Killer Kisses (15 page)

The door to the guest room was wide open and Lola lay on her back, her arms above her head. A sheet covered her breasts—just barely. Unconsciously, his feet took him in the direction of the object of his instant arousal. She sighed and rolled over. He pulled the door closed and headed for a cold shower, and tried not to think about his lips on her breasts.

~*~

Lola waited a few moments after the door closed, then sat up. He had passed the first test with flying colors. If he could resist coming into her room with
that
kind of invitation, Web must be the only man she’d ever met who didn’t need to have a gun pointed at him to keep his hands off her tits.
A man of honor. What was the world coming to?

She heard the shower running and for a split second imagined joining him. Would he be shocked? What did he look like naked? She closed her eyes and thought of water and soap bubbles coursing down his back, to his tight—the water stopped running. He took quick showers. Lola shook her head and sighed. A year without sex had made her horny. She flopped back on the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

She was running, trying to escape from an army of shouting men and barking dogs. They were closer, she heard the roar of a jeep coming over a rise, closing in. She took cover behind a pile of boulders, but the man in the jeep found her. She fell to her knees, weeping as he brandished a machete. As the blade fell, he shouted, “Vieja sent me!”

She screamed,

And found herself in Web’s arms, his kind brown eyes filled with concern. “Wake up.”

“What?”

“You were screaming, ‘Not my hands’.” He pulled the sheet up over her shoulders and stood. “Was it only a nightmare? Or is someone really after you?”

She sighed. He had passed the first test of her trust. But was she really ready to tell him the whole story? Would he blame her? Or help her?

“A nightmare. Nothing more.”

“You seemed pretty terrified.”

She tried to laugh. “It was a very real dream.” She glanced up at Web. He was fully dressed, but not in uniform. His jeans hugged him in all the right places and his polo shirt revealed a modest amount of chest hair, not shaved like a younger man’s style, but in keeping with his age. She liked that. “What time is it?”

“Noon. I thought you needed to sleep.” His brow furrowed. “Sure, you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes. Absolutely, and starving. Is that bacon I smell?”

He smiled. “The house specialty: coffee, bacon, eggs and toast. Why don’t you grab a shower, get dressed, and I’ll give you a great home cooked meal.”

She wrapped the sheet around her like a toga. “My clothes are filthy. I can’t stand the idea of putting them on. Can I borrow a tee shirt maybe and some shorts? And do a load of laundry?”

His eyes seemed to glaze and he licked his lips. “You got it.” He left the room for a few minutes and returned, holding the requested items. “Here you go. I have no doubt they’ll look better on you than on me.”

“I think that depends on your point of view.” She arched a brow at him. “I bet you look great in these.”

Beet red, Web turned on his heel and closed the door behind him.

She sighed again. Damn, he was an honorable man. She was really getting to like him
and
she liked making him blush.

~*~

Over a third cup of coffee, while Lola’s clothes rolled around in the dryer, Web tried his question again. “Why the name change?”

She put down her mug and raised her hands. “See these?”

He nodded, puzzled.

“These are insured by Lloyd’s of London.” She sat back and eyed him.

“I’ll bite. Why?”

“The name Lara Spencer doesn’t ring any bells for you?”

“None.”

She stood, shoved a damp curl behind her ear, and crooked her finger at him. “Follow me.”

Anywhere.
And she really
did
look hot in his boxer shorts and wife beater shirt. Web stood behind her as she sat at his computer, shaking his head to clear the fog of lust.

Lola entered Lara Spencer into the search engine and ten-thousand websites popped up—all with photos of a blonde who looked not at all like Lola.

“
Mierda
. I forgot about her.” She refined the search to Lara Spencer, artist. The page populated with hundreds of art galleries and snap shots of colorful work. “There. That’s me.”

Web leaned over her shoulder and tapped a particularly intriguing photo. The touch sensitive monitor enlarged the picture. “That is stunning. Yours?”

“Yes. Years ago, I began with street scenes, marketplaces, and the like. When I started experimenting with abstract interpretations of the same scenes? Well, things got
un
poco
loco
. Art critics called me ‘a female Leonardo Nierman.’”

“And the crazies started coming out of the woodwork?”

“You could say that. My agent thought I was
loco
to change my name, but I needed my privacy, or I couldn’t work.”

“What about the IDs? Are they legit?”

“Very. I was born in Texas, my mother was visiting relatives and I arrived a month early. I have dual citizenship. My Baltimore house is the address I use for my fans. The US mail is much more trustworthy than the Mexican post office.” She grimaced. “In my little village, I must pay the postmaster to
not
open my mail. Fat lot of good—” She stopped. “Anyway, I go to Maryland when I need some space.”

He leaned over her shoulder again, ostensibly to tap another picture, but really to inhale her floral scent, and sneak a peek down her tee. He was human, after all.

She leaned her head back into his chest and closed her eyes. “You’re a good man, Web. I wish I’d gotten to know you better in high school.”

He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, willing it to stay there and not to head south. “We have all the time in the world to get to know each other, unless you’re already taken?”

Her shoulders shook and huge tears ran down her cheeks.

Web pulled away as if burnt and he stepped out of her personal space. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She wiped her face with her palms. “I lost my husband a year ago today. He was riding his Harley, someone ran him off the road.” Her shoulders hitched and a little sob escaped her lips. “The police told me there was nothing I could do. No witnesses.”

