Secret Vows (Hideaway (Kimani))

by Alers, Rochelle

  Webb knew his frustration had come from spending more time at Slow Wyne than at his own security firm. His interest in computers had begun while incarcerated. He’d learned to take them apart and reassemble them in record time. He was proud that he’d made good use of the thirteen years he’d spent behind bars. He had earned a high school diploma, and once paroled, he’d enrolled in college and graduated with a degree in computer science. Basil had given him the money he had needed to set up his own security firm, designing and selling state-of-the-art surveillance equipment.

  Removing the towel, he dropped it over a valet stand. One of the three cells phones on the bedside table rang, garnering his attention. It was the phone Monk had given him. Taking two long strides, he picked it up.

  “Irvine,” he said in greeting.

  “Found him.”

  Webb smiled. “Where?”

  “Just verified he does have a place in Oregon. Still don’t know what city.”

  “How long do you think that’s going to take?”

  “Hopefully, not too long. And when I do find him, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you, Monk.”

  There was no response on the other end, and Webb knew the man had hung up. The call had lasted exactly fifteen seconds. He set the phone down next to the other two. Once he gave Monk his final payment, he would begin the process of dismantling Slow Wyne. Then he and Basil would be even.

  Mission Grove

  Greer slipped into bed, sighing softly when the mattress enveloped her like a comforting embrace. She hadn’t taken more than two sips of the martini before setting it aside. Pepper had made it much too strong. When Greer had told Bobby she was leaving the pickup in the garage behind the restaurant because Jason was driving her home, Bobby had warned the younger man to drive carefully because he was carrying precious cargo.

  Jason heeded Bobby’s warning, maintaining the twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit; they stopped at her house where she packed a bag. The drive to Bear Ridge Estates was even slower, given the lateness of the hour and the fog coming off the lake that made visibility nearly impossible. Instead of stopping at the gatehouse, Jason continued along a private road for residents with remote devices that activated the electronic gates.

  Once inside, she reminded Jason—because it was her second visit to his home—that she was no longer a stranger and could find the bedroom without his assistance. Greer had chosen a suite decorated in the style she recognized as Colonial American, and as soon as she closed the door, she stripped off her clothes and headed for the bathroom. Turning on the faucets in the bathtub, she added several capfuls of foaming bath oil; she cleansed the makeup off her face, brushed her teeth and then slipped into the sunken bathtub while emitting an audible sigh. The Jacuzzi worked its magic. After a leisurely bath, it was with a great deal of reluctance that she climbed out, patted herself dry and liberally lathered her body with a scented body cream. Her eyelids were drooping when she pulled on a cotton nightgown and got into bed. She hadn’t quite dozed off when something startled her. Sitting up, she stared at the door.

  “Jason?”

  “Are you in bed?” he asked on the other side of the door.

  “Yes.”

  “May I come in?”

  Reaching, Greer turned on the bedside lamp, while pulling the sheet and blanket up to her chest. “Come in, Jason.”

  The door opened and he walked in with a mug of steaming liquid in each hand. He’d changed into a pair of blue pinstriped pajama pants and a white T-shirt. His biceps were firm, muscled. Jason had a swimmer’s physique. Broad shoulders, muscled upper arms, flat middle.

  “I brought you something that’ll help you to sleep.”

  Greer wanted to tell him she had been falling asleep already. Then she remembered he was a musician and two in the morning was much too early for him to retire for bed. Maybe, she thought, he should’ve joined Doug and the other bands members who’d gone to Portland.

  “Thank you,” she said instead.

  Jason handed her one of the mugs topped with whipped cream. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Smiling, she patted the bed with her free hand. “Please.” She was now wide awake.

  Jason got into bed, lying on the comforter instead of under it. He kissed Greer’s cheek. “You smell wonderful.”

  She kissed him on his cheek, as well. “So do you. What cologne are you wearing?”

  Gripping the handle of his cup, he supported his back against the headboard. “It’s a special blend.”

  “A blend made especially for you?”

  Jason nodded. “There’s a shop in Palm Beach where a family of chemists have been blending perfumes and colognes for at least seventy-five years. My uncle turned me on to them. I don’t know how it’s done, but they’re able to match certain oils and notes with your body’s pheromones and the result is extraordinary. I’ve worn the same cologne and aftershave since I started shaving.”

  “It must be nice to have a personal perfumer.”

  “It has its advantages. Take a sip of your coffee—decaf—to see if you like it.”

  Greer did, moaning softly. “It’s delicious.” She had drunk cappuccino many times, but this taste was slightly different—sweeter. “What did you put in it?”

  “Take a guess.” She took another sip, and then attempted to lick the cream off her lips. Jason angled his head, pressed his mouth to hers and his tongue flicked over her parted lips. “You missed a spot.”

