Kiss of death

CHAPTER SIX

RYAN FORDHAM STARED out at the bay just beyond Peohe’s restaurant. A Coast Guard cutter slogged its way out to sea while yachts whizzed by, their sails amber in the light of the setting sun. Beside him, Ashley chatted about the house she longed to possess. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d already contacted the broker and had withdrawn their bid. What choice did he have? Until Whitney signed the documents and he had full control of their property, he was precariously low on funds.

Almost totally broke, he grudgingly admitted to himself.

What money he had managed to raise must go into his new practice and toward paying off Domenic Coriz. Just the thought of the big Native American sent a bead of sweat crawling like a centipede down the back of his neck.

Why can’t you stop gambling? he asked himself for the hundredth time.

You can, responded the logical part of his brain, the way it had countless times during the last three years. Over and over, he’d told himself he would never step into a casino again. Each time he broke his promise.

Gambling was an addiction, he reminded himself, and it was just as powerful as being hooked on cocaine or alcohol. Maybe more so. Winning gave him a high that he couldn’t achieve even with the hottest, kinkiest sex. Losing was a total downer, but the high’s promise was enough to lure him back to the tables again and again.

“What?” he asked, realizing Ashley had said something. “My mind wandered.”

Ashley studied him for a moment, then repeated, “I said I picked up papers to file for my resale license. I need to put down the name of my business. I can’t decide between Ashley’s Interiors or Ashley’s Designs.”

“‘Designs,’” he said emphatically. “‘Interiors’ limits you to decorating. With ‘designs’ you can branch off into other things, like art or clothing. With your talent, you can do almost anything.”

Ashley rewarded him with her winning smile. It was accompanied by an adorable mischievous glint that fired her blue eyes. That captivating expression had instantly won his heart the minute he’d introduced himself to her on his first visit to the cosmetic surgery group he’d later joined. Until he’d met Ashley, Ryan hadn’t believed in love at first sight. Now he was convinced.

Ryan had thought he’d loved Whitney, but he’d been mistaken. What he’d felt for his ex-wife had been a certain fondness magnified by sexual attraction. But it was so much…less than the heartfelt emotion Ashley evoked.

“You’re right,” Ashley told him. “Ashley’s Designs it is. I’m going to start with a small office in the house.”

“Good.” He didn’t mention that he didn’t have the capital to bankroll even the most modest business. Damn Whitney. The bitch had already agreed to the settlement. Why did she have to pick now-of all times-to become uncharacteristically stubborn?

“Dr. Fordham?” Their waiter interrupted his thoughts. “A man in the bar needs to see you.”

“Have him join us,” Ashley responded.

“Don’t bother.” Ryan stood, a little unnerved. Who knew they were here? It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to enjoy the sunset over the bay. “We don’t want our romantic dinner interrupted. Do we?”

Without waiting for an answer, Ryan followed the waiter, his apprehensive feeling intensifying. Had someone been following him? Was that how he knew they were here?

What now? His new partners were pressing him to line up financing for his portion of the long-term lease on the state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery facility. He was several payments behind on his first and second mortgage and on the home equity line of credit he’d taken out when real estate skyrocketed last year. Home sales had since flattened, yet bills kept marching across his desk with frightening regularity. But nothing could beat the pressure he was getting from Coriz.

The waiter led him into the bar area. It was jammed with twenty-something Gen-Xers trying to hook up. Ryan spotted a lone man in the far corner. He looked like a guy from the wrestling channel attempting to pass for normal in street clothes.

One of Coriz’s men. Christ! They had been following him. The goon stepped forward as Ryan shouldered his way toward him, and the waiter melded into the crowd.

“Fordham.”

The single word was low, gruff and wouldn’t be noticed by the people standing around like cigars jammed into a box. Still, the menacing tone cut right through Ryan like one of the lasers he used on his patients.

He forced himself to employ his most arrogant voice. “Do I know you?”

“Naw.” The creep shrugged and emphasized powerful shoulders beneath his Tommy Bahama shirt. “I’m one of Dom’s guys.”

Dom. Only Domenic Coriz’s closest associates called him “Dom.”

“Dom wants a progress report. Did your ex sign the papers?”

“Not yet, but she will,” Ryan assured him, though he had his doubts about how soon he could expect to see signed documents.

“Dom don’t want no fuckin’ lawyers involved.”

For a second Ryan’s knees wobbled. How could they know Whitney planned to consult Broderick Babcock? They must be eavesdropping on him with some sophisticated device as well as following him. Those cocksuckers!

Ryan drew himself up to take full advantage of his height. Dom’s man might be muscle-bound but Ryan had a good six inches on him at least. “You tell Dom that I’ll take care of my ex.”

The goon studied Ryan with dark eyes as if he were inspecting some alien species, then his lips curled into a smirk. “Remember this is time…s-sensitive.”

The way he’d stumbled over the word told Ryan the man had never used it before. Dom must have told him what to say. Not that “time sensitive” had appeared to be in the Native American’s vocabulary either. He’d probably heard the term from his fish-faced attorney.

“I’m well aware of the time factor involved.”

