Isabel’s small teeth worried her lower lip, and she remained silent for a while, considering what he’d said. “They’re not going to like all the noise or the strangers around.”
“Would you rather we relocated the entire garden to a new house or move and leave them behind?” Zach asked.
“No!” Isabel’s dark eyes flashed and she shot him an irritated glance, declaring an unspoken DUH!
Zach snickered. “Your friends are going to be okay, chiquita.”
“You promise?” Isabel asked.
“I promise.”
“Okay, but I’m going to be watching.” She turned her head to the side, offering her cheek for a kiss.
He chuckled and swooped in, pressing his lips to her smooth cheek for a quick peck. “I’ll let the men know that they’re to report to you as their direct supervisor,” he said.
“Okie dokie.” Isabel’s round face turned toward him. “When are you going to ask my mom to marry you?”
A burst of paternal pride made Zach grin. He patted his pocket. “Right now, if I have your blessing?”
Isabel pursed her lips. “You mean…am I okay with it?”
“Right,” Zach said, and waited.
The girl’s eyebrows rose and she blew air in a clear gesture of exasperation. “About time. I’m going to tell my friends what’s happening.”
Chuckling, Zach watched her walk away and then went to join Theresa. He had purchased Theresa’s rental and the property next door with the intention of tearing down both of the older buildings. A modern six bedroom house would eventually be constructed on the combined lots. No more leaky plumbing. No more overbearing landlords.
Zach would miss the isolation and the grand view of his house on the side of the mountain. However, Isabel needed to be close to her school and they were only ten minutes from Robert’s house. He and Theresa both held key positions within the leadership of the pack, which meant they needed to be accessible.
Their architect had instructions to design something for each of them. Theresa wanted a gourmet quality kitchen. Isabel desired her own room with patio access to the fairy garden. Best of all, the house would have a soundproof office for his writing, and a nursery for future expansion of their family.
Arms open, Theresa greeted him with a smile and a kiss. The touch of her mouth upon his own took his breath away; her touch rendered him ready and yearning to bury his shaft in the tight, wet heat of her body. His sanctuary. His salvation.
“So, do we have Isabel’s blessing?”
“Absolutely.” Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he extracted the velvet box and popped it open. He extended his hand with the ring held between his finger and thumb for presentation. Deliberately, he sank to one knee, adopting the classic posture of the supplicant suitor.
Her eyes widened, eyebrows high in clear surprise. “Zach, what on earth are you doing?”
“Theresa Sanchez, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Zach said in a loud voice, infusing his tone with drama.
Her breath hitched and shining happiness suffused her face. Giggling, she grabbed for his wrist and attempted to pull him upright. “Zach, people are staring!”
Zach allowed her to yank him to his feet. His antics had attracted the attention of the construction workers in the yard, but their audience didn’t disturb him. Reaching out, he scooped Theresa into his embrace and hugged her close.
“Say yes, or I’ll make an even bigger scene,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in mock threat. “If I have to, I’ll get down on both knees and beg.”
“Zach, you’re so bad!” Theresa hid her face against the nook of his throat and shoulder while she shook with laughter.
“You know it,” he said.
“Let me see that ring again,” she said, adopting a skeptical tone. She looked down, seeking his hand.
Obediently, Zach held the ring up for inspection. The diamond solitaire sparkled brightly in the sunlight. The rectangular stone possessed brilliant clarity and had cost him an arm and a leg. Theresa would be the center of female envy wherever she went.
A slow smile curved her lips. “My god, it’s so big!” she exclaimed, reaching for it even as he slid it onto her finger.
A great burst of laughter erupted from Zach, exploding across the yard, once again causing the construction workers to turn and stare.
Startled, Theresa shot him a glance. “What’s so funny?”
He struggled to stop laughing, but his sides hurt. “Love, I promise you—that won’t be the last time you say that to me.”
“Oh! You’re an arrogant ass, Zachary Hunter.” Theresa slapped her palm against his chest, a reprimanding swat, but her eyes shone with mirth.
“Yes, but I’m your arrogant ass.” He caught her hand and pulled her off balance so she tumbled against his chest. His head dipped, and he captured her mouth in a hard, stolen kiss.
Panting, they broke apart, gazes locked. Then she grinned and waved a finger under his nose. “Yes, so long as you swear I’ll be the only one at the wedding wearing a bridal gown. None of your off-color jokes, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. My word.” He crossed his heart.
About the Author
Melissa Snark is an avid reader and author of paranormal novels. Her stories include A Cat’s Tale, Learning To Fly, The Child Thief, and Hunger Moon. She lives in Northern California in the San Francisco east bay with her husband, three children, and a glaring of cats.
Visit Melissa at
http://www.melissasnark.com/
To chat with Melissa Snark and other Wild Rose Press authors of erotic romance, join us at www.groups.yahoo.com/group/thewilderroses.
