Edna looked back only long enough to say, “I might believe that, Riley Wainscott, if you owned a gun!” Then she ran on.
Drat, Edna knew her too well.
Which meant it was woman against woman, sprinter against sprinter. Riley barreled ahead, breathless, remembering with regret that she kept meaning to join the local health club. But through pure will, she gained on Edna, closing the distance between them step by grueling, panting step—until finally she tackled the housekeeper in the tall grass in a field beyond the garden. They went down with an oomph!
A long moment later, as the two women lay panting, recovering from the impact with the earth, she heard Sloane’s voice. “Riley? Are you out here?” She looked up to see the beam of a flashlight coming toward them.
“Out past the vegetable garden!” she yelled, keeping a firm grip on Edna as she pushed to an upright position, still straddling the other woman’s body. “I’ve got her! She won’t get away from me now!”
It was only as Sloane approached, shining his light down to capture Riley and her prey, that she realized she was using every ounce of force in her body to keep an elderly woman with arthritic knees pinned to the ground.
“You’re hurting me, Riley! I have a bad back.”
Riley let out a disgusted breath, trying to cover her overzealous actions. “Well, that’s what you get for killing poor Hawthorne.”
Edna peered up at Sloane. “I don’t know what you see in her. She’s mean to old people.”
“Riley,” Sloane said in his typical dry tone, “I think if you get off her, we’ll manage to detain her until the police arrive.”
Riley let out a sigh. Oh well, at least she’d handled the spider situation like a pro.
That night, they made love in Braden’s bed, looking toward the mirrored closet doors. Neither of them called it making love, but to Laura, that’s how it felt. In the tender moments, definitely—but even in the rougher ones, too.
He lay behind her, thrusting deeply into her, each stroke delivering a barrage of pleasure. As they peered into the reflecting glass, he said, “Keep watching us, baby.” She obeyed.
She saw their bodies undulating together, witnessed his face wrenching in sweet, hot agony, and saw her own, as well. When he lifted one of her legs with his hand, parting her thighs, she saw his cock sliding smoothly into her. “Watch me fuck you. Watch how easily you take me inside.”
She was shocked at how beautiful she thought herself that way, surprised at how differently Braden had made her view sex. It occurred to her that maybe—despite having had sex with other guys, even guys she’d sincerely cared for—she’d never really, truly been intimate with anyone before Braden.
She’d loved most of all watching Braden’s face when he came—she’d never been so aware of taking a man to another plane, even if for just a few short moments.
Afterward, they lay talking, letting the ceiling fan cool their bodies after sex that had grown sweaty.
“So,” he said, “day after tomorrow?”
She sighed. She’d told him over breakfast that was when her retreat would end, when she was flying home. When she’d arrived here, she’d had no idea her writer’s retreat would turn into a sexual retreat, as well. Nodding against her pillow, she answered. “Yeah.”
He stayed silent for a moment, then softly met her gaze. “I’m gonna miss you, snowflake.”
Temptation filtered through her, the temptation to say what she was thinking. Maybe I could just stay here with you forever.
But then she remembered that he didn’t even live there—his real life, real world, was in L.A. And her real world was in Seattle. Just like Riley and Sloane’s secret garden, this was merely an escape, and this affair would be only a brief albeit powerful interlude in her real life. So instead, she said, “I’m going to miss you, too. This has been a . . . pretty amazing time for me.”
“Not just for you, snowflake,” he said quietly, and her heart soared.
She smiled over at him, reached out and found his hand. God, she was going to miss just being close to him, just being able to look into his dark eyes or touch him whenever she felt the urge.
He rose on one elbow next to her. “Let me steal you away for awhile tomorrow—just half a day. For some skiing and lunch. Then you can write all afternoon. Besides, I hear all work and no play makes Laura a dull girl.” He grinned. “What do you say?”
