A Risky Affair

by Maureen Smith

  Jill wasn’t amused. “Hush your mouth. You already know that’s one of my biggest fears, that you’ll get so caught up in your new life that you’ll forget all about me.”

  Solange smiled, touched by the trace of vulnerability she heard in her best friend’s voice. “You know that could never happen,” she said softly. “Not after all we’ve been through together. Hell, if I could’ve knocked you over the head and dragged you to San Antonio with me, I would have.”

  Jill laughed. “That would have been a great way to start your new life—as a fugitive of the law.”

  “Hmmm. And speaking of the law,” Solange murmured, an image of Dane Roarke’s sexy face filling her mind, “you’ll never guess what happened to me today.”

  Jill listened with rapt absorption as Solange relayed the morning’s events to her, starting from that first electrified moment when she and Dane locked gazes across the conference room, to the nerve-racking experience with the lie-detector test.

  “I’ve never been so distracted by a man in my life,” she admitted, settling back against the sofa cushions and drawing her knees up to her chin. “Girl, I couldn’t think straight. All I wanted to do was jump his bones.”

  “No wonder,” Jill said with a lascivious chuckle. “He sounds downright delicious. Tall, dark and sexy—just the way you like them.”

  Solange laughed. “Yeah, but I can tell you there’s nobody like Dane Roarke in Haskell. Before today, I honestly didn’t know God made ’em that fine.” Just thinking about the man was enough to heat the blood in her veins and quicken her pulse.

  “Maybe Dane is just what the doctor ordered,” Jill suggested, adding quietly, “You know, to help you get over Lamar.”

  Solange stiffened at the mention of her ex-boyfriend, a man she’d once thought she would marry. A lieutenant colonel in the army, Lamar Rogers was ten years older than Solange and a lifetime more experienced. He’d lived in Germany, Korea and Italy, and had traveled to numerous exotic locales, while Solange had never ventured outside her small hometown until a week ago. His worldliness was one of the main things she’d found so attractive about him. That, and the way he looked in uniform.

  They’d met at the annual county fair, where Solange was selling fresh produce from the farm, as she did every year. Lamar, on leave from the military, had wandered over to her table and struck up a seemingly innocuous conversation about the “inferior” quality of goods being sold by her competitors at the fair. She’d found him clever, charming and good-looking, with a warm, gentle smile, beautiful brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed, and skin the color of the caramel apples on display at a neighboring booth. By the time her mother returned from judging the apple pie contest—another annual tradition—Solange had given Lamar her phone number and agreed to a date that very same evening.

  It became the first of many.

  After he returned to Germany, they’d kept in touch via e-mail and postal mail, because, as Lamar often told her, seeing her handwriting and being able to hold her letters in his hand assured him that she was real and not a figment of his imagination. Solange had never been with a man who wasn’t afraid to express his feelings so openly and earnestly. She’d soaked it all up like a sponge immersed in a bucket of water. When Lamar returned home in six months, they’d picked up right where they’d left off, rediscovering the best restaurants in town, visiting the local Civil War museum like a pair of tourists, picnicking by their favorite lake. For almost three years they’d been inseparable.

  Until Lamar grew bored with her.

  Unlike Jill’s ex-boyfriend Wyatt, Lamar hadn’t cheated on Solange. He’d simply lost interest in her. And the pain of his desertion, the confusion and rejection she’d felt even before he ended their relationship, had taken a long time to get over.

  “I saw him at the bank today,” Jill said softly, breaking into Solange’s painful reverie. “He asked me how you were doing, wanted to know if you’d found a job yet. I think he was hoping I’d tell him no, that you regretted your decision to leave home and were thinking about returning.”

  Solange traced a pattern on the worn sofa. “Why would he hope to hear something like that?” she murmured.

  “You know very well why. Because he misses you.”

  Solange gave a derisive snort. “Girl, you always were a hopeless romantic. Lamar Rogers doesn’t miss me. If he did, he sure had a funny way of showing it. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen or heard from him since my parents’ funeral.”

  “That’s because you didn’t want to see or hear from him,” Jill gently reminded her. “After he told you he needed space, you told him to take all the space he needed—permanently. Or have you forgotten that?”

  “Of course not,” Solange grumbled morosely. She’d had some other choice words for Lamar as well, but they didn’t need to rehash that. As far as she was concerned, her three-year relationship—and subsequent breakup—with Lamar Rogers was ancient history.

  Jill had never paid much attention in history class. “He was half-afraid to attend the funeral,” she continued, unwilling to drop the subject. “He was worried you’d have him tossed out of the church.”

  “Typical, selfish Lamar,” Solange murmured with a sad shake of her head. “Always making everything about him. I was too busy saying goodbye to my parents to be thinking about the final argument he and I had. As I told you then, I was glad he showed up to pay his last respects. You know how fond of him my parents were.”

  “Mine, too. They’re always saying what a fine, respectable young man he is, serving his country the way his father, grandfather and great-grandfather did before him. If I didn’t know any better, I would think they were trying to marry me off to Lamar!”

  Solange managed a tremulous smile. “You know I would give you my blessing.”

