A Secret Life

She shrugged.

“If you’re not-”

“Do you like the book?” she asked him.

“Of course I like the book. I wouldn’t have represented it if I didn’t.”

“Then it’s a good book, and I’ll like it.”

“Joan.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She had to start thinking strategically about her career. She couldn’t make decisions to suit everyone else around her. But he wasn’t about to start that up again, not when she was lying naked in his arms, and he was starting to think about making love with her again.

He kissed the top of her head.

“You know we have to go back,” she whispered.

“No, we don’t.” Indigo was a bad place for Joan right now.

She flipped over onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. “We have to look at my research notes.”

He shook his head.

“My book,” she continued. “The transcripts of the Kane inquest. I’m the one with the best chance of figuring out what’s going on.”

“It’s too dangerous,” he said. “Somebody thinks you know something.”

“Then they think Samuel knows something, too. The break-ins have focused on his place, not mine.” She was silent a moment. “What could he possibly know that would-”

“Stop doing this, Joan.”

“Is there something in the transcripts? Was Samuel a witness?”

“I thought you were taking an emotional break?”

“Break’s over. The margaritas wore off.”

Well, Anthony sure wasn’t ready for the break to be over. But he wasn’t about to start another argument tonight.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, reaching for another condom. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded. “But surely you’re not planning to leave tonight.”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Then we’ve got at least six hours of our break left.” He kissed her again.

This time, she kissed him back. “Why are you being so agreeable?”

He put his arms around her and settled her flush against his body. “It’s the new me.”

“There’s no new you.”

“Then it’s the old me.” He slid his palm over the small of her back and down her rear end, kneading into her taut muscles. “Or maybe it’s the aroused me.”

“That I can believe.”

“Good.” He kissed her deeply, drawing out her tongue, savoring the sweetness of her mouth. “Because even the agreeable me isn’t letting you out of this bed before morning.”

She slid her arms around his neck. “Guess I could be agreeable on that point, too.”

“Finally. Something.”

She giggled, then quickly sobered, peppering his mouth with little kisses while her legs twined sensuously with his.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HEATHER SAT cross-legged on the floor of Samuel’s trashed bedroom, separating shorts from T-shirts from slacks and boxers while the hot sun set far over Bayou Teche. They’d spent the entire day in the kitchen and living room, and the cottage was finally starting to look livable.

“What happened to all your underwear?” she asked, gauging the relative size of the piles in front of her.

Samuel glanced up from where he was gluing one of the dresser drawers back together. “What underwear?”

She pointed to two pairs of black silk boxers. “Maybe we finally figured out what he stole.”

“I sleep in those,” said Samuel.

Heather glanced around. “So, where’s… Oh.”

He laughed and went back to work. “Guess they don’t do that in Boston either, huh?”

She stood, carrying the T-shirt pile to one of the empty drawers that hadn’t been broken. “It’s a lot colder up in Boston.”

“And the men are a lot more upright.”

“They wear suits. Some of them are wool.”

“Poor babies.”

“There’s nothing wimpy about wearing underwear. I wear underwear.”

“Sometimes.”

“Don’t start with me.”

“Start what?”

“You’re still wearing your sling, bucko.”

“I can take it off anytime.”

She layered the shirts by color order in the bottom of the drawer. “The doctor told you to wait until tomorrow.”

“What does he know?”

“You mean just because he took the trouble to attend medical school?”

“It’s my arm.”

She returned for a pile of western shirts. “And if you want to keep it, you’ll do what he says.”

“Are you threatening me?”

She turned to give him an incredulous stare. “No.”

“You’re not threatening to take off my arm if I don’t obey orders?”

“I’m suggesting you’ll get an infection if you don’t listen to your medical professional.”

“Oh.”

She headed toward the dresser. “You’re weird.”

“Don’t put those in the dresser.”

She turned.

“They go in the closet.”

She gave him a snappy salute. “Yes, sir.”

He grinned. “Gotcha.”

“Oh, get over yourself.” She tried unsuccessfully to fight the shimmer of awareness caused by his smoldering gaze. Angling her path, she opened the door to his closet. The thief had dragged most of the contents from the closet, and now nothing remained but a few stray hangers on the bar and a black…

She peered into a darkened corner shelf.

Hello.

She set down the shirts and slid the old leather case into her hands. “What’s this?” She turned to Samuel, holding it out.

“Dad’s fiddle.”

“May I?” she asked.

“That’s right. You play, don’t you?”

“I play the violin.”