“I say if I was ever a dull girl, it was before I got here. But that aside, sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”
“Good. Otherwise, I’d have to strap you into some concrete snow-shoes and make you sleep with the fishes.” His brows narrowed slightly, as if thinking it through. “After the spring thaw, that is,” he added with a soft, sexy laugh.
Ah, how she wished they would both still be here after the spring thaw. But she had two more nights in his arms, and a day of fun with him tomorrow, so she reminded herself again to be a big girl, act like a grown-up, and enjoy these last couple of days with him for all they were worth.
“You’re doing great, snowflake.”
The ski lift gradually took them skyward up the mountain, and Laura smiled over at Braden, replying with a kiss. She thought she’d never shared a more romantic moment with a guy—with pristine snow falling all around them, the solitude of a lift ride made her feel much more as if they were alone than at a busy ski resort.
They’d started out early, Braden helping her put together a suitable winter ensemble from his large foyer closet, promising—when she asked—that the ladies’ skiwear belonged to his mom and other family members who’d left it behind for return visits. His mother’s skis had been stored there, as well, and he’d assured Laura it was okay to borrow them. “Especially since I bought ’em for her,” he’d added with a wink. Upon taking to the Vail slopes, they’d stayed on only the easier blue and green runs, and so far, she hadn’t yet fallen.
“I’m glad I came skiing at least once before heading home,” she said. “Despite wanting to get my book done, this is nice.”
He cast a soft grin. “Are you looking forward to that? Heading home?”
She answered honestly. “In some ways yes, in others no. It’ll be good to see Monica, and my mom. But I’m going to miss you . . . us.”
He leaned in for another soft kiss, his tongue pressing lightly between her parted lips, and even now, a mere kiss from the man made her pussy tingle.
“But all good things must come to an end, right?” he said. He seemed lighter about her departure than he had last night in bed—and she supposed that sealed her fate, if there was ever any doubt.
She’d found herself thinking about Braden’s mom—given that she wore the woman’s parka and was using her skis. When Tommy had casually brought up Braden’s family over dinner the other night, Braden had quickly changed the subject, so she and Braden had never discussed them. “Do you see your family a lot? Do they live in L.A.?”
He shrugged, looking ahead of them at the snow-covered pines dotting the rocky outcrop the lift currently traversed. “I see my mom every couple of weeks, but my dad . . . eh, not often.”
“Why not?” she asked, but his expression had grown a bit distant, that quickly, so she added, “I mean, if you don’t mind telling me.”
“They divorced when I was eleven and I never really forgave my dad. He was a drinker, and a cheater. They think I don’t know that, but I do.”
Laura’s heart contracted to suddenly envision her strong, commanding Braden as a little boy, having his heart broken by his father’s hurtfulness. She let out a sigh, not sure what to say. “Wow. I’m sorry. My dad died when I was a teenager—a heart attack—but I’m blessed that my parents had a happy marriage.”
Braden’s gaze shifted briefly back to hers, but he still spoke matter-of-factly. “I didn’t know many people with happy marriages growing up. Still don’t, I guess. There have been a lot of divorces in my family.”
“Monica’s mom and dad are together and seem happy.”
He leaned his head back, offering a wry grin. “The white sheep of the family.” But at least his humor seemed restored now.
“So I guess that’s why you’re a thirty-five-year-old bachelor,” she said, gently teasing but also serious.
“Probably so. And why I’ll be a forty-five year old bachelor, and eventually a fifty-five year old bachelor . . .” His voice trailed off into soft laughter, which she joined in, but part of her felt sad. She knew some people never married or found a lifemate and still lived satisfying lives, and if anyone was capable of that, she suspected it was Braden. Yet it still sounded lonely to her, especially when she thought of growing old.
“You must like being single a lot if you plan to stay that way forever,” she offered cautiously.
