Portrait of a Girl Page 6

  “You know there are leash laws, right?”

  His grin widened, and he squeezed the hand he held. “Are you going to have me arrested?”

  He turned his head and blew an ear-shattering whistle, using his teeth and tongue. She’d always wanted to learn how to do that. Maybe he could teach her. He could probably teach her all sorts of things with his tongue.

  Dang, she had to get her mind out of the gutter, or she’d start to sweat.

  Loud crashing through the underbrush announced the approach of the large dog, and a few seconds later Delilah erupted from the trees, mouth gaping, tongue lolling, woofing a happy hello.

  “There you are, you old mutt. Time to go home.”

  He let go of Heather’s hand, and she was able to draw her first deep breath. She wondered if he liked cuddling, curling up together on the sofa in front of the fireplace, snuggled under a blanket.

  She huffed and looked at the sky, the first few bright stars penetrating the city lights. She really had to get a grip and rein in her libido. She wasn’t interested. She didn’t have time. Remember?

  Tony spent a good amount of time rubbing the dog’s ears and neck, and gave her a couple of good thumps on the haunches. Delilah was in heaven.

  Lucky dog.

  He snapped a leash on the dog’s collar and turned to her. “Do you want a ride home?”

  “Sure, that would be great, thanks.” They headed toward the parking lot, their strides in sync. Their hands brushed. She should take his hand. He’d held her hand, so the ice was broken. Or she could take his arm. No, too formal. She’d hold his hand.

  Dammit, there was his car.

  It wasn’t until she was settled into the front seat, with the heater blasting and Delilah’s steamy breath fanning the back of her neck, that she realized how cold she’d become. She couldn’t feel her toes, and was positive her nose was Rudolph red. The only parts of her that were warm were the hand he’d held in his pocket and her girlie bits. Her girlie bits were on fire.

  “This is so much better than the city bus.” She grimaced, mentally accepting the crown for Miss Obvious.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have a car. Living on the edge of town can’t be very convenient.”

  She smiled and looked out the side window, watching familiar landmarks whiz by. “I had a choice between gas or food. I opted for the food.”

  She could feel him looking at her, could almost hear the unspoken questions. But she didn’t want to open up to him. Too many secrets had her wondering who she was.

  Sticking a smile on her face, she turned in her seat enough to include Delilah in the conversation. That seemed the safest course.

  “Delilah is a good car rider. Have you had her since she was a puppy?”

  He focused on the early rush-hour traffic. “No, she was all grown up when I got her. The vet guessed she was a couple years old. She’s always been well behaved—she must have had good training before she wound up in the shelter.”

  “Aw, that’s sad. To think someone would give her up,” she crooned, reaching back to scratch the dog under her chin. Delilah grinned and moaned with appreciation. Heather laughed.

  “I saw the cops at your house the other day,” he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather.

  Her heart thumped, and her smile slipped. She turned her attention back to the passing scenery.

  Cripes, she wanted to forget that entire episode.

  “Oh, yeah. I…ah…thought someone had broken in.” Even now she wasn’t convinced she hadn’t imagined the entire thing. The police officers hadn’t actually rolled their eyes at her flimsy evidence. They were too polite.

  Heck, if anyone had told her that story she would have rolled her eyes.

  It had to be the questions she had about her father and the feeling she was being watched, even in her house, that were messing with her mind. Plus Uncle Henry telling her to stay away from creepy Jeffers. No wonder she was seeing bogeymen everywhere.

  “Hey, my boss said you stopped by the bakery the other day.”

  He flashed her a grin. “I was hungry. Did you by any chance make those raspberry chocolate scones?”

  “Uh—yeah.”

  “You’re a genius.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. Were you working or…?”

  “There’s a photo shop near the bakery.”

  A plausible explanation. She did believe him, mostly. But some little corner of her brain was on alert. She wished like heck she knew why.

  As soon as they pulled up in front of her gatehouse, she grabbed her bag from the floor and turned to give Delilah a final pat. It was time to put some distance between herself and the charming temptation behind the wheel.

  Tony opened her car door, like a chauffeur ready to assist her.

  “You don’t have to see me to the door.” She laughed, ignoring his offered hand. The sooner she got away from him and his fine body and his gorgeous eyes, the better.

  …

  Tony watched her stomp up the walkway, every footfall making her shiny hair bounce, her hips swaying like they were weapons. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom. He followed her to her front door, waiting until she jammed her key in the lock. He tensed, ready to leap to her defense, but she opened the door without incident. She was about to close it, but he stopped it, leaned against the doorframe.

  “Um…what’s up?” Heather opened the door wider, hung her coat and purse on the hook by the door.

  “You said you thought someone had been in your house, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t think the cops believed me.” But she looked behind her, and his protective instincts kicked in.

  “How about if I check things out for you? Make sure everything is okay.”

  She hesitated, then stepped back.

  He entered the little house and glanced around the main floor, then took the stairs two at a time.

  She followed him up the stairs, and her fresh scent filled his head.

  He checked the closets, pulled back the shower curtain, and even went so far as to peek under her bed.

