AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She had a pencil tucked behind her ear, and a couple of notebooks lay scattered on the coffee table. He sat down across from her and glanced at his watch. It was exactly thirty-two minutes before she stopped typing and realized he was there.
He grinned as she visibly shook off whatever world she had been in and returned to the here and now. He cocked his head. “I take it things are going well?”
She nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I worked out the whole murder scenario while I was walking yesterday. I found a steep part of the trail over a deep ravine where I could conceivably shove a body off and have it disappear. I had already researched how and where to give a fatal knife wound between the ribs. So it’s all coming together.”
“How many books have you published?”
“Three so far. This will be my fourth.”
His eyes widened. “Wow. You’re pretty young to have done so well.”
Her lips quirked. “How old do you think I am?”
He shrugged uneasily. Discussing a woman’s age was never a smart thing to do. “I don’t know . . . twenty-four. . . twenty-five?”
She laughed. “I’m thirty-one, but thanks.”
He studied her face carefully. No way would anyone believe that. Although now that he thought about it, she did have a certain confidence about her that came only with experience. He sighed theatrically. “I’m relieved. At least now when we make love, I won’t have to worry about cradle robbing.”
She flushed bright red, her expression rattled.
He grinned devilishly. “What? It’s okay for you to proposition me, but I can’t make my intentions known?”
She licked her lips. “You surprised me, that’s all.” She shut down the computer. “We need to talk.”
Uh-oh . . . Those four words never preceded anything good. He shifted uneasily in his chair. “Okay. What about?”
She pinned him with a don’t-give-me-any-crap stare. “Who’s the woman in the picture?”
Shit. He’d hoped to work up to this gradually. He smiled weakly. “My ex-wife, Jillian.”
* * *
To say Maddy was shocked was like saying George Clooney was kind of cute. She finally found her voice. “You’ve been married?”
“A long time ago.”
“And you keep her picture over your mantel?” Her voice ended on a squeak, and she tried to regain her composure. Sick disappointment filled her stomach. If he cared enough to look at that gorgeous woman every day, then Maddy was out of luck. She could never hope to compete with the voluptuous beauty.
Grant was frowning. “I keep the picture,” he said with careful emphasis. “The subject is merely incidental.”
She glared at him. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
His lips firmed, but he didn’t respond to her snide comment. “Look at it up close, Maddy.”
She stood and crossed to the fireplace. The picture was breathtaking from any angle, the colors and strokes filled with energy and emotion. She glanced at the signature in the bottom right-hand corner: G. Monroe.
She spun around to find him watching her carefully, a rueful smile on his face. She looked at the painting again. “You painted this?”
He nodded slowly.
“But it’s brilliant . . . museum quality.”
A hint of red tinged his cheekbones and she realized she had embarrassed him. She lifted her hand to touch the rough wooden frame, its simplicity a perfect foil for the setting. “I don’t know what to say, Grant.”
He joined her at the mantel. “I’m glad you like it. But I want you to know that Jillian is nothing more than a slightly nostalgic memory from my past.” He touched her cheek. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but it will be a lot more pleasant with you in my lap.” He tugged on her arm, pulling her toward the sofa.
Maddy allowed herself to be persuaded, eager to hear what he had to say, yet uneasy as well. When she was snuggled in his embrace, he began kissing her . . . first her lips, then her throat and then sliding down her collarbone. She arched her neck, feeling her need for conversation wither and die. She shoved a hand against his chest. “Talk,” she whispered, her breathing constricted. “You promised.”
