“Later,” Braden said, then watched Tommy head to the door, put on his coat, and exit out into the cold night. He couldn’t help thinking his friend had left seeming more like his old happy-go-lucky self, his smooth-with-the-ladies self, and though he hadn’t concocted this idea even remotely for Tommy’s sake, he hoped maybe this was that change of pace Tommy had needed to get back in the game.
Propping up on one elbow, he shifted his gaze down to the woman beside him. She’d seemed so cool tonight—startlingly so—but now that they were alone, he had to ask. “You still okay, baby?”
Her expression looked no less than dreamy as she nodded. “That was . . . unbelievable. I’ve never . . . felt so full.”
He couldn’t hide his knowing grin. “I knew you’d love playing with two cocks.”
“And in the end,” she said, “when I looked at you, I swear your eyes fucked me as deeply as Tommy’s cock. When I was between you both, on the floor, it was . . . perfect. Like being fucked from the front and the back, those two beautiful cocks rubbing in me, on me, exactly where I needed them.”
He couldn’t help chuckling inside—he’d never seen Laura quite so animated or unguarded when it came to talking about such extreme sex. He had a feeling she was still a little drunk—on the wine or on him and Tommy, he didn’t know—but he enjoyed her exuberance.
“You, my naughty little girl, were astounding.” He leaned in for a short, sweet kiss.
“I just sort of . . . let myself go, I guess,” she admitted happily.
Peering down at her in the firelight, he couldn’t help but think back—not only on this night, but on all the days and nights leading up to this. Normally, he would keep this inside, but he knew he was a little drunk, too—on the wine and the woman—and hell, if Laura could be this open, so could he. “Want to hear a secret, snowflake?” he whispered.
She nodded, smiling up at him through sleepy eyes.
“You excite me more than any woman ever has. And probably more than any woman ever will.” What he’d wanted to give to her, she’d given to him.
Chapter Sixteen
The sun shone through the window the next morning, forcing Laura’s eyes open. She lay in bed naked next to Braden, who was already awake and peering over at her, his dark gaze gorgeous as ever, his hair rumpled and jaw covered in stubble. It was the kind of vision that made a woman wonder if she was dreaming.
Which made her think back to . . . something else that had seemed so surreal it had to have been a dream. Last night.
“That didn’t really happen, did it?”
Braden’s eyes widened with worry. “Oh God. Please don’t tell me you’re going to freak out and go all regretful on me.”
She drew in her breath and stared up at the ceiling fan whirring above them. It had really happened. She’d fucked two men’s brains out last night. Wow.
But before she proceeded to freaking out, she made herself stop and think through the situation. It had happened, and there was no taking it back now. And she’d let it happen, had wanted it to happen. And it had been the most delicious experience of her life, no denying it. She didn’t think she’d ever felt more powerful, more feminine, more desired, more like a woman of her own than she had last night.
She pulled her gaze back down to the handsome man at her side. “A week ago, I couldn’t have handled that, no way. But somehow, now, because of you—I can. And I doubt it’s anything I’ll ever do again, but I’m glad I did it, I’m glad you pushed me to. You made me feel things I never would have without you.”
A slow smile unfurled across his face. “I’m so glad, baby,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Because I want you to feel everything. I want you to be a woman who isn’t afraid to seek her pleasure.”
Despite herself, a slightly sheepish giggle leaked free. “Believe it or not, before we met, I did have sex, you know. I’m not totally as backward and old-fashioned as I probably seemed to you when we met.”
“A lot?” he asked, looking curious.
“Well . . . with guys I was in relationships with, yeah, sure.”
“But was it . . . like it is with me?”
She looked into his eyes, trying to read the real question there, trying to interpret his heart. But she didn’t want to make the mistake of seeing more than actually existed. “If you mean were there vibrators and third parties and shaving involved—you already know the answer to that.”
“That’s not what I mean. What I’m asking is—was it as . . . intense as it is between us?”
Intense. That was putting it mildly. She shook her head. Then looked up at him, half teasing, half not. “You may have ruined me for all other men.”
There was no mistaking his arrogant expression. “That wasn’t my goal, but . . .”
“But?”
He grinned hotly. “But I like thinking I’ve given you experiences no other guy ever has.”
A short, wild laugh escaped her. “Congratulations, you have—about a hundred times over. Which reminds me, you don’t have any other surprises up your sleeve for me, do you? Other kinky activities, lingerie, toys?”
Still smiling, he shook his head. “Afraid not. Unless you want me to come up with some.”
“No shoes?” She raised her eyebrows. “Not that I want them, but you once insisted on my shoe size, so I expected you to haul them out at some point.”
He gave his head a matter-of-fact tilt. “You said you’d throw them out into the snow. I didn’t want to waste a perfectly good pair of shoes.”
She cast a smirking grin in reply just as his cell phone buzzed—across the room on the desk next to his laptop, where she guessed he’d left it yesterday when he’d been catching up on work. She watched as he flipped back the covers and padded across the room to answer, so beautifully naked that her mouth began to water.
“Braden Stone,” he said upon flipping the phone open.
