Too Hot to Handle (10 page)

Honey, please keep this safe. With apologies for past behavior. Logan.

The envelope had been waiting for her when she’d dropped the Volkswagen off at the house, a paper clip securely attaching it to her check for services rendered. She didn’t know what “past behavior” the old man was talking about or why he’d suddenly elected her his secret keeper, but that hadn’t stopped her from taking it.

There was something about the fancy paper and the weight of the envelope that made her think it was important. The heavy wax seal on the back said it wasn’t supposed to be opened.

Maybe if she’d broken the seal, she’d know what was going on. Instead, she’d put it in her safe and waited for Logan to call.

Please keep this safe
.

That meant he’d ask for it back. Didn’t it?

Breaking the seal with her thumbnail, Honey opened the envelope and dumped the contents out onto her lap. A sheaf of papers, small type crowded onto sharp white pages. Her eyes took a minute to focus.

The last will and testament of Logan Burrows
.

Air disappeared from her lungs. This definitely wasn’t what she’d expected. Why the hell would Logan give her a copy of his will?

She scrambled through the pages, trying to concentrate, but it was confusing. Logan Burrows was a rich man with a battery of lawyers. He could afford to leave a will full of unfamiliar legal terms.

Something on the fourth page caught her eye.
Honey Moore
. Her name, right there in black and white.

To Honey Moore, I leave the trust that I have established on her behalf, my house in Black Palm Park along with its contents, and my collection of fine automobiles.

“Honey.”

She jerked to one side, shoving the papers into her backpack at the same time. Not just any papers. A will that gave her everything she’d never wanted.

That wasn’t exactly true. She could have a lot of fun with Logan Burrows’s “collection of fine automobiles,” but the house would weigh around her neck like an anchor.

“Honey,” Jack repeated, and this time it wasn’t her name at all. It was an endearment spoken in the husky tones of a lover.

“You shouldn’t be out here.” He closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. “Someone could see you.”

“I’m too far away,” she insisted, even as fear made it hard for her to breathe. She wasn’t used to being a victim. Someone who couldn’t show her face without risking imminent danger or—worse—death. “No one would notice.”

“I would notice.”

“You always notice me.”

It was supposed to be a toss-off, a snappy statement made to annoy him—but it was also the truth, real and unavoidable. It hung heavy in the air, making Honey suddenly aware of the tension that snapped and crackled between them.

She’d been angry with Jack for so long—angry with him because he had money and opportunities she could only imagine. Since last night, she’d let go of that and started appreciating him on a deeper, more fundamental level.

He always saw her, whether she was sneaking in someplace she didn’t belong or walking down the street.

If she really inherited the house down the hill, he’d be able to stand up here and watch her swimming in the pool. Just thinking about it was enough to make her body tingle.

She’d never been much of an exhibitionist, but she could imagine standing on the patio, shimmying out of a pair of shorts, tugging her T-shirt off over her head, and smiling with the knowledge that Jack could see it all.

“How’s the car?” she asked.

“Not bad. I made it all the way out here.”

“Black Palm Park. The middle of nowhere.” Up in the Malibu hills, they were isolated, cut off. “You sure we’re safe here?”

“Sure.” Jack shrugged, powerful muscles rippling beneath his black suit. He’d changed into his detective outfit before they left the apartment. “This isn’t the Valley. No homegrown bad guys. Out here, they’d have to import thugs, and I’ve put the security guards at the gate on notice.”

“I’m sure there’s some bad element in the neighborhood.” Someone with the guts to burn stuff down and the stupidity not to know what he was taking. “Maybe a kid who needs money to pay for something he shouldn’t have?”

“Tyler Beckman’s got a reputation for doing drugs, but I don’t think he’d come after you.”

“Because only third-class reprobates from the other side of the Sepulveda Pass would ever think of attacking someone for money?” Honey snorted in disbelief. “There are no criminals in Black Palm Park?”

“Not really.”

“There must be a dozen bankers who live in this complex. You think they aren’t thieves?”

“That’s not what we’re talking about. Anyway, Tyler Beckman got shipped off to military school. Not everyone in Black Palm Park is getting away with something.”

“Not everyone.” She was only slightly mollified.

Someone else might have apologized, but she didn’t bother. If Jack hadn’t actually accused her of anything, he’d get around to it soon enough. That was the way their relationship had been for over twelve years.

Only, something had changed in the past twenty-four hours. It wasn’t simply the sexual connection—though that was pretty fantastic. It was in the way he looked at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

Jack cared about her, and she was beginning to realize how important that was.

She reached out a hand to touch him. Not a pat on the arm or even something more intimate. Just a flutter of fingertips against his knee.

“What’s it like to live here?”

“Excuse me?” Surprise moved across his face. “You want to know what it’s like to live in Black Palm Park? Why?”

“Because I want to know more about you.”

The way his eyes flickered and his hand clenched, Honey saw that Jack knew she was lying. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t tell him about the envelope, not without answering a lot of other awkward questions. Whatever they’d built between the two of them would be lost in a sea of confusion and mistrust.

“It’s not like you think.” Jack took a minute to martial his thoughts. “Not entirely. I know you don’t like it here, but it’s actually kind of nice. It’s certainly beautiful, and there’s a real sense of community. Everyone knows everyone else.”

“You mean they know everyone else’s business.”