But he only shrugged in his easy-going, man-of-the-world way. “It’s what I’m used to, and it has a lot of perks. I don’t have to be responsible to anyone else. I don’t have to worry about the complexities of marriage and family. And I can sleep with whoever I want, whenever I want.” Seeming completely back to his normal self, he gave his head a rakish tilt as he peered into her eyes. “Think about it, snowflake—if I were the marrying kind, I’d already be married, and you and I never would have happened.”
A sobering thought that tightened Laura’s stomach.
“You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be fucked in the window where anyone can see you,” he went on, the timbre of his voice dropping to a sultry, seductive level. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be with two men at once. Hell, you still wouldn’t even have played with a vibrator.”
She let out her breath, a bit stunned. “God, you’re right.” It seemed unthinkable now, like the experiences of the past week had already woven themselves so deeply into her existence that it felt as if they’d been part of the fabric of her life for much longer. And she realized again that it had begun to seem normal, all the wild things they’d done—but only with Braden. She couldn’t imagine it feeling normal, or right, with anyone else.
As the unloading ramp came into sight and she lifted the tips of her skis, ready to whoosh down, it struck her that she must have had all these darker desires floating around somewhere inside her all along—and had simply never known it until Braden had helped her find them.
Standing to ski away from the lift, she couldn’t help regretting that the ride was over.
By the time Laura sat down to write late that afternoon, she found herself feeling a bit melancholy, yet also insightful—and for the first time, she allowed herself the freedom to be utterly pleased, maybe even thrilled, that Braden had opened up her deeper, darker, more adventurous sexual self.
If she’d suffered any lingering hopes that he would suddenly announce his unending love for her, however, their conversation earlier had squelched it. She had a gnawing suspicion that she had fallen in love with him, but she somehow knew now that she could handle parting ways with him like the adult she kept reminding herself she was. What they’d shared had been amazing, mind-boggling, and life-altering—but she understood fully after today that he wasn’t the type of man who got attached to women. And she harbored no delusions that a week of hot, naughty sex was going to change that.
And it was okay. Life would go on. She would be fine.
And so would Aunt Mimsey. And so would Riley. Riley’s current story was beginning to come to a close, and Laura felt as if Riley had learned as much about herself in this book as Laura had gleaned about her own personality while writing it.
As Laura typed, a colossal secret made its way onto the computer screen—something even she hadn’t known until she’d realized Edna was the criminal. Mimsey explained to Riley that many years earlier, when she was young, she and Edna had been friends—but then, in high school, Mimsey had aggressively stolen Edna’s boyfriend! Not only that, he’d turned out to be Mimsey’s lifelong love and now-departed husband, Walter—Riley’s beloved uncle!
Edna, it seemed, had held a grudge their whole lives, and all the crimes she’d committed were poorly-thought-out attempts to frame Mimsey. As for Hawthorne, it turned out Edna and he had indulged in a wild affair that had ended badly, so knocking off the gardener had seemed a convenient way for Edna to turn much greater suspicion toward Mimsey when her other feeble tries had failed.
Despite the shock of finding out that Edna was apparently crazy, Riley’s emotions instead focused on what she’d learned about her aunt.
Riley sat across from Aunt Mimsey at the table on the back porch, utterly stunned. Sweet, docile Aunt Mimsey had been a boyfriend-stealer in high school? It seemed impossible.
Yet, on the other hand, she supposed it had been meant to be. She’d never known two people more dear to each other than Mimsey and Walter had been before his death. So maybe, she thought, even if a relationship seemed a bit illicit in the beginning, it could be worthwhile and have a meaningful ending. Maybe life was not as cut and dried, as black and white, as Riley had always thought.
“Are you okay?” Aunt Mimsey asked, setting down her teacup to take Riley’s hand.
Riley nodded, still a bit numb. “Just hard to picture you as a girl who would go after a friend’s guy. Not that I love you any less for it,” she was quick to say. “I’m just . . . trying to wrap my mind around it.”
