The Rancher--A snowbound Western romance Page 7

  If all the men of Mesa Falls were in town, there was a chance she’d run into one of them at the casino anyhow. Desmond Pierce had been avoiding her calls, so she hadn’t even gotten a chance to meet him. But she needed to speak to all of them.

  Although there was one in particular she couldn’t wait to see, even though she already knew he had nothing else to say to her on the subject of Zach’s death.

  Miles might be keeping secrets from her. And he might be the last man she’d ever trust with her heart because of that. But that didn’t mean that she’d stopped thinking about his hands, his mouth or his body on hers for more than a few seconds at a time since she’d left Montana.

  No doubt about it—she was in deep with this man, and they’d only just met.

  Six

  Steering his borrowed SUV around a hairpin turn, Miles pulled up to the massive lakefront villa where Chiara was staying for the week. He’d been in town for all of a few hours before seeking her out, but ever since he’d heard from Jonah that the place she’d rented was close to the casino where Miles was staying, he’d needed to see her for himself.

  The property was brightly lit even though the sun had just set, the stone turrets and walkways illuminated to highlight the architectural details. Huge pine trees flanked the building, while a second stone guesthouse sat at an angle to the villa with a path linking them.

  Stepping out of the casino’s Land Rover that he’d commissioned for the evening, Miles hoped all the lights meant that Chiara was taking her security seriously. He’d kept an eye on her social media sites since she’d left Mesa Falls to make sure no one hacked them again, but that hadn’t done nearly enough to soothe his anxiety where she was concerned. Someone was threatening her for reasons related to Zach, and that did not sit well with him. He’d messaged her earlier in the day to let her know he would be in town tonight, but she hadn’t replied.

  Now, walking up the stone path into the central turret that housed the front entrance, he tucked his chin into the collar of his leather jacket against the chill in the wind. He could see into one of the large windows. A fire burned in the stone hearth of a great room, but he didn’t notice any movement inside.

  He shot a text to Chiara to warn her he was outside, then rang the bell. No sense adding to her unease during a week that had already upset her.

  An instant later, he heard a digital chime and the bolt sliding open, then the door swung wide. Chiara stood on the threshold, her long dark hair held off her face with a white cable-knit headband. She wore flannel pajama bottoms in pink-and-white plaid. A V-neck cashmere sweater grazed her hips, the pink hue matching her fuzzy socks.

  She looked sweetly delicious, in fact. But his overriding thought was that she shouldn’t be answering her own door while someone was watching her movements and threatening her. Fear for her safety made him brusque.

  “What happened to taking extra precautions with your safety?” He didn’t see anyone else in the house with her. No bodyguard. No assistant.

  Tension banded his chest.

  “Hello to you, too.” She arched a brow at him. “And to answer your question, the door was locked, and the alarm system was activated.” She stepped to one side, silently inviting him in. “I gave my head of security the evening off since I had no plans to go out.”

  Relieved she’d at least thought about her safety, he entered the foyer, which opened into the great room with its incredible views of the lake. He took in the vaulted ceilings and dark wood accents along the pale walls. The scent of popcorn wafted from deeper in the house, the sound of popping ongoing.

  “Right. I realize the level of security you use is your own business, I’ve just been concerned.” He noticed a throw blanket on the floor in front of the leather sofa. A nest of pillows had been piled by the fireplace, and there was a glass of red wine on the hearth. “Early night?”

  “My job isn’t always a party every evening, contrary to popular opinion.” She hurried toward the kitchen, a huge light-filled space separated from the great room by a marble-topped island. “Have a seat. I don’t want my popcorn to burn.”

  He followed more slowly, taking in the honey-colored floors and pale cabinets, the row of pendant lamps casting a golden glow over the island counter, where a popcorn popper quickly filled with fluffy white kernels. The excessive size and grandeur of the space reminded him they moved in very different circles. For all of his wealth, Miles spent most of his time on his ranch. His life was quiet. Solitary. Hers was public. Extravagant.

  But at least for now, they were alone.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude on your evening.” He had to admit she looked at home in her sprawling rented villa, her down-to-earth pj’s and sweater a far cry from the metallic dress she’d worn to the ranch party. She seemed more approachable. “I’m in town to meet with my partners, and I wanted to make sure there have been no new incidents.”

  He lowered himself onto a backless counter stool, gladder than he should be to see her again. She’d been in his thoughts often enough since their night together, and not just because he’d been concerned about her safety. Her kiss, her touch, the sound of her sighs of pleasure had distracted him day and night.

  “Nothing since I left your house. Can I get you a glass of wine?” she asked, turning the bottle on the counter. “It’s nothing special, but it’s my preferred pairing with popcorn.”

  Her light tone hinted she wanted to change the subject from the threat she’d received, but he was unwilling to let it go.

  “No, thank you. I won’t keep you long.” He stood again, if only to get closer to her while she leaned a hip on the island.

  The urge to pull her against him was so strong he forced himself to plant a palm on the marble countertop instead of reaching for her.

