Free The Art of Love and Murder by Brenda Whiteside Page A

to her. “I know about them, my dear Carol. The question is, what shall we do about them?”
    “You know?”
    “Please sit.”
    He touched her elbow, pleased at her response, and she moved without hesitation, joining him on the sofa. The distance between them allowed him to hold her interest without any additional contact. It would be so easy, but the desire had long ago died.
    “I knew she’d visit you. What do you want?”
    “What do I want?” Her eyes blinked rapidly, and her hand went to her chest.
    “Yes.” He nearly laughed at her feigned innocence. “You’re the auntie and in a good position to acquire the art, don’t you think? Just like you acquired the art of your deceased sister so many years ago. I was very appreciative, if you’ll remember.” The redness rising on her neck recalled his appreciation. The peak of her nipples formed the exclamation point. He settled against the sofa, confident she’d arrive at the conclusion he guided her toward. “I hoped we could work together on this. Surely the thought must have occurred to you.”
    “Myles—”
    “Come, come, Carol. You know money is not an issue.” No, money wouldn’t be an issue. Money would be the only form of payment he’d give her. He didn’t intend on a third affair like the second, a combination of lust and greed. He had no desire to entangle himself all over again with this needy woman, not the way she wanted anyway. He’d deal with only her greed now. “I’m counting on you, as I know I can, to keep our relationship in this affair a secret.” He leaned toward her, close enough to bathe her in his words. “As I have kept another affair secret for you.”
    She clasped her hands in her lap, her mouth falling into what looked to be its natural scowl. Her fingers held her attention as she gathered her thoughts. When she finally looked into his face, a smirk accompanied her words. “Of course, Myles. How nice we can benefit, mutually.”
    ****
    White linen, sleek recessed lighting and candles on the table—not what Lacy expected in this rugged mountain city. The host of the Brie showed them to a table by the window overlooking the street and train station beyond. Although a working station, the outside of the building looked more like a gingerbread house. An obvious draw for tourists, the city had capitalized on the focal point of the main road through town.
    Chance rested his forearms on the table, gazing across the candle. Sparks flickered in his eyes and highlighted the gold in the hair falling onto his forehead. Although he looked more suited to a granola café or lumberjack inn, the contrast left her breathless with his raw masculinity. He appeared perfectly relaxed.
    She took a deep breath in an attempt to follow his example—and to calm the quivers he caused. “You’re showing me a whole new side of Flagstaff.”
    He gave a cursory glance at the art on the walls. “I think it’s the California influence.”
    “California?” She opened the menu.
    “We’ve been discovered and have quite a few transplants.”
    “Do you mind?”
    “Not if the food’s as good as they say.” One corner of his mouth ticked up as he opened the menu. “Which appetizer would you like?”
    “They all look good.”
    He cocked a brow and tipped his chin down. “I know you’re starving, but I’d say we should stick to two.”
    She laughed. “And share?”
    “Of course.” His full-blown smile met her laughter.
    “Do you drink wine?”
    “Anything red, regardless of what I’m eating.”
    She smiled. “I’m so happy you’re not a wine snob. Red is always my preference.”
    Chance opened the wine list. “Well, there are plenty of California offerings.”
    “How about Merlot?”
    The waitress approached the table, a young woman with her hair pulled back in a chignon, dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. Her smile widened when she saw Chance.
    “Good evening, Sheriff.” She glanced between the two of them, a surprised