgive me?"

She couldn't quite read his eyes when he stayed silent for a minute, but he final y said, "Make it up to me later?"

"Any way you want" She dropped her hands to his ass and squeezed.

Of course, she'd left out al the
other
practical reasons she was turning him down. Besides having a book to write and bil s to pay, she also had a heart to protect. This was al about sex, her and him, and if she let it become about anything more, she feared she'd start getting too attached to

him. Hel , maybe she already was—she doubted she could share such intense intimacy and not feel a sense of loss when it ended.

But she could at least try to keep from making it worse. She'd gotten her wish of getting to know him a little last night, and it was just enough to worry her, to make her feel that pang of warmth in her heart that went beyond the connection of their bodies. Just seeing his smile now affected her a bit

deeper. And Lord, how she'd let go of her inhibitions last night in a way she never had before! Al because of him, because he'd wil ed it, wanted it.

So turning down a day of fun in the snow with him was torturous— but wise.

"Guess I'l have to fal back on Tommy again. I'l let you get back to work, and I'l be out of your hair soon, snowflake." He said it al very dramatical y, as if he were greatly put upon, and she tossed him a playful smirk just before he disappeared back up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, as Riley was making up lies to Sloane about why she'd denied their involvement even when his aunt had figured it out, Braden

came trotting back down, looking rugged and hot in blue jeans and a gray cable-knit sweater with the sleeves pushed up. "I'm gonna hang at Tom's

for awhile, then head down the mountain to pick up a few more groceries. Any special requests?"

"Just a kiss good-bye." She wanted to smack herself as soon as the words left her—it sounded romantic, like something a girlfriend would say.

She relaxed, though, when he strode easily to the desk and bent to give her a soft, sweet kiss that curled her toes.

"So, your friend," she said, "what does he do that he can just ski or hang out whenever he feels like it?"

"He designs computer games. Sets his own schedule. Which reminds me," he added with a tilt of his handsome head, "would you mind if I invited Tommy to dinner tonight?"

Laura hoped the surprise didn't show on her face. She couldn't help suffering some disappointment that he'd want dinner with a friend to interrupt

their hot and heavy sex, since—as last night had proven— even dinner could be foreplay. But she said, "Sure, that's fine."

"Tommy didn't seem quite himself yesterday. Apparently he had an ugly breakup last fal and hasn't real y recovered. I figure maybe he could use

the company, a change in routine or something."

"Oh." Guilt for her selfishness instantly reamed her. "Wel , yes, definitely invite him." She supposed, now that it was sinking in a little, she was also touched that Braden would al ow her into his personal life this way, since having his friend over to dinner with them made her feel almost relevant in his life, not like someone he was keeping under wraps. "What does Tommy know about me?" the musing prompted her to ask.

"Just the basics. That you're a writer here on retreat. That I saw you through the webcam and thought you were hot so came up to meet you."

She sucked in her breath. "Whoa, he knows you watched me?"

"Relax, snowflake. He has no idea what I watched you
doing.
I promised you that was just between us, remember? He thinks I just saw you walking around the house or working at the computer. Clothes
on."
He winked. "And he thinks I then rudely shoved my way into your retreat with no regard for your privacy."

She smiled with relief, then uttered her next thought. "Though I
guess he knows we’re sleeping together now."

Braden shrugged with his usual confidence. "Wouldn't make sense for me to stil be here barging in on your retreat if we weren't. But it’s no big deal."

Ah, the statement reminded her—these were playboy types who had lots of girlfriends, lots of wild affairs. It eased her mind about meeting Tommy,

under the circumstances, but also forced her to remember she was one of many. So it was a darn good thing she wasn't getting attached to

Braden, and a good reason to keep making sure she didn't.

As she watched her lover walk out the door, it occurred to her she'd been in this house not quite a week yet. But in that time, she'd written half a

book and had the most outrageous, scintil ating affair That she ever—or
never
—could have imagined.