“Is it hot in here?” she squeaked.
“It’s getting there.”
He started toward her and her insides went squishy.
Oh, God
. “Do you think Spenser will hate the renovations?”
“I think he’ll be annoyed that you made big changes and a substantial investment without discussing it first.”
“I didn’t touch the business finances,” she said as he advanced. “I used my own savings. So what if it wiped me out? Like you said, it’s an investment. In McGraw’s future. My future. When you think about it, it was more practical than blowing my money on a dream trip. Which should make my family happy. They have this thing about being sensible and practical and… What are you doing?” she rasped when he grasped her wrist.
“Let’s take this somewhere private.”
Before she could argue, he tugged her to the back of the store, through the storage room and into her office. Jack had been coming here since he was a kid. He knew the layout of McGraw’s as well as she did. It didn’t surprise her that he navigated the place with ease. But she was floored when he shut the door and locked it. Was he going to yell at her? Kiss her? The heat rolling off of him was enough to set off the store’s smoke alarm.
“I have approximately five minutes before Mrs. Carmichael and my niece come looking for me.”
She had no idea what Mrs. Carmichael had to do with anything. Then again, who could think straight when the man of your dreams hauled you into his arms? His mouth was hot and demanding. His roving hands an instant turn-on.
Heart and body on fire, Kylie locked her arms around his neck and kissed him with wild abandon. She’d never dreamed…well, yeah, she had. But this was even better.
Hotter
. When he palmed her butt, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her breath caught when his hand slid beneath her shirt, his strong palm skimming her bare skin, his deft fingers unhooking her bra strap.
Oh, my. Oh, God. Take me now. On the floor. On the desk. On the…
“Uncle Jack!”
He broke the electrified kiss, knocked the back of his head against the door. “My niece.”
“Chief Reynolds! Yoo-hoo!”
“And Mrs. Carmichael.”
Bark!
“And Shy.” Breathless, Kylie untangled herself from the most handsome, most thrilling, most infuriating man in the universe.
He smoothed his shirt while she smoothed her hair. “Do you like Chinese?”
She blinked at the change of subject.
“Food,” he clarified.
She nodded because she didn’t trust herself to speak. Was that scorching, openmouthed kiss a mere taste of what was to come? She’d ached and tingled in new and exciting places. How would she react when they were naked? How would she feel when he boinked her senseless?
Jack nailed her with his blue-blue eyes. “Second thoughts?”
Yes
. “No.”
“I’ll pick you up at six. And Kylie,” he added before leaving, “get a cell phone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I’
VE BEEN TRYING TO
call you for an hour.”
“I was otherwise occupied.” Carmine zipped his pants, then stepped aside and allowed his nephew to enter the brownstone. Shaken by the latest nightmare and palpitations, not to mention the emergency session with his shrink, Carmine had stolen away from work for an afternoon delight with Dixie. Hard to obsess on his worries with her mouth around his dick.
Mario didn’t comment on the obvious. He was all business. “Cyber Sam is a frickin’ wonder,” he said, while following Carmine to the liquor cabinet. He looked around to make sure they were alone, then continued. “I gave that computer freak what little I had and he pinpointed a location.
He-who-shall-not-be-named
is in Eden, Indiana. Or at least he sent the e-mail from there.”
Carmine’s heart
tha-dumped
, his voice boomed. “Where the fuck is Eden, Indiana?”
Dixie, who’d been in the kitchen trying to make homemade cannolis, God help him, came running as though her name had been called. “About two hours north of Indianapolis. That’s the state capital,” she said with a proud smile. “I looked Eden up on a map ’cuz I wanted to know where my very first sale was going.”
Surely he’d heard wrong.
Carmine willed his hands steady and poured wine.
Mario waved off a glass and gawked at Dixie. “You shipped those sneakers to Eden, Indiana?”
Dixie took her time answering. She sipped merlot, then licked sweet ricotta filling from her fingertips.
Normally, Carmine would’ve been aroused—he’d been hard as hell when she’d licked that same cream off of his holy poker—but he was too busy fighting off a heart attack.
