The Lottery Winner (14 page)

“Is that why you have the PI looking for her?”

That was only part of the story. He wasn't sharing the rest. “Yes.”

“I'm sorry,” she repeated. Sympathy softened her voice. She reached across the table and covered his hand. The warmth of her touch hit him square in the solar plexus. He wanted her.

Damn.

He yanked his hand free. “Finish your burger. We need to get those photos copied if you're going to make it to work on time.”

She blushed then focused on her meal. Could an innocent woman blush like that? And could someone with so little confidence in her artistic abilities be a con artist when the very nature of flimflamming required a bold assumption of success in such endeavors?

He wanted to say no, but he'd been completely fooled by two people he'd thought he knew better than anyone. He couldn't trust his judgment.

He took a swig of beer, but the now tepid brew didn't wash away the bitter taste in his mouth. “Are you going to scan all of your paintings so that you can release the LEs?”

“Eventually, I think. I hate to spend so much at one time.”

“You have the five hundred from the painting sale. That should cover several scans.”

“Oh, I won't spend that until I'm sure the buyers don't want it back.”

Was she for real? “You think they're going to ask for a refund?”

She squirmed in her chair and lowered her chin. “They might. Until they pick up the Key deer, I still consider that money theirs.”

Whoever had discouraged her had done a number on her confidence. If he ever met the culprit, he'd set them straight. Who was he kidding? Jessie's future was no concern of his—as long as it didn't involve harming Miri.

Thirty minutes later she'd followed him to his office and parked beside him. He unlocked the door and led her in. His one-room workspace was a far cry from the fancy digs he and Trent had shared in a historic Charleston building. The furniture was used but in good shape, a big contrast to the pricy antiques Elizabeth had bought to furnish his former workspace. Those, like his house and their expensive cars, had been sold to pay the debts his exes had dumped on him. He supposed he'd been fortunate Elizabeth had left him so many valuable assets to pawn.

Jessie perched on the edge of a visitor chair. Her opinion of his space didn't show on her face. Then he kicked himself for even checking for a response. He didn't need her approval. This place was temporary. He'd get back to nicer digs once Elizabeth was found and his reputation restored.

“Are you going to do anything with the photographs?” he asked Jessie.

“I...um...don't know. Like what?”

“Submit them to magazines? Sell them? Run some of your LEs?”

“I hadn't thought about that. If they're any good, I guess I can ask at the gallery if there's a market for them.”

Her uncertainty twisted something inside him. She nibbled her bottom lip. It was a...distracting habit.

“You should. They're excellent.” He opened the file and rose, then motioned her to come behind his desk. “Sit here.”

She took his chair. He leaned over her to use the mouse and smelled strawberries. It was her shampoo, he realized. He filled his lungs with the scent then cursed his stupidity. She leaned left to give him room and tilted her head to the side, grazing his groin and making him suck in another breath. The contact sent a bolt of electricity through him. She abruptly scooted the chair forward, but it was too late. The damage had been done. Awareness crackled along his nerves. Clamping his teeth together, he looked down at the pulse fluttering beneath the tautly stretched skin of her neck, and the urge to taste her there hit him hard and fast.

Damn. He straightened and backed away from temptation. Long, dark, silky strands clung to his clothes. “You know how to drag and drop the files from this folder to your memory stick, right?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded as unsteady as he felt.

After tossing the stick onto his blotter, he shoved his hands into his pockets to cover his embarrassing reaction and crossed to the windows overlooking the street. He counted cars, red ones then blue ones, four-door, two-door, trying to get himself under control.

He definitely needed to get back in the singles circuit. Not an idea he relished, but like taking a dose of medicine to cure what ailed him, he'd do it.

“Logan?” Jessie touched his arm like a brand then snatched her hand back. She stood beside him—only inches away—with wary gratitude in her eyes, biting that lip. Damn, he wished she'd quit doing that. “You seemed miles away. I— Thanks again, for loaning me your camera and everything. Your...encouragement means a lot.”

“No problem.” He wasn't doing it for her. All he wanted was answers, and Elizabeth had taught him that everything and everyone had a price and an agenda. All he had to do was find Jessie's. But how was he going to do that when he could no longer afford to be alone with her without risking giving in to the hunger she'd managed to awaken in his dead soul?