  With wide eyes, Greer stared at the man sitting so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, while her heart beat a runaway rhythm against her ribs. Her lips burned as if someone had touched them with heated metal. She wondered if he was aware of the effect he had on women. Whenever she had circulated throughout Stella’s, she had overheard women telling one another as to what they wanted to do to Jason and with him. There weren’t too many things she’d seen or heard when undercover that could shock her, yet she had found herself blushing at their vulgarity.

  “You didn’t bring napkins.”

  Jason stared at Greer under lowered lids. He hadn’t planned to lick her lips, but he hadn’t been able to resist tasting her lush mouth. “I’ll go downstairs and get some now.”

  Greer stopped him when she rested a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you get some tissues from the bathroom?”

  “Hold my cup. I’ll be right back.”

  A minute later he returned with handful of tissues. It looked as if he’d emptied the box.

  Biting on her lower lip, she shook her head. “We don’t need that many, Jason. I’m going to have to teach you how to eat in bed.”

  He got back into bed, dropping the tissues in her lap. “Which type of eating are you referring to? Because there’s one technique I believe I’ve perfected.”

  Her jaw dropped when she realized what he was referring to. “I was talking about food.”

  Throwing back his head, Jason roared with laughter.

  His laugh was so infectious that Greer laughed in spite of herself.

  He sobered, dimples winking at her. He pressed his shoulder to Greer’s bare one. He’d been forthcoming when he had told her that he wasn’t trying to get her to sleep with him, but that didn’t belie the fact she was in a bed under his roof, and he was reclining in her bed. Jason knew nothing was going to happen only because he didn’t want to do anything to derail their easygoing friendship.

  “To answer your question as to how I made the cappuccino, actually it’s caffé mocha. It’s one-third espresso, one-third hot chocolate and one-third steamed milk, added to the cup in that order. Tonight I added mocha syrup, enough to coat the bottom of the cup before adding the espresso. I topped it with whipped cream and ground sweet cocoa.”

  “Did you ever work as a barrister?”

  “No. Regina me taught
how to make caffé mocha.”

  “Isn’t she the cousin who lives in Brazil?”

  Jason gave her an incredulous look. “You remembered.”

  Greer wanted to tell him that she’d been trained to remember whatever she heard or saw. Like when she observed Chase in the parking lot giving a package to the biker. She reminded herself to talk to Bobby about installing closed-circuit cameras in and around the restaurant property. No one had complained about their vehicles being vandalized or stolen, but if someone was dealing drugs or selling illegal guns out of Stella’s, then they would be caught on film.

  “I remember because you’d mentioned she wanted you to come to Brazil for Thanksgiving.”

  “Speaking of Thanksgiving, I took your suggestion and sent out a mass email inviting everyone to come here for the holiday.”

  She smiled. “Did you get any responses?”

  Jason nodded. “So far the New Mexico folks are coming.”

  “They’re not that far away.”

  “Word,” he drawled. “Tyler’s wife just gave birth to a baby girl last week, so by that time, she’ll be okay to travel.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “Mississippi.”

  “That’s not too far, either,” Greer said. “How many are you expecting, and do you have enough room to put everyone up?”

  “I’ll find out once I get a final head count. If not, then I’ll ask Chase if some of them can stay at his place.”

  “How many bedrooms does he have?”

  “Four. He usually goes to Hawaii to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with his parents.”

  Jason mentioning Chase gave Greer the opening she needed to ask him about his elusive friend. “Does he work?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I’m asking you, Jason.”

  “Chase and I have remained friends because I don’t get into his business. If he doesn’t disclose, then I don’t ask. The only thing I’m going to tell you is that he has a weakness for beautiful women. I’m certain if you ask him, he just might tell you.”

  Greer successfully schooled her disappointment behind an expression of indifference. “I told you before, he’s not my type.”

  “I thought most women liked the strong, silent type.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  Dropping his arm over her shoulders, Jason pulled her closer. “I guess that’s why I like you because you’re not like most women.”

  She shivered, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Because you like the way I sing?”

  “It’s more than that. You’re incredibly feminine and natural. I don’t like women with embellishments.”

  “Don’t you mean enhancements?”

  “No. Embellishments, like exaggerated breasts and over-the-top hair extensions that I’m not allowed to touch. Nothing turns me off more than a woman who tells me I can’t touch her hair or her breasts.”

  “What if she has short hair? There’s more upkeep in maintaining a short style than one that’s longer.” It was easy for Greer to fix her shoulder-length hair in different styles even when she didn’t visit a salon.

  “I’ve paid for women to have standing appointments to get their hair done, so that’s no excuse.”

  Greer took another sip of the coffee. “Then that means you’re a very generous boyfriend.”

  “It has nothing to do with generosity, Greer. It’s about making her happy. If she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

  “You must be very easy to please.”

  Jason chuckled softly. Either Greer was extremely perceptive or he was that transparent. “Somewhat,” he drawled.

  She folded several tissues, using them as a coaster when she set her cup on the table on her side of the bed. Sliding down to the mound of pillows cradling her shoulders, she stared up at the reflection of the light on the ceiling. “Tell me what makes you happy.”

  “Music.”

  “That’s a given.”