  “Well, you don’t need to fear for my safety. My assistant’s boyfriend is also my bodyguard, and they’re both staying in the guesthouse right on the property.” She pointed out the window in the direction of the smaller lodge he’d seen close by. “I’m in good hands.”

  He’d prefer she was in his hands. But he ignored the need to touch her; he was just glad to hear she hadn’t taken the threat lightly.

  “Did you report the incident to the police?” His gaze tracked her emerald eyes before taking in her scrubbed-clean skin and high cheekbones. She smelled like orange blossoms.

  “I didn’t reach out to them.” She frowned, folding her arms. “I was so busy that day trying to get all my social media accounts secured that I never gave it any thought.”

  He hated to upset her unnecessarily, but her safety was important to him. “You should let the authorities know you’re being harassed. Even if they can’t do anything to help, it would be good to have the episode on the record in case things escalate.”

  She mattered to him. Even when he knew that was problematic. She didn’t trust him, and he had plenty of reason not to trust her. Yet that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her again. He could tell himself all day it was because staying close to her would help him protect Zach’s memory. But he wasn’t that naive. The truth was far simpler. Their one night together wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy his hunger for this woman.

  “I’ll report it tomorrow,” she conceded with a nod, her dark hair shifting along her sweater. “I can head to the local station in the morning, before I have lunch with Astrid.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?” he offered, his hand leaving the marble counter to rest on top of hers. Briefly. Because if he touched her any longer, it would be damn near impossible to keep his head on straight. “Spending hours at the cop shop is no one’s idea of fun.”

  A hint of a smile curved her lips. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

  Refusing his offer, but not moving her fingers out from under his. He shifted fractionally closer.

  Her head came up, her gaze wary. Still, he thought there migh
t have been a flash of hot awareness in those beautiful eyes.

  “What about the date you promised me?” He tipped up her chin to better see her face, read her expression.

  She sucked in a quick breath. Then, as if to hide the reaction, she bit her lip.

  He imagined the soft nip of those white teeth on his own flesh, a phantom touch.

  “Name the day,” he coaxed her as the moment drew out, the desire to taste her getting stronger with each passing breath.

  “I told you that it’s a bad idea for us to spend more time together,” she said finally, not sounding the least bit sure of herself. “Considering how things spiraled out of control after the party at your house.”

  He skimmed a touch along her jaw, thinking about all the ways he hadn’t touched her yet. All the ways he wanted to.

  “I’ve spent so much time thinking about that night, I’m not sure I can regret it.” His gaze dipped to the lush softness of her mouth. He trailed his thumb along the seam. “Can you?”

  Her lips parted, a soft huff of her breath grazing his knuckle.

  “Maybe not.” She blinked fast. “But just because you successfully run into and escape from a burning building once doesn’t mean you should keep tempting fate with return trips.”

  “Is that what this is?” He released her, knowing he needed to make his case with his words and not their combustible connection. “A burning building?”

  “You know what I mean. We seem destined to be at odds while I search for answers about Zach. There’s no point blurring the battle lines.” She spoke quickly, as if eager to brush the whole notion aside so she could move on.

  He hoped the hectic color in her cheeks was evidence that he affected her even a fraction of how much she tempted him. But he didn’t want to press her more tonight for fear she’d run again. For now, he would have to content himself that she’d agreed to speak to the police tomorrow.

  “Then we’ll have to disagree on that point.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he’d never removed. “The fact is, you owe me a date, and I’m not letting you off the hook.”

  Still, he backed up a step, wanting to give her space to think it over.

  “You’re leaving?” She twisted a dark strand of hair around one finger.

  He would not think about how that silky hair had felt wrapped around his hand the night they’d been together. “You deserve an evening to yourself. And while I hope you’ll change your mind about a date, I’m not going to twist your arm. I have the feeling we’ll run across each other again this week since we have a common interest in Zach’s story.”

  “Maybe we will.” Her bottle-green eyes slid over him before she squared her shoulders and picked up her bowl of popcorn. “Good night, Miles.”

  He would have liked to end the night very differently, but he would settle for her roaming gaze and the memory of her biting her lip when they touched. Those things might not keep him warm tonight, but they suggested the odds were good of her landing in his bed again.

  For now, that was enough.

  * * *

  So much for her relaxing evening in front of the fire with popcorn and a book.

  Chiara couldn’t sit still after Miles left. Unsatisfied desires made her twitchy and restless. After half an hour of reading the same page over and over again in her book, never once making sense of it, she gave up. She replaced the throw blanket and pillows on the sofa, then took her wine and empty popcorn bowl into the kitchen.

  Even now, as she opened her laptop and took a seat at the island countertop, she swore she could feel the place where Miles’s thumb had grazed her lip. That, in turn, had her reliving his kisses and the way their bodies had sought one another’s that night in Mesa Falls.

  Could that kind of electrifying chemistry be wrong? She guessed yes, because she and Miles were going to be at odds over Zach. All the sizzling attraction in the world was only going to confuse her real goal—to honor Zach’s memory by clearing away the mystery of his death.

  But denying that she felt it in the first place, when she wasn’t deceiving anyone with her protests, seemed foolish. Miles had surely recognized the attraction she felt for him. And yet he’d walked away tonight, letting her make the next move.