Dom’s man edged forward and for an instant Ryan thought he didn’t understand what factor meant. Quick as a snake, a meat hook of a hand whipped out and grabbed Ryan by the balls. One deft twist of the man’s wrist and Ryan had to bite the inside of his cheek to control a scream of unimaginable pain. Despite his efforts, a choked grunt escaped his lips. No one in the noisy bar noticed.

The man released Ryan’s gonads, saying, “Dom always gets what he wants.”

Without waiting for a reply, the cocky prick muscled his way through the crowd and vanished. Ryan didn’t need the threat spelled out. Deliver or you’re dead.

It took several minutes for the pain in his groin to ease enough to move. Both hands in front of him to protect his balls, Ryan wended his way out of the crush of kids hustling each other. He walked haltingly, each step bringing another stab of pain. He stopped and stood at the edge of the crowd for a moment, waiting until the ache subsided. He didn’t want to hobble back to the table and face Ashley’s questions.

He’d managed to keep his gambling a secret from Whitney. She’d thought his late night forays had been to the hospital. It had worked during his two residencies, but that excuse no longer held water. Cosmetic surgeons didn’t go to the hospital at night unless there was an emergency. And having worked for a group of cosmetic surgeons, Ashley would know this.

He couldn’t fool her. Just as well, he decided. He’d sworn off gambling. Still, the pull was there. A sense of inevitability seeped through him like a powerful narcotic. If only he could score big-the way he had in the past-his problems would be solved.

Remember. Dom always gets what he wants. Ryan knew he had no choice but to deliver.

IT WAS ALREADY DARK WHEN Whitney returned to the cottage. After her confrontation with Ryan, she’d been playing catch-up all day. In addition to Da Vinci, Whitney now had Maddie, a fluffy white bichon frise, while her owner traveled to a gala in New York City.

She hoisted Da Vinci out of the carrier strapped to her back. “You’re spoiled silly. I’m going to have a bad back from carrying you around all day.”

Da Vinci scampered after Maddie, intent on chasing her and not caring one bit about Whitney’s aching back. Oh, well. Being a pet concierge brought in the money she needed, but who promised it would be easy?

Lexi licked her hand and Whitney took time to pet her retriever. The dog seemed eerily in tune with her. When Whitney had been despondent over Ryan’s betrayal, Lexi had never left her side. Whitney could see what a help Lexi was going to be in her new venture. She had a calming effect on other dogs because she obeyed and didn’t get excited over little things like unexpected noises or other pets.

A sharp knock on the front door stopped Whitney halfway to the kitchen to prepare two special diets and scoop a bowl of kibble for Lexi. Da Vinci went into a frenzy of sharp yips and Maddie joined in, dancing a jig on her hind legs.

“No. Bad,” she scolded them. “Quiet.”

It must be Ryan, she decided. The man just never knew when to give up. Once she’d thought it was an admirable quality. Now she’d been exposed to the dark side of his behavior. Trish might be right about needing a restraining order. Her anger at Ryan put steel in her spine, and she swung open the front door, saying, “Get out of here or I’ll call the police.”

The dark figure was backlit by the dim porch light. All she could make out for a moment was a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. Too tall, too big for Ryan.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner, Whitney.”

She instantly recognized Adam Hunter’s voice. He unnerved her in a way no other man ever had, but then, she’d never been attacked before. She reminded herself that he’d helped her this morning. Stay calm; the guy wasn’t all bad. “No, I just came home.”

He took a step forward, and the light from inside the cottage washed over him. Their brief encounter this morning hadn’t prepared her for this clean-shaven man with a fresh haircut. Now he was dressed in crisp tan slacks and a light blue polo shirt that emphasized his dark hair.

His crystalline blue eyes lacked warmth or spark. They seemed vacant, almost haunted. And they bore into her with unwavering intensity. She suddenly remembered Adam had lost his uncle. The death must have upset him the way her mother’s death had stricken Whitney.

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Thanks for helping me this morning.”

“Your ex-husband seemed…unreasonably angry.”

“He’ll get over it.”

He gazed at her for a moment in his direct way, and she knew he saw through the lie. Ryan held a grudge like an ayatollah, but she didn’t give a hoot. Let him stew.

“I went to see the executor of my uncle’s estate. It still isn’t settled, but I’m going to stay here until I find an apartment. We want you to continue taking care of Jasper.” He snapped his fingers and Jasper appeared out of the shadows. The Chinese crested gazed up at Adam as if he’d hung the moon.

Oh, well. The little dog was an international champion who’d made countless transatlantic flights. Obviously, the altitude had addled what brains the champ had once possessed. Jasper didn’t come when she called his name, but he responded to a snap of Adam’s fingers.

“What about the relatives who are supposed to take Jasper?”

“That’s me. I’m the only relative Uncle Calvin had.”

Whitney tried for a sympathetic smile, but it was difficult after last night. She again reminded herself of the incident with Ryan. Adam Hunter wasn’t as bad as she’d first believed, but a gentleman would apologize.

“You’ll be taking Jasper with you when you find an apartment.”