  Jason handed his cup to Greer, who placed it beside hers. Shifting slightly, he pulled her close until her head rested on his shoulder. “Silence. It is when I’m surrounded by nothing but silence that I’m able to hear the music in my head. Sometimes it’s loud and raucous like rush-hour traffic, and sometimes it’s soft and melodic as the trilling of a canary. There are times when I’m happiest when I’m alone. My mother claims I’m selfish, but maybe it’s because, as a twin, I was forced to share the same space with another human being for nine months.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I love Ana, yet there are times when we both decide we need our own personal space. Ana was sixteen when she told me she was leaving home to live the bohemian life in Key West. She’d saved some money, and I gave her what I had, then she made me promise not to tell anyone where she was going. When Ana didn’t show up for dinner and my father asked where she was, I told him I didn’t know.”

  Greer heard the slow, strong, steady beating of Jason’s heart under her ear. She didn’t want to believe she was sharing a bed with him as if it was something they’d done many times before. “Did he believe you?”

  “Hell, no. My folks knew Ana never went anywhere without telling me and vice versa. He issued a litany of threats—from withholding my trust fund until I was thirty to grounding me until it was time for me to leave for college—but I continued to deny that I knew where she was.”

  “You are very loyal.”

  “I am not a snitch.”

  “Now you sound like people who witness a murder, then claim they saw nothing.”

  “I wasn’t giving up my twin sister.”

  “What did your father do?” Greer questioned.

  “When he discovered her car missing, he called the police and told them she’d stolen it. He could do that because it was registered in his name. The Miami-Dade P.D. held her until Dad drove down to get her. He paid someone to drive the car back to Boca Raton. She had to give him her driver’s license, and he treated her like a stranger for at least a month. Ana said the alienation was worse than if he’d grounded her.”

  “Did she ever get her license back?”

  Jason nodded. “Eventually. I had to drive her everywhere when she was on lockdown. One day I confronted Dad after Ana came to me crying hysterically that her father hated her, and I got to see another side of my father that I don’t want to ever see again. He went off, warning me never to question his authority again when it came to raising his children. He still wasn’t talking to Ana, and after that, I refused to talk to him. To say there was a lot of tension in the house is an understatement.”

  “How did your mother react to the drama?”

  “She refused to take sides. Thankfully our apartments were in another wing of the house, so we didn’t get to see or hear what went on between our parents.”

  Greer didn’t know why, but she was intrigued by the story. “I have to assume you guys reconciled.”

  “It was Abuela who ended the stalemate. She claimed Ana was a lot like her when she was a young woman in Cuba. My grandmother permitted an artist to take photographs of her wearing next to nothing, and because she was born into a very proper upper-class family, it proved to be quite scandalous in 1920s Havana. Her father threatened to marry her off to the first man in their social class who would have her, regardless of his age. She countered saying she was going to become a courtesan, but my grandfather salvaged her family’s reputation and Abuela from an arranged marriage when he married her and brought her back to Florida.”

  “That is so romantic. Do you have photographs of them?”

  “I have an office in my studio where I keep family photos. You’ll see them tomorrow—”

  “It’s already tomorrow, Jason,” Greer said teasingly.

  “You’re right, and I’m keeping you from going to sleep.” Jason
sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “What time do you have to leave?”

  “I don’t need to be at Stella’s until four. I brought the clothes I plan to wear with me.”

  “Good. That means we can spend the day together.” Pushing off the bed, he rounded it, picking up the mugs. Leaning over he kissed her forehead. “Sleep well.”

  She smiled up at him. “You, too.”

  “Do you want me to close the door?”

  Greer smothered a yawn with her hand. “Yes, please.” She reached over and turned off the lamp at the same time Jason closed the door. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing deepened as she expelled a soft sigh.

  In talking to Jason, he’d revealed a lot about himself. He’d admitted to being solitary and uncompromisingly loyal. He’d sworn an oath to his sister that he wouldn’t reveal her whereabouts, and he hadn’t even under the threat of losing his trust fund.

  If Jason had been born too late, then it was Greer who’d met him too late. She thought about his relationship with women when he had professed: it’s about making her happy. If she’s happy, then I’m happy. Her uncle may have been right when he had said, once she got to know Jason, she’d realize he’s an all-around nice guy.

  Nice or not, she was still wary of men. She’d believed Larry was a nice guy until she had become Mrs. Lawrence Hill. He’d changed from the wonderful boy next door into something and someone she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t his wife but a possession. Someone he put on display for his friends and business associates. It had reached a point when she’d had enough and, a week past her second anniversary, she had left the man with whom she believed she would spend her life. As soon as she’d received a copy of her divorce, Greer vowed she would never marry again.

  Chapter 10

  When Greer left her bedroom, the door to Jason’s suite of rooms was open. She didn’t know whether he was still in bed or if he’d gotten up early to go into the studio. Her sock-covered feet were silent as she descended the staircase and headed for the kitchen. It was eerie because the house was as silent as a tomb.