celebrate?”
Ian scrambled for an excuse. He and Marisol had kept their affair quiet for this long for no particular reason. He was ready to pay up on the bet with his brothers any time they might ask. But Bonnett Harbor was a small town and rumors usually began small and escalated. The police chief involved with the town’s newest resident would provide plenty of titillating gossip, especially if there was sex involved. And Marisol’s art made her the subject of plenty of speculation.
But now there was something else to add to the mix. If Marisol was involved in something shady, then he couldn’t afford to make his relationship with her public. The last thing he needed was a scandal to drag him down. “I’d love to,” Ian said, “but I’m still on the clock.”
“You don’t even have time for dinner?”
“It’s two in the afternoon,” he said. “It’s lunchtime, not dinnertime.”
Marisol giggled. “All right, lunch then.”
Ian shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Dinner later?”
“I have to work this evening,” he lied. “Why don’t I call you?”
She gave him a confused look, then shrugged. “All right. But can you at least stay for a snack? I’ve got some ice-cream sandwiches in the fridge.”
He nodded and Marisol hurried off to the small kitchen in the back of the gallery. When she returned, she pulled him over to the sofa and sat down on one end. “So, if things continue to go well, I think I should open the gallery in three weeks. That means I have to get invitations printed up and hire a caterer and figure out what to do about parking.” She took a bite of the ice-cream sandwich, then handed it to him. “You’re going to be famous, you know.”
“Why?”
“And you have to be at the opening. Everyone will want to see my muse.” She reached out and ran a finger down his forearm, sending him a tantalizing smile. “Unless you want to be my secret muse?”
“Maybe that would be best,” Ian said. “I’d prefer that my ass stay incognito in this town.”
“You’re my secret lover, too,” Marisol said. “Does that make it more exciting for you?”
“Maybe,” he replied. “Have you told anyone about us?”
“I’m not sure what I’d say,” she replied. “I’m not sure what’s going on with us. I know we’re lovers and…”
Ian nodded. “And?”
She pushed up on her knees and crawled over to him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a lingering kiss. When she drew back, her gaze met his and for a long moment, Marisol searched his face.
She kissed him again and he tried to react normally, but it was as if she were testing him, evaluating his response. The conversation had suddenly turned serious. When she looked at him again, it was there in her eyes-a tiny hint of sadness and resignation, bewilderment and then acceptance.
Marisol forced a smile. “You know, I should really get back to work,” she said, her tone cool and indifferent. “And I’m sure you have speeding tickets to write and criminals to arrest.”
She jumped off the couch and wandered back over to her painting, turning her attention to the canvas. Ian stood, not quite sure how he ought to leave things. He’d almost forgotten their time together would probably end, and sooner rather than later. He’d been so caught up in the excitement, in biding the hours until the next moment he’d be able to touch her or kiss her, that he hadn’t planned for this or even run it over in his head. But this was reality, not the fantasy life that they’d been living.
Was this it? Was this the beginning of the end for them? In the past, there had always been accusations and anger, a long list of his faults and explanations of how it should have been. With Marisol, it wouldn’t be so dramatic. She’d simply let go of his hand and walk away, no regrets and no doubts.
Perhaps their relationship was just a sexual flash fire, burning hot and bright for a short time before quickly smothering itself. He didn’t want to walk away and it took every ounce of his willpower to move to the door. “I’ll call you,” he said.
“Or I’ll call you,” she replied, not even looking at him.
He nodded, the unread file still clutched in his hand. He didn’t bother to glance back, knowing that he’d only question his choice to leave. Ian didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful Marisol was, or how her smile had the capacity to make him feel as if he owned the world. Or how being with her had become his primary reason for getting up in the morning.
Ian opened the door and stepped out into the bright afternoon light. A little more than a week ago, he’d been content with his life, happy with his work and hopeful that his social life might improve. And then he’d spent the most incredible week caught up in an affair with a sexy stranger. In the end, what had he really lost?
As he strolled down the sidewalk, Ian decided the best course of action would be to shred the file the moment he got back to the station. It didn’t matter what Declan had found. Until Marisol Arantes did something illegal on his watch, in his jurisdiction, she was just another citizen of Bonnett Harbor.
And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
6
MARISOL PACED back and forth across the length of the gallery, counting each step in an attempt to distract her mind. It was nearly midnight and she hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past two days. She’d been operating on caffeine and confusion, her mind filled with thoughts of Ian Quinn.
Over and over again, she’d tried to explain to herself how things had gone from so good to so bad in the blink of an eye. The moment he’d walked into the gallery Tuesday afternoon, she’d known something was wrong. He couldn’t seem to look at her for more than a few seconds, and the moment she’d kissed him, she’d felt him pull away.
The end hadn’t come as a surprise. But the way it had ended still didn’t make sense. She was missing a piece of the puzzle, some clue to his behavior that could help make it all become clear. At first, she suspected that he might have found out about her father. But why wouldn’t he have simply confronted her and asked her about Hector Arantes? He certainly couldn’t know about the painting. She’d kept it well hidden and David had left town the night Ian had almost arrested him.
Had he grown bored? She stopped her pacing and closed her eyes, trying to remember that night in the gallery, when she had sketched him. Their passion had been mutual, there was no question about that. So how had it cooled so quickly?
Marisol wasn’t one to sit around and guess at the answers to her questions. Grabbing her keys, she headed to the door. A phone call first would only give him an excuse to brush her off. She’d go to Ian’s house, and if he wasn’t home, she’d wait for him.
The street outside the gallery was quiet, the heat of the day still radiating from the sidewalks. The sound of music drifted on the warm night air, entertainment from one of the nearby bars. Most of the citizens of Bonnett Harbor had turned in, but a few tourists still strolled the streets, looking for something to do on a Friday night.
Confronting Ian would be difficult, but they’d always been honest with each other. They could be that way now. Once she reached the street, Marisol stopped, a tiny sliver of doubt ruining her resolve. This shouldn’t make a difference! He’d been nothing more than a brief infatuation. Or had he?
Marisol cursed to herself, then continued down the sidewalk to her car. She hadn’t really paid attention to where Ian lived in Bonnett Harbor, but the town wasn’t that big. And maybe driving around for a while would calm her nerves and wash away the frustration she felt.
In the end, she found Ian’s house on the very first try, the Mustang parked in the driveway a clue that he was indeed home. She parked her car down the block, then walked beneath the huge maples that lined both sides of the street, the night breeze rustling the leaves overhead.
When she reached his house, she stood at the front door for a long time, unable to make herself ring the bell. What was she doing? Was she that desperate to have him that she couldn’t stay away?
She reached for the bell and, at the last moment, tried the door. To her surprise, it was unlocked. She pushed it open and stepped inside. The interior of the house was dark, illuminated only by the light that filtered through the
