This Time Forever by Patricia Paris (Glebe Point#1)

THIS TIME FOREVER Copyright Š 2015, 2017 Patricia Paris

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Windswept an imprint of BHC Press Library of Congress Control Number: 2017941239 ISBN-13: 978-1-946848-27-7 ISBN-10: 1-946848-27-1 Visit the author at: www.authorpatriciaparis.com & www.bhcpress.com Also available in eBook Edited by S.M. Ray Book design by Blue Harvest Creative www.blueharvestcreative.com

also by patricia paris A Murderous Game Run Rachael Run THE GLEBE POINT SERIES Letters to Gabriella Return to Glebe Point The Cottage THE BONAVERAS Lucia Caterina

PROLOGUE

A

relentless northeast wind howled across the Chesapeake, driving angry whitecaps one on top of the other to pound against an ever vulnerable shoreline. Ancient oaks and locusts groaned under the weight of ice laden limbs. Smaller, more delicate branches resembled slender glass fingers that filled the air with a low, eerie peal, as they tapped together like mournful chimes.

Blake Morrison stood motionless, his tall frame filling the opening of the back door to the house he’d grown up in. He stared in silence at the driving snow accumulating across the landscape.

“There’s no doubt in your mind he’s yours?” his brother Justin asked from behind him.

“No.” Blake pushed a hand through thick black hair that tended to curl at the ends when it needed a trim, as it did now. “And that birth certificate you got proves it.”

“All it proves is Connie Kingsley had a child. She listed the father as unknown. The kid could be anyone’s.”

“Cheryl had no reason to lie. And if you count back, the boy’s date of birth works out with the time Connie and I were together.”

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Blake glanced back outside. The sailing skiff he’d left tied to the dock for the winter wrestled against its spring lines. They’d made it to March with no major storms. Now, as if to flaunt her power, Mother Nature had decided to sock them good.

He turned from the tempest and walked across the kitchen to join Justin at the table.

His twin eyed him. “Most women don’t tell you they love you then walk out on the relationship without a trace—especially if they’re pregnant. Maybe you weren’t the only guy she was seeing at the time. Maybe the kid belongs to someone else.”

“She wasn’t seeing anyone else. Benjamin’s my son.”

“You can always get a paternity test,” Justin suggested.

“If I can find them I might have to. Obviously, Connie didn’t want me to know anything about the kid.” Blake cleared his throat and glanced at the birth certificate on the table, still struggling to come to grips with his newfound fatherhood.

HE’D MET Connie and her coworker, Cheryl, when they were on a four month assignment in Annapolis a few years ago. The women had been staying at his buddy Chad’s house because Cheryl and Chad’s wife were sisters.

Blake had fallen in lust with Connie, and they’d quickly become lovers in what had been a mutually enjoyable relationship. She’d even told him she was falling in love with him. He’d thought given some time he might be able to fall in love with her too. But she’d stunned him by taking off without a goodbye. He’d felt pretty foolish to discover he hadn’t meant that much to her after all.

“I can’t believe I might have never known about Ben if I hadn’t stopped by Chad’s last week to pick up my power washer. Cheryl said she’s only been back twice since she and Connie were here a few years ago.” He shook his head at the chance irony. “She thought I knew.

When she asked if I ever saw Ben…she thought I knew.”

“She wasn’t able to give you any idea where Connie is now? Is it possible she just didn’t want to tell you out of old loyalties?”

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“I don’t think so.” Blake dropped onto one of the antique wooden chairs that had been his grandmother’s, his frustration mounting. “She seemed genuinely shocked I didn’t know. And all she could tell me was that Connie left Florida with Ben about two months ago. Cheryl said she’d wondered if Connie might have come back here. Apparently she left without giving her boss notice, or telling anyone she was leaving.”

Justin downed the last of his coffee. “Sounds like a pattern.”

“Yeah, but Cheryl did say Connie might have been running from a bad relationship. She said she’d been living with some guy who’d started to spook her.”

“What? Like being abusive, threatening her?” Justin’s words held the same concern Blake felt.

“I don’t know. Cheryl wasn’t sure, but it doesn’t make me feel very good about my son’s welfare.”

Justin leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin.

“What?” Blake asked.