  “You really think someone could fit under that bed?” She laughed, but it wasn’t filled with humor.

  “You can’t be too safe. Even if someone isn’t here now, they could have left an unpleasant surprise.”

  She didn’t say another word, but stayed close as he moved from room to room, and was on his heels going down the stairs. So she wasn’t as brave as she was pretending, not that he was helping matters.

  “Looks okay to me. Is there is a basement?”

  She shook her head, her arms clasped around her middle, lips pressed firmly together.

  He took a step toward her, close enough to catch the scent of vanilla and cinnamon.

  Damn, he was sorry he had to scare her, but she needed to know to take the breakin seriously. She might doubt there was someone in her house while she slept, but Tony had seen the guy with his own eyes. The noises she’d heard in the park might not have been innocent.

  And if she were one of the bad guys, it wouldn’t hurt for her to know he was watching. Might make her do something silly.

  Then she looked at him with her large blueberry eyes and he was lost. Her confusion and fear were palpable. He had to get out of there. Before he did something really stupid, like—

  Oh hell.

  He pulled her against his chest and fastened his mouth to her soft lips. Her gasp of shock was timed perfectly to allow him to slip his tongue along her teeth. It wasn’t the usual hesitant first kiss. It was a full-on expression of desire. He needed to keep her safe, and if that meant keeping her close, then so be it. Sam had told him—hell.

  The kiss ended just as quickly as it had begun. He backed toward the door. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips moist, her eyes closed. Damn, she was sexy. Too sexy and smart for her own good.

  He pulled the door open, stepped out, and closed it firmly. “Lock this door, now,” he said, waiting until he heard the lock snick into place. Then
he got behind the wheel of his car and made the trip up to the house in record time, spraying gobs of snow as he turned the corner to the rear of the house. He left Delilah to do her business and gave his own place the same sort of going-over as Heather’s. He didn’t think he’d find anything, or anyone. He knew what clues to look for.

  A few minutes later he was in the room on the second floor of the big house, sitting on a stool, his eye pressed to the telescope.

  Sweat broke out all over his body as he continued to look through the eyepiece. He’d thought this would be the perfect time to see her make a panicked phone call or count the money hidden under the floorboards.

  When she began undressing, he thought about leaving the room, not being a voyeur by nature. But he had a job to do, and if that meant watching her take a piss, then he’d watch her take a piss.

  Luckily all she did was strip down to T-shirt and panties and lie on the living room rug. Now he had a ringside seat to the hottest yoga demonstration he’d ever seen. She certainly was supple.

  After about ten minutes the yoga stopped, and she lay on her back, breathing deeply. Her injured hand slowly trailed up over her flat stomach and covered her breast.

  Tony held his breath.

  Her other hand stroked her thigh and moved toward her lace-covered mound.

  He stood so fast he knocked the stool over. “No way in hell am I doing this.” Not even taking the time to cover the lens on the scope, he left the room, slamming the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Early Sunday morning Heather rode the bus to the end of the line, then walked down a narrow road. Frost covered the path, crunching under her feet. The snow had blown off the tops of most of the grave markers, the white, gray, and black stones gleaming in the weak winter light. An expanse of glittering snow blanketed the cemetery, as if to keep the occupants warm.

  She breathed deeply, enjoying the quiet.

  No one else was visiting the dearly departed. But there was a pile of fresh dirt close to the hedge bordering the cemetery. She felt a moment of sadness. She hoped the recently deceased had lived a full life and left no regrets. Or giant secrets that would tear the family apart.

  She turned left at the giant oak tree, her guidepost in the winter landscape. Trudging through the snow, she stopped in front of the double marker. With her foot, she moved the snow away enough to read the names etched in the black granite. Emily Harper James, beloved wife, loving mother. Died March 13, 1994. And just below, in brand-new carving, Robert Earl James, died December 2, 2014. No epitaph, no sentiment.

  She wished now she’d had something carved, like devoted father, before she’d learned the truth. Now she’d be tempted to write something like “art thief and liar.”

  Not worrying about propriety too much, she perched on the stone and buried her hands in her pockets. The little bit of sun did nothing to warm the frigid air, and her nose ran.

  “So, Dad, what did you do with all that money?” Only the chickadees answered from the tall pines.

  She’d grown up in the lap of luxury, attended private schools in whichever town they happened to be living, and had never wanted for anything. Her father had gone on buying trips, some of which lasted for a month at a time. And when he got home, he’d be full of stories about grand parties and fancy people. While she did her homework, he’d write in his leather-bound books, filling at least one journal a year.

  Then there was his lavish lifestyle after she’d left for college. He’d rarely dined at home, had his shirts hand-tailored in London, and thought nothing of buying a new wardrobe every season. She’d never visited him at any of his houses, meeting instead at a swanky hotel or resort for a week at a time.

  Yet he’d died penniless. Had he made bad investments? Had he been hoodwinked? Why the hell hadn’t he told her? Or left written instructions? He’d died without warning, apparently of a heart attack. She’d like to think he would have called her to explain if he’d had the time. Wouldn’t he?