“That’s where my client lives,” she said. “Kylie McGraw. Sweet lady. E-mailed me about something called the Apple Festival and the tourists who buy anything and everything that celebrates apples and how the high school’s mascot is Johnny Appleseed and…”
Carmine could feel the walls of the brownstone closing in.
“Anyhoo, she wanted me to design something especially for her. That is, for Eden.” She tugged at Carmine’s shirt collar. “Chickie, baby, you saw me painting all those apples and adding my bling. Didn’t you think they was cute?”
“Fucking adorable.” He massaged his tight chest.
“Anyhoo,” she said with a flip of her blond mane, “she, Kylie, that is, said my shoes would be featured in her new store. Well, not new, but remodeled. Apparently McGraw’s Shoe Store has been there since dirt was discovered. Kylie hired this guy who’s transforming the entire store single-handedly. Said she thinks he was an interior decorator in another life.”
Carmine palmed sweat from his brow. His mama’s voice echoed in his ringing ears. “
Make it right
.”
“I’m thinking she’s one of those New Age nuts,” Dixie said. “Must believe in rein…rein…”
“Reincarnation,” said Mario.
“Yeah, that. All her e-mails end with some spiritual quote. Anyhoo…”
“Make it stop,” Mario pleaded.
“Zip it, sweetheart,” Carmine said.
“But—”
“Zip. It.”
Dixie sighed, then mimicked a lip zip.
Mario jerked a thumb, ordering her to beat it.
She knew “the Turk” well enough not to argue.
Dixie left with her wine and Carmine gathered his wits in a rare moment of silence. This was too whacked to be a coincidence. This was a sign.
“
Bada Bling
, Bada Bing. What were the fuckin’ chances?” Mario hitched back his leather jacket, giving Carmine a glimpse of his holstered semiautomatic. “Want me to handle it, Chickie?”
Intent on maintaining control, Carmine feigned calm and sipped merlot. He hadn’t seen his little brother in seven years. The kid with the soft heart and quick brain. The brother he’d loved. No matter how you sliced it, this was gonna hurt. He had two choices. Honor the family or honor his conscience.
“
Make things right
.”
Carmine met his nephew’s anxious gaze. “Book two tickets for the next flight to Eden.”
A
T
4:30
P.M.
T
RAVIS WAS
midway to Chicago. Risky business driving into the Windy City. Ten years ago, he’d met a few of the boys from the Chicago Outfit. He didn’t keep tabs. They could be dead or incarcerated for all he knew. But they could also be alive and thriving. If anyone recognized him, he was screwed. Not that he thought it likely. Thanks to Dutch and Joey, he didn’t look exactly as he did before. They’d mangled his face good. The plastic surgeon had done amazing work on his cheekbones and jaw, although he hadn’t perfected the broken nose. A small price in Travis’s mind. He assured himself that he looked just different enough, especially with the dyed hair. He tried not to think about what a wiseguy would do to a family member who’d broken
omertà
. He’d been through that once and barely survived.
Siding with caution, he’d asked his contact—a friend of a friend of an ex-friend—to meet him in Gary, Indiana, just a few miles south of East Chicago. He’d offered a thousand dollar bonus to seal the deal. He was already paying Slick Smitty a small fortune for a phony passport, two credit cards and two airline tickets. But he could afford it.
Gripping the wheel tight and easing back from fifty-eight to fifty-five—he’d be damned if he’d risk a speeding ticket—Travis eyed the duffel stuffed with a third of the money he’d stolen from his brother’s secret stash just before his run-in with Dutch and Joey. He’d stolen out of spite, and a sense of betrayal. It didn’t make it right, but he didn’t feel guilty. He’d given up his passion for the family and then the family had cut him loose. He figured Carmine owed him. That stash had been a nest egg for him and Mona, only they’d rarely dipped into what she’d called blood money. Now it would fund two dream trips.
Travis thought about Kylie. A man could choke on all that goodness, or be inspired by it. He’d failed his wife, but he could do right by that girl. It meant heading back to Eden and making his getaway tomorrow instead of tonight, but what was one night after seven years of hell?