* * *

T
HE
DELIVERY
DOOR
blasted open at two thirty Wednesday afternoon. Miri turned to scold her employee. But it wasn't one of her people. Ignatius swaggered into her kitchen as if he had every right to be there.

“She kissed me,” he stated, his face moony.

Something twisted inside Miri. Anger, she decided. Why had he returned? “You should have taken her to a hotel room.”

His blissful expression turned sour. “My daughter, Miriam Louise. Not some floozy. She kissed my cheek, said she loved the deli and thanked me for taking her there. Says I'm two for two on winning restaurant choices, and she can't wait to see what I come up with next time.”

She shouldn't gloat, but being right with this know-it-all felt very good. “What did I tell you? Now go away.”

“Can't leave without delivering a message. The owner, Nell, asked how I heard about the place. When I told her, she said to tell you she has a new recipe for you to try. I promised I'd bring you for lunch tomorrow.”

She backed away from the big goon so quickly she nearly fell out of her new work clogs. “You'll do no such thing.”

“You're not open for lunch on Thursdays. You have no excuse.”

“I'm fifty-seven years old. If I don't want to go, I don't have to. You can't make me.” She heard snickers from her prep staff and her cheeks burned. She evil-eyed the culprits into silence. Good grief. Ignatius brought out the worst in her.

“Get out of my kitchen. I've warned you about coming into my work space. I can't have you getting me in trouble with the health inspector. And don't
ever
use that door when we're cooking.”

“I made Nell promise not to give you the recipe until I brought you in.” His smug tone raised her hackles.

“The devil you did.”

He hit her with a beatific smile. “I'm a man of my word.”

“I am not going to lunch with you.”

Those broad shoulders lifted. “Your loss. She said she'd figured out the bakery's lemon custard thing. But if you don't want to know...”

No one but Nell knew how hard Miri had been working on recreating that recipe. “She did not.”

“Tasted like it to me.” He brought a small takeout box from behind his back. “Nell sent some for you, but since you're not interested, maybe I should eat 'em myself.”

The scalawag! She ripped off her plastic gloves, hurled them in the trash and lunged for the box. He held it out of reach. “You dirty, stinking, Dumpster-diving dog! Give that to me.”

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that shook her like a long line of Harleys cruising past. “You do have a way with words. Say please, Miriam Louise.”

Gritting her teeth, she fought the urge to kick him in the shins. “
Please
give me the box, Ignatius.”

With his face the picture of innocence—except for that roguish glint in his eyes—he placed the carton in her hands. She snatched it and opened it. But there was no doughnut. “It's tartlets.”

“With lemon custard filling, which was quite delicious. I'll eat 'em if you don't want 'em.”

“I want them.” Lifting a quarter-size pastry, she sniffed it and then swirled her tongue in the filling. She rolled the creamy substance around in her mouth, letting it hit all of her taste buds.

“For Pete's sake, woman. Just eat it.” Ignatius's growled order disrupted her contemplation of the flavor combinations. His pained grimace only made her slow the process even more.

“Don't rush me.” She nibbled a tiny bit of crust with the next bite. The filling was as good as the bakery's—possibly even better, richer. Nell had discovered the secret ingredient! And the buttery tartlet shell was an ingenious touch.

The obnoxious PI made a choked sound. “Holy mother of marinara. Do you always have foreplay with your food?”

Shocked by his frank speech, she glared at him. “I'm trying to detect the ingredients—something you probably never do when you scarf down your meals whole. You're undoubtedly just as fast with your women.”

She wanted to slap her hand over her mouth, but brazened through her embarrassment by concentrating on the morsel.

“Like the people who keep you in business, I enjoy my food. But when it's important, I know how to take my time.” His supremely confident toothy mug made her skin steam.

Fighting an urge to fan herself and unwilling to be drawn any deeper into this ridiculous topic, she finished the tartlet in silent appreciation. She had to have the recipe, and contrary to what the big ego in front of her said, Nell would give it to her. They'd been friends ever since Miri had taught the woman the basics of operating a restaurant kitchen twenty years ago.

She dug her phone out of her back pocket and hit the contact button. Her friend and former protégée answered immediately. “Nell, you've nailed the custard. Please share the recipe.”

“Gladly, Miri. You've shared enough of yours with me. But I promised your handsome fella that I'd only give it to you in person when he brought you to lunch tomorrow. I'm cooking up a few other new items I'd like your opinion on, too.”

