Secretly Craving You (7 page)

The doorbell rang. She froze, her pulse rate skyrocketing. Was that the killer? No, maybe it was Tia. She would look through the peephole to be sure. She headed from the kitchen to the living room.

"Wait!" Nick barked the order behind her.

She halted mid-stride and turned. He exited the downstairs guest suite she'd suggested he stay in. "It's probably Tia," she said. At least she hoped it was. "I was going to look out before I opened it."

"Let me see." He peered through the peephole. "She doesn't look too dangerous." He motioned Emily toward the door.

"I'll tell her you said that."

One side of his lips quirked and his lashes lowered. His gaze turned smoldering.

Stop flirting with him, you dimwit.

Emily yanked open the door and Tia entered, all smiles as usual. Her short brunette hair fit her perky personality, as did her polka dot shorts outfit. She pushed two bottles of chilled red wine into Emily's hands. "Thought I'd share. Mom brought me a few bottles from the winery she visited last weekend. I remembered how much you loved this stuff last year."

"Thanks." Though she'd planned on serving iced tea and avoiding alcohol around Nick. Who knew if she'd be able to control herself with wine in her system? "You remember Nick. Nick, this is my good friend and business partner, Tia."

They shook hands, Tia beaming as if she didn't often get to see hotties like Nick. Well, she probably didn't.

"Yes, I remember Nick from the wedding. Nice to see you again."

"You, too."

"Em, you have to show me that new pair of shoes you bought," Tia said. "I've been dying to see them."

"Um." Emily almost asked her what she was talking about, then realized she wanted to talk in private. "They're in my closet. We'll be right back," she told Nick. "Why don't you go ahead and start eating? I know you're starving. And open one of these if you want." She handed the bottles of wine to Nick.

"Yes, ma'am," he said in a sarcastic tone, then winked. A wave of electricity passed through her and her nipples tingled. How could one wink generate such turmoil in her body?

"It will only take a minute, I promise," Tia said.

"No problem." Nick headed toward the kitchen.

Following Tia up the stairs, Emily felt like a giddy teenager again, heading off with a friend to talk and giggle about boys. At twenty-six, she was too old for this, but she had to admit Nick did excite her on so many levels. Once inside her bedroom, she closed the door.

"Way to go, Emily," Tia whispered dramatically.

"What are you talking about? I have a stalker."

"No, I mean about Nick. He's so damned hot." Tia fanned herself.

"Well, yes, I know that, but—"

"No
but,
girlfriend."

"He's my ex's brother." Emily hoped that was a good excuse to keep her hands off, no matter how much she wanted to stroke Nick's delectably defined muscles.

"So? He doesn't look a thing like Jared. And I keep telling you that you need to get laid. Here's the perfect opportunity."

A renewed flush of scalding heat washed over Emily, because what Tia suggested was Emily's wildest and most forbidden fantasy. "That's not why he's here. He's a police officer, protecting me."

"I know! Isn't that sexy?"

"Had several glasses of wine today, have you?" Emily asked, trying her best to tamp down her own enthusiasm for Nick.

"No, none. You've got to forget about Jared and how he made you feel like shit. I know he's dead, and I'm sorry, but he was a bastard."

Emily nodded. "Nick might be, too."

"You've been with him for several hours. Is he?"

"Not so far. He's actually nice."
And knows exactly how to touch me with those skilled hands.
But who knew if he would change tomorrow or next week and become more like his brother?

"A gentleman?" Tia inquired with mock sophistication.

Emily shrugged. Was she already picking up Nick's body language? "As much as a bad boy can be, I suppose. He seems concerned about me, wants to keep me safe."

"God, that's hot. You've got to tell me what happens."

"With the stalker or with Nick?"

"Both. Besides, I'm not worried about the stalker with Nick around. He'll kick that lunatic's ass."

"I sure hope so. He has two guns and plenty of bullets." She'd seen the smaller second pistol when he'd strapped it to his ankle that morning.

"A man who can handle weapons is hot. I am so jealous right now." Tia had been going on a lot of first dates recently, trying to find Mr. Right or at least a man she was strongly attracted to, but wasn't having much luck.

"You'll find the right guy, Tia. Don't worry."

"Maybe." She gave a tiny, sharp shrug, a hint of sadness entering her usual upbeat expression. "Who knows? I at least want to experience a sizzling fling vicariously. I want to know every detail of what happens."

"Nothing interesting is going to happen." Emily definitely wasn't telling her that something
interesting
had already happened in bed that morning.

* * * *

"What do we know about this guy—the killer?" Nick asked.

Seated at the kitchen table in the breakfast nook overlooking historic Savannah, Emily and Nick ate dinner. Emily had asked Tia to join them, but she'd refused and left fifteen minutes earlier. Emily was relaxing, enjoying the soft, early evening light, fresh Caesar salad and cheesy lasagna—but most of all, Nick's company—until his cryptic words squashed her appetite.

