A Time to Keep

by Rochelle Alers

  “Open the damn door, Gwendolyn Paulette Taylor!”

  “I will if you lay off the damn bell, Shiloh Harper!” she shouted back, unlocking the door.

  She’d left his house, and returned home to find that Cocoa had piddled on the laundry room’s cement floor. She fed her pet before cleaning up the urine. Cocoa shadowed her relentlessly, wherever she went. Usually the tiny dog fled the bathroom whenever she turned on the shower, but not tonight. It was as if the canine feared being left alone again.

  Gwen took a step backwards as Shiloh moved into the entryway. She stared silently as he closed and locked the door. She did not have time to react when he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the staircase.

  “What are you doing, Shiloh?”

  The scene from Gone With the Wind when Rhett Butler swept Scarlett O’Hara up in his arms and carried her up the staircase sprang to mind. But in that scene Rhett was drunk, jealous that his wife continued to lust after another woman’s husband. The reality was that Gwendolyn Taylor wasn’t Scarlett, Shiloh no Rhett, and there was certainly no Ashley Wilkes to come between them. And Shiloh wasn’t drunk. His warm breath smelled of mint and his body of soap. He’d showered before coming to her.

  She barely had time to catch her breath when he stalked into her bedroom and placed her on the bed. There was a look in his eyes that unnerved her. Galvanized into action, she came to her knees at the same time he reached behind his back. Without warning she felt a band of metal around her left wrist. The distinctive sound echoed a second time when the remaining cuff circled his right wrist.

  “Oh, no!” she wailed when she realized he’d handcuffed them together.

  Towering above Gwen like an avenging angel, Shiloh intoned in a voice totally void of emotion, “You’re under arrest for unlawful flight. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions.” He was hard pressed not to laugh when he saw her shocked expression. “Do you understand? Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand? You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. Do you understand?”

  Gwen stared at the man whose passionate, tender lovemaking took her to heights of sensuality she’d only glimpsed in the past. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Her query was a breathless whisper.

  Lifting his expressive eyebrow, Shiloh continued with the Miranda warning, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before questioning if you wish. Do you understand?” A hint of a smile deepened the lines around his eyes when her breath came in shuddering gasps. “If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Do you understand me, darling? Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”

  Her shock fading and the beginnings of a smile parting her lips, Gwen asked, “What is it again that you’re charging me with, Sheriff Harper?”

  He sat down and moved over her body. “Unlawful flight, Miss Taylor. I never would’ve imagined you to be a flight risk.”

  “I had to—”

  His head swooped down and he stopped her explanation, his mouth smothering hers in an act that had become total possession.

  “Don’t say anything, darling. Not without your attorney.”

  Gwen closed her eyes. “Can’t you be my attorney?”

  Shiloh nibbled her lower lip. “No, baby. That would be unethical.” He kissed her again as the fingers of his right hand touched her damp hair.

  “What you’re doing to me is not only unethical but can also be interpreted as police brutality.”

  “Have I brutalized you, baby?”

  She nodded. “Yes. You break into my—”

  “Wrong,” he said, nuzzling the side of her neck. “You let me in.”

  Gwen closed her eyes. “Point taken. I let you in. But, once inside you decide to take me captive.”

  Shiloh’s soft laugh caressed her ear. “Wrong again, darling. I’m not holding you captive, because both of us are cuffed.”

  “You’re using that as a technicality,” she countered.

  “Wrong again, beautiful. I came here to visit my girlfriend, and ended up engaging in a little sexual bondage.”

  Anchoring her free hand on Shiloh’s shoulder, Gwen tried to push him off her and failed. “I don’t do bondage or S and M.”

  He sobered quickly. “They usually aren’t in my sexual repertoire either, but if I go to bed with you at night, then I’d like to wake up with you in the morning.”

  “I had to come home and take care of Cocoa.”

  Shiloh exhaled an audible breath. “I thought I’d become a one-night stand.”

  Gwen stared wordlessly up at Shiloh, her heart pounding, before her gaze narrowed. “You believe I’m the type of woman who would hit it, then run?”

  He shook his head. “No, baby.”

  Her temper flared. “Don’t you dare no baby me, Shiloh Harper. You came here because your inflated ego couldn’t deal with a woman sleeping with you, then not staying for seconds.”

  A rush of blood darkened his face. “Wrong, Gwen. I was raised not to kiss and tell, but I’ve slept with women who opted out of a repeat performance. I’ve also slept with women where we both knew after the first sexual encounter that we’d never be compatible.”

  Her gaze searched his expression. “Would it matter that much if I opted out, Shiloh?”

  Studying Gwen thoughtfully for a moment, Shiloh knew he had to be truthful with her. “Yes, it would.”

  The seconds ticked off as they stared at each other. “Why?” she asked after what appeared to be an interminable span of silence.

  Shiloh looked at Gwen as if he were photographing her with his eyes. His gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts in a pale pink camisole before it moved down to a pair of striped pajama pants. He wanted her, not just the little pieces of herself she parceled out like sips of water to a man dying of thirst, but all of her.

