Sinister Secrets

by Colleen Gleason

  She wanted what Iva and Hollis had.

  Not just a friends-with-benefits situation, or a hot, sexy fling.

  Though a hot, sexy fling might be a nice short-term distraction. Especially if it were with someone like Declan Zyler.

  “Leslie?”

  She looked up to find Orbra and Cherry laughing at her. Surely they had no idea what she’d been thinking about…did they?

  “Don’t think I don’t remember you reading—and rereading—that old historical romance novel about the blacksmith and the lady of the manor,” Cherry said with a wicked glint in her eyes. “I remember that summer you stayed with me after you graduated college—you must’ve read it three times. What was it called?”

  “Love’s Forbidden Caress,” Leslie admitted. “The cover was pretty dog-eared, and no, I don’t still have it. But I haven’t had much time to read in the last few years—except…well, right after…everything.” Her mood settled into something more sober.

  “Nothing wrong with a good novel to take your mind off the crap of the world,” Orbra said briskly. “Maybe you’ll find time to read more again now that you’re not flying all over the world and running a corporation.”

  “It’s on my life-improvement list: read more light, fun, sexy novels,” Leslie said with a sassy grin.

  But Cherry was looking serious. “The fifteenth is Wednesday, isn’t it, Les? Do you want to come over so you don’t have to be alone? I can get Nolo to take over my classes that night.”

  Leslie shook her head. “No, that’s all right, Aunt Cherry—but thanks. I think I’d just rather be alone.” She smiled at the concern on her aunt’s face. “I’ll be fine. And if I change my mind and want company, I’ll put on my yoga clothes and show up at the studio.”

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, you know. Stretch out some of those muscles, take your mind off things, even meditate a little. Then we could grab something to eat after.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Leslie said.

  After that, things started to get a little busier again as the third quarter wound down and people left the stands for more concessions.

  By the end of the game, they were out of tea and only had one sleeve of paper cups left. It wasn’t until they were loading up Orbra’s van that they realized there was no room for both Leslie and Cherry to ride with her.

  “I forgot I made two trips,” said Orbra, hands on her hips and very displeased at her lack of planning. “But even though we’re out of cups, there’s not an extra seat—”

  “It’s fine,” Leslie said, waving her off with a smile. “I can walk home. It’s only around the corner and up the hill. And it’s a nice night.”

  “Are you sure?” Cherry looked guilty. “We can squeeze in the front passenger seat together. I’ve got a small butt.”

  “No, really, it’s fine. I don’t mind the walk at all. And honestly, I could use some peace and quiet. I love you both, but do you realize—you never stop talking?” She laughed, and the two older ladies looked at each other in mock dismay.

  “Promise you’ll call when you get home.”

  “Yada, yada,” Leslie said, tugging her hat down over her ears. “See you later.”

  She hadn’t been exaggerating—Shenstone House was only a little more than a mile from the school. But it wasn’t until she started on her way, cutting across an expanse of grass toward the road that curved around the rear of the school’s property, that Leslie thought of Kristen van Gerste and her ill-fated walk home from her senior prom.

  They said her body had been found in the woods—presumably the woods that covered the hillock and area around Shenstone House, butting up against the edge of the high school’s sprawling property. The same woods in which Leslie had seen…or thought she’d seen…something move last night.

  For some reason, this made her shiver as she walked along the edge of the road, mittened hands tucked in the pockets of her vest. Though the night was clear, and the air was chilly, she found it invigorating.

  Behind her, she could hear the sounds of celebration for the home team’s victory: shouts, horns honking, music blaring. The noises made her feel less alone, and the illumination from streetlights made large pools of pale yellow light that accompanied her on the way.

  Still, there was no one else around on this gravel road, as she headed in the opposite direction to most of the others from the game. Occasionally, a car would drive by without slowing, and she actually found that comforting.

  Leslie wondered if this was the exact route Kristen had taken that night, or if she’d cut across yards and lawns toward her house.

  Had cars passed her as they did to Leslie? And had Kristen still been wearing her heels, or had she taken them off by now? Was it cold? Was her hair up, or straggling down the back of her neck and over her shoulders? Was she crying or angry or both?

  Leslie felt the hair at the back of her neck lifting and prickling as she trudged along, thinking about the eighteen-year-old girl who’d died…all for a necklace of topazes.

  A pair of headlights cut like white light through the yellow glow of the streetlights, and Leslie automatically edged to the road’s shoulder.

  But instead of maintaining its speed, the car—no, it was a van or truck—slowed down, its tires crunching and grinding on the gravel as it came up closer. She moved into the grass, and waited for the vehicle to pick up speed again and pass by safely, but it didn’t.

  A little frisson of warning had her heart skipping a beat as the truck pulled up right next to her. As she glanced over, the window rolled down.

  “Need a ride?”

  Nine

  When he was several yards away, driving along the dirt road, Declan spotted Leslie’s cobalt-blue vest and the blue and cream hat with its jaunty ball on top.

  Thanks to Cherry and Orbra—who had driven past him and Emily as they were walking through the parking lot—he’d not only been sent off in the right direction, but he’d had an excuse not to join Emily and a few other parents for a post-game drink at Trib’s.