She could tell it was a business call, not only from the discussion but from the very tone he took—commanding and strong and authoritative—and she understood exactly how he succeeded in toppling corporations. “That’s not acceptable,” he was saying, “and you’re going to make it right. Today. Within the hour, in fact.”
She bit her lip, realizing that watching him give someone hell on the phone while he was peering out the window stark naked was perhaps, oddly, one of the sexiest things she’d ever beheld. She was also forced to realize that what she’d shared with him last night had been no less than profound.
She’d been trying to convince herself all along that this was just sex, just fun, just physical pleasure. But the worlds he’d opened to her now, the generosity he’d shown her, the way he’d encouraged her and excited her and made her feel safe no matter what . . . She sighed, knowing beyond a doubt that she was changed forever because of him. A sobering realization.
“Get back to me,” he said, “and meanwhile, I’ll call Phillips and First National.” He flipped the phone shut and turned to face her, his voice returning to “normal Braden.” “I can’t believe this, but it looks like I’m the one who has to work today. Some complications with a pending merger, and I need to make some calls.”
Laura drew in her breath. “It’s just as well. I need to write, too.”
She didn’t mention that after what they’d shared last night, he probably could have finally talked her into spending the day with him, in bed or out.
She didn’t mention it because this was a sign—a sign that she simply couldn’t let herself get any more attached to him than she already was.
She knew leaving would be difficult now, no two ways about it, but she couldn’t wallow in that—she had to be a big girl. And working—as usual—would be a good distraction from all the emotions swirling inside her.
“I have time for a quick breakfast, though, if you do,” he offered.
She couldn’t help smiling. Distraction could start in a little while. For now, she was going to relish the opportunity to cling to him for just a
little longer after last night’s intimacies. She sat up and tossed the covers aside. “I think I could squeeze it in. Want to make it together?”
He flashed a devilish grin. “Baby, I always like making it with you.”
Over an easy breakfast of scrambled eggs and English muffins, Laura felt his gaze.
“You look deep in thought.”
She switched her glance from the snowscape out the window to the man across from her, caught. “Guess I’m still just stunned by what I did last night.”
He lowered his chin, his expression chiding her.
“Don’t worry—still no regrets. I’m just thinking how very un-me it was. For you, I guess it’s no big deal, but for me, it’s . . . big.”
She couldn’t help being surprised when Braden set down his fork and stood up, walking around behind her chair to bend down and slide his arms around her. He spoke softly in her ear. “What you did—what we did—is okay, honey. It didn’t hurt anybody, it felt good, and hell, it might have even helped somebody.”
Laura looked up at him, surprised.
“Last night might have gotten Tommy out of his funk over Marianne. He hadn’t had sex with anyone since then.”
“Oh,” she heard herself murmur.
Wow, was it possible their ménage à trois had really held some humanitarian value? She was letting sarcasm taint her musings, but it was nice to think maybe it had helped Tommy overcome his heartbreak a little.
A few minutes later, they cleared the dishes together, then parted ways with a kiss, and Laura padded to the computer as she watched her lover disappear up the stairs to his own work.
As she pulled up her book’s file, she found herself realizing that Braden’s mere hug had assuaged her lingering concerns over her actions, somehow made it all better. But where would she be when his hugs were nowhere to be found?
The truth was—if she and Braden had had a future, she wasn’t so sure she’d have any concerns over last night at all. He’d made their threesome seem more than okay—he’d made it seem truly right. So if anything was really bothering her, it was likely the fact that she’d had the most intimate, outrageous sex of her life with two guys she would soon never see again.
Be a big girl, she reminded herself. People have affairs all the time and don’t self-destruct over it. People probably had ménages à trois all the time as parts of their affairs without falling apart. She didn’t personally know any of the latter, but she was sure they existed. She’d allowed herself into this world of sexual decadence—now she had to come out the other side unscathed.
But she feared last night had bonded her with Braden in an almost frightening way. She’d had to trust him so much to let herself go to such extremes. She’d had to open herself so deeply, uncovering parts of herself she’d never even seen, let alone shared with anyone else. And when she took the time to remember and realize all she’d shared with him, she couldn’t deny the ugly truth: leaving him behind was going to hurt even more than she’d ever imagined.
“I have a confession,” Riley confided to Sloane as they sat in the Dorchesters’ back porch swing watching the stars overhead.
“You’re the killer?”
She gasped, and he squeezed her hand.
“I’m kidding, honey. I’m kidding.”Then he added a knee pat for good measure. “Relax and tell me what’s on your mind.”
She let out a sigh, then admitted what she’d done. “I went to Aunt Mimsey this afternoon, and I told her to run. I told her she was a suspect and that, although the evidence is thin, the cops know.” When the authorities had come to investigate Hawthorne’s murder, everyone in the Dorchesters’ household, plus Riley, had been thoroughly interviewed. It had come up that both Mr. Dorchester and Edna the housekeeper had heard Hawthorne yelling at Aunt Mimsey and later found out how angry she was about it. Riley had been forced to admit the same. And although no one claimed to have liked Hawthorne, Aunt Mimsey was the only person in the vicinity who’d been found to have a grudge against him.
Sloane didn’t appear in the least surprised. “How did she respond?”
