“It’s not very comfortable,” she said, with a little smile. “I’ve got some…some tea inside. And I bought some beer. Would you like to comein?”
Yes. Oh yes indeedy. Yes, I would like to come in and try this again, without a damn console or stick shift between us—except for mine—and maybe with fewer clothes. A lot fewer clothes. And no bucket seats. A couch would work…a bed, evenbetter…
But “Yes” was all he said—and then fairly bolted from the car. She’d mentionedtea(tea?) and a beer—not a nightcap, not just a dangling, suggestive invite inside…but, nevertheless, a reason for him to come in. A generic reason. Not a winky-wink, “do you want to come inside and finish this up”invitation.
What did that mean? He shifted inconspicuously to adjust his erection to a more comfortable position as Leslie came around from her side of thevehicle.
By the time she got the keys out and let them into the house, Declan’s brain—and hormones—had descended from “this isah-mazing: curves, heat, wet, sweet—let’s do it!” to a more controlled but no less interestedstate.
Thus, when the next thing he knew, she was backing him up against the kitchen island and moving right on in, he froze for just a sec. But when Leslie slid right up against him, and the edge of the granite bumped him in the low back, and he was suddenly accosted by soft woman and the interesting scent of chilly autumn air, Declan had noreservations.
He bent to meet her lips and went back into that hot, slick world of sensuality and intensity. But the granite edge bothered him, and the fact that she wasn’t damned close enough was even worse…so he caught her by the waist and in one smooth move, turned, lifted, and settled that pretty ass right onto thecounter.
And that worked just fine. She laughed a little against his mouth, but her hands were on his shoulders and her fingers tickled his hair, and things were getting even hotter and heavier and more intense when all of a sudden she gasped and toreaway.
“Oh my God!” she cried, shoving at him and sliding off the counter in one frantic movement. “Declan!”
He spun, albeit a little slowly because, damn, he’d beenintoher—into the moment, the taste, the heat, the touch…and that was when he saw it: themess.
Down the hall, beyond the kitchen, and everywhere in between: objects strewn about, chairs on their sides, books on thefloor…
Someone—or something—had beenthere.
And was veryangry.
Ten
Leslie stumbled away from Declan,staring in shock at the disaster that sprawled before her. Every last vestige of pleasure and arousal evaporated as she realizedsomeone had beenhere.
“Declan,” she said again, starting down the hallway toward the main foyer. There was not the same upheaval here in the kitchen, but somehow she knew there was more…and it had to be in the front by the staircase and the newly exposed speakeasyroom.
To her unabashed relief, he was there, right with her, taking her by the arm as she made her way with staggering, frozen movements. And then she noticed he was pushing past her, gently easing her back as he moved in front of her, and Leslie realized with a nauseating shock that he was worried the someone was stillhere.
The feminist side of her was annoyed that he pressed ahead, but the shocked and, yes, frightened side was kind of okay with it. So she grabbed his bicep (registering how incredible it was) with both hands and walked next to him just as they came around into thefoyer.
It wasn’t quite as bad as she’d feared. A sidelight window had been smashed, presumably so the miscreant could reach in to unlock the door. The tarp had been tossed aside, and the demolition debris on it scattered on the floor. The drywall cover to the speakeasy was tossed aside, and had cracked and crumbled at the edges. The table she’d put near the front door was upended, the neat stacks of paint cans toppled, the contents of her toolbox strewn all over thefloor.
But nothing significant was destroyed, except—she moaned when she saw it—the brand-new light fixture that had just arrived had been smashed by a randomly flungtool.
“No,” she cried, suddenly angry instead of dumbfounded. She’d waited four weeks for that damned piece to ship. “My newsconce!”
Declan had taken her hand, cupping his long, strong fingers around it as he scanned the foyer. She felt the tension in his grip and what was probably anger emanating from him aswell.
“I’m going to check upstairs,” he said in a lowvoice.
“I’m coming too,” she informedhim.
They began to climb the steps and learned that even one of the stairs had been destroyed, shifted out of place, and Leslie nearly fell on her face when she stepped on its loose edge and her foot slipped off. Fortunately, Declan’s steady hand kept her from more than a sharp bump when she landed on hershin.
“What the hell,” she muttered, getting angrier and angrier. “Vandals?Thieves?”
“Or someone looking for something,” he said, still quiet. She felt rather than saw his eyes tracking sharply from side to side, up then down and around, and noticed that he seemed to be straining tolisten.
Good idea.Stop complaining, she told herself.Listen. Look around. Payattention.
It wasn’t the ghost, wasit?
The thought struck her like an icy dart. Surely not…surely…not.