Justin frowned. “Nothing.”

“Nothing, hell, something’s bothering you. I know that look, Jus.” “It’s just that I don’t understand why Connie would leave and not tell you about the baby. Is there a chance she was…I don’t know…using you to get pregnant?”

Blake stared at him. “Now what the hell kind of sense does that make? Why would she intentionally get pregnant, then leave and have a kid by herself? I think she knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t have deserted her.”

“I only raised it as a possibility. Blame it on the lawyer in me.

It may not have been malicious. Maybe she figured what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.” Justin got up and refilled his coffee cup.

“Think about it, Blake.” He leaned his hip against the countertop. “Some women don’t want a husband. Doesn’t mean they don’t want a kid. If she did get pregnant on purpose because she wanted

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a child, then hopefully it means she loves the kid. Maybe she took off this last time because she was worried her loser boyfriend might hurt Ben.” Blake didn’t like Justin’s suggestion. He wasn’t a damn stud service to be used and forgotten with no choice in the matter. “Even if what you’re saying is true, it doesn’t change anything. I’m still the kid’s father. I should have some rights.”

“Since paternity law isn’t my specialty, I’m not sure exactly what they are. But if you can prove you’re Ben’s father, you should be able to get visitation.”

Memories of their father taking him and Justin fishing, teaching them to sail, and wrestling with them in the back yard flashed through Blake’s mind. It would have been like that with him and his son. He would have taught him stuff the way fathers were supposed to. Connie had denied him that…Benjamin too.

“What if I want shared custody? Occasional visits can’t make up for lost time, but if I find out where they are, I’m going to want some kind of arrangement that gives me more than an afternoon here and there. Maybe he could be with me during the summers and a weekend or two a month.”

Justin rubbed the back of his neck. “You have a right to be upset. But why don’t you try to take one thing at a time. You don’t even know where Connie and the boy are. Before you start thinking about custody arrangements maybe you should just focus on seeing if you can find them.”

Blake closed his eyes and blew out a sigh. “I know you’re right.

But I’ve got a son I don’t know a damn thing about. My son, Justin, mine. What do you expect me to do?”

“So you’ve made up your mind?”

Blake met his brother’s questioning gaze. Eyes identical to his own stared back, the same signature amber eyes they had inherited from their father.

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“Yes. Did you honestly think I’d let anyone keep me from my own child?”

“No, no more than I would.” Justin reached out and laid a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “I know a pretty decent private investigator if you’re interested.”

“Thanks. I’ve got a feeling I might need one to find them.” But he would…and if he didn’t like what he found, Connie would damn well have a fight on her hands.

CHAPTER ONE Seven months later

A

nd New York thought it started the craze for retro. Delaney Brannigan craned her neck to look up at the old storefronts as she drove through downtown Glebe Point, Maryland. Maybe she’d taken a wrong turn and skidded smack into the middle of the 1960s.

Not that she’d even been out of diapers until a couple decades later, but she’d seen pictures. Whoa, scary times for sure.

The town’s Main Street might have been the inspiration for a Norman Rockwell painting. In the center of the first block sat the Mosey In Diner. She read the gold letters painted across the large picture window again. Yep, she’d gotten it right the first time.

On the other side of the street was an old fashioned drug store.

They probably even had a soda fountain like the one her dad said he went to when he was a kid. Could get a pickle almost as big as you, my girl, he always told her. And a cherry coke—the real kind, with syrup.

Ugh, coke and pickles. Delaney recoiled at the thought.

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After two short blocks she came to a stop sign, the abrupt evidence that she’d just seen the bulk of what Glebe Point had to offer, charming though it was.

When she’d finally convinced herself coming here was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, she hadn’t known it would be in the middle of nowhere with absolutely nothing to do. How had her free-spirited cousin spent a whole summer here?

The closer she got to her destination, the more the knot in her stomach tightened. The fact finding mission that brought her to this slumbering town on Maryland’s Eastern Shore might change three people’s lives forever. How could a person unwind with that kind of destiny changing responsibility weighing her down?

Delaney blew a curl off her forehead. Regardless of the outcome, she had no choice but to see it through. Her conscience gave her none.

