Colton's Twin Secrets

by Justine Davis

  “Like a treat?”

  “He’d much prefer a hot scent to trail, but a walk will do.”

  She shook her head as if in wonder. “You really do have three kids.” But she was smiling when she said it.

  And, he thought as they went out into the fall chill, she had a very nice smile. Especially when it was the real one, not the practiced fund-raising smile he’d seen in pictures, the one she had down pat.

  He gave himself a mental shake. He needed to be thinking about the job at hand, not his new nanny. But he still hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around the idea someone at RRPD was dirty. And that on top of the rest was going to take some serious sorting out.

  Flash was pulling ahead, having found something interesting to smell along the narrow sidewalk that led to the park. But it wasn’t the fierce “I’ve got it!” pull of a hot trail he knew he had to follow, it was merely the ordinary pull that said, “Hmm, what’s that?” Dante smiled at himself, at his tendency to assign human thought patterns to what was likely a very different process in the canine brain. But he and Flash had reached the kind of understanding that got the job done; the dog knew when it was time to work, and at those times Dante was in charge. The rest of the time, it was a toss-up as to who was the boss.

  “Enjoy it while you can, dawg,” he said to the big bloodhound. “This time next month it’s going to be freezing out, and by Christmas we won’t make it out of the teens and you’ll likely be plowing through snow.”

  Flash seemed unconcerned, although Dante knew that once it dropped below twenty degrees the animal was no more interested in being outside than he was. If only because he knew it meant those silly thermal dog boots he hated. Again, very undignified.

  By the time the dog indicated he’d had enough for the night, Dante was wishing he’d worn his heavier jacket. And his own sheepskin boots.

  “Wimp,” he told himself. “It can’t be much under forty.”

  Once inside and with the door closed, he looked around and saw no sign of Gemma. Deciding she must have gone to bed, he unhooked the dog’s leash. Flash lumbered toward the fire, where he usually stayed until Dante called him to his bedroom; the dog’s bed was tucked in between the nightstand and the gun safe. But as he slipped off his jacket and hung it on the rack near the door, Dante noticed that the dog headed for the den. He followed, blowing a little on his hands and making a mental note to add gloves to the wardrobe tomorrow night, and got there just as the dog emerged once more. And to his surprise, behind him was Gemma.

  He glanced past her toward the crib. “They’re fine,” Gemma said. “They woke up a bit ago—no idea who woke who—but went back to sleep pretty quickly after a wet diaper and a burp were dealt with.”

  “Oh.” His brow furrowed. “How did you know which needed which?”

  “Process of elimination,” she said cheerfully. As if she’d been doing it for years. Maybe it was just something women were born knowing. Even women like Gemma Colton. “And Flash is so funny,” she added. “He just came in, looked at me, then walked over to the crib and looked at the twins for a minute, like he was making sure they were there. Then he kind of sighed and walked back out.”

  “Probably trying to figure out if they’re staying.”

  She reached out and scratched the top of Flash’s head. The dog allowed it. “Poor guy. No wonder he’s confused. His whole life’s been turned upside down and he doesn’t know why.”

  “I do know why, and I’m still confused,” Dante said drily.

  She gave him a wide smile at that. “Come on,” she said, heading for the kitchen. He followed, curious. She walked to the microwave and keyed in a ten-second cycle. At the beep she reached in and pulled out a mug, which she handed to him.

  “What—” He stopped, staring into the mug. “Hot chocolate?”

  “I saw it in the cupboard earlier and thought it might be nice after your walk in the cold. Better than coffee at this hour, anyway.”

  He cupped his hands around the steaming mug, savoring the heat. “I... Thank you.” He took a long sip, and it felt wonderful going down, spreading warmth from the inside. “Thank you,” he repeated, a bit more fervently this time.

  She smiled, that genuine, sweet smile again. “You really take good care of your dog.”

  “He’s not just a dog—like I said, he’s my partner.”

  “I think I’m beginning to understand what that entails,” she said with a glance to where Flash was sprawled before the fire. “I’ll be glad when he’s comfortable enough with the girls—and me—to get back in his chair.”

  “He will. Eventually.” I hope.

  “Does he sleep with you?”

  Dante nearly choked on the hot chocolate as he stared at her.

  Chapter 13

  It was said innocently, Dante thought, it was obvious what she meant, and yet his mind, as if the safeguards had been lulled by the warm, sweet drink, careened into craziness in an instant. No. The space is open. Want it?

  His hands tightened on the mug until he was surprised it didn’t shatter. Only when he was sure he would not betray himself did he answer.

  “His bed’s in my room, yeah.”

  “And he stays in it?”

  “Unless invited otherwise.”

  He saw a faint tinge of color in her cheeks, and for a moment had the crazy idea that her thoughts might have veered into insanity just as his had. But she spoke again without a trace of it in her voice, so he decided he must be wrong. Wishful thinking? No. No, damn it. That way definitely lay insanity.

  “And when would that be?”

  “After a job well done. Or on really cold nights.”