  Heck, even the phone number of his lawyer would have been helpful. As it was, she’d had to wait to be contacted by that charlatan. Dad’s will left everything to her, including the lawyer’s bill.

  Heather leaned over and grabbed a handful of snow. It was the perfect texture for a snowball. She spent a few minutes packing it as tightly as she could, relieved that her wrist no longer hurt. She’d had great fun having snowball fights when she was a kid and had developed a pretty good aim. She’d throw a couple before heading home to start thinking of ways to fix up the big house. The sooner she unloaded that millstone from around her neck, the sooner she could move on with her life.

  She straightened and glanced around, looking for a good target.

  And nearly fell off the gravestone.

  Tony approached, his long strides closing the distance, a large camera slung around his neck and a larger camera bag over his shoulder.

  “Hi. This is a surprise.”

  “What are you doing here?” She stood and stepped away from the grave, not wanting to share the space with anyone.

  He took the lens cap off and snapped a shot of her.

  “Hey, don’t do that,” she cried, turning away and covering her face with her gloved hands.

  “What’s the matter? You don’t like your picture being taken?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.”

  He laughed and stepped in front of her. “Okay, no more, I promise. I don’t know why so many women don’t want to be photographed.”

  “You probably don’t catch us at our best. We have no time to primp and polish.” She found a crumpled tissue in her pocket and wiped her nose, hoping it wasn’t too red.

  He gave her the once-over and grinned. “You look fine the way you are.”

  She shook her head and looked away, heat from his glance warming her body in all the right places. “You obviously don’t understand women.”

  He chuckled. “You got that right.”

  He took one lens off and replaced it with another, twice as long. Then squatted behind a neighboring stone, propping the camera on top.

  She stood behind him and looked in the direction he was aiming. “What is there to photograph here?” He still hadn’t answered her question. Why would he be in this graveyard?

  “Light. Shadows. Do you want to have a look?” He moved to the side, making room for her to get behind the camera.

  She paused, just for a second. They were out in the open. Someone else could show up to visit a grave. Safety in numbers. She’d risk getting close, knowing the cold and their heavy jackets would preclude any hanky-panky. She crouched down next to him, feeling the heat from his body as he continued to hold the camera. She tried hard to not notice his scent, a mix of lemon and wool.

  She tried harder to not lean into him.

  Dang, she hadn’t counted on him being quite so enticing.

  “This is the focus ring, here.” He took her hand and placed it on the long lens, making sure her fingers were in the correct position.

  “Oh,” she breathed, seeing more in the small viewfinder than she had with her naked eye. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is.” His breath warmed her cheek.

  She didn’t dare move. At some point while she concentrated on the picture, he’d slipped an arm around her waist. A strong, muscled arm that seemed to promise safety. She was glad of the support as her world tipped on its axis. No longer feeling threatened by his nearness, she let herself relax and enjoy the moment. Alone with an attractive man, who for some reason found her interesting.

  Her thigh pressed against his more muscular one. Dang, he was a large man.

  When she’d landed on top of him at the park, there’d been very little cushioning. The loose jeans and sweaters he wore hid toned muscles. She suspected he was very strong and fit. Heck, he’d carried her into her house when Delilah knocked her over, like she didn’t weigh much at all.

  She knew for a fact she weighed plenty. Certainly enough to pose a challenge
to the average man. Tony was clearly above average.

  She turned and looked at him, only a few inches away. He glanced at her mouth, and she felt the attention like a kiss, her lips tingling in anticipation. The first time he’d kissed her was a taste, a tease, just enough to make her want more. Now, like an addict, she hungered to feel his lips on hers again.

  His eyes darkened, and his grip on her waist tightened, drawing her closer to his heat.

  Yes, here came another kiss. Only this time she’d make sure—

  The corner of the grave marker exploded, sending shards of stone flying. She felt Tony jerk at the same moment a strange popping noise came from behind them. Then she was facedown in the snow, with Tony lying on her back.

  “Are you okay?” he said, his mouth pressed to her ear.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Someone shot at us.”

  She managed to turn her head enough to look him in the eye. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He wasn’t laughing. He looked deadly serious.

  A chill ran through her body that had nothing to do with the snow packed inside her collar.

  He didn’t say anything, but raised his head a few inches and glanced around. He slid off to the side a bit and wiggled the camera from under his arm. Brushing the snow from the lens, he peered through the camera and scanned the area by the road, holding the shutter button down.

  “You’re bleeding.” She tried to pull her hand free, to check the extent of the damage, to offer comfort.

  “A cut from the flying stone.”

  “What the heck is going on?”

  “You tell me.” He continued to take pictures, the shutter whirring as he moved the camera in a broad sweep.

  “I’m not in the habit of getting shot at. I’m out of here.” Dammit, her lovely quiet visit had been ruined. And someone was shooting at her—him—them.

  She had to get out of there, now.

  She pushed to her knees, for all of one nanosecond, before being flattened once more. But at least this time she was on her back. Tony lay on top of her, face-to-face. So close she could see the small flecks of green in his brown eyes. So close she could smell the mint of his toothpaste. So close his breath warmed her face, creating ripples of awareness from her head to her—