  “Do you mind driving Leslie home?” Cherry had asked. “We didn’t have room for her in the van and so she decided to walk.” Her eyes glittered with undisguised mischief.

  “Not a problem,” Declan replied, trying not to sound relieved.

  Emily hadn’t been too happy about it, and tried to suggest they ride together. “We could drop her off and then meet everyone at Trib’s,” she said. “It’s easier to find parking downtown with only one car.”

  “That’s all right—I’m not sure I’m up for going out tonight,” Declan had said, then ducked quickly into his car before Emily could discuss it further.

  Damn, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot. Was he being a jerk, or was it pure self-preservation?

  He contemplated those questions with cold objectivity and thought he was allowed to decide whether he wanted to go out or not—even if others had different expectations of him. Then he firmly put the thoughts out of his mind, and a funny spike of anticipation jolted through him as he pulled up next to Leslie.

  From the way she half turned yet kept walking, he could tell he’d spooked her—oh hell; that made it twice in one day—when he rolled down the car window.

  “Need a ride?”

  As soon as he spoke and she recognized him, she stopped and smiled. “Depends who’s offering.”

  “Get in da car, lady,” he said in a mock gangster voice. “If you know what’s good for you.”

  “That sounds like more like a promise than a threat,” she said, climbing in.

  Even in the dimness of the car’s interior light, he could see the red tip of her nose and the sparkle in her eyes. Declan almost reached over and kissed her right then, but held back at the last minute.

  “Good game, huh?” he asked casually, tightening his hands on the steering wheel.

  “I didn’t see much of it. It was pretty crazy inside the tea tent. But from the sounds of it, we did well.”

  “I was u
p in the press box for most of the second half—my buddy Baxter James covered the game for the paper.”

  “Wow. He sure gets around. He did the article on me and Shenstone House, and I hear he’s also a brewer?”

  “That’d be right. Journalist turned entrepreneur. Really great guy. The Grand Rapids news station was there too—the sports anchor is an alum. Marcus Levin—used to play football here, I guess. So I might even be on the late night news.”

  “I’ll make sure to watch for you.” Her voice was…well, there might have been a hint of flirtation in it.

  He glanced over at her and caught a good look at her profile. She was smiling. And such nice, high cheekbones she had. Plus that hat…there was something about the way it looked on her that made him want to cuddle her close in front of a fire. Maybe because it made her seem less like a slick businesswoman and more like a person who would be deadly in a snowball fight.

  And maybe one who’d even roll around in the snow afterward. And then have to strip off all the wet clothes when they came inside—

  “It was nice of you to give me a ride home. I didn’t mind walking, but—”

  “Your aunt told me they’d abandoned you, so I thought I’d do the neighborly thing and give you a lift.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  All of a sudden, she sounded more prim and cool and less warm and friendly. What the hell had he said?

  Declan mentally shook his head as he turned onto the tree-shrouded drive that led up the hill to Shenstone House. He just didn’t understand women. Half the time he didn’t recognize the signals until it was too late, and then when he thought he was reading them right, everything changed. “See any more sign of that cat?”

  Leslie made a short, sudden noise. “Oh. I thought you were going to say ‘ghost.’” She glanced at him. “I haven’t seen either. I hope the cat’s all right. It looked pretty bad.”

  He couldn’t help a smile. “Got any more tuna?”

  She smiled back just as he pulled up to the back door of the house. Her car was sitting there off to the side, and a generous pool of light spilled into the parking area due to a motion detector.

  “Yes, I bought several more cans today, and some cat food too.” She shrugged, looking a little embarrassed about her soft heart. “I figure I’ll see if I can lure him closer to the house, and maybe he’ll become comfortable enough that I can capture him.”

  He turned off the engine, wondering if that was enough of a hint for her to ask him inside.

  All at once, he realized how much he wanted to be invited in. But…he wasn’t quite certain how to make it happen.

  “Thanks a lot for the ride,” she said. And the way her voice trailed off made it sound as if she’d been about to say something else, but changed her mind.

  Leslie fumbled for her seatbelt. Declan heard the metallic click as it came loose, and it sounded so sharp and final he was certain he was losing his chance.

  But then Fate intervened.

  Just as Leslie bent toward the floor for her bag, she stopped short. “Ouch,” she said, then reached up with both hands at the far side of her seat’s headrest. “Oh, I’m caught.”

  She was trying to free herself, but her long hair had somehow (thank you, Fate) gotten wrapped around the little plastic knob at the top of her seat that acted as a guide for the seatbelt.

  “Let me help,” Declan said, and leaned toward her.

  She was tangled quite well. As he worked to free the thick, shiny lock of hair, feeling his way more than actually able to see what he was doing, Declan discovered her hair was silky and soft, and chilly from the cool night air. And it smelled like Leslie, all mingled with the scent of crisp autumn night that still clung to her from her walk.

  He was very close to her—closer than he’d ever been—and her nearness made his big fingers clumsy and his heart race. Her mouth was inches from his cheek, his arm brushed against the front of her down vest—and beneath that was a bulky sweater, and beneath that, he was acutely aware, were the curves of her breasts.