  She blinked. “Um...central heating?”

  “We sleep better in a cold room.”

  She frowned. “Just how cold do you let it get in here at night? Do I need an electric blanket?”

  I could keep you warm.

  He nearly groaned aloud as the words formed in his mind, followed by images of her in his bed, snuggling up for that warmth, preferably naked. Having to work way too hard not to say the words aloud, he said instead, “Down comforter, maybe.”

  “Oh.”

  She looked so serious he relented. He’d been going to anyway. “It doesn’t usually drop below sixty in here overnight. I’ll bump the thermostat up to sixty-five. That warm enough for you?”

  She smiled again. “That’s fine. I just thought you meant you turned off the heat altogether. That wouldn’t be good for the babies, either.”

  Chagrin flooded him. He’d actually forgotten. “Damn,” he muttered. “I’ll leave it where it is. If I get too warm, I’ll go sleep on the patio.” Or too hot.

  “So the Italian blood doesn’t tell?” she asked, eyeing him.

  He laughed and was back in control. “The blood may be Italian, but the thermostat was born right here in South Dakota.”

  She laughed in turn. “So we’re both natives. Ever wanted to leave?”

  “I did, for a while. Thought I wanted the big city. Hated it. Came home.”

  “Big cities are nice to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

  He leaned on the kitchen island. “That surprises me. I would have thought you were all about the city.”

  Irritation flashed in her eyes. He’d clearly hit a nerve. “You seem to make a lot of assumptions, Mr. Mancuso.”

  “Maybe I do. But with all the Coltons connected to the department, word gets around when you’re off on a city jaunt. Not my fault the Coltons are famous around here.”

  She grimaced. “And then there’s the infamous branch.”

  “The Pour House crew?” he asked, lifting a brow. “I didn’t forget them. I’m a lot closer to coming from that world than yours.”

  “They’re not so bad,” she said, surprising him yet again.

  “Brayden’s
a good guy,” he said. “And Shane got a raw deal.”

  She smiled at him, and it was the best smile yet. “Yes. And Quinn is...really good people.” The moment she mentioned the caterer’s name she blushed, and he wondered why.

  They were, of course, avoiding the most notorious Colton of all, the murder suspect who’d managed to elude capture for the better part of a year. But then, surprising him yet again, Gemma brought her up.

  “I don’t believe Demi killed Bo Gage or any of those men,” she said firmly.

  Dante went still. Was this family loyalty, even if they were only cousins? Or did she know something? “Why?” he asked.

  “She’s a Colton, and she wouldn’t commit murder just because some guy dumped her. She’s a lot tougher than that.”

  “There’s a lot of evidence,” he cautioned her, knowing that was all he could say.

  “I don’t care. I just don’t believe she would ever do something like that.”

  “So this is a...gut feeling?”

  “Don’t you dare laugh!”

  “I wasn’t,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of respect for gut feelings. Most cops do. But they’re not evidence.”

  Gemma gave a sad-sounding sigh. “No. I guess not.”

  And it wasn’t until much later, lying awake in bed long after he’d thought he’d be sound asleep, that he replayed in his head what she’d said about Demi. She’s a Colton, and she wouldn’t commit murder just because some guy dumped her.

  But Gemma had upended her entire life because some guy dumped her. Not to get revenge, but to prove him wrong.

  He wasn’t sure what that meant, if anything. And while he was still dwelling on that, he finally fell asleep.

  * * *

  Why doesn’t someone quiet those screaming children?

  Gemma rolled over, pulling the covers up over her shoulders against the chill.

  Chill? It shouldn’t be cold. Was her heat not working? Had the power gone out? What—

  Suddenly she bolted upright, heart hammering at the strange surroundings. It all came flooding back in a rush. Especially the part about who should quiet those crying babies.

  She got up quickly, throwing on the robe she’d put at the end of the bed. Sliding her feet into her fluffy-lined slippers, she hurried toward the noise.

  “Okay, you two, who started it?” she asked in that light, cheerful tone she’d discovered usually interested them enough to distract them. It worked again, but only with one of them. Zita, she thought, noting the eyebrow. But Lucia kept wailing, so the problem must be with her. She patted Zita, and the supportive crying faded away. Then she picked up Lucia, and it didn’t take long for her to realize a change of diaper was required.

  She went through the process, chanting the proper order of wipes, drying, powder in her mind. Then she fastened the clean diaper securely and redressed Zita in her inevitably pink onesie.

  “You, my sweet, need a little color variety,” she cooed. “Pink is all well and good, but a girl needs a change now and then.” She picked up the now quiet baby and finally turned her head toward the door. And realized they weren’t alone.

  She nearly gasped aloud. She was glad she had the baby to hang on to or she probably would have clapped her hand over her mouth to cover her gaping. Because apparently Dante Mancuso slept naked. He’d grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips, so at least he’d been that mentally functional. But that damned towel looked like it was about to slip those last crucial inches at any second if he so much as breathed.