The more he thought about escape, the more his juices simmered. On the drive back from Gary to Eden, he’d ditch his old pickup in favor of a rental car. Late tonight he’d drive Mona’s hatchback into town and leave Kylie’s present in her office. He couldn’t risk seeing her again. She’d want to pay for his services. He didn’t want her money. He also didn’t want to risk another run-in with Jack. The fact that the new chief was digging into Travis’s past meant he still hadn’t come across the secret file WITSEC had given to the former chief. Maybe Chief Curtis had burned it. It would be in keeping with his turning a blind eye to certain seedy aspects of Eden.
Like the semisecret back room in Mac’s Video Circus that featured porno flicks and mags. It wasn’t advertised or talked about, but more then a few of the men in town frequented the red-light salon on occasion. A month after Mona’s death, Travis had been lonely and desperate enough to sneak in. He’d thought he was alone back there, so he’d peeked at a magazine featuring men-on-men. It had been so long….
He didn’t sense Frank Cortez sneaking up on him and looking over his shoulder. But he’d sure as hell been aware of the man’s hard-on when he’d pressed up against Travis. It had been unexpected and…exciting. Unbelievably tempting. So much so, Travis hadn’t jerked away as quickly as he should have. A straight man would have punched Frank. Travis had savored the moment.
Two seconds later Frank was gone, but he’d shown up later that night, knocking on Travis’s door with a bottle of booze and a salacious offer. Lonely and horny, Travis had crumbled, thinking Frank was a closeted, kindred soul. They’d gotten drunk together and Travis had slipped, offering to loan Frank some cash when the man had bitched about a gambling debt called in by a bad-tempered loan-shark. Given his family’s business, Travis knew what happened to men who didn’t make good on debts.
Frank had thanked him, sexually, and then…he’d crushed Travis’s kindred-soul theory. The man wasn’t gay. He was a sex addict who swung both ways. He was into some serious kink.
Not Travis’s thing. He’d tried to play the moment as a straight man who’d been curious. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in a second tryst.
Frank didn’t argue, but after that night, every time Travis saw that SOB, the lawyer smiled one of those I-know-your-secret smiles. A couple of weeks later, Frank hit Travis up for another
loan
. And then another. The message was clear:
Pay up or I’ll leak your secret
. Never mind that Frank had secrets, too. Travis had more at stake. He’d been damned relieved when that prick had left town. Now Travis would be leaving Eden, and the life that wasn’t his, behind, too.
Tomorrow morning, he’d trade red hair for black, and bargain jeans and shirts for designer suits and shoes. Goodbye hardware expert, Travis Martin. Hello, Reggie Smith, interior designer.
As for his former self, as far as he was concerned, Tom “the Artful Dodger” Mancini was dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
K
YLIE WAS DESPERATE
. She’d ransacked her wardrobe. She’d tried on six outfits. None of them were right. She should have gone shopping, bought something special. Something that showed cleavage. Something that made her look like a demure sex kitten.
Kim Novak.
Why, oh, why did Jack have to plant that image in her head? How would she ever stack up to that stacked bombshell?
It’s not that Kylie didn’t have curves, they were just five times more subtle than Novak’s and Charlotte Avery’s, and probably Jack’s ex-wife. Then there was her hair. Max and gang had said to wear it down, but the too-long, all-one-length style made her look more girlie than womanly. As for makeup, she wasn’t sure what shade of lipstick best complemented her new ebony hair color—which, even after washing it three times, had yet to fade.
“I should have asked Travis.”
But she really wanted to ask Faye.
She glanced at her disastrous reflection in the bedroom mirror. She marched into the living room. To hell with pride. This was an emergency. This was about a date with the man of her youthful, and not so youthful, dreams. Not sharing this moment with Faye, no matter their recent squabbles, was unthinkable. She dialed her friend’s cell phone…and got her voice mail.
“Hey, this is Faye. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Unless you’re one of those annoying telemarketers. In which case, go to—”
Beeeeeep.
