“The dog found where the blackmailer left after killing that guard,” Albert said coldly.
“But they’ll still think it was us,” Eric said, fear in his voice.
“They don’t know about us. Yet. We need to make sure they don’t find out.”
Monday, September 20, 9:02 p.m.
Olivia rubbed her hands over her arms briskly. She was partly cold, partly nervous. Mostly nervous, she admitted. She stood in the cabin’s living room, which was dominated by a wooden table covered in linen, candles, and china. The man knew how to set a nice table. And he planned to cook for her.
And then what? Nothing, she decided firmly. Nothing, until I get some answers.
He’d been “paying attention.” Watching me.
She caught a flash of white from the corner of her eye and turned to follow it. It was his shirt, she realized, thrown from the bathroom into a waiting basket. Which meant that right now, the man was half naked. Olivia drew a breath, her arms no longer cold. None of her was cold. She knew what he looked like half naked.
She knew what he looked like all the way naked. Therein lay the problem. The water started to run and Olivia started to walk, her feet having a mind of their own, stopping in the open bathroom doorway.
He was washing up in the sink, his head bent to the water. He still wore his trousers and she told herself that was a good thing. Otherwise, she would have had serious trouble keeping her resolve. Must have answers before… well, just before.
She leaned against the doorframe undetected and simply watched him. If anything, he looked better than he had that night, stronger, muscles more defined… just better, which really wasn’t fair. At the moment though, she found it hard to complain.
The dark hair at his nape was wet and curled just a little, and her fingers itched to reach out and touch, but she silently stayed where she stood. He still hadn’t seen her. Razor in hand, he lifted his eyes to the mirror, then froze, watching her reflection. When she said nothing, he straightened and started to shave, meeting her eyes in the mirror every time he rinsed his blade.
It was an intimate thing, watching a man shave. She’d watched Doug shave, all the months they’d been engaged. She’d missed this, the intimacy. She missed the sex, too, but the intimacy most of all. That sense of belonging to someone, that he belonged only to her. She’d thought she’d had that with Doug, but had painfully learned she had not.
She drew a breath, steadying herself. She wouldn’t have it here either. David Hunter would never belong to her. She knew that. She wondered if he knew it, too.
As she watched his muscles move, his eyes meet hers, and she felt everything inside her go liquid and needy… she wondered if belonging, the exclusivity of it, even mattered. Too soon he was finished with the blade. But he didn’t turn, still watching her in the mirror.
“Why have you watched me?” she asked huskily.
His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “I needed to be sure you were all right. You were working that case… all those bodies coming out of the pit. You were pale and stressed. Evie said you weren’t sleeping. Not eating. I worried.”
She lifted her chin. “So if you were so worried, then why didn’t you call?”
He turned then and the room seemed a whole lot smaller and the air seemed a whole lot thinner. His silver gaze was piercing, yet uncertain.
“Well?” she pressed and had only a second to prepare before he stepped forward and slid his fingers into her hair, lifting her face.
“I’m sorry. I need to know,” he said harshly, and then she couldn’t breathe at all. His mouth was on hers and it was exactly the same. Exactly as she remembered. Hot and necessary. All the reasons that she shouldn’t kiss him back vanished like mist as she stood on her toes, her palms flat against his chest, touching all that bare skin and hard muscle. Mine. For this second, mine. Then her arms were around his neck, winding tight, pulling herself higher. Closer.
He made a sound deep in his throat, rough. Needy. One hand tightened in her hair and the other roved her back and sides impatiently as he deepened the kiss and she remembered how it felt. His mouth on her. His hands on her. God, the man had amazing hands. Touch me. She wanted to scream it, but there was no air. Her dress fluttered against the back of her legs as he grabbed a handful of fabric at her hip and twisted it in his fist. Visions of him ripping her dress over her head taunted. Tempted.
Just like last time.
He pulled away abruptly, his chest swelling as his breath beat hard and fast against her hair. But although his grip gentled, he didn’t let go. His one hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her cheek against his bare skin. The other hand splayed firmly against her lower back, as if he’d keep her from bolting.
Just like last time.
She eased from her toes, her hands sliding down his skin, finding a natural resting place on his back. And she held on, because she needed to. If she pushed away, he’d let her go, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. He rested his cheek on the top of her head.
“It was real,” he murmured, sending a shiver down her spine. “I didn’t imagine it.”
She thought of how she’d left him, sprawled in his own bed, snoring softly. He’d had way too much champagne at Mia’s wedding while she had been one hundred percent sober. For long months she’d wondered what he’d remembered. If he remembered what they’d done. What he’d said.
“It depends,” she said cautiously, “on what you think you imagined.”
“I remember Friday,” he said quietly. “Everything about Friday. Saturday, not so much.” Friday had been Mia’s rehearsal dinner. The first time she’d seen him. Saturday had been the wedding, and Saturday night… Well, that’s why she was here.
His fingers began moving against her scalp, gentle circles that made her eyes drift closed. “I was sitting on the steps of the church,” he said, “dreading going in.”
“Another wedding you’d leave alone,” she murmured.
He stiffened, his fingers going still. “I told you that?”
“Saturday night, after the reception. After a couple glasses of champagne you told me… quite a lot. I wondered how it could be true. How a man who looked like you could possibly be alone.”
“It’s just a face, Olivia.”
She leaned back to look up at him, at the face that made women everywhere swoon. His gray eyes were sad. And alone.
She ran her fingertips over his jaw, felt it twitch, and realized how tautly he held himself. “It wasn’t just your face. I kept thinking, he’s got to be mean, proud, stupid, something. I kept looking for a flaw, but never found one.”
“I have a lot of flaws. Believe me.”
She leaned against his chest again, her words defeated. “Not that I could see.”
His fingers resumed their slow massage and she could feel herself melting against him. “You wore this dress at the rehearsal dinner. I was hoping that was a good sign.”
“I wondered if you’d remember.”
“Like I said, I remember everything about Friday. I was sitting on the steps and you almost fell into my lap.”
She felt compelled to defend herself. “My heel hit a rock and I tripped.”
“One more reason to be grateful for a woman in high heels,” he murmured. “You didn’t hear me complaining, did you?”
“No.” He’d been sweet and funny, tending to the knee she’d skinned when she’d fallen. He’d helped her into a side entrance of the church, his arm around her as her heart cantered. Then he’d found her a chair, crouched at her feet, and tenderly cleaned the blood from her knee as she’d stared down into his face. Which was far from “just a face.” She’d been all but mesmerized. “You put a Little Mermaid Band-Aid on me.”