This time, though, she would be prepared…she had to be. There wouldn’t be another chance. It was now or never.
She poured herself another drink. Before she got it to her lips, Bailey leaped to the floor and barked at the front door.
Footsteps. Her breathing quickened. She listened while mentally calculating how long it would take for her to make it to her bedroom where she hid her gun.
The doorbell rang once. Tension gripped her chest. It rang again.
“Riley—Riley Ashcroft. It’s Josh Kincaid. Your houseguest, Lonnie, said you were home.”
“Back, Bailey. Sit,” Riley commanded her dog. She eased to the door and glanced through the peephole.
She opened the door slightly. He wore a polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers; his long fingers clenched a wine bottle and a pizza box.
“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly.
His thick, sandy-blond hair was combed back off his angled face. As he leaned against the doorframe, his vivid blue eyes danced with mischief.
“I thought my girl might like dinner.”
His deep voice was smooth and silky. Catching her off guard with his charm, he moved closer. With her hand still on the open door, she stared in disbelief as she watched him maneuver his way into her home and now stood in the middle of her living room.
“You really should close the door.” Josh set the pizza and wine down on the coffee table. He took the glass from her hand and drank down her whiskey.
She slammed the door. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Good stuff.” He sat the glass down. “I have to apologize. As you can see, I brought wine, but you’re right. It’s a whiskey kind of night.”
Walking briskly across the room, she grabbed the bottle out of his hand.
He shook his head. “Naughty, naughty. Don’t be rude to your guest, especially after the conversation I just had with my boss.”
His gaze met hers. He suddenly turned serious.
She refused to be rattled. “And that has what to do with me?”
“Seems he wanted to warn me about my girlfriend.” He paused and looked at her with those eyes. “Are you, Riley? Are you my girlfriend?”
Slowly, she lowered the bottle back on the table and took a step back. “No. Of course not. I don’t even know you.”
Kincaid gave a slight shrug. “I thought it strange myself, but there again, there could be worse things in life.” He bit his lower lip and shook his head. “Another strange coincidence. Since I’ve left work, I swear I’ve been followed by a black SUV…it followed me here.”
The room fell into a tense silence. All the years embedded in her to protect the family at all cost from the outside world warred within her. She had crossed a line, but from here, there would be no turning back.
Ignoring the thought she might regret it for the rest of her days, she returned his gaze. “It’s Ellis.”
“Your family’s lawyer?”
She nodded. “He’s checking out what I told him.”
“That we are seeing each other.”
“I’m sorry if it caused you any inconvenience.” She frowned at him. “At the time it seemed like a good idea.”
Reaching out, he gripped her arm and whirled her into an embrace. He whispered in a deep, hoarse voice, “Why? You must have known it would flame my curiosity about a possible Ashcroft connection to this mess. Why would you want me to investigate your family?”
His grasp on her arm tightened; his eyes bore into hers, demanding an answer. Hardly daring to take a breath, she answered, “Because someone needs to.”
Loosening his grip, he ran his hand through her hair and pulled her face to him until his lips were on hers. He kissed her, a long, deep kiss. Not one, but two…three. His hand slid from beneath her hair, down to her shoulder, where he nudged her body into his.
His arms rounded her as her breasts pressed against his chest. Her body molded to his.
Somewhere in the insanity, she lost herself, mesmerized by his touch…his kiss. It had been too long since someone had held her in this manner. Her lips opened, allowing his tongue to sweep within.
Was it the whiskey or was she just crazy? She wanted this.
Slowly, he withdrew. Smiling broadly, he walked over to the window. With one hand, he swept the curtains closed. “That should be sufficient evidence for Ellis and your uncle at the moment. Now let’s talk.”
* * * *
“No, I kid you not. She believes she is a psychic.”
Sitting on the couch with her feet underneath her, Riley giggled. Like this, she had an air of vulnerability that lit up her face. He smiled.
Even though he knew he had manipulated the situation to his advantage, he hadn’t the slightest twinge of guilt. The story always came first, but his instincts led him to believe that the woman in front of him was a victim.
Though in honesty, that could well be the Jameson talking or the longing that filled him.
He noticed the moment he walked into the room she was braless. Her hardened nipples pressed through the material of her T-shirt; her shorts rode up her supple thighs. Of course, she hadn’t been expecting him, but undeniably he was attracted to her.
Watching her now, there was no lying the kiss lingered in his thoughts. The way she kissed him back, he had no doubt the feeling was mutual.
Over the last hour, they had drank and ate, quite at ease with each other. To his surprise, he found himself talking of his family. More surprising was the fact he never talked about them to strangers.
“Surely you are joking.”
“I assure you I’m not. A pleasant woman, but let’s just say a little eccentric.”
If the truth be known, his family had been one of the reasons he had moved back to Boston when the job at FOX27 opened. The former Sally Mabrey had married his father last year. The sixty-year-old widow was a medical technologist at Beth Israel Deaconess, where she worked the nightshift. A mother to two grown men: one a state trooper, the other a med-flight pilot.