“Very calmly. She refused to be frightened, simply stating that she hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“Do you believe her?”
Riley hesitated. She could still scarcely comprehend that anyone could think Aunt Mimsey a killer.
Sloane lifted her chin with one bent finger. “You can tell me, Riley. It’ll stay between us—I promise.”
Riley’s heart warmed. She’d been so afraid Sloane would want to hold Aunt Mimsey accountable. To him, she probably seemed like nothing more than a dotty old woman—he had no way of knowing how loving and kind she could be.
“I really can’t fathom Aunt Mimsey hurting anyone,” Riley said, “even if certain evidence does point in her direction. She can barely stand to kill an insect. In fact, she got into a horrible argument with Hawthorne last summer when he was using those spiked mole traps to stop an infestation, insisting that they were cruel and—” Riley stopped, cringed. “I just incriminated her more, didn’t I?”
He shrugged. “I’ll keep the mole trap incident to myself.”
“Thank you,” she said, reaching up to give him a short kiss—which quickly turned passionate and left Riley breathless when it was through.
“But between you and me,” Sloane said, “I’m afraid the cops may start taking a closer look at Mimsey soon, out of desperation, if no other clues turn up.”
“Then we have to find more clues,” she replied vehemently.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“I have an idea.” She lifted one finger in the air and offered a short, triumphant nod.
Sloane looked doubtful and spoke dryly. “I can’t wait to hear.”
“We stay out here all night.”
He blinked in the moonlight.“And hope the clue fairy drops a few on us?”
“I was thinking,” she began, “about all the things we’ve found—the stolen items and Hawthorne’s body. When were they put in the places we found them—around the yard and in the secret garden? It couldn’t have been during the day—because we’ve been out quite frequently in the daytime hours, and besides, who would lurk around hiding things or dragging dead bodies away in the middle of the afternoon? Our culprit clearly moves at night—so we need to do a stakeout!”
“You watch too much TV.”
She harrumphed. “You think it’s a dumb idea.”
“No, I actually think it’s a good idea. But I still say you watch too much TV if you think using words like ‘stakeout’ is enough to make you a detective.”
Riley rolled her eyes, insisting she was a good detective, whether or not she’d had adequate chance to prove it to him yet, and Sloane ignored her, instead explaining that a good all-night stakeout generally required night goggles and snacks. He went to retrieve both as Riley stayed to man their post, eyes peeled.
A few minutes later, she heard the rustle of shrubbery. She looked to the right, toward the noise, but could see nothing in the darkness as the row of bushes in question was shadowed by the toolshed. Still, she realized someone had just walked past the porch into the backyard—thankfully, without seeing her.
Which was when her leg tickled and she glanced down past her shorts to spot, by the light of the moon, a large brown spider meandering up the side of her calf. Sweet mother of God! It was all she could do not to go shrieking through the yard, but she somehow managed to stay still. She needed, at the very least, to bat the grotesque intruder away—yet she bit her lower lip, knowing if she moved, even to knock the spider off, she’d be heard. Because she couldn’t see who traveled the backyard, but she could indeed hear soft movements as whoever it was padded over the flagstone path toward the gazebo—which meant even the slightest sound resulting from her movements could reveal her presence.
Riley’s eyes dropped back to the spider. Go away, go away, she willed it.
The spider apparently failed to receive her telepathic mes
sage, since it continued taking horribly tingly steps up her leg.
She tried to calm down and think. If you carefully flick the spider away, it can be done silently.You just can’t freak out and go running around as if you’re on fire. The act would require precision and composure. But a sensible and mature person could do it.
Still aware of movements beyond the porch in the dark, Riley leaned over, took bold, careful aim, and gave the spider a silent but strong flick. It disappeared into the night—and she still wanted to jump around and scream, but she restrained herself and forced slow, even breaths as she worked to remain very still in the swing.
She smiled to herself then, realizing she’d just dealt quite efficiently with one of her greatest fears. Take that, Sloane Bennett. She’d become a respected detective yet!
Just then, flames lit the gazebo! She might not be on fire, but the gazebo was! She gasped, stood up, and spotted in the light of the blaze none other than Edna Barnes, the Dorchesters’ housekeeper!
Just then, the back door opened and Sloane exited with a picnic basket in one hand and what looked like a pair of high-tech binoculars in the other. “What the hell?” he said, seeing the fire.
“It’s Edna!” she replied.
Edna looked up, clearly startled by their voices, then fled. “I’ll put out the blaze—you follow her!” Sloane said, dashing for the hose.
This was it—Riley’s big chance to apprehend a criminal! And it would be a lot more fun than fighting a fire, so she was glad Sloane had taken that task and left her this perfect opportunity for glory.
She sprinted through the deep backyard, unable to see much as she descended under the cover of the trees that dotted the area, their thick boughs blocking out the moonlight. But she heard Edna’s footsteps as the older woman rushed ahead in the distance, so she ran blind, hoping her knowledge of the grounds would keep her from bashing head-on into a tree trunk.
It was just past the vegetable patch, before reaching the path that would lead to the secret garden, that Edna was caught in a shaft of light and Riley yelled, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
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