Miri kept her phone's volume loud enough to hear over the kitchen noise. She regretted that now. She could tell from Ignatius's shit-eating grin that he'd overheard. “He is not my fella. He works for Logan.”

“Wonderful. I'm glad Logan has already screened him. Saves me some work. Oops. Soufflé timer is ringing. Must go. See you tomorrow, love.” Then the line went dead.

A waterspout of fury and irritation churned inside Miri. She opened her mouth to tell the man to go to hell then noticed her entire staff had stopped working to watch the show. Reining in her wrath took colossal effort. Lord help her, she wanted to throw her knife at the man. But that would be the ruin of a three-hundred-dollar tool.

“I will go to lunch with you. But it is
not
a date. Do you hear me, Ignatius?”

He winked. Only then did she realize she'd forgotten to eat today. She felt quite light-headed.

“I think everybody in the kitchen and maybe even the alley heard you, Miriam Louise. See you tomorrow. Eleven thirty. That gives you plenty of time to enjoy our meal before you're needed here. Bye, yous guys.”

With a cocky wave, the bastard left her to face her very amused staff. “Wipe those smirks off your faces and quit loafing. We have food to prepare.”

That man was a hemorrhoid. She had to get Logan to get rid of him. In the meantime, she'd think of a way to make darn sure he regretted forcing her to dine with him.

CHAPTER TEN

J
ESSIE
WAS
DRAGGING
when she crossed to the far corner of the parking lot Wednesday night—so much so that she didn't even jog to avoid the rain dampening her hair and clothing. It had been a crazy, tense shift.

Miri had been in a cranky mood. Nothing had pleased her, and the usual snafus of food service had irritated her more than was warranted. Which was so unlike the upbeat woman Jessie had come to know that she wanted to ask what was wrong, but she hadn't dared for fear of getting her head bitten off. It had been that bad. Even Sue, who was usually as blunt and bold as anyone Jessie had ever met, had kept her head down and avoided crossing Miri's path.

Had Logan and Miri had an argument? He hadn't come in tonight. Jessie knew because she'd checked. Often. Too often. The back of her head tingled anew when she recalled bumping into something this afternoon at his office—something she hoped wasn't what she thought it was. He didn't trust her. So he couldn't have had an erection when he was standing behind her. Could he?

Digging her keys out of her pocket with one hand, she waved goodbye as Miri and Sue pulled out of the lot. Then she pushed the button to unlock the door. It didn't open. The interior light didn't come on. She must have hit the wrong button. Checking the fob in the streetlight, she tried again. Nothing. No click. No light. Strange.

Rain dripped down her forehead as she shoved the key into the lock and mechanically opened the door. She slid inside, put the key into the ignition and turned it.
Click.
Turning it off, she tried again.
Click.
She'd grown up in an orchard with machinery. She knew the basics. Rain trickled down the windshield as she ran through the list of possible causes. It had started right before she left for work and... She checked the on/off switch for her headlights. She'd left them on. Dead battery. How had she missed the alert chime before getting out of the car?

Because she'd been thinking about bumping into Logan's—

She severed the thought, but she couldn't stem the flicker of heat in her belly.

Groaning, she slouched against the headrest. At home she would have called her father or brother for help. But who could she call here? She didn't have a credit card, and thanks to the rain, it had been a slow night. Did she have enough cash in her pocket to call a tow truck for a jump start? How much did that cost, anyway? She dug out her tips and counted fifty-two bucks. Doubtful that would cover it.

Miri's taillights had long since disappeared. Jessie hated to call her back, but it was the best option. She dug her phone out of her back pocket and dialed. It rang and rang then went to voice mail. No help there. She left a message.

That left flagging down a stranger as her only option. Risky. But what choice did she have? Could she find someone with jumper cables or one of those jump-start boxes?

She scanned the area. The rain had kept most people off the sidewalks, and she hadn't yet picked up the local's ability to distinguish tourists from residents. A tourist wouldn't be likely to have cables. Someone wearing a yellow rain slicker stood beneath the awning across the street. He lifted his head, blew out a plume of smoke, and the light hit his face.
The stranger.

Ice sluiced through her veins. Fear knotted in her throat. She hadn't seen him in the restaurant tonight. But she'd missed him all those other times, too. Had he remembered where he'd seen her? Was he going to blow her cover? Was he stalking her? Or was his appearance just an eerie coincidence? She wanted to believe the latter. But she couldn't be sure. Brandon's crazy horror stories flooded her brain.

