A Guilty Affair (8 page)

Noah stood at the window watching as Delilah sashayed to a shiny white Mercedes parked outside the building. When she reached the car, she smiled and fluttered her fingers at him. Chuckling softly, Noah lifted his hand and waved back.

As he turned and sauntered toward the reception desk, Riley assiduously avoided eye contact with him. She was afraid of what he'd glimpse in her eyes if he looked into them.

Hell,
she
was afraid.

“Please don't tell me you're taking that woman's case, Noah,” Janie said in exasperation.

“Okay, I won't tell you,” Noah said simply, passing Delilah Stanton's check across the desk. “But feel free to deposit this into our account whenever you get a chance.”

Janie's eyes widened in shock as she beheld the amount made payable to the detective agency. “Oh my God. That's one of the biggest retainers we've ever received. Did you
see
this, Riley?”

Riley managed to smile. “I was there when she wrote it.”

“Oh, yeah, you were.” Janie shook her head slowly. “I still think the woman's trouble. Trouble with a big fat capital
T
.”

Noah grinned. “Which is why you can't take your eyes off that check, right?”

Janie shot him a dirty look. “The way that woman was throwing herself at you, I'd say
she's
the one who needs to be under surveillance, not her husband. Poor man, having to put up with a diva like that.”

“I'm sure he doesn't mind,” Riley murmured. “Delilah Stanton is a very beautiful woman. I'm willing to bet most men have a hard time resisting her. Wouldn't you agree, Noah?”

His lips curved in a lazy half smile. “I think that's probably a safe assumption.”

For some reason, that wasn't the answer she'd been looking for. “Well,” she said, forcing a light tone to soften her censorious words, “to avoid a conflict of interest, you might want to refrain from going out on any dates with the lovely Mrs. Stanton until her divorce is final. After all, you wouldn't want her husband contesting the settlement because the private investigator who busted him for cheating was messing around with his wife at the same time.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back.
What
in the world had gotten into her?

Noah's eyes narrowed on hers, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “Not that I don't appreciate your concern,” he said in deceptively soft tones, “but I think I know better than to get involved with a client. I've been doing this for four years, while you've been here all of, what, four days?”

Heat stung Riley's cheeks. Checking her watch, she saw that it was just after five o'clock. “I have a few things to finish up before I leave,” she mumbled, before turning and beating a hasty retreat down the hallway toward her office.

“Have a great weekend, Riley,” Janie called after her.

“Thanks. You, too.”

Inside her office, Riley shoved files into her leather attaché case, intending to do some reading over the weekend. Why not? It's not like she had any exciting plans—unlike her grandmother, who would be attending a formal ball on Saturday night at the senior center where she volunteered.

Noah appeared in the doorway just as Riley was logging off the computer. He wore a thunderous scowl. “You mind telling me what the hell that was all about?” he demanded.

Riley drew her bag slowly onto her shoulder. “I was out of line,” she admitted, not looking at him.

“Damn straight you were,” he growled.

Her eyes snapped to his face. “If you hadn't been flirting shamelessly with that woman in the first place, I wouldn't have felt it necessary to say anything.”

His expression turned incredulous. “How was
I
flirting shamelessly with
her?
”

“Oh, give me a break, Noah! ‘Let's play it by ear'? How about this for a response—‘No, thank you, Mrs. Stanton. You're a married woman who also happens to be my client, so a date with you would be out of the question.' Oh, and let's not forget the way you stood at the window ogling her while she walked to her car.”

“Ogling?”

“Yes, ogling,” she snapped.

Noah fell silent for a moment, his dark eyes narrowed on hers in silent appraisal. “If I didn't know better,” he said mildly, “I would think you were jealous, Riley.”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, right, Noah. I'd have to actually
like
you to be jealous, now wouldn't I?”

He stepped into the office, causing it to shrink even more by the sheer breadth of his wide shoulders. His expression was unreadable. “You don't like me, Riley?”

“No, that would be
you
who doesn't like
me!
”

Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes. “I don't like you?” he echoed flatly.

“That's what I said.”

He came forward, a slow and predatory advance. “You think I don't like you, Riley?”

Her breath snagged in her throat. The air between them was charged with a tension that was almost suffocating in its intensity. Suddenly Riley wanted to run, get away from him as fast as possible. Instead she lifted her chin and defiantly stood her ground, even as Noah stopped directly in front of her, standing so close she could practically count each of his thick, spiky eyelashes.

