Highly Charged! (3 page)

“Flirting? Those two?” She tried to recall one comment that could have been considered remotely personal and failed. “They didn't use my first name once in the entire conversation.”

Brad poured tall glasses of tea for both of them while the night music of crickets and whip-poor-wills picked up volume. The scent of his soap mingled with the smell of dinner as he leaned closer.

Memories of the other time she'd seen him after a shower—her semi-accidental voyeurism—shot a flood of heat through her veins. She should have known she'd meet her neighbor face-to-face one day. Should have anticipated this overheated situation. But since he was around the house so rarely, Nikki had just assumed he would ship out before they ever got around to an introduction.

She licked her lips and hoped her heart would quit lapsing into hyperactive mode.

“Are you kidding? All those questions about where you lived before and what you teach at the university were total curiosity on the younger guy's part.” He used
his fork to tear open the foil veggie packet, releasing a puff of steam into the night. “How much you want to bet he emails you next week and asks to take one of your classes?”

Nikki realized she couldn't recall what either of the officers looked like. How had Brad taken such careful note of what went on, especially since he'd stepped away long before they were finished?

“Too bad I'm not in the market for a man.” Better to make that clear straight from the gate—to herself as much as Brad. No matter how much she might find a certain male appealing, she wasn't planning on acting on it.

Brad Riddock would be out of her life faster than a blink, a fact which she couldn't ignore. How many times had she been dumped off on relatives as a kid, only to have her parents promise they'd return by Christmas and then New Year's and then maybe for her birthday in February? She'd fallen for those promises too many times, wanting to believe they'd missed her as much as she'd missed them when they'd left on one exotic adventure after another. But the truth was, they hadn't.

And while she'd sorted through a lot of that hurt during her adult years to become a stronger person, she knew better than to bring that sort of heartache back into her life. Especially when her plate was full with responsibilities to Chloe.

“Why? Is the cop your type?” Brad's blue eyes caught the moonlight, dangerous and alluring.

She swallowed hard at the sudden vision of what it would be like to kiss him. Touch him.

“Actually, no. But he
should
be my type. I'm trying to
stay away from the guys who need saving.” She pointed toward the recovering blue jay and chipmunk in their cages on the patio. “I have a problem with trying to solve the world's problems, one broken wing at a time. But I think the police officers were only asking about my past to find out if the trespasser was someone local or if it could have been someone I knew before I moved here.”

“It's someone who doesn't want you to stay in this house.” His flat assessment sounded so certain.

“Why do you say that?” She agreed one hundred percent, but she had her own reasons.

“The damage done was meant to discourage you from working on the house. The torn-up patch in the yard will cost time and money to fix. The broken window ensures you don't feel safe in addition to the expense to replace it. I'd say it's an attack on the property as much as you.”

Her last bite of chicken leg turned dry in her throat at the thought of someone escalating a campaign to chase her out. Damn it, she'd never had a real home before. She wouldn't let anyone scare her away from this one. She'd stayed up late on this very patio with Chloe on summer nights, sharing stories from their past and dreams for the future. That time had been magical for her and no amount of vandalism could steal that warmth in her heart when she walked through this place.

“Chloe hinted there were people in her life who wouldn't want her missing diaries to be published.”

“Why?” Brad shook his head. “Do you know what's in them?”

“Chloe said those years had been too special for her
to share with the world yet, but that one day her story would finally be revealed.” Nikki had been over and over her final conversations with the older woman before her death, never making full sense of the bits and pieces she'd heard since the hints at a young romance had been at odds with the later diaries' depiction of a wild and sexually adventurous decade from her mid-twenties to late thirties. “She was in and out of consciousness the last few days of her life. I sat with her whenever I wasn't on campus because she did so much for me through the years—cheered on my writing, gave me exclusive interviews to nail down a doctorate that was a shoo-in for publication. So I wanted to do whatever I could for her at the end since her family was less than supportive.”

Nikki liked to think she and Chloe had been family to each other. Her chest tightened to think about how fortunate she was to have had Chloe in her life—someone who cared when her dissertation committee gave her a hard time or her short-lived relationship with a history professor burned out. Nikki's own parents were in the mountains of Peru the last time they'd contacted her—four months ago to email condolences on Chloe's death.

“She didn't have any kids, did she?” Brad glanced toward the bushes at the edge of the property where lightning bugs blinked on and off.

Clearing her throat, she dragged her eyes away from him and focused on the lightning bugs.

“No kids. At least, she doesn't acknowledge any. A rumor persists that she had children living overseas since she spent many years in Europe after World War II. But I don't believe it for a second. She was far too loving a
person to distance herself from any blood relative. The gossip is just another bit of the drama from a life lived unconventionally. Her books were part of the fuel for the women's movement with the way they embraced a more sexually free lifestyle.”

She couldn't begin to explain all the convoluted drama of Chloe's life. Chloe's sensual memoirs accounted for her popularity as much as her novels. She'd chronicled many passionate encounters using carefully hidden identities to protect the people those relationships were based on. The edited diaries—at least five of the seven—had already been published with names changed to protect the innocent. But Chloe had promised her fans that after her death, all seven of the diaries—in their original forms—would be available to her readers.

“So when you say her family wasn't supportive, who are we talking about? Siblings?”

She sensed a methodical mind at work as Brad formulated a picture of Chloe's family. Better to focus on his brain than the appealing lure of his physique. Beneath the table, their feet vied for rights to the same real estate, occasionally bumping or brushing against each other. She felt edgy from those small touches, twitchy from the desire to lay her hand in the center of that broad, hard chest. With an effort, she recalled his question.