The dryer buzzed and a clock ticked loudly in the office. Her artwork blazed on the computer screen, mute testimony to her enormous talents. Web didn’t know what to say. Her grief was palpable and now he felt like a horned toad. Only a perve would even think of taking advantage of this stunning widow.

Without warning, Lola leaped to her feet and threw her arms around him. She kissed him hard and full on the lips. He pulled back, stunned by the intensity of her passion, and fearful that his response, already noticeable would be rejected when she regained her senses.

 “Make love to me. Right, now,” she whispered hoarsely,

All at once it seemed like the air had been sucked out of the room. Rooted to the floor, he could only shake his head in dismay. “No, not now. It’s not right.”

“I’ve been alone for a year, with no one to hold me.” She wept harder. “I’m so lonely.”

He carefully put his arms around her, and gave her a hug. “You’re having an anniversary reaction, it’s completely normal.”

Her response was to bury her face in his chest and cry harder.

“You’re vulnerable now. You’d hate me for taking advantage of you,” he paused. “If and when we do make love, I want it to be because you want me. Not because you’re missing your husband.”

She raised her head, and despite her eyes being puffy from crying, she was
still
stunning. Always would be in his eyes.

“You are the most honorable man I have ever met.” She patted his chest. “Thank you—for saving me from myself.”

He gave her forehead a chaste peck. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

She gave off a deer in headlights look. “Where? Why?”

What was she so afraid of? There had to be more to this than just bad dreams. Something wasn’t adding up.

“We’re going to go see an old friend. My mother.”

“Oh.” She smiled and let out a long, slow breath. “Family first?”

“Always.”

CHAPTER FIVE

~*~

Bouncing along in Web’s truck, Lola tried to recall the Summerville from twenty-five years ago, but came up short. The shoreline was the same, but the houses, once run-down, had been yuppified and the business district was beyond quaint. It looked like a real estate brochure.

“I forgot about the Arts Festival,” he muttered. “This is taking twice as long to get to Summerville Cove, my mother’s nursing home.”

As if to underscore his point, a police officer blew his whistle, then stepped in front of Web’s vehicle, so a throng of people could cross the street to get to the easel-lined sidewalks along the shoreline. He rolled his window down and waved at the cop. “Get a better whistle. That one’s not loud enough.”

The uniform laughed and waved Web along.

Lola shivered. “Friend?”

“Pretty much every cop on the SPD is a friend, except Richard Heade.”

“
Madre de Dios
! Dickhead is still here?”

“Yup, and just as charming as he was in high school, married his high school sweetheart, Elizabeth Jayne Baumgartner. Now he’s the Chief of Police.” He pointed at Heade’s storefront. “And she's into real estate.”

“Ready Betty,” Lola mused, and waved her hands as if she was holding pom-poms. “Always the cheerleader. Rah, rah and all that.”

“She’s still a cheerleader, but now she’s urging people to buy houses, not win games. Careful, she doesn’t corner you. She could talk the ear off an elephant.”

“What about the others?”

“Lots of people never left Summerville.” He turned into a tree lined driveway. “Some, because they wanted to stay and be big fish in a little pond. Others, like me, had family obligations.” He parked the car in a shaded spot. “Now let’s see if Mom remembers you—or me.”

Beverly looked up in surprise when Web and Lola strolled in the door. “You’re early.”

“Brought a friend.” He signed the visitor sheet and introduced the two women.

Beverly gave Lola the once over, her eyes shrewd, as if she could see into Lola’s soul. She seemed to approve of Web’s choice of friends, when at last she smiled.

“Mrs. Bond loves visitors, but she was pretty fuzzy this morning. Kept trying to wander past the alarm, saying she had to get back to work at the school.” Beverly shook her head. “She kept me pretty busy. I think she got tired out, too. She’s napping, but you can take a peek, see if she’s up.”

Lola marveled at the sterile white walls offset only by some bland paint-by-numbers mass-produced art pieces. If she lived in Summerville, she’d make sure this place had some
real
art, not this garbage. The décor was deadly boring. No
wonder
Web’s mother kept trying to get out.

Web pushed the door open to a small, but well-kept room. “Well, look who’s awake.”

“Richard Heade, I
told
you not to come here without an appointment. The only juvenile delinquent I see right now is
you
. Honestly, don’t you have homework to do?”

Lola and Web exchanged amused glances.

“Mom, it’s me, Webster.”

She reached over to her nightstand and put her glasses on. “Oh, heavens, I’m so sorry, dear. I can’t believe I mistook you for that despicable Richard Heade. Loathsome toady.”

Lola tried to suppress a giggle but failed.

“Who have you got with you, Webster? Come here young lady. Let me take a look at you.”

Lola stepped from behind Web and stood beside his mother’s bed. “Hello, Mrs. Bond. I don’t know if you remember me.”

Web’s mother took Lola’s hands into hers and stared at her for a long time. “Poor child. How will I tell her about the plane crash?”

Lola started, then looked to Web for help.

He raised his hands, palm up and shrugged.

“Poor Lola. All alone now. No parents. She even lost a sister.”

“No, that’s not right,” Lola blurted. Even though she knew Mrs. Bond has Alzheimer’s disease, she felt as if she had to get the record straight. “I never had a sister. I have no idea who that other person was on the plane.”

The elderly woman stroked Lola’s cheek. “There, there. In time you will heal. But today, it’s okay for you to cry on my shoulder.” Surprisingly strong, Mrs. Bond yanked Lola to her bosom and stroked the younger woman’s back. “It’s okay, let it all out. Just let it all out.”