  Instead of losing herself in his arms, she opted to search her files on Zach one more time. Checking her inbox, she noticed a retired administrator from Dowdon School had gotten back to her on an email inquiry she’d made long ago. Or, more accurately, the administrator’s former assistant had responded to Chiara. She hadn’t asked directly about Zach; instead, she’d asked for information about the school year when he’d died under the guise of writing a general retrospective for a class reunion.

  Apparently, the assistant hadn’t cared that she wasn’t a former student. She had simply attached a few files, including some flyers for events around campus, including one for the art fair where Chiara had last seen Zach. There was also a digital version of the small Dowdon yearbook.

  After saving all the files, she opened them one by one. The art fair poster brought a sad, nostalgic smile to her face but yielded no clues. Seeing it reminded her how much of an influence Zach had on her life, though, his eye for artistic composition inspiring her long afterward. Other pamphlets advertised an author visit, a homecoming dance in conjunction with Brookfield and a football game. She wrote down the email contact information for the dance and sent a message to the address, using the same pretext as before.

  Pausing to sip her wine, Chiara swiped through the yearbook even though she’d seen it twice before. Once, as soon as it came out; she’d made an excuse to visit the Brookfield library to examine a copy since the school kept all the Dowdon yearbooks in a special collection. She only paged through it enough to know Zach hadn’t been in there. No photo. No mention.

  Like he’d never existed.

  Then, a year ago, she’d seen Jonah’s copy at Astrid’s house and had flipped through. Now, she examined the content more carefully in the hope of finding anything she’d overlooked.

  First, however, she searched for Miles’s photo. He was there, alphabetized in his class year next to his brother, Weston Rivera. They weren’t twins, but they were as close in age as nontwin siblings could be.

  The Rivera men had been swoonworthy even then. Wes’s hair had been longer and unruly, his hazel eyes mischievous, and his look more surfer than rancher. Miles appeared little changed since the photo was taken, beyond the obvious maturing of his face and the filling out of the very male body she remembered from their night together. But his serious aspect and set jaw were the same even then, his blue eyes hinting at the old soul inside.

  Before she could stop herself, her finger ran over his image on the screen.

  Catching herself in the midst of fanciful thinking, she dismissed the unfamiliar romantic notions that had somehow attached themselves to Miles. She navigated away from the student photos section to browse the rest of the yearbook while she nibbled a few pieces of cold popcorn.

  Half an hour later, a figure caught her eye in the background of one of the candid group shots taken outdoors on the Dowdon soccer field. It was a young woman in a knee-length navy blue skirt and sensible flats, her blond hair in a side part and low ponytail.

  An old memory bubbled to the surface of seeing the woman. And she was a woman, not a girl, among the students, looking more mature than those around her.

  Chiara had seen her before. Just once. Long ago.

  With Zach.

  The thrill of discovery buoyed her, sending her mind twirling in twenty directions about what to do with the new information. Funny that the first person who came to mind to share it with was Miles.

  Would he know the woman? She picked up her phone, seeing his contact information still on the screen since the last message she’d received had been from him, letting her know he was at her door. The desir
e to share this with him was strong. Or was it only her desire to see him again? The ache of seeing him walk out her door was still fresh.

  With an effort, she set the phone aside.

  As much as she wanted to see if Miles recognized the mystery woman, she acknowledged that he might not answer her truthfully. He’d made it clear he planned to keep Zach’s secrets. That she couldn’t trust someone who could turn her inside out with a look was unsettling.

  Tonight, she would research all she could on her own. Tomorrow, she would meet Astrid for lunch and—with a little good luck in the timing department—maybe she could waylay Astrid’s husband before he went into his meeting with the Mesa Falls partners.

  All she wanted was a real, unfiltered reaction to the image of the woman she’d seen with Zach. Miles was too guarded, and he knew her motives too well. Perhaps Jonah wouldn’t be as careful.

  * * *

  Intercepting one of the Mesa Falls partners before the meeting Astrid had mentioned proved challenging. Chiara arrived at the Excelsior early, but with multiple parking areas and valet service, the casino resort didn’t have a central location where she could monitor everyone who entered the building. For that matter, having her bodyguard with her made it difficult to blend in, so she’d asked Stefan to remain well behind her while she scoped out the scene.

  Chiara decided to surveil the floor with the prominent high-roller suite the group had used for a meeting a month ago when she had first started keeping tabs on them. She hurried up the escalator near a courtyard fountain among the high-end shops. Water bubbled and splashed from the mouth of a sea dragon into a marble pool at the base of the fountain, the sound a soothing murmur when her nerves were wound tight. The resort was already busy with tourists window-shopping and taking photos.

  As she reached the second-floor gallery, she spotted Gage Striker entering the suite. The huge, tattooed New Zealander was too far ahead for her to flag his attention, but at least she knew she was in the right place. Maybe Jonah and Astrid would come this way soon. As she darted around a pair of older ladies wearing matching red hats, Chiara pulled her phone from her handbag shaped like a rose, wanting the device ready with the right screen to show Jonah the photo of the mystery woman.