Voyeur (30 page)

daytime hours, and besides, who would lurk around hiding things or dragging dead bodies away in the middle of the afternoon? Our culprit

clearly moves at night—so we need to do a
stakeout!
”

"You watch too much TV."

She harrumphed. "You think it's a dumb idea."

"No, I actual y think it's a
good
idea. But I stil say you watch too much TV if you think using words like 'stakeout' is enough to make you a detective."

Riley rol ed her eyes, insisting she was a good detective, whether or not she'd had adequate chance to prove it to him yet, and Sloane

ignored her, instead explaining that a good al -night stakeout general y required night goggles and snacks. He went to retrieve both as Riley

stayed to man their post, eyes peeled.

A few minutes later, she heard the rustle of shrubbery. She looked to the right, toward the noise, but could see nothing in the darkness as the

row of bushes in question was shadowed by the toolshed. Stil , she realized someone had just walked past the porch into the backyard—

thankful y, without seeing her.

Which was when her leg tickled and she glanced down past her shorts to spot, by the light of the moon, a large brown spider meandering up

the side of her calf.
Sweet mother of God!
It was al she could do not to go shrieking through the yard, but she somehow managed to stay

stil . She needed, at the very least, to bat the grotesque intruder away—yet she bit her lower lip, knowing if she moved, even to knock the

spider off, she'd be heard. Because she couldn't see who traveled the backyard, but she could indeed hear soft movements as whoever it

was padded over the flagstone path toward the gazebo—which meant even the slightest sound resulting from
her
movements could reveal

her presence.

Riley's eyes dropped back to the spider.
Go away, go away,
she wil ed it.

The spider apparently failed to receive her telepathic message, since it continued taking horribly tingly steps up her leg.

She tried to calm down and think.
If you carefully flick the spider away, it can be done silently. You just can't freak out and go running

around as if you're on fire.
The act would require precision and composure. But a sensible and mature person could do it.

Stil aware of movements beyond the porch in the dark, Riley leaned over, took bold, careful aim, and gave the spider a silent but strong flick.

It disappeared into the night—and she stil wanted to jump around and scream, but she restrained herself and forced slow, even breaths as

she worked to remain very stil in the swing.

She smiled to herself then, realizing she'd just dealt quite efficiently with one of her greatest fears.
Take that, Sloane Bennett
She'd become a respected detective yet!

Just then, flames lit the gazebo!
She
might not be on fire, but the gazebo
was!
She gasped, stood up, and spotted in the light of the blaze none other than Edna Barnes, the Dorchesters' housekeeper!

Just then, the back door opened and Sloane exited with a picnic basket in one hand and what looked like a pair of high-tech binoculars in

the other. "What the hel ?" he said, seeing the fire.

"It's Edna!" she replied.

Edna looked up, clearly startled by their voices, then fled. "I'l put out the blaze—you fol ow her!" Sloane said, dashing for the hose.

This was it—Riley's big chance to apprehend a criminal! And it would be a lot more fun than fighting a fire, so she was glad Sloane had

taken that task and left her this perfect opportunity for glory.

She sprinted through the deep backyard, unable to see much as she descended under the cover of the trees that dotted the area, their thick

boughs blocking out the moonlight. But she heard Edna's footsteps as the older woman rushed ahead in the distance, so she ran blind,

hoping her knowledge of the grounds would keep her from bashing head-on into a tree trunk.

It was just past the vegetable patch, before reaching the path that would lead to the secret garden, that Edna was caught in a shaft of light

and Riley yel ed, "Stop or I'l shoot!"

Edna looked back only long enough to say, "I might believe that, Riley Wainscott, if you owned a gun!" Then she ran on.

Drat, Edna knew her too wel .

Which meant it was woman against woman, sprinter against sprinter Riley barreled ahead, breathless, remembering with regret that she

kept meaning to join the local health club. But through pure wil , she gained on Edna, closing the distance between them step by grueling,

panting step—until final y she tackled the housekeeper in the tal grass in a field beyond the garden. They went down with an
oomph!