According to the innkeeper’s directions, she should have made a right turn by now. Hickory Switch Way was supposed to be about a quarter mile past the pasture with the white goats. A quick glance at the yellow legal pad on the passenger seat confirmed it.

Delaney put the car in reverse, looked into the rear view and started backing up. She spotted the road sign half hidden behind the limb of an apple tree weighted down with a bumper crop of green apples. It was little more than a narrow country lane that ambled along a sleepy shoreline, home to several long, rickety looking docks.

A menagerie of fishing boats bobbed together against the piers as if jockeying for position. She wondered who the boats belonged to since there wasn’t a house in sight.

After ten more picturesque miles, she found the next turnoff, a nine foot wide dirt and gravel path masquerading as another road.

Thank goodness she’d left early. This place would be impossible to find after dark.

The country inn she’d located on the Internet touted itself as a peaceful repose, nestled among whispering loblolly pines that

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marched gracefully to the sea. Delaney spotted the inn’s sign and made a right onto the tree lined approach. An insistent finger of foreboding picked at her already frayed nerves, but she’d come too far to turn back now.

Two oversized cherry red pickups blocked most of the driveway. She squeezed through the narrow space between them and a well-established perennial border her mother would have loved.

She swerved to avoid hitting a man who stepped out suddenly from in front of Big Red number one and just missed merging her front bumper with a large stack of two-by-fours. Rolling her jaw, she pulled to a stop in front of the inn’s winding slate walkway then turned off the car and got out.

The inn had an enormous wraparound porch lined with straight back white rockers, a collection of saw-horses, and several big, well dented green metal tool boxes.

As Delaney started up the walk, an elderly woman came through the double front doors with a tray in her hands. “Have some of these cookies, boys,” she called to the three men who lolled around the porch steps giving Delaney a thorough once-over. She hadn’t observed such blatant ogling since senior year of high school when Karen Hilton streaked across center field during the halftime show at the Homecoming game. Karen had proudly displayed their school colors, wearing one gold and one blue tennis shoe, and nothing else.

“Oh, hello, are you Miss Brannigan?” The woman had a smile so warm it could have melted the chocolate for her cookies without the use of a double boiler. Delaney extended a hand, momentarily forgetting her worries as she took in the welcoming face.

“Yes, I’m Delaney.” She glanced at the pile of two-by-fours then at her month-old silver Saab convertible. Aside from her townhouse, it had been the only major purchase she’d made with her own money. “Is it okay to leave my car parked there?”

The cookie lady pointed to a quaint structure about a hundred yards beyond the house. “You’ll be staying in the guest cottage right

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over there. You can park on the gravel pull-off on the side of the cottage. I’m sorry about all this.” She made a large sweep with her arm that took in the two Big Reds, the wood planks, and the rubbernecking men. “We’re doing some remodeling in the main house. I hope it won’t inconvenience you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I won’t be around much during the day anyway.”

“Dinner’s at six,” the woman informed her. “Oh, where are my manners?” She slapped an open hand against her generous bosom.

“Goodness, I’m Mary, Mary O’Meara. As I was saying,” Mary reached out and touched Delaney’s shoulder, “dinner’s at six, or round about.

We don’t stand on formalities here. Why don’t you get settled then come up to the house for a cup of tea. After driving all the way from New York, a cup of tea will be just the thing.”

Delaney stifled a groan. She’d really been hoping to relax for a few hours after her long drive. She didn’t want to offend her hostess, though, and these people might know Blake Morrison. She couldn’t afford to alienate anyone any more than she could afford to let them know the real reason she’d come to Glebe Point.

AN HOUR later, Delaney sat at the large trestle table in Mary O’Meara’s kitchen drinking a cup of tea as her hostess filled her in on Glebe Point’s upcoming social events.

“Oh, and Saturday night is the annual Halloween dance at the town’s fire hall.” Mary rubbed her hands together. “You should go.

They always get lots of young folks like you.” She winked as if that should mean something. “And don’t worry about not being from around here. Everyone’s welcome as long as they go in costume. If anyone asks, you just tell them you’re staying with me.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” Delaney said, trying to be polite.

“Is that apple pie I smell?” One of the men from the work crew strolled into the kitchen and eyed the deep dish pastry on the counter.

