Chapter Sixteen
While Keira watched over the installation of the stove in the kitchen, Dante went on her computer and read the news article she'd saved. Then he moved on to Amanda Yates, or Mandy Yates, as she might be known. Her face popped up on a social media profile, and his heart skipped a beat. It was her—the woman with the dark-red hair who he'd seen in the parking garage with Langley. Keira had been right. Mandy was Amanda, Gretchen's sister.
He spent several minutes reading through Amanda's profiles on several sites. She had apparently been a teacher in Los Angeles at some point. But that ended several years ago. Her status was single, but there was mention of a divorce in some of her posts. He didn't see any children. Her birthdate wasn't public, but from the very few photos she had posted, she appeared to be in her late forties, early fifties.
She wasn't a particularly active poster. Months passed in between her posts, but as he read through the feed, it felt like she had an incredibly morbid fascination with her dead sister. There were mentions of Gretchen on her birthday, the anniversary of her death, in relation to a dog they'd once had. Mandy also posted photos of herself and her sister, saying that a piece of her heart had died with her. She said she'd gotten a divorce because her husband just couldn't stand how sad she was. There were hints of darkness in additional cryptic quotes about justice and revenge. She wrote in one post how unfair life was, how guilty people went free, while innocent people died.
Was she referring to Langley? Was it possible that Mark had something to do with that fire?
Frowning, he turned away from Mandy to search for additional information on the fire. Finally, he found one article that had slightly different information than the one that Keira had discovered. It said that the origin of the fire was believed to be a cigarette that had fallen between the cushions of the sofa. The only person who had been in the house at that time was the nanny, Gretchen Yates, who had perished. The assumption was that she'd been smoking and had dropped the cigarette. The Langley family had been vacationing in Malibu that weekend and were devastated by the news. There was a statement from Mark Langley: "We are beyond sad at the loss of Gretchen Yates, a trusted and loved member of the family."
If the fire was an accident, and Gretchen was to blame, where was Mandy's rage and desire for justice and revenge coming from?
He focused on Valerie Langley next, wondering about Mark's wife. But there was absolutely nothing on her. He couldn't find her on social media or in an online search. She had absolutely no online presence. Her son, Richard, didn't, either.
He looked up from the computer as Keira walked the installers to the door. Once they were gone, she came into the living room. "Sorry that took so long."
He realized it was dark outside now. "I didn't even realize. I was caught up in research."
She sat down next to him on the couch. "Did you find anything?"
"Yes. Mandy is Amanda, Gretchen's sister, and she's also the woman I saw in the parking garage."
Keira sucked in a breath. "That's interesting."
"Mandy is also obsessed with her sister's death." He flipped back through the pages online, bringing up Mandy's social media feed. "You can read through it, but she talks about someone needing to pay for her sister losing her life."
"Do you think she's talking about Mark?"
"She never mentions his name."
"I never found out how the fire started."
"I did. It was believed that the nanny was smoking before she went to bed, and that the lit cigarette slipped into the couch cushions and that's where the fire started. Mark and his family were away on vacation that weekend."
"That sounds like an accident."
"Maybe Mandy can't accept that."
"Maybe." She gave him a troubled look. "What do you think, Dante? You've been looking through all this for an hour. What does your gut say? Am I being paranoid? Is there something about Mark, Mandy, the fire, that I should be concerned about?"
He thought about the question. "If I hadn't witnessed the argument between them, I probably wouldn't be concerned, but there was real anger there. Now that we know the woman in the garage is Mandy, then I think this fire and Mark's relationship with Mandy is something your mother needs to know about."
"I just wish we had more to go on. My mom is crazy about him. She has dismissed my concerns as being ridiculous."
"Well, you can wait and see how their relationship goes, whether it gets serious or not. Are they having sex?"
She groaned with dismay at his question. "I don't know. I don't want to think about my mom having sex with anyone, much less this guy."
He smiled. "I get that. I try to avoid that subject with my father as well."
"You haven't told me much about your dad. Does he date? Is he involved with anyone? Do you have a stepmother?"
"I had one once, but their marriage only lasted five years. He seems to be very popular at the Italian Social Club. He's always going to parties there. But I don't see him that much, and I don't ask personal questions about his dating life, so who knows? In some ways, the man is a stranger to me."
"But you still know who he is. Sometimes, I wish I knew what my father was like, but my mother hates to talk about him. You'd think over time, she'd have a fond memory here and there, but if she does, she doesn't share them. Maybe they weren't that happy in their marriage." She took a breath. "I don't know why I keep sharing such personal information about my life. I never talk about my dad."
"I never talk about mine, either, but when I'm with you…"
Their gazes clung together for a long moment, the air going from comfortable to tense, but it was a good kind of tension, the kind of sizzle that usually led to more. But Keira was fighting their attraction, and he understood why. He should fight it, too. He didn't need more complications in his life, but he'd never been one to walk away from something or someone he wanted.
"It's easy," she said. "Talking to you."