"Not much." Emily put down her fork and poured a second glass of merlot for herself and topped off Nick's. She shouldn't drink another glass, but maybe the food would keep the alcohol from affecting her too much. Besides, she needed it for courage. And if she focused on the discussion of the killer stalking her, maybe she could ignore the electricity between her and Nick.

"Thanks." He took a sip. "My guess is he's someone who knew Jared. Maybe a business associate or someone he had contact with on occasion. Maybe a rival. They probably shared a common interest in antiquities. How else would he know about the object in question?"

"But why would he kill Jared over it? Why didn't he blackmail him instead? He should've known that if he killed Jared, he'd never get the object from him."

"I haven't figured out that part yet."

Considering the way Nick stared out the window for several distracted moments while he ate, his mind must have been working furiously on the problem. Though she was tempted to study him and his square-jawed, alpha-male profile, she decided focusing on the danger surrounding them might be a smarter choice.

"Did the local police tell you anything more about Jared's death or the accident?" she asked.

"Officially, he drank too much, ran off the bridge into the river and drowned."

The part about drinking too much didn't surprise her. "But what did you see in your psychic vision?"

Nick observed her for a long moment, his sharp cop's gaze delving into hers. Was he speculating whether or not he could trust her? Or was he visualizing the tragedy of his brother's death? "The killer was in the car with him for a while, talking about this damned object."

"How did he orchestrate that without leaving clues?"

"Any clues or DNA were likely washed away in the water. He would've known not to leave fingerprints. If he was someone close to Jared or someone who knew him, maybe they went out drinking together and he agreed to drive him home. He headed the car toward the edge of the bridge and jumped out before it crashed and flipped over the side. They did say the driver's door was ajar and one window open which allowed the car to fill up faster. Jared wasn't buckled in and, judging by his blood alcohol level, he was too intoxicated to swim to the bank."

She shivered, visualizing the whole grisly and tragic scene. "That information alone would make me suspect foul play. Jared always buckled up while driving, and more than once after spending a night out drinking, he'd come home in a taxi."

Nick nodded. "Did that happen a lot while you two were married—Jared drinking too much?"

Did she have to answer that? She'd rather forget Jared's binges and how he became like a different person during them. "Yes, several times. His drink of choice was expensive scotch. He could put away a good portion of a fifth at one time. That's when he became infuriating and critical."

Nick frowned, his perceptive gaze locking on hers. "Did he ever hurt you?"

She shook her head. "Not physically, anyway." Emotional pain was another subject altogether. "He tried to one time. He struck out with his fist, but I dodged aside. I told him if he ever tried that again…" She shook her head, her throat constricting with the dark memory.

Nick took her hand from her lap and squeezed it, surrounding it with the warmth and strength of his. "Damn," he muttered in an angry tone. "You don't know how that makes me feel. If he was here, I'd knock him on his ass for that."

"Thanks," she whispered, her aching throat still tight. Not because of some long ago memory now, but because Nick would so quickly leap to her defense.

"You should be treated like—I don't know—a queen." His eyes intensified, and she knew he was sincere.

The difference between Jared and Nick was almost shocking.

He released her hand and she immediately missed the heat of his touch. What was wrong with her? She suddenly felt emotionally raw and vulnerable.

"Thanks." She shrugged, needing to fill the uncomfortable silence. "He never loved me. He only married me because of who my extended family is. Lots of politicians and businessmen, you know. A congressman."

"But why? He didn't need the money."

She shook her head. "No. I don't want this to sound snooty, but it was for the prestige he thought he could get. Connections. He wanted several prominent men from Savannah to invest in his business ventures."

"Maybe that's it," Nick said in an excited tone.

"What?"

"Did any of those men actually invest in Jared's businesses?"

"I'm sure they did. I wasn't interested in what he did. But we had several dinner parties when we first married, and he had me invite all sorts of important people. I planned elaborate menus and hired outside help to accomplish everything. Maybe he married me to be his hostess."

"Maybe. You know, the killer could be someone you invited to dinner, someone who's been in this house several times."

She cringed, imagining the hundreds of people who'd strolled through their home and eaten their food. Had one of them been capable of murder? "Yes, that's possible."

"We need to make a list."

"I'll get a piece of paper." Emily left the breakfast nook of the kitchen and headed toward the antique roll-top desk in the living room.

The phone rang. Nick waited in the kitchen doorway, a concerned frown on his face. The caller ID listed the number as restricted, just as it had last time the killer called. A chill passed through her.

"It might be him," she told Nick.

"We'll pick up at the same time." Nick placed his hand on the phone by the kitchen doorway.

Emily nodded and pushed the talk button. "Hello?"