  But, if that weren’t possible then he would have to be content with mental images of a woman with a lush body, sassy mouth, and a face that haunted his dreams and his waking hours. Gwendolyn Taylor had become his drug of choice, an addictive drug he did not want to rid himself of.

  “Because I love you.”

  A quiver surged through Gwen’s veins. Had she heard correctly? Had he confessed to loving her? “No, Shiloh,” she whispered hoarsely.

  He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the column of her neck. “Yes, baby. You don’t have to say anything. I’d promised myself that I would never give my heart to another woman because I never wanted to be that vulnerable again. Yet you came along and made a liar out of me. It’s nothing you’ve done or said, except be Gwendolyn Taylor. You’re smart, beautiful, talented and wicked in the kitchen and in the bedroom.”

  Gwen’s left hand inched under his T-shirt. The heat of his bare flesh burned her palm. She didn’t think she would ever tire of touching him. He was in love with her, and she’d fallen in love with him. Where, she thought, do they go from there.

  “You love me and I find myself in love with you,” she confessed softly. “What happens next?”

  A smile of triumph curved Shiloh’s mouth. They’d promised each other honesty, and it had manifested itself in a shared declaration of love. “What do you want to happen?”

  It was the first time that he could remember that Gwen didn’t have a comeback. She, who’d been called “Motor Mouth,” and “Mouth Almighty,” was rendered mute by a simple query as to where she wanted her relationship with Shiloh Harper to go.

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Where do you want it to go?”

  Raising his head, he caught and held her steady gaze. The light from the lamp on the bedside table flattered her delicate features. “I want to court you, have
an engagement of short duration, marry you, and make some babies.”

  Gwen’s heart slammed against her ribs as a knot rose in her throat. She’d waited a decade to hear what Shiloh had just offered her, and meanwhile she thought she’d imagined it.

  “When do you plan to do all of this?”

  Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Shiloh withdrew the key for the handcuffs and unlocked them. “You’re the planner, sweetheart. I’ll let you set the timetable.”

  Rubbing her wrist although the cuffs weren’t tight enough to impede her circulation, Gwen pushed herself into a sitting position. She pushed out her lower lip. “That’s not fair.”

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, Shiloh settled her over his thighs and pressed his forehead to hers. “What wouldn’t be fair is my making all of the decisions for us. I don’t ever want you to accuse me of pressuring you to do something you don’t want to do.”

  She closed her eyes. Shiloh was offering her what Craig Hemming hadn’t offered: independence. Twelve years her senior, Craig had become more of a father figure than a fiancé. If it hadn’t been his way, then it was no way. The only decision the investment banker permitted her to make was their trip to Venice, Italy.

  Gwen opened her eyes. “When will your term as sheriff expire?”

  “December thirty-first.”

  Resting her palms over his pectorals, she kissed the end of Shiloh’s nose. “Would you mind if we got married on that day?”

  His hands slipped down the length of her back, under the drawstring waistband of her cotton pajama pants, and whispered a silent prayer of thanks.

  “No, I don’t mind. I would’ve preferred if you’d said next week, but I’ll wait.”

  “You’re damn skippy you’ll wait. Am I not worth it?”

  His fingers tightened on her buttocks. “Yes, you are. I hadn’t realized that I’d been waiting all of my life for someone like you.”

  Hot tears pricked the backs of Gwen’s eyes. “And I you,” she whispered. She lay motionless as he undressed her, then himself. Reaching over, he turned off the lamp, and she went into his warm, protective embrace.

  She listened as Shiloh’s breathing deepened, the enormity of what she’d agreed to sweeping over her and shaking her sensibilities. She’d just agreed to marry a man she’d known a month! Had she gone and lost what was left of her mind?

  Never had she ever been that impulsive. She, who planned what she’d wear a week ahead, what she wanted to eat days in advance, Gwendolyn Taylor who as journalist checked with her sources over and over to make certain the information they’d given her was accurate.

  She closed her eyes, chewing her lower lip in consternation while contemplating what she would tell her parents when she spoke to them again. Her eyes opened. She would wait, wait until she and Shiloh officially announced their engagement before informing her family that her marital status would change before the year ended.

  Shifting on her side, Gwen rested her arm over Shiloh’s belly, and minutes later she joined him in sleep.

  CHAPTER 13

  Gwen woke to find light coming through the panels on the French doors. Shiloh lay beside her, on his back, injured arm above his head. She shifted her position. He turned and rested his arm over her waist.

  “Hey, you,” she whispered.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  Shiloh stared at Gwen. Damn, she’s beautiful in the morning. The thought had come to his mind unbidden. Even with her mussed up hair and bare face Gwen Taylor made his breath catch in his throat. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. He smiled, the gesture as warm and inviting as the sun. Without warning, he swept back the sheet covering her nude body.

  “Is this what I can look forward to waking up to for the next fifty years?”

  “What you see now will not look the same in another fifty years.”

  “It will look even better,” he crooned.

  “You’re wonderful for a woman’s ego.”

  Shiloh hadn’t shaved in days, and the short beard merely added to his blatantly sensual virility. Smiling, she ran her hand over his jaw. At first she’d thought Shiloh confessing his love for her was because in the heat of passion men tended to say things they never would’ve said given another set of circumstances. Yet hours later, and not in the heat of passion, he still professed that he loved her.