"Right back at you. I have to say something, Keira, something I should have said before."
"What's that?"
"I know I upset you when I said you were using your mom as an excuse, and I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I know you've been through a lot with her, and I admire your sacrifice. You are an amazing daughter. And you want to protect her, and I can respect that."
She blinked some new moisture out of her eyes. "That's nice of you to say but taking care of someone you love isn't a sacrifice." She sniffed. "I'm so tired, my eyes are watering."
"That's a good excuse."
"I'm really not a crier."
"Me, either, except when I strike out. Then I can be a big baby," he joked.
"Does it even matter if you hit? I thought pitchers were only responsible for throwing strikes."
"Even though it's not what they pay me for, I think I'm a good hitter, and I don't like it when I don't do well."
"So, you cry?"
"Well, not anymore," he said dryly. "But when I was a little kid, after strikeouts, I had a lot of allergy attacks to explain my watery eyes."
"I can't see you crying."
"I worked really hard to be good. I hated when I wasn't living up to my expectations. No one could make me feel worse than myself."
"We have that in common. That's why that damn wedding dress is driving me crazy. But I'm going to look at it tomorrow with a fresh eye, and I might even think about what you said earlier, that maybe it's not just about the dress. But that's tomorrow."
"Still hours away," he murmured. "What do you want to do with the rest of the night?"
She swallowed hard, her eyes glittering with desire. "That's a loaded question."
"I know."
"We're supposed to just be friends, Dante. I don't want to make Nikki's story true."
"Her story doesn’t matter. We know what's true."
"Do we?" she challenged. "Aren't we lying just a little when we don't acknowledge that we kissed before you broke up with her?"
"You're right. We did kiss. Maybe that was cheating."
"It was cheating, even if we want to pretend that it was just a moment of temporary insanity."
"The thing is, Keira, that moment didn't feel insane. It's the rest of my life that seems crazy. Kissing you felt right. I know I'm leaving, but that's not happening tonight or tomorrow, or even next week."
Indecision played through her eyes. "I can't deny I'm attracted to you. But you're not thinking about the future; you're thinking about right now."
"It's all that matters. Neither of us knows what's going to happen, but we can enjoy where we are." He paused. "Or not. I don't want to push you toward something you don't want. It's all good. We can be friends. I can go back to the inn. We don't have to take this any further. I don't want to hurt you, so whatever—"
"Stop talking," she interrupted, putting a finger across his lips.
His body tensed as he waited for her to continue.
She took her finger off his lips and framed his face with her hands. "I don't want to be just friends. I don't want to think about tomorrow. And I don't want to keep talking about kissing you. I just want to do it."
"Then do it."
Keira kissed Dante with a hunger that seemed almost insatiable. She'd been fighting her attraction for the last several days, but she wasn't fighting anymore. She wanted to explore his mouth, his body. She wanted to lose her mind over him, and she didn't think that would be difficult at all. Her pulse was pounding, her head was spinning, and there was a delicious heat running through her body.
As she broke away to take a much-needed breath, he threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her back to him. She liked the power in his kiss, the warmth of his lips, the sexy slide of his tongue against hers. It felt like they'd been doing this forever. No awkward moves. No feeling like it wasn't quite right. Because it was perfect.
Dante lifted his head, his eyes burning with desire. "Damn, Keira."
"I know," she whispered. "We're on fire."
"What do you want?"
"Well, I don't want to stop."
A happy light flashed through his deep-blue eyes. "Me, either."
As he lowered his head once more, she stopped him, realizing she wasn't exactly prepared for what she wanted to have happen. "Uh…"
He gave her a wary look. "Second thoughts already?"
"Not exactly. I don't have anything. You know, protection."
"I do."
"Really?"
"Don't question it," he said with a smile.
"Okay, I won't," she said, as he pulled her into another kiss.
"Is there a bedroom somewhere?" he asked.
She took his hand and jumped to her feet, leading him down the short hallway to the master bedroom. She felt nervous and excited as Dante stripped off his shirt, revealing a broad, tanned, muscular chest with just the perfect smattering of dark hair. Every muscle was defined and sculpted. Her mouth went dry.
"You really have been working out," she murmured.
"It's part of the job and the rehab."
Her gaze went to his shoulder. "I don't want to hurt you."
"As long as you don't make me throw you onto the bed, I think we're good."
"Hmm, we'll have to save that for another time."
He laughed. "I like the way you think. But I don’t like how many clothes you have on."
"I'm a little intimidated by your perfect body."
"No, you're not," he said with a laugh.
She smiled back at him. "Okay, I'm not intimidated, I'm just getting really hot."
"Then let's take this off." He stepped forward and grabbed the hem of her shirt, helping her off with it, his gaze immediately dropping to her breasts. She'd worn a skimpy pink bra under her top, which Dante seemed to appreciate. He pulled her into his arms once more, and they kissed for several long minutes. She ran her hands up and down his back, loving the heat of his skin and the power of his muscles.