Her heart beat a wild tattoo in her chest. Her attaché case fell, unnoticed, to the floor. “Noah—”

Before she knew what was happening, he cupped her face in his big hands and slanted his mouth over hers. The first touch of his lips to hers was electrifying, scorching through her body like a live wire. She gasped, and he took her breath and gave it back to her in a searing, possessive kiss that demanded her surrender. And she gave it, wreathing her arms around his neck, helpless to do anything but surrender as every part of her body sizzled with awareness and ached with desire.

“Does this feel like I don't like you?” he whispered huskily, drawing a hard shiver from her as he kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“How about this?” he murmured, feathering kisses over her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, her chin. And returned to her mouth, brushing his lips softly over hers, coaxing them to part for the silken heat of his tongue, which he touched to the tip of hers before sliding deep into the cavity of her mouth.

It was sheer madness, and yet Riley knew exactly what she was doing. It was impossible not to be aware of what was happening and with whom, just as it would be impossible to tell herself afterward that she'd been swept away on a tide of mindless passion.

This was beyond mindless passion.

This was pure, driving need, the depths of which rocked her to the very core of her being. She'd been kissed before, had tasted a man's desire many times in her life. But it had never been like this before. Not with any man.

Not even with Trevor.

Noah's arms banded around her waist as he half lifted her against the taut, muscled strength of his chest. They shared a hard, deep, open mouthed kiss and an embrace that had her moaning and clinging and yearning for more.

All too soon he set her back down on her feet and stepped away from her. Feeling instantly bereft, Riley searched his eyes with her own.

He looked back at her with heavy-lidded eyes, a mocking half smile on his lips. In a low, husky voice layered with suggestion, he said, “I like you, Riley. Can't you tell just how much?”

Her face flamed at the insinuation. Not trusting her voice, she bent and picked up her attaché case, then hurried from the room without a backward glance.

In the wake of her departure, it took Noah several minutes to get his ragged breathing under control.

What the hell had he just done?

He'd kissed Riley Kane, the one woman who'd been off-limits to him almost from the moment he met her. The one woman who'd dominated his thoughts and innermost desires for the past five years and effectively ruined him for all other women.

As he stood there, his body vibrating from the after shocks of that explosive kiss, Riley's sweet scent lingered in his nostrils, and the exquisite taste of her filled his mouth. He'd dreamed about holding and kissing her for so long, he'd convinced himself it would never happen, and if by some miracle it did, the reality could never compare to his fantasies.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

How was it possible that a kiss could exceed his every fantasy? And with five years to fantasize, he'd imagined some pretty hot and heavy stuff, the kind that made a man wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, hard as a lump of granite.

His body stirred, his blood heating up again. He'd not only kissed Riley, but she'd kissed him back, responding with a hunger that took his breath away.

Now that it had finally happened, now that he'd finally had a taste of her, he was in more agony than he'd ever been before. He wanted her, wanted her so bad he ached, wanted her more than his next breath. If she hadn't bolted when she did, there's no telling what he might have done to her.

As he stood in the middle of the tiny office, hands braced on his hips, too stunned to move, Kenneth appeared in the doorway. “I just saw Riley tear out of here like she was running from Satan,” his brother said. “Is there something going on between you two I should know about?”

Noah scowled. “You should have asked that damn question
before
you hired her.”

Without another word, he stalked past his frowning brother, strode down the hallway past his own office, and continued without stopping all the way out of the building.

T
he
next morning, Riley lay sprawled upon her bed, arms flung outward as she stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but Noah's darkly handsome face slanted over hers, his eyes smoldering with passion.

Several hours later, she still couldn't wrap her mind around what had happened.

Noah had kissed her.

He'd kissed her, and God help her, she'd kissed him back, moaning and clinging to him as if her very life depended on it. And since then, all she could do was imagine those soft, sensuous lips on hers, then imagine them everywhere else. She'd dreamed about him all night—vivid, erotic dreams that had her hand creeping down her feverish body until she stopped herself.

Now, in the light of day, a fresh wave of shame and guilt swept through her. She couldn't fantasize about Noah. It was wrong on so many levels. He'd been Trevor's best friend. And, for all intents and purposes, he'd been practically a stranger to Riley. Never mind that he was sexy as hell, and when he looked at her with those dark, penetrating eyes, she had trouble keeping her train of thought.

She shouldn't have allowed him to kiss her. He'd been merely taunting her, trying to get the upper hand in their argument. She shouldn't have let things go so far. She should have put him in his place and left while she still could.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda
.

There was a gentle knock at her door. Without lifting her head from the pillow, Riley called out, “Come in, Grandma.”

Florinda opened the door and stepped into the room carrying a wicker breakfast tray laden with food.

Riley turned her head as her grandmother walked over to the bed and set the tray down on the nightstand, then made her way to the window to pull back the heavy curtains.

Riley groaned and flung one arm over her eyes as warm, bright sunlight poured into the bedroom.