“Two stepbrothers—Harold and Norman Ralston. She didn't know her real father, and her mother married her stepfather when Chloe was three years old.” Nikki had cringed at the stories Chloe had told about her early life—stories that would have landed her in child protective services today. “Then the mother abandoned the family when Chloe was eight, leaving her to be raised
by the stepfather's revolving girlfriends in a household with no blood relatives.”

In addition to all the material help Chloe Lissander had given Nikki, her life had been an inspiration to help Nikki forgive her parents for emotional scars that couldn't compare to what her mentor had endured.

“Yet she inherited the house over her stepbrothers?”

“Apparently Chloe's mother paid for the house. Giving it to her daughter after the stepfather's death was his way to make amends, perhaps.” Nikki shrugged, never having been able to wade through the family politics effectively. The Ralston family was well known in this part of Virginia, with Harold the patriarch a longtime councilman and active member of every local club and volunteer organization. He was staid and somber to Chloe's wild and unconventional. The two had never seen eye to eye.

“And you think these stepbrothers could have reasons for not wanting you here beyond the obvious land grab?” He cleaned his plate and shoved it aside, giving her his undivided attention.

The effect of those eyes probing hers was unnerving. Or, if she was honest with herself, exciting. Swallowing hard, she reached for her iced tea before she answered.

“I think they fear the unexpurgated version of her diaries for some reason.” Them and half the county. “I've been waiting to read them all as a set once I find the two that are missing. But supposition says they'll be as racy as the fictional erotica.”

His eyes glowed a warmer shade of blue at the mention of the sexual content.

“Unexpurgated?”

“Unabridged. You know, the original version before the author and the publisher scrub out parts that could be libelous. It's common knowledge that Chloe gave her permission for all the original, unedited diaries to be published after her death.”

“And how would vandalizing the house prevent that? Are you in charge of those diaries?” The methodical mind was at work again, she could hear it in his tone.

She should be relieved he wasn't thinking about the heat that lurked between them, but she missed the warmth of that knowing gaze of his. She was playing with fire to have him here, close enough to touch, all the while knowing she shouldn't get involved.

“Some of them. But even I don't know the location of the two that went missing long ago. Chloe hid them at some point, then apparently forgot their location as dementia set in.” She gestured toward the dilapidated house with a sweeping arm. “She asked me to do everything possible to be sure all the diaries are found and released as she promised her fans. I mean to do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”

A cool breeze chilled her skin as the torches died down.

“So maybe your vandal doesn't want you to find those diaries.” He reached across the table and laid a warm hand on her arm. “Are you cold?”

From anyone else, the gesture would have been harmless enough. But she'd been attracted from the first moment she'd seen him half-naked. The tug of sensual
interest had been confirmed in no uncertain terms this morning when he'd introduced himself. And any defense against the attraction had been sandblasted away by his help and thoughtfulness throughout this draining day.

She wanted Lieutenant Brad Riddock. Badly.

“I'm okay,” she managed, her voice cracking on a dry note while his palm made her heartbeat flutter like a sixteen-year-old girl's.

She would have eased out from under that touch if she could have, but her body scoffed at the very idea. Besides, he would move his hand of his own accord any second now. Right?

But the moment drew out. They sat motionless, touching without speaking, until it became a grown-up game of chicken. Who would draw away first?

“I want you to feel safe here,” he said finally, sliding his palm down her forearm toward her hand.

Stroking her? Or taking the scenic route away from her body?

She tracked his progress with hyperawareness, unsure how to draw a boundary and not quite recalling why she should.

“I'll be fine,” she assured him, though it was probably easier to feel invincible with those strong fingers resting on her skin.

“I'd like to make sure of that.” Beneath the table, his knee brushed hers briefly, distracting her. “How about I sleep downstairs tonight to keep an eye on things?”

Everything inside her stilled.

“You want to stay
here?
” In the same house as her?

Her pulse raced even though she knew that was a bad, bad idea. And—curse him—his thumb rested on a place
along her wrist where he'd probably feel the manic rush of blood through her veins.

“I could pitch a tent out front if you'd rather.” Relinquishing her arm, his easy reform of the original suggestion made her feel like a heel for not agreeing in the first place. “That would send a message that someone's looking out for you if anyone decides to come back tonight.”

The warmth inside her chilled at the thought. Did she really want to be here alone while someone bold enough to tear up the lawn and break her windows still lurked free?

“I hadn't thought about that,” she admitted, looking at Brad's prominent muscles with new eyes. They weren't just for show. Who would dare to mess with him? Besides, she had the animals to think about. She'd feel better with help to watch over the place. “Actually, the house has plenty of rooms to spare if you really don't mind—”

“Honestly, I'll sleep better knowing I'm already on site if anything happens.” Standing, he blocked one of the torches from view, his big, imposing body backlit like an action-movie poster. “If I go home tonight, I'd only be lying there with one eye open anyhow.”

“That's really kind of you.” She couldn't imagine why he'd gone to so much trouble on her account today. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” With a nod, he turned on his heel. “I'll just go grab a few things.”

In no time, he was jogging across the lawn toward his house, his little brown dog wagging its tail but not fol
lowing, almost as if the scruffy furball knew his owner would be right back.

Nikki forced herself to pick up the plates instead of staring after him like his adoring mutt. What was she thinking to have a man she hardly knew stay in the house with her tonight?

A man she'd drooled over when he'd thought no one was looking.

If he'd flirted with her more, she might have been more guarded about letting him stay. But how could she argue with a man who'd done nothing but help her out today? Besides, she was genuinely worried about the troublemakers returning.