  Jill grunted. “Maybe you would, but I have no interest in marrying Lamar or anyone else you’ve ever dated.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you kidding? Apart from the fact that I’ve never enjoyed leftovers, there’s that other matter to consider.”

  “What other matter?”

  Jill heaved a dramatic sigh. “You’ve ruined Lamar for all other women, Solange. My mama has been saying so for months now, but I didn’t believe her until I saw the look on his face today. Poor Lamar.”

  Solange nearly leapt from the sofa. “Poor Lamar?” she cried, full of righteous indignation. “He’s the one who suddenly started canceling dates on me with no explanation and stopped returning my phone calls. He’s the one who assured me nothing was wrong every time I asked him about our relationship. He’s the one who waited until we were at a New Year’s Eve party—and the clock was about to strike twelve—to pull me aside and tell me he needed space. And you’re calling him poor Lamar?”

  “Solange—”

  “Do I need to remind you how utterly humiliated I was, standing in that roomful of couples who were kissing, throwing confetti and celebrating the new year after I’d just been dumped by my boyfriend?”

  “Of course I remember how awful that was for you! I’m the one who left the party I was attending to go pick you up because you refused to let Lamar drive you home. Humph. A lesser friend would’ve made you call a cab.”

  “I know,” Solange snarled. “Which is why I can’t understand why you’d even think about referring to him as a victim.”

  “I’m not saying he’s a victim. I know how much he hurt you, and I’m not excusing that. But when I saw him at the bank today, I realized he still loves you, Solange. He never stopped.”

  Emotion clogged Solange’s throat, temporarily robbing her of speech.

  Taking advantage of the moment, Jill quickly forged ahead. “You should have seen the look in his eyes when I told him you’d landed a good job and probably wouldn’t be returning home. He looked crushed, Solange, like a dying man who’s just been informed that the kidney he’s been waiting for won’t be a good match after all. That man still love
s you, and I know he regrets messing up the good thing you two had.”

  “Did he tell you that?” Solange asked, appalled by the glimmer of hope that bloomed in her chest.

  Jill faltered for a moment. “Well…no. But he didn’t have to. It was written all over his face!”

  Solange’s heart sank a little. “Whatever you say. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m not moving back to Haskell, and I’m not going to waste another minute of my life wondering what went wrong between me and Lamar Rogers. I have to move on.”

  “You’re right,” Jill agreed with a long, deep sigh. “And I guess having an affair with a sexy private eye is as good a place to start as any.”

  Solange chuckled ruefully. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not having an affair with Dane Roarke.”

  “Why not?” Jill demanded. “Is he married?”

  “I didn’t see a ring on his finger, but we both know that doesn’t mean anything nowadays.” Inexplicably, the thought of Dane Roarke going home every night to another woman left a bad taste in Solange’s mouth. Or maybe that was the beginning of heartburn, she told herself. After all, she had no reason to care whether or not Dane was married. He was a complete stranger; he meant nothing to her.

  “I didn’t come to San Antonio to find a new boyfriend,” she said resolutely, as much for her own benefit as Jill’s. “I came here to find a good job that would enable me to save money for law school.”

  “I know. You’ve always accomplished whatever you set your mind to. This time won’t be any different.” Jill paused. “Do you think you’ll ever see him again? Dane Roarke, I mean?”

  “Not unless I find myself needing the services of a P.I.,” Solange said wryly.

  “Well, if you ever decide to try and find your birth parents, maybe you can hire him to help you.” Jill yawned. “Well, I’d better say good-night. You’ve had a long day, and I’m beat from pulling a double shift at the hospital. Call me once you’re settled in at Crandall Thorne’s ranch.”

  “I will,” Solange promised. “Give Theresa my best.”

  Long after Solange got off the phone with Jill, her best friend’s suggestion lingered in her mind.

  In the twenty years she’d known Jill Somerset, Solange had only raised the topic of finding her birth parents once, and that was after she’d had a big argument with her mother. Solange had been a headstrong, temperamental fifteen-year-old in the throes of her first major crush on a senior at the local high school. When Eleanor Washington forbade her from attending the boy’s senior prom because she was too young, Solange had stormed off down the road to the neighboring farmhouse of her best friend’s family. While ranting and raving to Jill about her unreasonably strict mother, she’d blurted out angrily, “I wish I could find my real parents. I bet they’re nowhere near as mean as George and Eleanor.”

  Immediately afterward she’d felt guilty. Her adoptive parents were good, honest, hardworking people who had shown her nothing but love and kindness throughout her life. While they could be rather strict at times, she knew it was only because they wanted the best for her and wanted to protect her from the same terrible fate that had befallen their teenage son, who’d died in a drunk-driving accident caused by his best friend.

  She felt like a spoiled brat, an ingrate, for badmouthing her parents to Jill, so she’d never done it again. But she could never take back the harsh words she’d spoken that afternoon, nor could she stop the questions that began whispering through her mind like wisps of smoke from a flame.