Florinda chuckled softly as she sat on the edge of the bed. She was already dressed, looking cool and summery in pale linen slacks and a silk turquoise blouse she'd bought during a shopping excursion to Santa Fe earlier that year.

“How long are you going to lie there staring at the ceiling?”

“For as long as—” Breaking off, Riley lifted her arm and peered out at her grandmother. “How'd you know that's what I've been doing?”

“I checked in on you half an hour ago, and you were lying in the same position. You didn't even hear me knock on the door and peek inside.” She patted her granddaughter's arm. “Come on. Sit up and eat your breakfast. You skipped dinner last night. Don't think I didn't notice.”

As Riley pulled herself into a sitting position and propped a pile of pillows behind her back, Florinda settled the tray across her lap. Riley's stomach growled eagerly at the sight of her grandmother's sourdough French toast sprinkled with powder sugar and dripping with maple syrup.

“Oh, Grandma, you didn't have to fix me breakfast,” she murmured, reaching for a crisp slice of bacon.

“Of course I did,” Florinda retorted, picking up a fork and knife to cut the French toast for her granddaughter, just as she'd done when Riley was a child. “I can't control how you eat, or
don't
eat, when you're away from home. But as long as you and I are under the same roof, I'm going to take good care of you. God knows
someone
has to.”

Riley dutifully opened her mouth and accepted the forkful of French toast Florinda held out to her. Closing her eyes, she chewed slowly in appreciation. “Mmm, still as good as ever, Grandma.”

Florinda patted her hand. “Someday I'll give you the recipe and you can make it for your husband.”

Riley choked on her food. Sputtering, she reached for a glass of orange juice and took a long sip.

“Was it something I said?”

Riley shook her head quickly, setting the glass aside. “No, I just…It went down the wrong way, that's all.”

Florinda looked unconvinced, eyeing her critically. “Are you all right, baby? You seemed out of it when you came home yesterday.”

“I'm just a little tired,” Riley lied. “Guess I'm still recovering from my long drive home last week.”

Florinda fed her another bite of French toast. “Are you sure it's a good idea for you to be working at the detective agency? You took a leave of absence to get some rest and replenish your spirit. Yes, I realize you had other reasons as well, but you shouldn't neglect your health in the process of pursuing your mission.”

“I won't, Grandma. Don't worry.”

“I fail to see how working there five days a week is considered part-time,” Florinda pointed out.

“My schedule is flexible,” Riley explained. “As long as I put in twenty hours a week, I can pretty much come and go as I please. Janie set it up that way so I wouldn't feel chained to a desk all day and could still run my errands and help prepare for your party.”

Her grandmother gave her a dubious look. “Twenty hours, huh? Seems more like forty to me. You've been there from eight to five every day. Hope they're paying you overtime.”

“Of course,” Riley murmured. “But you know it's not about the money, Grandma. Besides, I thought you were all in favor of me working at the agency in order to become better acquainted with Noah.”

“I know.” Florinda offered her another forkful of food. “How are things going between you two, anyway? Making any progress?”

Depends on your definition of progress
, Riley thought grimly.
If the goal is to betray Trevor's memory by making a fool of myself over his best friend, then mission accomplished
.

Aloud she said, “He still refuses to help me, but then, I haven't asked him again since I started working there. I've been too busy, which, I suppose, is what he intended.”

Florinda shook her head, smiling. “Young people nowadays. You complicate everything. Matters of the heart should never be so difficult.”

Riley paused, a slice of bacon halfway to her mouth. “Matters of whose heart, Grandma?” she asked carefully. “Mine or Noah's?”

Florinda shrugged, rising from the bed. “I was speaking in general terms,” she said, but there was something in her cinnamon-colored eyes, a glimmer of intuition—barely discernible, but there just the same.

Riley nibbled on her bacon, her expression thoughtful as she watched her grandmother pick up the folded jeans Riley had left on the bench at the foot of the bed last night. “Grams?”

“Yes, baby?”

Riley hesitated, waiting until Florinda emerged from the walk-in closet after hanging up the jeans. “Did you mean what you said earlier? When you said you'd give me your French toast recipe someday so I could make it for my husband?”

Florinda smiled at her. “Of course I meant it. It's an old family recipe, meant to be passed down from generation to generation. I would have given it to your mother, but she never showed any interest in having it. 'Course, that might have something to do with the fact that your mother hates cooking. Thank God you didn't take after her in
that
regard.”

It was the most uncharitable thing Riley had ever heard her grandmother say about the woman her son had married thirty-three years ago, and Riley couldn't help but laugh. It was true. Barbara Kane, a busy obstetrician, detested cooking, and Riley's college professor father wasn't too prolific in the kitchen either. If it weren't for the fact that her grandmother had always lived with them and taken care of all the meals, Riley knew she would have grown up on a steady diet of takeout Chinese and Mexican.

