Free Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery) by Lyla Payne

Thursday?”
    I nod, distracted by the knot growing in my belly. It’s a little disappointing that he’s keeping something from me, but I know he’dtell me if it were life or death. I try to remember that as he climbs into his truck, and I slide behind the wheel of my Honda, my mind still distracted. It’s not until I’m halfway home that what’s bugging me comes to light.
    It sounded like Leo was the one who was thankful his sister hadn’t voiced whatever had been on her mind. And that made me sure I wanted to know exactly what it was.

    “Why don’t you just tell me where we’re going?” I lament from the passenger’s side of Beau’s luxury sedan. Cars don’t really do anything for me but the cool leather seats take some of the sting out of the late summer.
    “I want to surprise my very beautiful girlfriend with a romantic dinner. You will allow me to do so, won’t you, Gracie Anne?” The look he shoots me is part exasperation, partbeseeching, and all adorable. He flashes his dimples to ice the cake.
    I heave a put-upon sigh. “I suppose. It better be good, though.”
    He doesn’t answer. Both of us know that Beauregard Drayton wouldn’t know how to half-ass something if he tried, so whatever he’s got cooked up, I’m going to love it.
    We’ve been on the road about fifteen minutes and when he turns the car onto the lane that leadsto Drayton Hall, my eyebrows shoot up. “You’re taking me to work?”
    “Not tonight, gorgeous. Tonight I’m taking you to my very impressive family’s very impressive property along the Ashley River.”
    He pulls the car into the empty lot and slides it into park, climbs out, and walks around to open my door. We lose a couple of minutes when his arms go around me, his lips devour mine, and my body meltsinto the hard planes of his. It takes me a moment to climb back out of the fog.  
    Beau extracts a basket from the trunk and holds it up. “Picnic?”
    “You’re wonderful. I wish you were naked, but a picnic is also excellent.”
    He laughs deep, from his middle. Warmth and lust as thick as molasses slows my blood. It’s terrifying, and intoxicating, and oh-so-sweet to be with a man who makes me feellike more than an accessory. Beau listens when I talk, and wants to hear about even the not-so-normal parts of Gracie. He looks at me as if I’m beautiful, not as though he’s looking for something to criticize , and with the setting sun casting a glow around him, with this magnificent house in the background, I realize something: he’s my angel.
    I’ve been flicking away the two devils on my shouldersfor months, wondering where the little angel has gone, where the person is who’s supposed to cast life in a brighter light, or supposed to whisper confidence and good advice in my ear.  
    It’s Beau. He’s the one who forces me to see all the changes in my life as positives, not potential signs that I’ve gone completely off my nut. He’s the one who makes Heron Creek better. Who makes me better.
    There are tears in my eyes now, and he sets the basket on the ground, moving toward me and grabbing my hands in his. “What’s wrong? Is it the mosquitoes? I brought candles that claim to work,” he jokes.
    “I’m fine. Stupid girl moment,” I sputter, the words all wet with emotion. My arms tighten around his waist and my cheek rubs against the softness of his pea green linen shirt, the one I once mentionedbrings out his eyes. “I just love you. And I still can’t believe I got so lucky.”
    “Hey.” He reaches down, tangling his fingers in my hair and tipping my face up to his. The light of passion in his eyes is so intense part of me wants to look away, but then he closes them, catching my lips with his. It’s a different kiss from the one just moments before. Still full of passion and need but witha deepness to it that leaves me exposed. Vulnerable. But not alone. His tongue sweeps against mine so softly that a shudder grips me as he eases away. He’s