His parents divorced when he was three. He had no memories of them ever together, nor could he ever imagine that they ever had much in common. His father was blue collar through and through; his mother, sophisticated and refined.
George Kincaid was a fiercely opinionated and stubborn man. Retired now from the state where he worked on the highway department for over thirty years, he had never been the ambitious sort. No, Kincaid had gotten that trait from his mother.
Alice Reed had left his father without looking back, eventually marrying an investment manager at Fidelity. She made it perfectly clear she wanted status and position. Other than living in the wealthy community of Duxbury, George Kincaid had failed miserably.
Not that Kincaid could complain. Neither parent said a bad word about the other, although in all probability it had more to do with George refusing to even say his ex-wife’s name.
George had been a wonderful father. He had come to every event his son had participated in, whether it be a hockey game or one of those school events that every father dreaded attending, like his middle school band concert. George would hike up to Marblehead after work without a word of complaint.
Kincaid had no doubt when he looked into the stands, his father would be there. His mother not so much, but she was busy with his half-brother and half-sister by that time.
When his father announced he had married again, the news had taken Kincaid by surprise. After thirty years, he had assumed his father would never take the plunge again. He had been wrong.
Deep down, Kincaid supposed he was jealous of his father’s relationship. George had always been his. Now, he had to share him with that woman. At first, he didn’t trust Sally Mabrey, but over the last few months, he had to admit she was growing on him.
“To confess, there are times she has surprised me at times.”
“You…a skeptic?”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Kincaid rubbed his hand over his chin. Tilting his head sli
ghtly, he scrunched his nose. “There was this one time last winter. She was driving to work during a blizzard and saw a man trying to wave cars down. Sally noticed a car behind him that had skidded into the woods and called 911. She pulled to the side of the road and waited until the help arrived.
“Both the woman driving and her two children were injured. The woman had risked the brutal weather because her husband collapsed at work. She was driving to the hospital. Unbeknownst to the woman, her husband had passed away. The odd thing—the police couldn’t find the man who waved Sally down. The woman Sally saved swears it had to be her dead husband.”
“You believe your stepmother saw a ghost?” she said with a hint of disbelief in her voice.
“Nah,” Kincaid acknowledged. “She probably saw a shadow, which led her to notice the car, but she’s a harmless sort…and Dad is crazy about her. It’s funny. Sally is so different than Mom, but I’ve never seen Dad happier.”
After a moment of thoughtful silence, Riley said quietly, “I never knew my mother and Daddy…you know what happened.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. He reached over and gently caressed her face. “I’m not asking because I want a story. That’s not the reason.”
“Really?” she asked, with the same uncertain tone she had questioned whether his stepmother was a psychic.
He met Riley’s gaze. “Truly.” His voice rang with sincerity, but it did little to ease the doubt reflecting in her eyes. “You have listened to me all night ramble about my family. Besides, one more shot of whiskey and I doubt I will remember anything you tell me.”
Not bothering to pour a drink, she took a swig straight out of the bottle. She said briskly, “There’s not much to tell. Daddy raised me after Momma died…then…then he killed himself.”
Pausing, her eyes held a faraway look. She stood and held the whiskey by the bottleneck as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. “Why? Why would Daddy shoot himself, only to have me find him that way? Why did he hate me so much?”
“I don’t know. They say that when one contemplates suicide, they aren’t thinking straight. He probably never thought you would have found him.”
“No…no,” she insisted. “You didn’t know Daddy. He never left anything to chance. He knew…he knew I would find him. He just didn’t care.”
Kincaid rose and pulled her into an embrace, giving her the little comfort he could. He suspected this morning’s events caused a flashback…a horrible flashback to relive.
Cradled against his chest, she whispered in the still air. “It was my fault…I fought with Daddy the night before…Oh, God, I said awful things…I told him I hoped he lost his case…that I wanted Harrison to rot in jail…I said I hated him… I told Daddy I hated him…” Her voice faded into her sobs.
He let her cry. Finally, he said, “It wasn’t your fault. Your father knows you didn’t mean it. You were little over a child yourself.”
“No…no…he killed himself. When he needed me the most, he thought I had turned my back on him…I didn’t mean it…I was so tired of Daddy’s attention being solely on Harrison. I was so frustrated. It was like Daddy wasn’t even aware I was around, not with Harrison in trouble… It was all he was doing, trying to figure out what happened.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Daddy’s attention being solely on Harrison all the time. The reporter in Kincaid emerged.
“Riley, are you talking of Harrison Taylor? Did you know him?”
She nodded. “Harrison was like the son Daddy never had… Harrison is Meme’s grandson…our housekeeper in Charleston. I grew up with him.”
A sudden hush filled the night’s air, sobering Kincaid. The revelation hadn’t come as a shock. He felt there had been some sort of connection.
No, the news had not been surprising. What had been shocking had been his meeting with Mark Buccieri earlier in the evening.
Kincaid could have been knocked over with a feather when Mark began to lecture him about the consequences of dating an Ashcroft.
“Your career is on the fast track. Don’t derail it for some woman. You can’t trust an Ashcroft.”