“It depends.” He studied the dog at his side for a moment. Jasper had no hair on his body except for his head and feet. Brown and white fur sprouted from his paws and shot out from his ears like a patch of crabgrass. Whitney had always considered the nearly hairless dogs to be a little goofy. Jasper had done nothing to change her mind.

“Depends,” she prompted.

“Some apartments don’t allow pets,” Adam replied, a hollow tone in his voice.

There were plenty that did, she thought. Obviously, Adam didn’t care enough about his uncle to give the orphaned dog a good home. It took him down another notch in her estimation.

“Jasper’s a champion. Maybe I can locate a breeder who would like to show him or use him as a stud.”

“He’s due to be bred in a few days. That breeder might want Jasper, but I promised my uncle that I would look after his dog.”

This did not make sense. How did he plan to take care of the dog if he rented an apartment that didn’t accept pets?

“I’ll feed Jasper in the morning,” he told Whitney, oblivious to her concern. “If you could walk him once during the day, it’ll help. Most nights I won’t be home until late. Give me your number and I’ll let you know if I’m not going to make it home in time to feed him dinner.”

Whitney walked over to the small nook that Miranda had set up as her office and took a business card out of the box that she’d had printed at Speedy Press. She turned to give it to Adam and discovered he’d moved into the center of the room without making a sound. The dogs were hovering around his feet, sniffing.

“This has my cell number and the number here. Try the cell first. I’m usually out taking care of animals.”

“Right.” He reached into the cluster of dogs and plucked out Jasper. He headed for the door, the little pill of a dog tucked under one arm, then stopped. “I’m sorry about last night. I overreacted.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Do you always try to rape intruders?”

“Rape?” He snorted. “Is that what you thought?”

“Pardon me if I’m wrong, but when a man tackles me, then has his hands all over my body…well, rape does come to mind.”

“I don’t usually find naked women prowling around in the dark in my house.”

“I wasn’t naked. I had on my jammies.”

“Jammies? Well, call me a dog, but my idea of jammies and yours are worlds apart. You were nearly nude.”

“Stop it! I’m tired of people blaming me-” The astonished look on his face stopped her short. She knew she hadn’t meant “people.” Ryan had been the one she had in mind. He’d always managed to find a way to make anything that went wrong seem like her fault. She expelled an exasperated breath. “Okay, it was a Victoria’s Secret nightgown.”

They stared at each other for a moment like gunslingers waiting to draw. Whitney reminded herself that she needed a place to live until Miranda returned. The man might have made an honest mistake. Smile. Show that you can forgive and forget.

At Whitney’s attempt at a smile, he said, “The house was robbed right after my uncle died. I thought you were a burglar.”

“Did they get much?” Whitney had been in the house several times before Miranda left and hadn’t noticed any signs of a robbery.

“They cut the burglar alarm wires and took my uncle’s computer but left a lot of valuable antiques. When I heard you downstairs, I assumed they’d returned.”

“I understand,” she said, trying to convince herself that she did. Remember, he’s not Ryan. Adam did help you this morning.

“I didn’t mean to paw you. I was…trying to confirm you were a woman. Most robbers are men.”

She nodded slowly, not mentioning the erection evident during “his pawing to confirm” maneuvers.

“Anyway, you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself,” he told her with the suggestion of a smile.

“I am?”

He cocked his head to one side and pointed to the livid red scratch at the base of his neck. It had been hidden by the collar of his shirt. He then showed her the large bandage on his forearm. “You bit me and drew blood.”

She stared at the flesh-colored bandage, clearly remembering the metallic taste of blood. The edges around the bandage were purplish-blue. Evidently a deep bruise surrounded the bite. “You had me outweighed. All I could do was bite.”

“And scream,” he added with an attempt at a chuckle. “I’m sure the devil heard you all the way down in hell.”

She wasn’t about to apologize for defending herself, but the adorable way he had of tilting his head slightly while he was talking muted her anger. The whole incident had been a mistake. Not taking it too seriously or making more out of it than necessary seemed to be the best course.

Whitney looked up into his blue eyes-about to say something-then forgot what it was. An electrical current arced between them, and her breathing became uneven. She had the disturbing feeling that Adam was about to kiss her. For a moment, she was almost dizzy with anticipation.

“When my uncle had the fatal heart attack, a woman called 911. Was that you?”

Her brain scrambled to get a grip on the question. All she could think about was what it would be like to be held in his powerful arms. “Me? No. I wasn’t living here. My cousin, Miranda Marshall, had this cottage until two days ago.”

“Did she mention calling the paramedics?”

Whitney shook her head, still trying to keep her emotions from showing. “No. Miranda told me about it, but she wasn’t home. She stayed with her boyfriend at night. They’re off in Fiji now on a honeymoon.”

He reached out and lightly touched her cheek with one finger. Their eyes held and she forced herself to remain steady even though a swarm of butterflies was fluttering through her tummy.

“Sorry about last night. Friends?”

She mustered the strength to nod, but it was difficult. Heat seemed to suffuse her entire body.

He left without another word. For a long moment she stood there, then remembered to lock the door.