Free Hooked by Stef Ann Holm Page A

at a disadvantage.
    Very well.
    The door rang a third time. Meg swallowed her caramel.
    With a regal grace, she swept the door inward.
    â€œMr. Wilberforce,” she greeted.
    He stared at her face.
    The cream!
    Before she realized what was happening, he’d reached into his pocket, produced a handkerchief, and began to wipe off the white lotion. Gently. With small strokes. Very slowly. Very deliberately. So much so, that Meg shivered.
    â€œI like a woman with freckles,” he said close to her ear, evoking a gasp from her.
    Meg didn’t move when he came closer to rub the last traces of Secret de Ninon from her nose. She could smell his cologne, quite subtle. So subtle, she could still detect his coconut bath soap. “You do . . .? Really like a woman with freckles?”
    Leaning toward her, he replied in a low voice, “I really do.”
    That did it. She was going to throw away that jar of expensive cosmetic.
    When he’d removed the freckle cream, he took a step backward and looked at her. “Much better.”
    Much better? Even with her hair curlers? But she wasn’t going to remind him of that. He might want to take them out . . . and she just couldn’t stand here while he did. She’d faint. Yes, faint This was the “a lot” she’d told Grandma Nettie it took to make her faint.
    â€œWhy, this is such a surprise.” That was all she could manage until he said something else.
    â€œI hope I’m not disturbing you.”
    â€œNo. Of course not.”
    â€œI would have come at a more appropriate hour, but I was detained,” he said, then added, “Business.”
    The unlit cigar clamped in Mr. Wilberforce’s teeth caused him to talk from the corner of his mouth, drawing further attention to his lips. His voice came across in a bourbon-smooth drawl. “I was wondering if you’d be able to accompany me tomorrow for a row on the lake.”
    Meg’s stomach flip-flopped. “I’d be delighted.”
    â€œSplendid,” he replied. “I’ll be by at one. Is that all right?”
    â€œIt’s perfect.”
    â€œGood.” He put his fingers to his hat. “I’ll see you then.”
    With a smooth turn, he left the verandah and disappeared into the night, leaving Meg breathless with anticipation.
    *  *  *
    Sunshine filtered through the network of treetops, while songbirds called from the branches of cottonwoods knobby with swollen buds. A brilliant blue skystretched high and cloudless. The temperature was slightly cool, but was made comfortable by the warming rays of sun.
    A woodsy scent floated on the air, a smell unfamiliar to Gage. In his world, life stunk—almost to an overwhelming literal sense. It was his job to reveal the garbage to his readers. Few of his assignments took him out into nature. He was used to the cloying density of population, choking automobile exhaust, the corrupt odor of ink amid volumes of court documents, and the tarnished taste of political brass.
    As a detective journalist, his state of mind usually bordered on being cynical, suspicious, and nongullible. But right now, with a light wind skipping over Fish Lake and stirring the fragrance of wildflowers he couldn’t name, he found his basic distrust of life less heightened. There was a certain tranquility here that seeped through his citified clothing and relaxed him.
    His motives had been to bring Meg to the scene of the supposed crime her brother had committed.
    As Gage dug the paddle into the water, the lake’s surface rippled. He glanced at the woman across from him. Her face was partially shaded by a flounced white sun parasol—the kind with an orange duck bill for the handle and a dangling gold tassel. She wore one of those long-waisted dresses in pale pink. The front panel, which stretched from throat to hem, had a lot of tucks and the entire dress was lace-trimmed.
    Her hat of choice