Mark’s intention of diverting Kincaid’s attention away from this case had failed miserably. Moreover, his interest in Miss Riley Ashcroft had been flamed. The woman had his head spinning.
On their first meeting, she had an air of aloofness, one that kept strangers at a distance. Certainly an Ashcroft, even if a poor relation by all accounts.
From the brief research he had done, he had discovered she was suing her uncle for the very property he now stood in, which told of her stubbornness: it was a daunting task to go up against the mighty Ashcrofts.
Riley Ashcroft was not a quiet, submissive woman—definitely a challenge for any man. He had never been one to pass up a challenge.
Kincaid maneuvered the two of them back down on the couch, but said nothing more. When he wrapped his arms around her, she laid her head on his broad shoulder. He felt the dampness of her quiet tears, but made no attempt to stop her crying.
With Riley’s emotions spent, soon he heard her breathing in a steady rhythm. She was asleep.
He sat there in the stillness of the night, holding her until the morning light.
* * * *
After a fretful night of dreams, Riley woke, startled. The dreams happened most nights, but this morning she had awakened with her head against someone’s firm chest and cradled in strong arms. Taken back, she had forgotten…
Slowly, the night came back to her. Glancing around, she saw the empty Jameson on the table, along with two bottles of water and Motrin.
“Hope you don’t mind. I looked through your medicine cabinet for aspirin. It was all you had. Figured we both needed it after last night. I woke you and gave you a couple.”
She didn’t remember, but he must have. Her head wasn’t pounding. He shifted and she fell back on the couch.
Leaning on his arm above her, he smiled. “Good morning, Miss Ashcroft.”
Heat climbed her neck and cheeks. He was teasing her.
Up so close, she scrutinized him. His face was even more handsome, tanned from summer sun, giving it a healthy glow. His strong nose and firm jaw accentuated those deep-blue eyes that mesmerized her.
His shirt was unbuttoned, giving a full view of his powerful torso. Her skin tingled with awareness.
He touched her cheek and ran his finger over her lips. “Did you sleep well?”
His voice was deep…sensual. Immediately, she knew the danger she was in. He affected her in a way no one had in such a long time.
Her mind told her to get up—leave. She had to get away from his touch. The last thing she needed was a complication, but her body resisted, craving more from him.
His lips touched hers. A simple kiss and she melted into him, surrendering to his desire. She felt his hands caress her arms and slide under her T-shirt. He buried his face in the nape of her neck. Cupping her breast with one hand, he pulled the material over his intent with the other. A moment later, his mouth covered her sensitized breast, driving her insane with need…need for him…
Bang! Bang! Bang! The front door shook with the fury of a visitor. Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Riley! Riley Ashcroft! I know you are in there! Open this door!”
Abruptly, Riley pushed Kincaid back and rolled off the couch. Stumbling to her feet, she pulled her shirt down.
“Damn!” Kincaid muttered under his breath. “Boyfriend?”
“Worse,” Riley answered. “My uncle.”
Chapter Six
Riley fingered through her hair and straightened her clothes. Her efforts did little to cover the fact she had slept in them or with who—not with the half-naked man standing behind her.
For a moment, she considered asking Kincaid to hide, but quickly assessed it would be a useless gesture. He had the look of a wolf protecting its pack, ready to pounce. Typical alpha male.
She di
dn’t need or want his interference. Her uncle’s outburst didn’t bother her; she was well accustomed to his displays. His temper tantrums were Walter’s preferred method of communication with her.
Now, her head pounded.
Geez, Walter had the worst timing. She reached for the door handle. From behind, Kincaid placed his shirt about her shoulders.
“Here, put this on.”
She had a protest on her lips, but looking down to what she had on, complied before she opened the door.
Walter Ashcroft didn’t wait to be invited in. He pushed by Riley, his face ablaze. Huffing and puffing, evidently he had run up to her door. Rarely had she seen her uncle dressed casually on a weekday, but he was this day.
“Where is it? It has to be here.” Walter frowned at her, clearly perplexed.
“You are going to have to be more specific.” Riley sighed heavily. “It’s too early in the morning for this.” She walked toward the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”
Riley pointed the question at Kincaid, but her uncle would have none of it. He grasped hold of her arm.
“You think I don’t know?”
“Don’t touch me.” She delivered the words tonelessly and jerked her arm back. Defiance sparked in her eyes as she gestured Kincaid back. “I haven’t a clue what you are talking about and don’t care.”
“You don’t? You forget I know you too well,” Walter whispered in quiet fury. He turned to Kincaid, who edged toward him. Walter eyed him from head to toe with contempt. “What? Are you her bodyguard now?” he mocked with a forced laugh. “I can assure you she doesn’t need you. She’s a barracuda…she’ll eat you alive.”
“Enough!” Kincaid demanded. “Unless you have something specific to talk to Riley about in a civil tone, I suggest you leave.”
Riley wished Kincaid had remained silent. She could handle Walter. He attacked because it was what he did, giving little thought to anyone but himself. Completely narcissistic.
Fists clenched in frustration, Walter swallowed hard. “The package. You received a package from Helen. Where is it?”
For the first time, he had her attention. She asked, “How did you know?”
Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) Page 5