“Okay,” Kylie said. “I know you know it’s me, because you’re screening. Or maybe not. Maybe you forgot your phone or you’re busy with the kids or Stan or both, but…if you get this message, please call me back. Although, if it’s not within the next fifteen minutes, never mind. It’ll be too late. Jack will be here in an hour and a half. He’s taking me out. That’s right. I have a date with my dream man, which you’d know if you were speaking to me. But I don’t know what to wear or what to do with my hair. And I could…I could really use your help, Faye.”
Dang. Had her voice just cracked? “Call me. Bye.” She hung up before she started blubbering. She’d never been a crier. First she’d developed vertigo. Now she was an emotional basket case. Jeesh. What was in store for her when she turned thirty-
three?
She was halfway back to her bedroom when the phone rang. She swiveled and lunged, banged her knee on the end table—“Ow!”—and nabbed the receiver. “Hello?”
“A date with Jack, huh?”
Kylie wilted with relief.
Faye.
“Can you believe it?”
“So what have I missed?”
“Two kisses.”
“In addition to the dud?”
“Mmm. A humdinger and a wow-zinger.”
“Whoa.”
“I know.”
“Where’s he taking you?” Faye asked.
“Wong’s. I think. He mentioned Chinese food.”
“So he’s taking you to dinner in the next town over. Away from Eden’s prying eyes and flapping gums. Considerate.”
“He wants to fuck me senseless,” Kylie blurted.
Faye coughed and choked. “I can’t believe he said that. I can’t believe
you
said it.”
“I’m a little discombobulated.”
“Understandable. You’ve had a thing for Jack since you were fourteen.”
“Twelve, actually,” said Kylie. “A silent crush that morphed into puppy love.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know. I just know that I’ve dreamed of this, ached for this, for so long…I want it to happen and I don’t, you know?”
“I think so.”
Feeling nauseous, Kylie pushed her glasses up her nose, then looked at her watch. “He’ll be here in an hour and fifteen.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
F
AYE BLEW INTO
K
YLIE’S
trailer three minutes ahead of schedule. Kylie knew for certain since she’d been watching the clock like a hawk. That and painting her toenails candy apple red. “Oh, my God,” Kylie said, noting the garment bag draped over her friend’s arm. “You even brought me something to wear.”
“This,” Faye said as she whizzed past, “will be the fastest makeover in history. Meet me in the kitchen.”
Kylie hauled butt and plopped on a stool at the mini breakfast bar. She didn’t flinch when, seconds later, her friend pulled a blow-dryer, flatiron and a pair of scissors out of her psychedelic cosmetic tote. Kylie started to say
“Just don’t cut it above my shoulders,”
and thought better of it. “Work your magic, Faye.”
“Are you sure?”
“Can you do sophisticated but flirty?”
Faye smiled. “I know just the style.”
For the next twenty minutes, they chatted about everything except the blowup. Kylie wanted to know why Faye was so angry about her postponed dream trip, but she was afraid of stoking her temper. Just now her friend was her old breezy, confident and warm self, and Kylie, feeling fragile and anxious, very much needed the old Faye. So she asked her about her kids, about Stan and the upgrades to the Orchard House. Faye talked about the kids and the B and B, but not much about Stan.
“Are you two okay?” Kylie finally asked.
“We’re going through a rough patch.”
“Because of what I blabbed at Boone’s?”
“Because of a lot of stuff,” said Faye. “We’ve been married a long time, Kylie. Problems flare.”
What kind of problems? Kylie wondered. Money problems? Fidelity problems? Her heart ached for her friend. “Want to talk about it?”
After an awkward pause, Faye said, “Not really.”
Kylie hoped it wasn’t because Faye no longer trusted her to keep her confidence. “Well, if you ever do—”
“Thanks.”
Kylie scrambled for a more cheery subject. “I can’t remember if I told you about the customized sneakers I ordered.”
“I’m all ears,” Faye said as she clipped Kylie’s bangs.
“Well, when I was surfing the Net for unique merchandise, I came across the Web site for
Bada-Bling!