A long moment later as the two women lay panting, recovering from the impact with the earth, she heard Sloane's voice. "Riley? Are you out

here?" She looked up to see the beam of a flashlight coming toward them.

"Out past the vegetable garden!" she yel ed, keeping a firm grip on Edna as she pushed to an upright position, stil straddling the other

woman's body. "I've got her! She won't get away from me now!"

It was only as Sloane approached, shining his light down to capture Riley and her prey, that she realized she was using every ounce of force

in her body to keep an elderly woman with arthritic knees pinned to the ground.

"You're hurting me, Riley! I have a bad back."

Riley let out a disgusted breath, trying to cover her over-zealous actions. "Wel , that's what you get for kil ing poor Hawthorne."

Edna peered up at Sloane. "I don't know what you see in her. She's mean to old people."

"Riley," Sloane said in his typical dry tone, "I think if you get off her, we'l manage to detain her until the police arrive."

Riley let out a sigh. Oh wel , at least she'd handled the spider situation like a pro.

That night, they made love in Braden’s bed, looking toward the mirrored closet doors. Neither of them
called
it making love, but to Laura, that's how it felt. In the tender moments, definitely—but even in the rougher ones, too.

He lay behind her, thrusting deeply into her, each stroke delivering a barrage of pleasure. As they peered into the reflecting glass, he said, "Keep watching us, baby." She obeyed.

She saw their bodies undulating together, witnessed his face wrenching in sweet, hot agony, and saw her own, as wel . When he lifted one of her

legs with his hand, parting her thighs, she saw his cock sliding smoothly into her. "Watch me fuck you. Watch how easily you take me inside."

She was shocked at how beautiful she thought herself that way, surprised at how differently Braden had made her view sex. It occurred to her that

maybe—despite having had sex with other guys, even guys she'd sincerely cared for—she'd never real y,
truly
been intimate with anyone before

Braden.

She'd loved most of al watching Braden's face when he came—she'd never been so aware of taking a man to another plane, even if for just a few

short moments.

Afterward, they lay talking, letting the ceiling fan cool their bodies after sex that had grown sweaty.

"So," he said, "day after tomorrow?"

She sighed. She'd told him over breakfast that was when her retreat would end, when she was flying home. When she'd arrived here, she'd had no

idea her
writer's
retreat would turn into a
sexual
retreat, as wel . Nodding against her pil ow, she answered. "Yeah."

He stayed silent for a moment, then softly met her gaze. "I'm gonna miss you, snowflake."

Temptation filtered through her, the temptation to say what she was thinking.
Maybe I could just stay here with you forever.

But then she remembered that he didn’t even live there—his real life, real world, was in L.A. And
her
real world was in Seattle. Just like Riley and Sloane's secret garden, this was merely an escape, and this affair would be only a brief albeit powerful interlude in her real life. So instead, she

said, “I’m going to miss you, too. This has been a . .. pretty amazing time for me."

"Not just for you, snowflake," he said quietly, and her heart soared.

She smiled over at him, reached out and found his hand. God, she was going to miss just being close to him, just being able to look into his dark

eyes or touch him whenever she felt the urge.

He rose on one elbow next to her. "Let me steal you away for awhile tomorrow—just half a day. For some skiing and lunch. Then you can write al

afternoon. Besides, I hear al work and no play makes Laura a dul girl." He grinned. "What do you say?"

"I say if I was ever a dul girl, it was before I got
here.
But that aside, sounds like an offer I can’t refuse."

"Good. Otherwise, I'd have to strap you into some concrete snow-shoes and make you sleep with the fishes." His brows narrowed slightly, as if thinking it through. "After the spring thaw, that is," he added with a soft, sexy laugh.

Ah, how she wished they would both stil be here after the spring thaw. But she had two more nights in his arms, and a day of fun with him tomorrow,

so she reminded herself again to be a big girl, act like a grownup, and enjoy these last couple of days with him for al they were worth.

"You're doing great, snowflake."