Also Available
Learning To Fly
by
Melissa Snark
Cassandra Claeys is a bohemian artist with a passion for shoes and architecture. Her past wasn't pretty and she's got the scars to prove it, but she's determined to live and love again and she's hoping her newest client is just the man for the job. But the crazed serial killer that once held her captive escapes from prison, willing to kill again to make his maniacal fantasies come true. Architect Kyle McCloud hires the fiery redhead to illustrate his latest project, never dreaming that she would bring passion and danger to his door. Cassie is easily spooked and as flighty as one of his injured birds, but he's willing to work overtime to make her soar for him alone.
Turn the page to read an excerpt.
Chapter One
Early Saturday morning, the landline rang as Cassandra Claeys was on her way out the door. For a split second, she considered letting it go to the answering machine because she was already late to meet friends at a coffee shop. However, the possibility of it being her new client, an architect from Los Lobos, California, made her hesitate.
Kyle McCleod. Although they had never met in person, she leapt at any opportunity to speak with him. She could listen to him all day for the simple pleasure of hearing him speak and never registered a word he’d said. The man had a voice like whiskey and blended cream—smooth, dulcet, just the hint of a brogue—alluding to Irish roots. He caressed her with that voice, caused her insides to turn to warm and gooey like the center of a truffle or a warm chocolate lava cake. His dialect marked him as American, but the way he spoke hinted at a touch of eastern Ireland, reminding her of the year she’d spent as a child in Dublin.
Cassie grabbed for the phone. “Hello?”
“Is this Cassandra Claeys?”
Cassie shifted her purse to her right shoulder to get a more comfortable grip on the receiver. “Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?”
“Ms. Claeys, this is Agent Riona Knoshoghi with the FBI.” The woman pronounced Cassie’s name with a distinct Japanese accent, rolling her Rs into a liquid consonant.
“Yes?” She clutched the phone, trying to stem a rising tide of anxiety. She did not receive calls from the Federal Bureau of Investigation every day, but she did live in constant dread of the event, hoping it would neve
r come.
“I need to notify you that Simon Lynch is out of prison, ma’am.”
Her grip tightened on the phone and white noise filled her ears. Her breath came short and rapid, and pressure increased on her chest like a giant hand trying to crush her ribcage. On the verge of panic, Cassie’s mind went blank.
“Ms. Claeys? Are you still there?” Agent Knoshoghi attempted to gain her attention with increasing urgency.
Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen. Right before she passed out, her nostrils flared and she sucked down a great gulp of air. Her light-headedness passed after a few seconds. The agent said her name again.
“I’m sorry. Yes, I’m here. Repeat that. Please,” Cassie said.
The agent paused before she spoke again. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but Simon Lynch is out of prison.”
“How?” Cassie asked. This had to be a bad joke. Please let it be a bad joke.
“How?” The agent fell silent, trying to suss out her meaning.
“He had a life sentence. Several consecutive life sentences. Who the hell let him out?” Her voice grew more strident with each passing second. She sounded accusing, but right then she didn’t care.
The agent maintained her professional demeanor and made a cool reply. “Please calm down, Ms. Claeys, and I’ll explain. No one let him out. Lynch escaped.”
“How long ago did he escape?” Cassie shook from head to toe. Her knuckles were white on the receiver.
Papers rustled in the background. “Lynch disappeared from his cell at San Quentin sometime last night. He was last seen around nine o’clock at lockdown. During the morning head check, the guards found his cell empty.”
Cassie’s gaze flew to the digital clock over her oven. She performed a hasty mental calculation. “That’s what, twelve hours ago?”
“At the most. Please bear in mind that the prison is a maximum security facility, so it took time for him to circumvent the security. We called you as soon as he was discovered missing, Ms. Claeys. Now, I need to arrange for you to be brought into protective custody.”
Cassie’s lips formed a reply, but she never spoke. She slammed down the phone, cutting off whatever instructions Agent Knoshoghi might have offered. Her panicked gaze flew about her two bedroom townhome. Options fell through her mind in a terrified jumble. What to do? She had to get out; she had to run.
Who could she trust? Not the police who had already failed her more than once. Where should she go? Not her friends. She wouldn’t endanger people she cared about, and besides, Lynch would find her if she ran anywhere predictable.
Twelve hours…Lynch had a twelve hour lead on the authorities. There were less than twenty miles between San Quentin and San Francisco. He could be anywhere, even right outside her front door.
Her distracted gaze fell on the handwritten note from Kyle McCleod. It rested atop a welcome packet to her new job as his illustrator on an architectural project that started in a week. Right then and there, Cassie made her decision. She grabbed the paperwork and shoved it into her handbag. Then she checked the front window of her townhome and peered out at the busy sidewalks full of joggers, dog walkers, and parents taking their children to the playground across the street. She saw no sign of Lynch.
She slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her cell phone. She took nothing else. She hurried out the front door and slammed it behind her.
She ran and never looked back.
****
Seven hours later, a yellow taxi deposited Cassie at her final destination. She paid the driver and watched as the cab pulled away. Once it passed out of sight, she trudged the remainder of the way up the road to the house at the top of the hill. Out front, she spotted a man trimming a hedge.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where to find Mr. McCleod?” She stopped a safe distance from the groundskeeper, respecting both the man and his pruning shears. She flashed a smile, keeping one hand balanced on the leather purse slung over her shoulder.
