Fiona couldn’t help the sigh that gushed from her throat. “These aregorgeous.” Smoothing a fingertip over one delicate flower lip, she looked up at him. “What a gorgeous color! Almost lavender. And tulips—well, it’s not spring, so they’re extra special. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“I thought roses—especially red ones—would be far too cliché for you.” Gideon sat on the edge of the desk and reached to pull her chin toward his mouth. Holding the flowers carefully so they wouldn’t get crushed, Fiona lifted her lips to his. After several moments of reacquainting themselves with each other’s kiss, they broke away and pulled back to look at each other.
Fiona was unnerved as she recognized not only the intense emotion in his eyes, but also the depth of feelings that swelled in her chest when she gazed up at him.
“How did you get in here, anyway?” she asked, frowning. She would have heard him if he’d come in through the front door.
He shrugged and half-grinned, and she couldn’t help but notice how his shoulders moved. And now that she knew exactly what those shoulders looked like, and how smooth and hard and broad they were, it had an even stronger effect on her than before. “Iva let me in. She and Maxine and Juanita were just leaving.”
“Of course she did,” she said dryly. “I meant to check that they’d locked up after them, but I got so distracted after Arnold Sternan dropped in—”
“Sternan dropped in?”
The tone in his voice had her stopping cold. “Yes.” Why did he sound so…annoyed? She lifted a brow as if in challenge. “Is that a problem?”
“No. Just…curious.”
Her lift of irritation eased. “He was curious about the skeleton. As one might imagine.”
“Yes. But I find it interesting that he should drive all the way down here to ask about it.”
She gave him a flirtatious smile. “Youdrove all the way down here.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “I came down to see you. Not to nose around about a skeleton. As you very well know.” Before she could stop him, he tugged her to him by the shoulders, nearly crushing the tulips between them as he covered her lips with his.
If the earlier kiss made her melt like hot wax and want to collapse into a pile of nothing, this kiss made her nerve endings sing and singe with heat.
When she pulled away this time, she was breathing heavily, and he looked as though he’d willingly toss the cost of three dozen out-of-season tulips aside, just to get to her again. In fact, he reached for her, staring at her with some dark intensity in his eyes, but she slipped away.
Keeping the flowers between them like an aromatic, yet delicate, shield, Fiona forced her scattered thoughts into order. “Gideon, when did Valente take over this shop? When did he buy it?”
He blinked as though trying to refocus, looking at her for a moment without comprehension before frowning slightly. “I have no idea.” He reached for her again, but she thrust the flowers at him.
“All right, then. There’s a big vase in the back, by the sink—would you stick these in water for me? I’ve got to find something that shows when Valente took over here.”
Aware that Gideon hadn’t moved, she fought with a desk drawer containing old files she hadn’t yet gone through. The ancient drawer groaned like wind through the trees as she forced it open.
“Why does it matter so much to you?” he asked, perching his very fine ass on the edge of the desk. “Even if Valente was involved, you didn’t even know the man.”
Barely glancing up at him, she rifled through an old, yellowed file and replied, “Because I’m a curious sort of gal. It’s a mystery—and it’s fascinating. I feel like Nancy Drew—you probably don’t even know who she was, do you?”
“Girl detective,” he retorted immediately. “Very goody two-shoes.”
Fiona snickered as she thumbed through old, yellowing files. “That would be true. She never even kissed her boyfriend that I remember. And she was a red-head!”
“Foolish, foolish girl,” he murmured, lifting a coil of her hair to spin it around his finger. He had, she noticed, conveniently forgotten her suggestion that he get a vase for the flowers.
“True that.” She scanned an official-looking document that turned out to be nothing more than an old insurance policy. “Valente was a freaking pack-rat,” she muttered, noticing the expiration date was February 19, 1963. “Sternan was all worried that the skeleton in the closet here would be damaging to his career. I’m surprised Brad hasn’t shown up, worried about the same thing, to be honest.”
“He probably will,” Gideon said in a perturbed voice. “If nothing more, it would be an excuse to hang around you and invite you to another fundraiser, or to dinner, or—”
“Either way, I thought I’d better check and see if Valente did own the shop when the woman was murdered.”
“Fiona, we don’t even have a date yet for her death, let alone know whether it was foul play or not. Why don’t you let the cops worry about it—”
“What a great idea! Gideon, they’d tellyou. You could ask for some official reason, couldn’t you—as my attorney or something—so they’d have to tell you what they’ve found out. Will you?” She looked up at him with pleading eyes—coming as close to batting her lashes as she’d ever done before—and she could almost hear her mother’s disgusted groan.
“Will I what?” The calm, cool, and collected Gideon actually seemed distracted by her fluttering eyelashes. Maybe Marilyn Monroe’d had the right idea.