Thanks to the popularity of
omertà
everyone’s always dropping mob slang: Bada Bing, Gabagool—”
“Jamook.”
“I heard Mr. Keystone use that one last week,” Kylie said. “What’s it mean, anyway?”
“Idiot,” Faye said. “Lamebrain. Jerk. Stan started using that one a lot with his road rage. But then Sting started saying it, so I looked it up. It is now a prohibited word within the Tyler household.”
“Huh. Anyway, between the name and Dixie’s cool creations, it felt like fate. I ordered a supply of customized sneakers on the spot.”
“You mean during your late-night drunken buying binge?”
“Never mind that,” Kylie said, cheeks flushing. “These shoes are not only comfortable, but fun. I was hoping to use Spice to kick-start a fad.”
“My daughter, the shy one?” Faye furrowed her brow. “How so?”
“Remember when we were in middle and high school, how we wore T-shirts, sweatshirts and jackets displaying the school mascot?”
“Ah,” Faye said. “You want to start a new trend with the teens. You want to get sneakers into that mix.”
“I ordered a few different styles. Slip-ons, high-tops and low-tops. Although they all celebrate Eden—apples, Johnny Appleseed,
Paradise in the Heartland,
blah, blah, blah—no two pair are alike.” Kylie struggled not to look over her shoulder, hence causing Faye to burn her with that flatiron. “What do you think?”
“I think Spice is going to adore being your walking billboard. I think you’re probably on to something big. Not just with the local kids. The tourists will eat up those blingy apple shoes.” She squeezed Kylie’s shoulder, then passed her a big handheld mirror. “What do
you
think?”
Kylie stared at her reflection. Talk about shaking things up.
“You love it.”
“I love it. Oh, Faye.” She’d cut off a good five inches, but Kylie’s hair still fell well below her shoulders. Graduated layers now framed her face and she had bangs. She hadn’t had bangs since she was in first grade. But instead of looking like a little kid she looked…sophisticated, yet flirty. Smoothing out her natural waves with the flatiron had made her darker color really shine. “I feel like a new woman. I feel…different.”
“You look fantabulous, if I do say so myself. Now, go and change into the dress I brought while I clean up this mess. Jack will be here in thirty minutes.”
Pulse racing, Kylie scurried into her bedroom. Her hands trembled as she unzipped the garment bag Faye had laid on her bed. She felt like she was prepping for her high school prom. “This is nuts. Get a grip, McGraw.”
But then she saw the dress. “Holy smokes.” So Faye, and so not her. A retro number, reminiscent of a sixties glamour girl. A soft pink, form-fitting dress that would accentuate her curves. Far from anything in Kylie’s closet. Then again, it
was
sort of Kim Novak-like.
Sold.
She shimmied into the dress and realized that, though the front didn’t show much cleavage, the back showed an awful lot of skin. She checked the view via her full-length mirror. “Cripes.”
“You hate it,” Faye said as she walked in.
“I love it, but don’t you think it’s a little much for Wong’s?”
“Honey, if we’re doing this right,” Faye said as she searched the bottom of Kylie’s closet, “you’ll never make it to Wong’s. Here.” She passed Kylie a pair of black heels she’d bought and never worn. “Try these.”
Five-inch stiletto pumps. Pointy toes. Ankle straps. Kylie had purchased these fetishlike shoes more than a year ago. Online, on a whim. She’d been looking for another way to please Bobby, only the moment never seemed right, or maybe she’d lacked the nerve.
“Can you walk in them?” Faye asked.
Kylie nodded. She’d practiced.
“The last time I wore a pair of shoes like this, Stan locked me in the bedroom for two days.”
Kylie grabbed the shiny pumps and buckled them on.
Faye grinned. “Sit.”
Kylie perched on the end of her bed. She squinted at her bedside clock. Five-forty-five. Fifteen minutes to Jack.
“Forgoing your glasses tonight, huh?”
“I won’t be able to read the menu, but that’s okay. I have it memorized.”