The paved road leading up to the wrought iron gate of the estate lacked a sidewalk, so she stood on the gravel shoulder. The front entryway stood open in an inviting manner, as if to say, “welcome friends and neighbors.” Despite the gardener’s relentless scowl, Cassie felt good about her impulsive decision to arrive a week early and unannounced at her new job.
The man paused in the act of trimming the hedge. His coal black eyes squinted at her over his handlebar mustache. He bristled with suspicion. “Who’re you?”
“Cassandra Claeys.” She offered a nervous hand and glanced over her shoulder. Maybe it had been a mistake to dismiss the taxi so soon. Her initial optimism suffered a burst of suffocating doubt and dampened her enthusiasm.
“What do you want?” The man spoke with a rolling Welsh accent. He made no move to shake her hand, snubbing her effort to be cordial.
Cassie arched her brow and took a step backward. “I’m supposed to be working for Mr. McCleod.”
“First I’ve heard of a new employee.” The groundskeeper closed the shears and severed a number of green branches from the bush. “Henry Arthur.”
“Humph. I do believe you’ve two first names, Mr. Arthur.” She did not extend her hand a second time. The hint of reprimand in her voice provoked a snort from the gardener.
“Harrumph.” The contrary man frowned in an effort not to smile.
Cassie maintained a bland expression and gave him a nod. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”
His nostrils flared and he set down the shears. “I suppose I’ll show you up to the house and the Missus will get you a room. Do you have any baggage?”
“Just my purse.” She followed him past the gates and onto the grounds. Her admiring gaze took in the main house, a masterful postmodern structure, set against the rugged coastal landscape. Her fingers itched for the pencils and sketchpad tucked away within her bag.
Mr. Arthur passed Cassie off to the affable Shelly Arthur. The woman exuded good cheer, singing her words in a lilting Irish accent. Where her husband was tall and lean, Mrs. Arthur was short and plump. She wore purple, head to toe, like a tiny sugar plum fairy.
Shelly chased her grumbling husband from the kitchen with a rolled towel. “You shouldn’t pay any mind to Mr. Arthur, m’dear. I swear that man gets grumpier every day!”
Cassie chuckled and then grinned with the gratification of discovery. “Are you from Dublin, Mrs. Arthur?”
Bright eyes regarded her with distinct pleasure. “Aye, that I am! Born and bred in Fingal, raised in Dublin. How did you know?”
“My mom and I spent a year there when I was a child. She taught French and piano. She was madly in love with this musician from Fingal until she found out he was married.”
“Oh my, that sounds deliciously scandalous.” Laughing, Shelly made a show of fanning her face with her hand. “I have a feeling we’re going to have a wonderful time trading tales. Now, let’s see about getting you settled, shall we?”
Shelly escorted Cassie to a guest bedroom. “You should have plenty of time to make yourself at home. Let me know if there’s anything you need. Dinner is at six. We’ll be having corned beef and cabbage.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Arthur.” She stowed her purse beside the bed, feeling self-conscious about her lack of luggage even though Mrs. Arthur did not seem to notice.
The housekeeper shook with jolly laughter. “Goodness, call me Shelly. The only person who calls me ‘missus’ is the mister.”
Cassandra grinned. “Thank you, Shelly.”
After exploring her spacious suite, Cassie returned to the kitchen where she found Mr. Arthur with his hand in the cookie jar. The man made a guilty production of removing a handful of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. He lowered the lid back onto the jar so it closed with a soft clink.
He glowered at Cassie. “Yeah?”
She bit the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a walk and stretch my legs. It’s quite a trip from San Francisco.
Are there any hiking trails nearby?”
“Sure, plenty of trails. They’re safe, but don’t get too close to the water. Kyle and Kieran will be around this evening.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “Kieran? Does Kyle have a brother?”
“Sure does. Kieran is the oldest of the pair. Before she passed, bless her soul, Mrs. McCleod was a firm believer in symmetry. The boys have the same initials—KCM.” His stare dared her to make another impertinent observation, although Cassie was not sure why he seemed to object to her innocent question.
“Oh.” She resisted the temptation to inquire further after the brothers. If she had questions, then Shelly promised to be a more viable source of information.
“I’m off to attend to my business. There’s an overgrown hedge on the south wall.” Crumbs covered his mustache.
“Have at it!” She waved him on his way.
He shot her a parting scowl. “Don’t fall into the ocean, or Missus Arthur will have my sideburns on a platter.”
“I’ll try not to!”
She waited until the strange man had gone before she left the house via the backdoor. She passed across a manicured yard and through a back gate. A high fence defined the estate’s grounds from the wild areas surrounding it. She followed the first trail she encountered and headed toward the ocean at a brisk pace. The craggy terrain required careful negotiation as she navigated rocky bluffs and steep slopes. Thanks to mid-summer heat, the surrounding landscape was dry and full of brown vegetation.
The late afternoon sun hung in the sky; not a single cloud marred the blue. Overhead, a hawk shrieked and Cassie tilted back her head. She caught a glimpse of spread wings and a fanned red tail. The bird crested and dipped, riding the wind, and then disappeared from sight.
The Mating Game Page 27