The urge to run hit hard, but she'd be safer in her car, wouldn't she? With a shaking hand, she manually locked her door. Where was her pepper spray? She fumbled for it, closing her fingers around the small canister.

She couldn't call the police. Fortunately he hadn't made a threatening move. But if he did, she'd have no choice. She could hear her brother's “I told you so.” She'd get a rant rather than sympathy from him. She was where she shouldn't be, doing something she shouldn't be doing. Police reports were public record. They'd reveal her location and identity.

What should she do?

Heart pounding like a frightened rabbit's, she clutched her phone and debated trying Miri again. But no, that would put the older woman at risk for harm, too.

Logan. She could call Logan. Miri had insisted Jessie put his number in her phone for emergencies. But Jessie didn't want to risk being alone with him—especially after this afternoon.

Looking in her direction, the stranger pushed off the wall. Her stomach plunged. He paused for traffic before stepping into the road. Maybe he just wanted to talk. Maybe he wanted
her
. Fear dried her mouth.

She'd have to call Logan. Her hands trembled so badly, scrolling down her contacts was difficult. She found his name and tapped it. The phone rang. Once. Twice. “Please, please, please pick u—”

“Logan Nash.”

She heard music and voices in the background. “It's Jessie. I'm in the Widow's parking lot. My battery's dead. Miri's gone. That guy—the stranger from last week—is here.”

“Call the cops.”

Jessie gulped and watched the man cross the center line. Was she being stupid? “I—I don't want to do that.”

A pause, then, “Lock your doors. Don't open them. I'm on my way.”

“Okay.” She hoped he hurried.

The man reached the sidewalk on her side of the street. She tried blowing her horn to draw attention from the few other pedestrians, but it was dead, too. He knocked on the window. She jumped and grabbed her spray.

“Need help?”

She shook her head. “No. My...friend is on his way,” she shouted.

“I can jump you.”

He meant the car. Didn't he? “Got it covered.”

“You sure? I have cables in my truck.” He didn't seem threatening. But she couldn't take the chance.
All serial killers are charming
, Brandon had said in one of his lectures.

“I'm good. But thanks.” She forced the last out with a smile that quivered.

“I'll wait until your friend gets here.”

She had to get rid of him. “That's not necessary. But thank you.”

He didn't leave. Moments that felt like eons later, twin headlight beams swung across them. Logan's car jolted to a stop perpendicular to her front bumper. He jumped out and approached the guy. A mixture of relief and fear rolled through her. She didn't want Logan to get hurt. The men exchanged words, then the guy walked away. Logan watched him until he'd entered the building across the street.

Jessie threw open her door and launched herself at Logan, hitting his chest hard enough to make him stagger. His arms banded around her, steadying them. “Thank you! I didn't know who else to call.”

Then the heat of his body seeped through her damp clothing and every cell in her body snapped to attention.

“Jessie.” His voice was more warning growl than spoken word. The hairs on her nape rose. She tilted her head back. A muscle in his jaw pulsed. Their gazes met, and the hunger she saw reflected in his eyes took her breath. Desire curled in her belly. Then he lowered his head.

His warm mouth feathered across hers, lifted then descended again, harder, hotter. The stroke of his tongue seared her lower lip, making her gasp. He deepened the kiss, pressing her mouth open for the slick caress of his tongue. Dizziness swamped her. She dug her fingers into his back, held on and kissed him back.

His hands raked parallel trails of embers down her spine then he cupped her hips, pulling her closer to the thickening ridge behind his zipper. Need ignited like a brush fire inside her, sending sparks flying to every corner of her being. Then his palms skimmed upward, his thumbs coming to rest beneath her breasts. She stilled and held her breath, wanting him to brush her nipples. When he didn't she arched her back, giving him room and silent permission to do so.

Logan swung her around, propped her against his car and leaned into her. Lean, taut thigh muscles burned against hers, and his arms tightened, binding her so close to his torso that the moisture in their clothing acted like soldering flux.

A whistle followed by a shouted, “Get a room!” shocked her into stiffening.

Logan lowered his arms and moved back a step. Mouth clamped tight, his nostrils flared with each inhalation. Jessie covered her tender lips with her hand and hugged her suddenly chilled middle with her other arm. Hunger gnawed at her, and she realized she'd never wanted Aaron as badly as she did Logan in that moment—so much so that she'd been unaware of where they were and uncaring who might see her shameful behavior.