Dante did his own exploration, his fingers sliding down her spine, his hands settling on her waist. Her nerves tingled with anticipation of what was to come. She felt suddenly impatient to see more of him, to touch every inch of him.
His hands moved to the back of her bra, flicking open the snap with a deft hand. She broke away from his mouth to let the bra slip off her shoulders. And then she reached for the button on his jeans. They stripped off the rest of their clothes in mutual desperation, then kissed their way down to the mattress.
Dante gave every inch of her body the attention she so desperately craved. The chemistry between them was explosive. The fire got hotter with every touch. She wanted to slow things down, savor every feeling, but there was an urgency building that neither could ignore. Dante slipped on the condom and urged her on top of him, and she happily complied.
Their bodies moved together in hot, sweet, sexy madness, the climax as amazing as everything else.
As she slowly returned to reality, she gazed down at Dante, enjoying the sated look in his eyes. He took her face in his hands and pulled her down for a long kiss. Then she moved off him, rolling on to her side. She curled up next to him, resting her head on the pillow instead of his chest. "Are you all right? I didn't hurt your shoulder, did I?"
"No, you didn't hurt anything," he said with a happy grin. "You were amazing."
"So were you."
She ran her fingers down the side of his face, loving the shadow of beard that she'd felt all over her body just minutes earlier. He was such a handsome man. She leaned forward and kissed him, just because she needed that contact again.
He brought her in closer, deepening the kiss she'd started.
"You taste so good," he murmured.
"And you kiss really well."
"I wish I had more than one condom."
"Me, too, but I'm glad you had that one." She blew out a breath as they lay together in perfect comfort. A few minutes later, she said reluctantly, "I guess we should think about leaving."
"Not yet. It's so quiet here in the woods. I can't remember when I've been somewhere so still. The inn isn't loud, but there are noises: footsteps upstairs, voices in the hall. Out here, it feels like it's just you and me. No one else."
"Where do you live?" She smiled at her question. "Seems like probably something I should know."
"I have an apartment in Miami where I live during the season, and I have a condo in San Francisco for the off-season."
"Two different coasts."
"Two completely different vibes."
"Which do you like best?"
"San Francisco, but that's probably because it feels like home."
"I went to San Francisco once. We rode a cable car to the wharf. I loved the steep hills."
He smiled. "You and your love for steep hills…"
"The cable cars did go a little slow for my taste," she said with a laugh. "But the view of the bay was spectacular. We ate at an Italian restaurant in North Beach that was really good. I think the name was Rigoletto."
"I've eaten there many times."
"How funny. I wonder if we were there at the same time."
"When was this?"
"I was sixteen."
"I'm a year older than you, so I would have been living in the city then."
"Maybe we met a long time ago and never knew it."
He slid his fingers down her side, drawing a lovely trail of heat. "I would have remembered you."
"Were you always a charmer?"
His laugh was deliciously husky. "God, no. I fumbled my way through a lot of dates."
"I can't see that. You're way too good-looking. You had to be a confident teenager."
"I grew up with brothers. I didn't know how to talk to girls for a long time."
She wasn't buying his story. "I have a feeling talking wasn't really a requirement. You were a hot baseball player. Enough said."
"You know you're denigrating teenage girls as being shallow and superficial," he teased.
"Since I was a teenage girl
, I'm allowed."
"What about you? Did you date in high school?"
"My first real boyfriend was Anthony Anderson. We were both sixteen. He was a guitar player. He had long hair and a soulful voice, and I let myself believe he was singing every love song to me. He was a cool guy."
"How long did it last?"
"Not quite a year. He left Whisper Lake that summer to go to LA and play in some summer music program, and he never came back."
"Do you know what happened to him?"
"He got into a band. They toured in the US and Europe, but they never made it big. Last I heard, he was running a music store in LA and teaching music."
"Have you ever tried to contact him?"
"No. It was a teenage thing. I look back at most of the guys I liked when I was younger, and I wonder what the hell I was thinking. Anthony was a great musician, but he was also wild, and I was not. I could have never kept up with him, nor would I have wanted to. I was never a party girl. Even when I got to New York, I was the most boring girl in our apartment."
"You were working, pursuing your dream. I was boring, too, when it came to partying. I didn't want to jeopardize my fitness with too much alcohol. Nikki was an aberration."
"So, we're just two boring people."
"Hey, we were not boring tonight."
She smiled, loving how easy it was to talk to him. "That's true. So, tell me something about yourself that no one else knows, not your fans, or your agent or publicist, something personal, and if it's embarrassing, you get an extra point."
"A point, huh? Okay. I love to compete."
She could see the new energy in his eyes. "What have you got?"
He thought for a moment. "There's actually a lot that people don't know about me."
"I'm intrigued."
He laughed. "Don't be. It's hard to be super exciting when you have a singular purpose in life."
"No point for that."
"That wasn't my answer. You want embarrassing?"
If We Never Met Page 15