  A well of emotion made it impossible for her to confess to Shiloh that what she felt for him frightened her. It frightened her because it’d happened too quickly, so fast that it may have been infatuation—their hormones calling out to one another.

  Uncertainty filled her eyes when she asked herself if she loved Shiloh, if she was actually capable of loving a man. All of the signs were there, but something wouldn’t permit her to let go and trust him completely because men had confessed to loving her, then went on to do things that negated everything they’d said. They’d lied, and there wasn’t anything she detested more than a liar.

  A familiar whining caught her attention. Cocoa was up. “Please, let me up, Shiloh,” she pleaded softly.

  “Why? So you can run off again.”

  “No. I have to get up and let Cocoa out.”

  “I’ll do it.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Shiloh reached for his jeans at the foot of the large bed.

  Gwen stared at the muscles in his back, rippling under his brown skin. “Will you stay for breakfast?”

  Smiling over his shoulder, he winked. “Does a dog love to chase its tail?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He nodded as he stood up. “It is. Will you share dinner with me tonight?”

  Vertical lines appeared between Gwen’s eyes as she pulled the sheet over her bare breasts. “I can’t.” She had an appointment to interview Keith Nichols.

  Shiloh lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

  “I’m free tonight, but not for dinner.”

  He caught her meaning immediately, a slight smile softening the brackets around his mouth. “Should I expect a sleepover?”

  Gwen gave him a saucy smile. “Yes.”

  His eyes deepening to a mossy green, Shiloh thought about what he wanted to do make the night a memorable event. Walking on bare feet, he picked up Cocoa and cradled her to his chest. “Hey there, baby girl. Daddy’s going to take care of you today. You’re coming home with me and we’ll hang out together.”

  A soft gasp escaped Gwen before she blurted out, “I told you about spoiling my dog. If she goes home with you, then she stays with you.”

  “Don’t matter none now,” he drawled, “because we’ll all be living together by the end of the year.” He kissed the puppy’s head as he made his way across the bedroom. “There’s a little guy who belongs to my next-door neighbor who I’m certain would flip over you, Miss Cocoa Taylor, soon-to-be Harper. And you don’t have to worry about your virtue because he’s been fixed.”

  Gwen fell back to the pillows, laughing at Shiloh’s monologue with her pet. She stared up at the plasterwork on the ceiling until pressure in her lower belly forced her out of bed and into the bathroom.

  * * *

  Gwen placed the final revised copy of her column in the wire basket on Nash’s desk. She’d transcribed her interviews with Jimmie Jameson and Shiloh, edited her first draft, then using a blue pencil tightened phrases, then read it aloud for clarity.

  “How is it?” Nash McGraw asked as he entered his office.

  Gwen turned and smiled at him. “Good.” Her smile faded quickly. “It would’ve been better if I’d been able to talk to A.D.A. Nichols before this week’s deadline.” It was four in the afternoon and there wasn’t a wrinkle in his custom-made shirt. She suspected that he’d gone home and changed.

  He gestured to the chair next to his desk. “Please sit.” He waited for Gwen to sit before he sat. “Even if you’d gotten a statement from him I wouldn’t have run it until next week.”

  A slight frown creased her smooth forehead
. “Why?”

  “It’s been a long time since a crime of this magnitude has affected the residents of this parish. And the fact that the defendant is the son of a political power broker is what sells papers because of the controversy.”

  A scowl crossed Gwen’s face. “There shouldn’t be any controversy. The boy was pumped up on drugs and alcohol, and then got behind the wheel of a car, which in his hands became a dangerous weapon.”

  Nash went completely still, his laser blue-gray eyes boring into her. “What happened to impartiality? We’re journalists, Miss Taylor, and that means we don’t take sides.”

  Annoyance gripped Gwen as she schooled her expression not to reveal what she was feeling at that moment. Choosing her words carefully, she said in a quiet tone, “I’m more than aware of not permitting my personal feelings to come into play when reporting the facts. However, I’m going to say off the record that I hope Willis Raymond Benton gets the maximum sentence for what he did.”

  A hint of a smile touched Nash’s mouth. “You and more than half the parish feel the same way. But, the fact remains that the boy is entitled to a fair trial.”

  Gwen wanted to scream at Nash about fairness. Did Bram Benton’s son think of that before he started drinking and drugging? Didn’t someone or something tell him it was wrong to try to drive while under the influence?

  Not wanting to engage in a verbal confrontation with her boss, she decided to change the subject. “I’ve been going over some back issues, and there is an unsolved murder case that intrigues me.”

  Nash angled his head as he laced his fingers together. “Which one?”

  “The 1964 prom queen murder.” The editor’s only reaction was the whitening of his knuckles when he tightened his grip. “I can’t believe,” Gwen continued, “that the police closed the case two months after she went missing.” The extremely popular coed’s badly decomposed nude body had been found in a shallow grave with a single gunshot to the back of her head. There were no suspects and the gun used in the murder was never recovered.