Shakily, she pushed off his car then sidestepped until she'd put two yards between them. “I-I'm sorry. That shouldn't have happened. My family...we're huggers. I didn't think—I didn't mean...”

Eyes still blazing, Logan fisted and released his hands by his sides. Then he yanked open his passenger door. “Get in. I don't have jumper cables. I'll bring some tomorrow. I'm taking you home.”

He issued the statements like rapid bursts of gunfire. She bit her lip and tasted him. Her pulse thudded harder—especially down there—reminding her she and Aaron hadn't been intimate since the lottery win, when the battles over how the money was to be spent or invested had begun. Even before that their relationship had never been what her girlfriends had called passionate. It had been...comfortable, like changing into sweats on a Sunday afternoon after church.

The gentle rain dampened her arousal and sobered her. Being alone with Logan after that conflagration not a good idea. Meaningless affairs had never been her style. And she couldn't have a relationship in Florida. Not one based on lies and half truths. “I...um...could call a taxi.”

Did she have enough cash?

“No arguments, Jessie. This is the way it's going to be.”

She grabbed her gear and did as he ordered. She hoped she didn't regret it.

* * *

L
OGAN
CURSED
HIS
mental meltdown. When Jessie had thrown herself at him, and he'd felt her cool wet curves turning to steam against his skin, he'd lost control. The kiss had blinded him to his location and even the rain falling on them. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced. If not for the smart aleck's call, he'd have had her in the back of his car and been deep inside her like a damned high school kid on prom night.

The pressure behind his fly increased. He bit back a curse. Getting her home safely and on the opposite side of a locked door was imperative. He eased into the driver's seat. His jeans were almost tight enough in a critical area to castrate him. He shifted, found no relief and cranked up the air-conditioning, hoping the cold blast would deflate the problem and ease his discomfort.

His evening had been a bust. He'd spent four hours cruising local oyster bars' happy hours and chatting up blondes and redheads in an attempt to get one brunette out of his mind. He'd had plenty of offers, but he was honest enough to admit it was probably because he was fresh meat on the market and not because he was a hot property.

Jessie's call had yanked him from that fruitless endeavor. Afraid he wouldn't get to her before she was harmed, he'd broken every speed limit on his short drive to the Widow. Why was he so concerned about her—he didn't even know if he trusted her.

Because the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to believe she was the real deal. But what was she hiding? Was it only a bad breakup as I had suggested? If so, why was she afraid to call the cops? There were too many unanswered questions surrounding her. But that didn't stop him from wanting her.

He glanced sideways, then wished he hadn't. The streetlights revealed her bare arms were covered in goose bumps, but it was her nipples, as hard as pencil erasers beneath the wet tank top, that shot his blood pressure into the stratosphere. He was freezing her, but she wasn't complaining. Elizabeth had complained about everything.

Clamping his molars, he flipped off the air and reached into the backseat to retrieve his jacket. He tossed it into her lap. She put it on without protest, and he said a silent thank-you. Even if he could forget all the mystery surrounding her, she was Miri's employee and, therefore, taboo. End of story.

“Are you okay?” he asked after she was safely covered.

“F-fine. He just...scared me, I guess. Since he's been hanging around.”

“He's a trucker. Travels from here to Maine and back. He stays in the hotel across the street every time he hits Key West and eats at the Widow at least once every trip. He was outside taking a smoke break tonight when he saw you.”

She looked more tense than reassured. Her hand trembled as she tucked a damp lock behind her ear.

“Are you sure you've never met him?”

“I'm positive.” She sounded sincere. Either she was an exceptional liar or she truly didn't know the guy.

They passed a couple of mile markers in silence. “Logan, I know it's none of my business, but...did you and Miri have a fight?”

“No. Why?” He glanced at her and caught her biting her bottom lip—something he'd very much like to do. His little head bobbed south of the border, forcing him to admit the reason he'd left the bars tonight without company or even phone numbers was because he hadn't found anyone who interested him half as much as she did. Not liking that idea, he focused on the road.

“She was...not herself tonight. I've never seen her so grumpy.”

“Did someone not show up for work?”

“No. We had everyone we needed. Business was slow with the rain.”

Miri should be his primary concern. Not the woman beside him. “I'll call her.”