“Think of it like this,” her aunt said. “The way you feel about your Sloane, no matter how you deny it—that’s how I felt about my Walter, even then. I didn’t want to be that kind of girl, but it was bigger than the both of us.”
Riley nodded somberly, even if she still wasn’t comfortable admitting her affection for Sloane. “I understand. I guess I’m just . . . starting to realize there are sides of you I don’t know.”
Aunt Mimsey cast a knowing, assured smile.“Well, of course there are, dear. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has desires they can’t push down. We may not talk about them, but they exist quietly, in the background, and life goes on.”
That evening, Laura and Braden prepared an easy meal of burgers and fries, tired after skiing. The mood was relaxed as they sat down at the table, but Laura couldn’t help remembering she was leaving in the morning. Somehow her departure had snuck up fast.
“What time is your flight?”
She swirled a fry in ketchup. “Eleven fifteen.”
“Eagle’s a small airport. If you get there an hour early, you’ll be fine. I’ll drive you down.”
She drew in her breath at the offer, at the chance to spend one more little chunk of time with him. But then she imagined the anguish of kisses in the airport, the stretching-out of it, the painful finality of it all. She’d do better if she left on her own—and besides, it was more practical. “No,” she said, explaining, “I have to return the rental or you’ll be stuck with two.”
“I don’t mind. I could return your car for you and get Tommy to pick me up.”
But she held firm. “It’s not necessary,” she said, peering down at her plate, then taking a big bite of her hamburger to distract her from the slight awkwardness of the refusal.
He sounded reluctant but said, “Okay, if you’re sure.”
She tried to speak lightly. “When will you head out?”
He sighed, leaned back in his chair. “I think I’ll hang out a few days more, unwind, watch the snow, veg a little.” Then he grinned, teasing her. “You’ve worn me out.”
She flashed a sexy smile, thinking she hoped to wear him out again, at least one more time, before the sun rose.
“So how’s the book? Did I ruin your writer’s retreat too badly?” He looked as if he might have mixed emotions on it—she suspected he hoped it was going well but would also take some arrogant pride in learning she’d not managed to accomplish much amid all their naughty play.
“I’ll have you know it’s almost finished, and I’m very pleased with it. I have to write the last chapter after I get home, but it won’t take long now, and I’m actually going to make my deadline.” A giddy sort of giggle escaped her. “I’ve
never written a book so fast. And who’d have thought I could do it in the middle of a wild, crazy sextravaganza.”
Braden let out a rich laugh and said, “I must be good for your creativity.”
And she thought, You have no idea, baby.
After dinner, she announced she was going to pack. She grabbed the CD on which she’d saved her book file, then scurried up the stairs before she started looking too depressed.
She really was going to be okay without him, but saying good-bye would be torturous. Each piece of clothing she wadded into her suitcase, each little item, even hair clips and dirty socks, drove it home more. Worst were the items Braden had given her—the sheer black kimono, the champagne-colored ensemble, the velvet corset. In a way, it seemed weird to take them—she couldn’t imagine ever wearing them for another guy. Yet it would feel just as odd to leave them behind—they were gifts from the man she’d come to care for, and even if they sat in her lingerie drawer forever, when she saw them they would bring her back here in her mind, back to the most glorious days of her life.
She didn’t pack the red bra-and-panties set from Monica, though—the set she’d worn for him on the webcam back when he was just words on a screen. She wanted to look pretty and sexy for him on this, their last night together. After a quick shower, she donned the red lace, then put her standard cotton cami and joggers on over them, thinking she’d surprise him a little later.
Yet when she headed back downstairs, she was the one who got a hot surprise.
Braden lay on a thin quilt stretched out next to the star-filled window, beautifully naked, his majestic cock erect and ready for her. Two full wineglasses rested nearby, and an array of candles dotted the floor around him, like more twinkling stars in the low-lit room.
But her eyes stayed on her gorgeous man, his darkened eyes, and his commanding expression. He didn’t smile. “Take your clothes off, snowflake.”
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