Jean Thomas - Lethal Affair

“I understand.” She found another, safer topic. “If you keep on feeding me like this, Marcus, I’m not going to fit into any of my clothes when I get back to Chicago.”

“Gilda is a marvelous cook,” he conceded.

Gilda, she knew, was his housekeeper here, as well as Julio’s wife.

“Are you ready for coffee yet?”

“If you don’t mind,” Brenna told her host after dinner, “I’m going to call it an early night.”

“Not a bad idea. I’m ready to turn in myself. We’ve both had a long day.”

“I’ll leave you here then,” she said, rising from the table.

“Why don’t I walk you back to the guesthouse before you leave?”

“That isn’t necessary, Marcus.”

“I insist,” he said, rounding the table to join her.

The guesthouse was behind the villa and the paved walkway to it was well lit. There was no reason for him to escort her. Brenna felt like she was being guarded, maybe a bit too closely, and she didn’t like the idea. But she didn’t feel she could afford to object, either to his company on the walk or his good-night kiss on her cheek when he left her at her door.

He’s paying you a lot of money for those paintings. What are you going to do? Risk offending him?

There was more to it than that, she reminded herself after letting herself into her quarters. How could she forget all he’d done for her back in Chicago? Not only buying two of her pictures when they met at the art gallery that held her first showing but broadcasting her talent to his wealthy friends, making possible the success she was now enjoying.

A lot to be grateful for.

Except Marcus Bradley wasn’t the first individual to admire her work. Casey was responsible for that.

Much as she might have wanted to, Brenna was unable to prevent herself from remembering their first meeting as she went around turning on the lights in the elegantly furnished suite she was occupying.

She’d been working in an art supply store at the time. Casey had strolled into the place to buy a set of paints and brushes for his nephew’s birthday. That first sight of him—hard body, tousled, dark brown hair—had been like experiencing heat lightning.

The store had permitted her to display a few of her paintings. She was wrapping Casey’s purchase when he called out, “Hey, who did this?”

She looked up to find him, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, gazing at her painting of the Chicago skyline with storm clouds gathering behind it.

“I did,” she answered.

“And these others?”

“I’m guilty of those, too.”

“They’re good. Damn good.”

His compliment had lit a warm glow inside her. As compelling as the man himself. And that’s how it had begun for them. With that stormy painting.

Speaking of which—

She crossed the sitting room to check on today’s painting where it rested on the easel in the corner, making sure it was drying properly.

She was getting ready for bed when her cell phone chimed, startling her. Who on earth—

It needed only the few seconds she took to pluck the phone out of her bag to guess who it was.

She answered the call with an irritated “Casey, how did you get this number?”

“From Will, of course, before I left home. I needed to be sure I could contact you down here. He said you had a GSM cell. Me, too.”

Brenna knew that, overseas like this, they would not have been able to connect otherwise.

“You’ll need to take down my own number.”

“Why?”

“To reach me if you need me. Why else?”

“Casey, I’m not going to need you.”

“Just do it, will you?”

It was easier not to argue with him. “Fine,” she sighed, finding paper and pencil on the desk where her bag lay. “What is it?”

He relayed the number to her.

“Happy now?” she asked him after jotting the number down.

“Reasonably so. How are you doing? Okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just wanted to check.”

“Don’t.” What was it with these two guys, Marcus and now Casey, determined to watch over her? “Look, I’m going to hang up now. I was just headed for bed when you called.”

They exchanged good-nights. Minutes later, after turning off all the lights in the suite, Brenna crawled into bed. She expected to be asleep within seconds of laying her head on the pillow. It didn’t work that way.

Casey kept her awake. She couldn’t seem to rid herself of the image of him that rose in the dark and stayed there.

It was as if that strong, forceful body was actually in the room with her, standing over her, wearing the same wounded look on his face he had worn the day she’d given his ring back to him.

But she didn’t want to go there again. Hadn’t she already suffered enough torment for weeks after? She had, yes, and in the end managed to survive it, too.

She didn’t deserve to fight that battle all over, spend a sleepless night being haunted by Casey McBride. And she didn’t. She finally willed herself into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

Uninterrupted, that is, until what must have been hours later when she came awake with a restless inability to understand why. It took her a few minutes to realize she could no longer hear the peaceful hum of the air conditioner.

Brenna had learned that, in the deep hours of the night, the tropical heat of the day, even a steamy heat, was known to cool down to a degree that was downright chilly. Had to be the reason why the thermostat had shut down the air conditioner. It was no longer needed.

The temperature of the bedroom was comfortable enough without it, but the air in here felt stuffy now. She had to open a window.

She didn’t bother turning on a lamp. It wasn’t necessary. The security lights outside that bathed the property provided enough illumination through the blinds to guide her from the bed to the nearest window. Lifting the sash, she knelt on the carpet to breathe in the fresh air.

A breeze off the land not only cooled her face, it carried with it the wonderful scents of the spices that were grown on the island. Then, suddenly, she caught a whiff of something less pleasant. The odor of a cigarette. It had to be close by for her to smell it like this.

Peering through the slats of the blind she hadn’t bothered to raise, Brenna was able to immediately detect the source of the smoke. Julio was out there, a burning cigarette in hand as he paced along the path that circled the guesthouse.

This was no casual, midnight walk. His gait was too purposeful, too deliberate for that. Marcus must have ordered him to patrol her quarters. There was something else. He’d paused to crush his cigarette on the ground. Even in the shadows, the glow from the security light mounted overhead was sufficient enough for her to read his face.

There was no other word to describe his expression. Sinister.

She didn’t like it. Didn’t like that look on his face. Didn’t like Julio being out there. Didn’t like his keeping watch on her, because that’s what it was.

Could Casey be right? Was she making herself vulnerable to some unknown, potential danger just by being here at the villa?

* * *

Casey couldn’t sleep. He was concerned about Brenna, convinced that Marcus Bradley was an unpredictable presence in her life. This was why he was here on the deck, listening to the waves crashing on the beach, instead of in his bed.

He could tell the tide was coming in. There was no moon, but he could see a luminescence like foxfire on the crests of the waves, marking their position.

He had to be honest with himself. There was something more than just Bradley troubling him.

It was the memories of Brenna and him and why their affair had gone wrong. He had no business revisiting those memories, but he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t stop himself from placing the blame for their breakup where it belonged. With himself.