“You order in from them enough.” Faye swept another coat of mascara over Kylie’s eyelashes and smoothed mauve gloss over her lips. “Normally,” she said, “I would’ve opted for red, but Jack’s just going to kiss it off and you really don’t want to see his mouth smeared with red lipstick. Sort of ruins the moment. Hold still. Good. There. Stand up. Let me see.”
Kylie turned in a circle. “Well?”
“I’d do ya.” Faye smiled. “If I were a lesbo, that is.”
Overly emotional, Kylie blurted, “About our tiff…”
Faye squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry about that, Kylie. It’s just…I’ve been stressed. This thing with Stan. Then you with your birthday crisis…I gave up on my dream to be a rock star a long time ago, but I never gave up on
your
dream. I’ve been living vicariously through you, anticipating the thrill of your letters and phone calls. The pictures and stories. The adventure. When it hit me that you’d given up on your dream trip—”
“But I haven’t.” Kylie bounced between miffed and confused. “It’s just postponed.”
Faye smiled and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. People change. Dreams change. And like you, I need to take charge of my own happiness.”
“I didn’t realize you were unhappy.”
“It’s something I need to work out in my own head, then I’ll share it with you.”
Kylie didn’t know what to say, what to think, what to feel. Not wanting to blow things out of proportion, she decided to shelve her concerns until she knew Faye’s exact dilemma. “Promise you’ll share?”
Faye crossed her heart, then looked at her watch. “Jack’ll be here any minute. I better hit the road.”
Feeling emotional on multiple levels now, Kylie followed her friend into the living room. Walking on five-inch stilettos was a challenge, but her balance, thanks to her martial arts training and previous practice, was dead-on. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“With details of tonight’s escapade. Which reminds me.” Faye dipped into her tote and handed Kylie two shiny packets.
Kylie blushed. “Condoms?”
“Ultra-ribbed. Have fun!” She hugged Kylie just as someone knocked. She whispered “You look beautiful,” then opened the door. “Hi, Jack. Bye, Jack.”
“Nice to see you, Faye.”
Jack moved in as Faye moved out and Kylie swore she felt the world tilt. He looked amazing. Actually, he always looked amazing, but tonight, he looked
I-could-lick-you-from-head-to-toe
amazing. What was it about a man in a leather blazer?
“You look incredible.”
It took her a second to realize that Jack was speaking to her. She’d been so focused on
him
. “Faye,” she croaked. “Her dress. Her hair. I mean she cut my hair.”
She also gave you condoms
. Kylie clasped her hands behind her back. How was she going to ditch the packets without Jack seeing them?
His gaze fell to her shoes. “Oh, Christ.” He dragged a hand over his buzzed hair.
She inched back.
They spoke at once. “I can’t do this.”
“I knew it,” she blurted. “I knew this was too good to be true. No makeover in the world will help. Whenever you look at me you see Spenser’s little sister. The moony-eyed girl who asked you to be her first. This is just…too weird. I get it. I—”
“Actually,” Jack interrupted, “I meant I can’t wait. I intended to take this slow. To wine and dine you, to seduce you over a few dates. But then I saw you and…it’s not just the hair and the dress or the shoes—although those heels are smoking hot—it’s you. I can’t do slow, Kylie. That’s what I meant. Not that it matters since you’re backing out.”
She blinked. “I’m not…I’m…that is, I meant, I can’t sit through dinner wondering if we’re going to, you know, do it…tonight. I can’t stand worrying that I’m going to disappoint you. I’m wired a little different, Jack. Not that I mind, but the men I’ve been with do. Not that there have been a lot of men, still.”
Don’t talk about your past boyfriends. Men hate that.
“This is hopeless,” Kylie said, heart sinking. “I’m hopeless.”
“I’m a bastard.”
She blinked. “What? Why?” He didn’t answer, and she struggled to get a bead on his mind-set. The one thing she knew for certain: this man was a genuine old-fashioned gentleman. “Because you want me for the wrong reasons? Whatever they are. Because you’re not husband material? So you said. So I’ve been warned. Don’t insult me, Jack. I’m a big girl. I know what I want. I don’t want slow.”