“Not that I don't want the recipe,” she said, smiling at her grandmother. “But that's not what I was talking about when I referred to the comment you made earlier. What I meant is…do you really think I'm ever going to get married?”

Florinda's expression softened. “Oh, sweetheart, of course I do.”

Riley smiled a little. “Are you just saying that because you're my favorite grandmother and you have to say incredibly nice things to me?”

Florinda chuckled, returning to her spot on the edge of the bed. “You're a strong, beautiful, courageous young woman who has so much to offer. Why
wouldn't
I expect you to get married?”

Riley shrugged, toying with her food. “Maybe I missed my window of opportunity when Trevor died.”

“You don't really believe that,” Florinda countered quietly. “You're thirty-two years old, baby. You have plenty of time to meet someone special and fall in love again.”

“Maybe, but Mr. Right only comes around once in a lifetime.”

Her grandmother gazed at her for a long moment. “You're right,” she said softly, “he does. Don't ever forget that.”

Before Riley could respond, the phone rang.

Florinda stood. “That's probably someone from the senior center calling about tonight's event,” she said. “I'll take it out there so you can finish eating in peace.”

She returned ten minutes later as Riley was setting aside the empty tray and climbing out of bed. “You have a call,” Florinda told her.

Riley's heart thudded. For one panicked moment she wondered if it was Noah, and she stared at the cordless phone in her grandmother's hand as if it were a coiled rattlesnake poised to strike.

But then Florinda announced, “It's Noah's mother.”

Riley's eyes widened. “Noah's mother?”

Florinda nodded, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she held out the phone to her granddaughter.

Riley slowly took the phone and watched as her grandmother left the room before answering tentatively, “Hello, Mrs. Roarke.”

“Why, hello, Riley,” Pamela Roarke's warm, familiar voice greeted her. “I hope I didn't disturb you?”

“Not at all. I've been up for hours.”
Fantasizing about your son
. “I'm sorry. You're Mrs. Hubbard now, aren't you? I heard about your beautiful wedding. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Riley. I appreciate that. When I saw your grandmother at the senior center yesterday, she told me you were back in town and working at the detective agency. Now I'm going to strangle those sons of mine for not telling me last week.”

Riley chuckled. “It's all right.”

“No, it is
not
all right. I would have called you sooner to welcome you back and invite you over for Sunday brunch. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

Riley hesitated. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Are you free?”

Sunday brunch at the Roarke household had been a long standing tradition when Noah and his siblings were growing up. Trevor, who'd lived on the same block, had often spoken fondly of his memories of attending church with Noah's family and joining them for a lavish meal afterward.

“Mama Roarke could throw down,” he'd laughed, playfully smacking his lips. “Ham, barbecue ribs, fried chicken, corn bread, collard greens, honey rolls—you name it, Mama Roarke made it. Why do you think I've stayed friends with Noah all these years?” he'd teased, light green eyes twinkling with mischief because he knew Noah, somewhere across the room, could hear him.

Although Trevor and Noah had both been raised by single parents, the similarities ended there. For while Pamela Roarke, widowed early in her marriage, had done everything in her power to provide for her three children and create a warm, loving environment, Trevor's mother had been young and irresponsible, changing jobs as frequently as she changed boyfriends. Trevor had never known his real father, and not one of the men his mother brought home could ever be considered father figures. The Roarkes had adopted the lonely, neglected ten-year-old into their own family, and he'd never forgotten that. Noah had been the brother he never had, and Pamela Roarke his surrogate mother.

“Riley? Are you there?”

Riley blinked, snapping out of her reverie. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Roar—I mean, Hubbard.” She grinned sheepishly. “I'm going to have to get used to your new last name.”

Pamela chuckled softly. “That's all right. I understand. Tell you what. Why don't you just call me Mama Pam? You've always been like a daughter to me, anyway.”

Riley smiled, touched by the warm, heartfelt sentiment. “Thank you, Mama Pam. I really appreciate that.”

“So you'll come to brunch tomorrow?”

“Yes, I'd like that very much.” She couldn't very well refuse, could she?

“Wonderful. You and Noah can meet us at the house after church, or you're more than welcome to join us for the eight-o'clock service, if you're not already going to church with your grandmother.”

Riley heard nothing else after the mention of Noah. “Did you say Noah and I can meet you…?”

“Yes. I thought he could pick you up since he knows where the new house is.” Pamela paused for a moment. “Or I could give you directions, if you'd prefer to drive yourself.”