Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [24]
The woman just couldn’t take no for an answer. “Are you hard of hearing?”
“No.” She smiled, a gleam making those brown eyes sparkle. “Just used to having to be stubborn to get what I want.”
The way she emphasized the word want made him curious about just what she did want. When she licked her lips and shifted, his curiosity doubled. Crossing his arms and leaning back against his desk so he half sat on the edge of it, directly above her, he decided to ask her, “So what is it you want, Miss Santori?”
Her lips parted. As she licked at them, Simon could see a slow hint of color rising into her creamy cheeks.
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Too late.”
“But if I have to wait around for a couple of hours, I’d much rather do it here—where I can perhaps do some of the work I came all this way to do—rather than at some nasty, greasy garage in town.”
It made sense. For her. Not for him.
As if seeing he was about to refuse, she hurriedly added, “I’ve come so far, and if I go back empty-handed, not only am I out the cost of the trip, but I won’t get paid.”
“What kind of employer is this professor of yours? It was his responsibility to make sure the arrangements were confirmed.”
She sighed. “I know. But it’s a private project. He’s old and doesn’t have much money. I certainly can’t ask him to pay me for work I didn’t do.”
She sounded surprisingly sincere. And the hopeful look on her face made him curious enough to ask, “So what, exactly, is it you think you can do here in a few hours?”
That color rose a little higher and her gaze shifted. She stared somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, then looked down. He could almost feel her stare rolling over his body, from his neck, down his chest, across his lap.
If he didn’t know better, he’d very much suspect Miss Santori wanted to inspect something other than the history of this house. When she lifted her eyes and boldly stared into his, he suspected that something was him.
Ridiculous. He was an embittered, scarred, surly man—as she seemed fond of pointing out. And she was a young, fresh, smart-mouthed student with a smile as bright as the sun and a figure that could make a grown man fall down and beg. She’d kissed him back last night simply because he’d startled her, or else she was grateful he’d let her stay.
He hadn’t seen what he thought he’d seen. He was simply transferring his own heated attraction onto the woman, which only proved how jaded his experience—and solitude—had made him.
She finally cleared her throat. “I’m here to learn more about Josef Zangara.”
“Who?”
She looked surprised. “He owned this house and, with a partner named Robert Stubbs, turned it into a hotel back in the nineteen-thirties.”
At last, a name he recognized. “Stubbs was my mother’s grandfather.”
Her surprise turned to shock. “Oh, God, I had no idea! The house has been in your family that long?”
“I suppose. I grew up out west and never even visited here until after my mother died. At that point, I decided I wanted to try to get to know her only brother better. My uncle Roger mentioned that the house had been handed down from his grandfather.”
She slid from the arm of the couch, landing on the seat of the sofa, appearing deep in thought. “Fascinating. So you have a serious connection to Stubbs. I hadn’t gone too far with him since Zangara is the focus of the book.” She looked up, beginning to smile, her expression excited. “You might be able to help me more than I thought. Stubbs knew Zangara better than anyone.”
Growing interested despite himself, he murmured, “Who was this Zangara character again?”
She didn’t even look up. “A serial killer who slaughtered fifteen women and buried them on the grounds of this estate.”
Oh. Was that all.
“Are you joking?”
She shook her head. Simon slid down to sit beside her on the couch. “You’re serious? This house was owned by a serial killer? Why have I never heard of him?”
She turned to fully face him, lifting one leg and tucking her foot beneath her cute ass, then draping her arm across the back of