The ski lift gradual y took them skyward up the mountain, and Laura smiled over at Braden, replying with a kiss. She thought she'd never shared a

more romantic moment with a guy—with pristine snow fal ing al around them, the solitude of a lift ride made her feel much more as if they were

alone than at a busy ski resort.

They'd started out early, Braden helping her put together a suitable winter ensemble from his large foyer closet, promising—when she asked—that

the ladies' skiwear belonged to his mom and other family members who'd left it behind for return visits. His mother's skis had been stored there, as

wel , and he'd assured Laura it was okay to borrow them. "Especial y since I bought 'em for her," he'd added with a wink. Upon taking to the Vail slopes, they'd stayed on only the easier blue and green runs, and so far, she hadn't yet fal en.

"I'm glad I came skiing at least once before heading home," she said. "Despite wanting to get my book done, this is nice."

He cast a soft grin. "Are you looking forward to that? Heading home?"

She answered honestly. "In some ways yes, in others no. It'l be good to see Monica, and my mom. But I'm going to miss
you . . . us."

He leaned in for another soft kiss, his tongue pressing lightly between her parted lips, and even now, a mere kiss from the man made her pussy

tingle.

"But al good things must come to an end, right?" he said. He seemed lighter about her departure than he had last night in bed—and she supposed that sealed her fate, if there was ever any doubt.

She'd found herself thinking about Braden's mom—given that she wore the woman's parka and was using her skis. When Tommy had casual y

brought up Braden's family over dinner the other night, Braden had quickly changed the subject, so she and Braden had never discussed them. "Do

you
see
your
family a lot? Do they live in L.A.?"

He shrugged, looking ahead of them at the snow-covered pines dotting the rocky outcrop the lift currently traversed. "I see my mom every couple of weeks, but my dad ... eh, not often."

"Why not?" she asked, but his expression had grown a bit distant, that quickly, so she added, "I mean, if you don't mind tel ing me."

"They divorced when I was eleven and I never real y forgave my dad. He was a drinker, and a cheater. They think I don’t know that, but I do."

Laura’s heart contracted to suddenly envision her strong, commanding Braden as a little boy, having his heart broken by his father s hurtfulness.

She let out a sigh, not sure what to say. "Wow. I’m sorry. My dad died when I was a teenager—a heart attack—but I’m blessed that my parents had

a happy marriage."

Braden’s gaze shifted briefly back to hers, but he stil spoke matter-of-factly. "I didn’t know many people with happy marriages growing up. Stil don’t, I guess. There have been a lot of divorces in my family."

"Monica’s mom and dad are together and seem happy."

He leaned his head back, offering a wry grin. "The white sheep of the family." But at least his humor seemed restored now.

"So I guess that’s why you're a thirty-five-year-old bachelor," she said, gently teasing but also serious.

"Probably so. And why I'l be
forty
-five year old bachelor, and eventual y a
fifty-
five
year old bachelor . . ." His voice trailed off into soft laughter, which she joined in, but part of her felt sad. She knew some people never married or found a lifemate and stil lived satisfying lives, and if anyone was

capable of that, she suspected it was Braden. Yet it stil sounded lonely to her, especial y when she thought of growing old.

"You must like being single a lot if you plan to stay that way forever," she offered cautiously.

But he only shrugged in his easy-going, man-of-the-world way. "It's what I'm used to, and it has a lot of perks. I don't have to be responsible to anyone else. I don't have to worry about the complexities of marriage and family. And I can sleep with whoever I want,
whenever
I want." Seeming completely back to his normal self, he gave his head a rakish tilt as he peered into her eyes. "Think about it, snowflake—if I were the marrying kind, I'd
already
be married, and you and I never would have happened."

A sobering thought that tightened Laura's stomach.

"You wouldn't know what it's like to be fucked in the window where anyone can see you," he went on, the timbre of his voice dropping to a sultry, seductive level. "You wouldn't know what it’s
like to be with two men at once. Hel , you stil wouldn't even have played with a vibrator."