  And damn, but the man was built. The glimpse she’d gotten that first time at the RRPD office was nothing compared to this display of taut muscle, broad chest, narrow hips and flat belly. And long, strong legs.

  Only the fact that he was obviously still half-asleep made the sight bearable at all.

  “I like the way you talk to them,” he said, giving her a matching sleepy smile that was somehow charming despite all that distracting...maleness. “You don’t gush or baby talk them.”

  “They seem to like it,” she said, proud that her voice was steady.

  “You got them quiet pretty quickly. They’ve got a couple of good sets of lungs.”

  “Part of the design, I’m sure,” Gemma said.

  She put Lucia back in the crib beside her sister. Busied herself with situating them, because she wasn’t sure she could handle another dose of all that skin. It made her hands itch and her body flush in a way she didn’t quite understand. Not that she could deny he was a very attractive man—impossible when he was standing there practically in the nude—but her own reaction was confusing her. She loved Dev, after all. And no matter how many times she told herself that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate another handsome—and sexy—man, it was still unsettling.

  When she thought she could do so composedly, she straightened and turned around. “It’s my job, Mr. Mancuso. Next time you can just go back to sleep,” she suggested. Please.

  “My job, too,” he said.

  “But you hired me.”

  “And I’m not paying you.”

  “I told you I was doing it for the experience.”

  Of dealing with his very distracting presence? Her reaction to him put an edge in her voice, and she gestured at his precariously placed towel. “And that might work for now, but eventually you’re going to need to...wear something around the girls.”

  His expression changed. “Am I bothering you?”

  She did not care for the note of not quite smugness that had come into his voice. She put on her best look of Colton superiority and let her eyes slide down his body to the towel. And confirmed what she’d thought she’d seen; he was no more immune to her presence than she to his.

  “Maybe I should be the one asking you that,” she said coolly as she let her gaze slide back up his body to his face. She might have hesitated to taunt some men, but on a gut level she knew Dante was made of stronger stuff.

  He didn’t deny the obvious evidence the towel couldn’t quite hide. And for some reason she didn’t quite understand, she appreciated that. “Why ask,” he said with a shrug that threatened to unveil everything, “when the answer’s obvious? You’re a beautiful woman, and it’s been a long time for me.”

  The compliment made her flush, which was ridiculous, because she’d heard it many times before. That wasn’t conceit, simply fact. She took little notice most times, because she knew perfectly well that to most people, their assessment of her beauty was directly correlated to their assessment of her wealth. But with this man, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Why?” she asked, trying to divert the conversation.

  His brow furrowed. “What? Why am I not jumping you? Are you that certain of your deathless appeal?” That stung a bit. She managed not to look at the towel again, but he answered as if she had. “That’s just biology. It doesn’t run me.”

  No, this man wouldn’t be casual about such a thing. Because he was a man, not a boy with no guardrails. If he came after a woman, she’d know it wasn’t just a passing whim, a temporary urge of that biology. And somehow that knowledge made her ache a little inside.

  “I meant why has it been a long time?” she clarified, denying that feeling. “You must have them lined up at your door.”

  He looked startled. Then he gave her a crooked grin. “Time was,” he said. “But funny how putting on a badge changed the minds of most of the girls I knew, back in the day.”

  She supposed he meant the ones who were like his family, not on the right side of that badge and what it meant. “If that’s all it took,” she said, ending with a shrug.

  “Yeah.” He studied her for a moment. “Must be kind of the reverse for you.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “They avoid me because of my family, but guys probably come after you because of yours.”

  She stared at
him. Once more he’d come so close to her earlier thoughts that it was almost uncanny. “Yes,” she whispered. “They do.”

  “Guess that’s why they say fair is just a weather condition.”

  He’d gone from startling her to making her laugh in the space of a half second. Disconcerted, she scrambled for something to say.

  “You know, eventually you’re really going to need a bigger place, because they will need their separate space.”

  He sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

  He suddenly looked so weary she hastened to say, “Not for a while, though. I’ll do some research on when they recommend twins start sleeping apart.”

  “I... Thanks.”

  “And now that they’re settled, I’m going back to bed.”

  For a moment he didn’t speak, and the silence spun out into something different than just quiet. “Yeah,” he finally muttered.

  He turned and left without another word. She started toward her room, but when she got to the door, she looked down the hall just in time to see him going into his. He obviously got rid of the towel the moment he was inside, because she saw a corner of it whip through the air in the instant before he closed the door. As if he’d yanked it off angrily.

  Or in frustration.

  That made her smile, but only until she was back in bed and she realized that he wasn’t the only one fighting down a physical response. She frowned, pulling her knees up to wrap her arms around them. This was not like her. She never reacted like this. It made no sense.

  That’s just biology. It doesn’t run me.

  But right at the moment, it seemed to be running her.

  She sat there for a long time, trying to understand. She finally decided that it had to be that she was missing Dev. It was the only answer that made sense. Not that it explained the way the sight of Dante affected her. That still made no sense. Dev was just as handsome and much more polished, yet what she felt around him was rather tame compared to the crackling hum she felt around Dante.