Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [107]
Finally, she spoke softly. “Last night was . . . well, there are no words. I’m glad you took that last little piece of me.”
“I’m glad you gave it to me.”
She sighed, said, “Well . . . I should go,” and reached to zip her bag.
But he grabbed on to her wrist so that she looked up at him. “Not just last night—this whole time, Laura, has been . . . unforgettable.”
She nodded, and knew she needed to leave quickly before she burst into tears and asked him to love her forever and then had her heart smashed to bits when he looked horrified. “I should go,” she said again.
Braden wheeled her suitcase to the stairs, then carried it down to the foyer. He wore flannel pants, thick socks, and a gray thermal pullover but said, “I’ll take this out for you.”
She was putting on her coat and looked up to reply. “No, I can get it. You don’t even have shoes on.” When he started to protest, she lightened the mood. “I have to get used to toting around my vibrator without you, don’t I?”
The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly, his eyes smiling. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I guess you do.”
They stepped out onto the porch and he lifted his hands to her face. She looked up at him as the cold air chilled her—and fell in love all over again with his deep, expressive eyes and the dark stubble on his cheeks. He kissed her, slow, soft, letting his mouth linger on hers. It sent skitters of pleasure all through her—as much as the first kiss from him had nearly a week ago.
“Bye, snowflake.”
“Bye,” she said and hoped to hell he couldn’t tell she was close to tears. She quickly wheeled her bag down the walk over a covering of fresh-fallen snow and to the back of her rented SUV.
“Drive safe,” he called as she opened the door to climb inside.
She only waved. Shut the door. Started the engine. And backed up the long driveway, aware that he still stood on the porch watching her go.
And as she backed out onto the road and put the car in drive, a tear descended her cheek as the stark truth hit her.
It was over. Just like that. No more kisses. No more sex. No more cuddling or moaning, or breakfast with him, or dinner. No more snowflake.
Chapter Eighteen
Laura sat at her desk in her apartment in Seattle, putting the finishing touches on the book. Edna had been charged with murder, attempted arson, and numerous counts of theft. And Sloane was preparing to depart back to his P.I. business in L.A.—but not before he was lauded for single-handedly solving a murder while simultaneously putting out a fire. Of course, Riley got no credit for her work on the case—the local police chief giving her nothing more than a bit of halfhearted recognition for “detaining the culprit on the instructions of Sloane Bennett.”
But for once, Riley wasn’t all that upset over the lack of respect for her detective skills. Not only was she used to it, but her heart was already occupied with another sorrow—having to say good-bye to her lover, Sloane.
Riley looked up when the doorbell rang. Maybe it was a reporter, coming to interview her about her part in Edna’s apprehension! But no, the Gazette had spent all its coverage on Sloane, touting him as “the mysterious private investigator from California who solved a local murder completely on his own!” Or maybe, she thought, still holding out hope for something good, it was her boss, Mr. Kelsey, coming to tell her he was finally ready to promote her from secretary to private eye. Yet, again, no—nothing had happened to change Kelsey’s poor opinion of her investigative abilities.
Ah well, she’d been thwarted once more, but there would be other mysteries to solve, and one of these days, Riley was going to get the recognition—and the job—she deserved.
Sighing, she pushed to her feet and opened the door—shocked to find Sloane standing on the other side, looking as dark and handsome as ever. He held out a pink rose.
She bit her lip, touched that he’d remembered the day in the garden when she’d mentioned it was her favorite flower.