  At the age of fifteen, twelve years after being adopted by the Washingtons, Solange began to wonder about her biological parents. She wondered who they were, where they lived and what they looked like. And for the first time in her life, she allowed herself to ponder what would happen if she tried to find them. Thankfully, her curiosity had never morphed into an all-consuming obsession. She’d heard countless horror stories of adult adoptees who spent years and thousands of dollars searching for their biological parents, only to be disappointed in the end when their parents turned out to be horrible people. Solange had never felt a burning need or desire to put herself through the emotional roller coaster of trying to locate two individuals who obviously hadn’t wanted her. But every now and then, when she least expected it, the curiosity would return, and the same questions would invade her thoughts.

  In the aftermath of losing her adoptive parents, the questions had returned with increasing frequency.

  Lying in bed that night, Solange stared up at the darkened ceiling, Jill’s words echoing through her mind. Was it a sign that she’d crossed paths with Dane Roarke, who happened to be a private investigator? Was he meant to help her track down her biological parents?

  Solange frowned in the darkness. George and Eleanor Washington had never been entirely comfortable discussing her adoption with her. They’d always told her that the most important thing was that they loved her as if she were their own flesh and blood, and they’d raised her accordingly.

  “It’s not where you came from, but where you’re going,” Eleanor had been fond of saying, particularly whenever Solange broached the subject of her adoption.

  Unfortunately, their reluctance to discuss the details of her past had left her with more questions than answers about her future. And their untimely deaths had left her with no one in the world other than some distant relatives scattered around the country, whom she hardly knew, anyway. At no time had she felt the full magnitude of this realization more than in the days following the funeral—and now.

  She was completely alone.

  Maybe it was finally time to rectify that, Solange thought.

  Maybe after she’d been working for Crandall Thorne for a while and had earned enough money, she could hire Dane Roarke to help her find her parents.

  She felt a twinge of excitement at the thought, and told herself it had more to do with the prospect of eventually locating her birth parents than with seeing the sexy private investigator again.

  Closing her eyes, Solange rolled onto her side and let exhaustion tug her to sleep within minutes.

  Chapter 6

  On his way to the office late Saturday morning, Dane made a slight detour that led him to the Alamo City Inn. He drove around the parking lot until he found Solange Washington’s blue Plymouth. Secretly relieved to discover that she hadn’t checked out of her room yet, he parked beside the ancient clunker, grabbed a sealed envelope from the passenger seat and climbed out of his truck.

  According to the contact information she’d provided, Solange had been a guest of the extended-stay lodge since arriving in San Antonio a week ago.

  Dane made his way across the parking lot toward the old, two-story stucco building surrounded by gently swaying palm trees that almost made one forget the hotel’s location—smack-dab in the middle of an industrial park. As he strode past an overflowing metal trash bin and a deserted swimming pool littered with brown winter leaves and other suspect debris, he couldn’t help but wonder why Solange Washington had chosen to dwell in such a dump, even temporarily. Surely she could’ve afforded better with the large sum of money she’d received from her parents’ life insurance policies. Unless, of course, she’d already run through her inheritance.

  Shoving aside the cynical thought—since it was none of his damn business what the woman did with her money—Dane climbed a flight of stairs and strode down the open walkway until he reached room 206. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the door, then waited.

  After several moments, the door swung open. “I’m ready now. You can come—” Solange broke off abruptly at the sight of Dane, those dark, thick-lashed eyes that tilted exotically at the corners widening in surprise.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were the maid,” she said, her cheeks flushed as if she’d been exercising or lifting heavy items—he guessed the latter. “What are you doing here?”

  Dane held up the yellow envelope he’d brought. “I forgot to give these to you on Thursday. Copies of your signed
paperwork.”

  Solange frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” she said, reaching for the envelope.

  Dane handed it over slowly, letting his eyes roam across her body from head to toe. With her chestnut-brown hair scooped into a ponytail and wearing a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans that molded long, shapely legs, she was as beautiful as he remembered. And he ought to know. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since meeting her two days ago. Personally delivering the documents to her had given him a legitimate, if somewhat lame, excuse to see her again.

  “You could have saved yourself a trip and mailed this to me,” Solange gently chided.

  “It’s no trouble,” Dane drawled, propping a negligent shoulder in the doorway. “At Roarke Investigations, we pride ourselves on going the extra mile for our customers—figuratively and literally.”

  “I see.” Those lush, bow-shaped lips twitched with barely suppressed humor, as if she could see right through the bogus explanation. “Well…thank you, I suppose.” She sent a brief glance over her shoulder. “I’d invite you inside for a cup of coffee, but I was just about to leave. I have to check out of the room by noon.”

  “That’s right. You’re moving into Thorne’s ranch today, aren’t you?”

  She nodded, her mouth curving in a playful smile he could easily become addicted to. “I’m assuming that I passed the background check, otherwise I’d still be looking for employment.”

  Dane smiled a little. “You passed.”

  Solange glanced at her watch. “Well, I’d better—”

  Dane straightened from the doorway. “I’ll help you carry your stuff to the car. Going the extra mile,” he reminded her when she opened her mouth to decline the offer.

  “All right. If you insist.” Smiling, she stepped back and opened the door wider.