“Look, the view’s good, the ocean’s walking distance, and the people are friendly. It’s a little insular, but most communities are insular. That’s a fact of life.” Jack bent down slightly, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. “What’s this all about?”

“Nothing.”

“Sweetheart?” A deep, gravelly rasp.

Heat ran down her skin before settling low between her thighs. Suddenly, she wasn’t thinking about what it might be like to live in Black Palm Park. The only thing going through her mind was the way she’d felt with Jack’s mouth on hers, his hands rough against her breasts.

What Jack would feel like inside her, filling her over and over again.

“Yes?” She bit her lip, hoping he would sweep her up into his arms and carry her off for an afternoon delight. Like Snow White, Cinderella, or some other fairy-tale princess.

“Did you put sunscreen on? You’re starting to look a little pink.”

Honey closed her eyes and moaned. Here she’d been thinking about sex, and he’d been worrying about her getting skin cancer.

Though at least it meant he was looking at her body.

“I like the sun.” She stretched her feet out toward the end of the lounge chair, enjoying the heat across her skin and Jack’s sharp intake of breath when she crossed and uncrossed her legs. He was right. She was beginning to look a little pink.

“I burn easily.”

The words left a dry taste in her mouth. If she’d been at home when the arsonist arrived, she’d be dead.

She changed the subject, following the direction of her thoughts. “How do you think Logan survived?”

“He’s got a panic room built into his study. Besides, the arsonist wasn’t interested in doing any real damage. He was looking for something.”

“Any idea what that is?”

“No idea, but it’s interesting. The arsonist wanted something from Logan. You, he just wanted dead. But you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

This was it. Her opportunity. Her big chance to tell him about Logan’s mysterious will.

Jack was a good man, a trained investigator. He’d figure out what was going on if it was the last thing he did.

But her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to give him the information. It wasn’t even about them—not really. Her body, her laughter was all his for the taking, but this was something else entirely. This secret wasn’t hers.

She didn’t know what was going on, but until she talked to Logan, she wasn’t about to betray the old man’s trust. Even if she hadn’t earned it in the first place.

“Money, art.” She forced herself to laugh. “Logan probably has the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre in his bedside table. How should I know what would interest a firebug?”

A breeze nipped playfully at her legs. Somewhere in the distance, birds were singing and firemen were reassuring worried multimillionaires that the long-dead fire wouldn’t suddenly jump to their cookie-cutter mansions. She could smell salt water and hear the ocean.

So much trouble in the world, and she just wanted to tear Jack’s clothes off and have her merry way with him. “Are you feeling all right?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“You’re not sore?”

“You’re worrying about my health?”

“I’m worried you’ll be too banged up for my purposes.”

“That sounds ominous.” Jack laughed. “What purposes did you have in mind?”

“Sinful, wicked, deviant purposes.”

Honey stood slowly, pivoting so they were face to face. Only, his face wasn’t looking at her face. His face was looking at the way her borrowed bathing suit supported her breasts, lifting them up in a feat of engineering that had almost nothing to do with reality.

“I hate this swimsuit. I look like an extra on
Baywatch
.”

“I love that swimsuit.”

“You would. The color’s all wrong. They say redheads should never wear red.”

“The color’s perfect. You should wear red all the time.”

It would be a cold day in hell before Honey wore red where people could see her. The only reason she’d chosen the bathing suit was because the housekeeper’s other options had offered as much coverage as postage stamps connected with dental floss.

“Shouldn’t you be off looking for clues, detective? I thought you were a fully-trained investigator.”

“I’m finding plenty to investigate right here.”

Great, more questions. She bit her lip to keep from swearing. “I don’t know anything, Jack. I swear on a stack of carburetors. The only time I talked to Logan Burrows, it was about a car, and the only reason I wasn’t in my house when it burned down was happenstance and hormones. You’ve already asked me a bunch of questions. I don’t know what else there is.”

“You’re right. I’ve asked a lot of questions.” A cheeky grin erupted across Jack’s face. “There’s only one thing left that I need to know.”

With her luck, he’d use this opportunity to accuse her of yet another crime she hadn’t committed, something violent and messy. “What’s that?”

“Do you want to see my bedroom?”

Jack’s bedroom. Jack’s
childhood
bedroom. “Does it have black silk sheets and a champagne fountain?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I guess the rich aren’t that different after all.” The champagne fountain was a stretch, but she’d always wanted to try out silk sheets. “I’d love to see your room.”

Now that they had a plan, Honey found herself moving faster than she’d thought possible. She stood, slinging her backpack up over her shoulder and following Jack into the house. The air-conditioned interior raised goose bumps on her arms after so much time in the sun. The housekeeper who’d been omnipresent earlier seemed to have vanished.

Two sharp turns, and they were racing up the stairs, across a long balcony, and into a huge bedroom.

“This is your room? It’s enormous.”

“Not really.”

“Uh-huh.” She snorted. “This room is bigger than my house.”

It was a masculine room, full of glittering metal, glass, and blue upholstery. An expensive stereo system sat on the dark desk beside a rack of CDs. The bookshelves along the side wall held books that were required reading at Black Palm Park Academy, beautiful hardcover editions completely unlike the paperbacks Honey had scrounged at used bookstores. Above the books, two solid rows of trophies and medals were on display, showcasing Jack’s talent at everything from tennis to boxing to kindergarten attendance. A poster advertising one of his fights hung framed on the wall above them.