  “Thanks,” she said when her hair was finally emancipated. Her voice sounded lower than usual, and he swore she sounded a little breathy.

  “My pleasure,” he said, allowing his fingers to smooth along the recently freed lock of hair to its blunt end.

  And then before he could think too much about it, his hand slid around the side of her throat to cup the back of her head, and he used his other hand to leverage himself against the car’s console so he could get close enough to kiss her. And then he moved in.

  To his great pleasure, she didn’t resist, didn’t even hesitate. Instead, she turned in her seat—the better to face him—and met his mouth with hers.

  Her cold nose bumped his cheek, but the warmth from her lips and the slick heat of her tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He sighed in the back of his throat and eased in closer, kissing her more deeply and thoroughly as he drew in her smell, her taste, the warmth of the attraction sizzling between them.

  Leslie’s hand settled on his thigh as she came forward to meet his deep kiss and demanding mouth, and a shock of desire surged through him. Yes, he thought. Oh, damned yes.

  After a heady moment of sleek tangling of tongues and sliding of lips, she pulled back a little suddenly, muttering, “Wait…aren’t you and Emily Delt—”

  “No,” he said firmly, and pulled her back to him, covering her mouth once more. She softened, and made a soft little sound that made him smile with pleasure against her lips. So he worked a little harder to taste and touch and stroke, closer and slower and with deliberation. He wanted more sounds like that, and other ones…louder, more urgent ones.

  At some point, he eased back to catch his breath, to look at her and remind himself how beautiful she was and how lucky he was to be here with her taste on his lips and his hands warm from her body. She opened her eyes, and though the light was dim—and, damn, the windows were a little fogged up!—he caught her gaze in the near-dark and felt another stab of want.

  She was a little out of breath too, and he could make out her lips: they were full and moist, parted in a way that looked sexy as hell, and her hat…that adorable hat was askew, ready to slip off the back of her head.

  He wanted to invite himself inside, wanted to get back at it—and more—but he hesitated. That little voice in the back of his mind reminded him: She’s the client.

  But he told it to shut the hell up and instead reached out to fix her hat. “Can’t remember the last time I made out in a car,” he said in a voice much lower than usual.

  “It’s not very comfortable,” she said, with a little smile. “I’ve got some…some tea inside. And I bought some beer. Would you like to come in?”

  Yes. Oh yes indeedy. Yes, I would like to come in and try this again, without a damn console or stick shift between us—except for mine—and maybe with fewer clothes. A lot fewer clothes. And no bucket seats. A couch would work…a bed, even better…

  But “Yes” was all he said—and then fairly bolted from the car. She’d mentioned tea (tea?) and a beer—not a nightcap, not just a dangling, suggestive invite inside…but, nevertheless, a reason for him to come in. A generic reason. Not a winky-wink, “do you want to come inside and finish this up” invitation.

  What did that mean? He shifted inconspicuously to adjust his erection to a more comfortable position as Leslie came around from her side of the vehicle.

  By the time she got the keys out and let them into the house, Declan’s brain—and hormones—had descended from “this is ah-mazing: curves, heat, wet, sweet—let’s do it!” to a more controlled but no less interested state.

  Thus, when the next thing he knew, she was backing him up against the kitchen island and moving right on in, he froze for just a sec. But when Leslie slid right up against him, and the edge of the granite bumped him in the low back, and he was suddenly accosted by soft woman and the interesting scent of chilly autumn air, Declan had no reservations.

  He bent to
meet her lips and went back into that hot, slick world of sensuality and intensity. But the granite edge bothered him, and the fact that she wasn’t damned close enough was even worse…so he caught her by the waist and in one smooth move, turned, lifted, and settled that pretty ass right onto the counter.

  And that worked just fine. She laughed a little against his mouth, but her hands were on his shoulders and her fingers tickled his hair, and things were getting even hotter and heavier and more intense when all of a sudden she gasped and tore away.

  “Oh my God!” she cried, shoving at him and sliding off the counter in one frantic movement. “Declan!”

  He spun, albeit a little slowly because, damn, he’d been into her—into the moment, the taste, the heat, the touch…and that was when he saw it: the mess.

  Down the hall, beyond the kitchen, and everywhere in between: objects strewn about, chairs on their sides, books on the floor…

  Someone—or something—had been there.

  And was very angry.

  Ten

  Leslie stumbled away from Declan, staring in shock at the disaster that sprawled before her. Every last vestige of pleasure and arousal evaporated as she realized someone had been here.

  “Declan,” she said again, starting down the hallway toward the main foyer. There was not the same upheaval here in the kitchen, but somehow she knew there was more…and it had to be in the front by the staircase and the newly exposed speakeasy room.

  To her unabashed relief, he was there, right with her, taking her by the arm as she made her way with staggering, frozen movements. And then she noticed he was pushing past her, gently easing her back as he moved in front of her, and Leslie realized with a nauseating shock that he was worried the someone was still here.

  The feminist side of her was annoyed that he pressed ahead, but the shocked and, yes, frightened side was kind of okay with it. So she grabbed his bicep (registering how incredible it was) with both hands and walked next to him just as they came around into the foyer.