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“That’s right, Ted, fresh out of the oven,” the innkeeper told him cheerfully. “You wash up and help yourself. Oh, and tell that boss of yours I decided on the pull in windows. They’ll be easier for me to clean.”

“You got it, sweetheart.” The brawny man washed his hands then cut a large piece of pie. “Can I cut some for either of you?” He waved the knife in the air, seeming as comfortable in Mary’s kitchen as if it were his own.

“No thanks,” Mary and Delaney said in unison.

Ted put the knife in the sink then joined them at the table.

“What brings you to Glebe Point, little lady?” He turned a chair around, straddled it when he sat down, then leaned over the back and forked a piece of pie into his mouth before looking up.

“Business. While I’m here I’d like to explore the area a little too. It’s so picturesque.”

“What kind of business?” Ted forked in another bite.

“I’m doing research for a cookbook featuring Bay cuisine. I’m hoping I can interview some area chefs and locals as well for material.” Delaney wondered if her story sounded convincing.

“Oh yeah? You a writer or something?”

“A chef,” she told him. “I have a catering business in New York.”

At least that was true. “I’ve been thinking about doing the cookbook for a while.” Another truth…sort of…she had considered writing a cookbook some day.

“If you need anyone to test out some of your recipes, you just let me know, sweetheart.”

Mary slapped his wrist. “Now you go on, Ted. You’re as bad as that sad-eyed hound out back, always begging for handouts.”

Ted chuckled and finished off the last of his pie. Delaney couldn’t help but laugh with him. Ted and Mary seemed well used to each other’s friendly teasing.

“Damn.” Ted shook his head as he regarded Delaney closer.

“Will you look at those dimples? When Blake hears what a pretty

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little filly you’ve got staying here, Mary, he’ll probably want to come install those windows himself just to check her out.”

Delaney’s mouth dropped open, but she clamped it shut before either of them could notice. They must know Morrison. How many Blakes could live in one small town? She felt a rush of…what…anxiety, anticipation, guilt? Yes, all that.

“Now don’t you go embarrassing my guest,” Mary admonished. “And as for Blake Morrison, why he’s as much a gentleman as any man I know.”

“Ho! If you say so, darling, but everyone knows you’ve got a soft spot for the boss.” Ted stood up. “Thanks for the pie. I’d best get back to work or that gentleman will have my hide.”

After Ted left, Delaney thanked Mary for the tea then walked back to the cottage. The innkeeper had wrapped a piece of pie for Delaney to take in case she wanted a late night snack. The kind gesture only made her feel worse about her deception. She had to keep things in perspective though. In this case, the end was more important than the means.

Inserting the key into the deadbolt, she unlocked the door and went inside. So, Blake Morrison owned the construction company doing the remodeling at the inn. She hadn’t expected to get a lead on the man so soon.

FOUR DAYS and she hadn’t gotten as much as a peek at Morrison. Delaney pulled on the leopard leotard she’d bought that morning. She put on the winged half-mask then hooked the narrow belt that held the tail around her waist and looked over her shoulder in the mirror to see the effect.

She frowned. If Morrison had stopped by to check the progress of his workers, either she’d missed him or it had been when she’d been out to interview one of the local restaurateurs. Well, she’d get that peek tonight. And when she did track the guy down,

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she’d have to gain his trust without revealing anything that might tip him off.

Nine months ago, when her cousin Connie showed up at her door with her son looking for a place to stay until she could find a job and a place of her own, Delaney had been happy to open her home to them. The arrangement had suited Connie so well she never left.

Delaney hadn’t minded. They were family, there was plenty of room in her townhouse, and she’d quickly come to love Ben. She never could have imagined then how that offer would change her life. Delaney shivered. Now Connie was dead and Ben was her responsibility.

All she knew about Blake Morrison was what she’d been told by Connie. She’d loved her cousin but knew Connie had a habit of distorting the truth. Delaney hadn’t wanted to judge. She’d always thought Connie’s propensity for making things up had started as a child as a defense mechanism to protect herself from an abusive father.

Her cousin had always said she wanted kids, but Delaney knew she abhorred commitment. Connie swore she’d never get married and let some man try to control or abuse her like her dad had done with her mother.

Delaney closed her eyes. As much as she wanted to adopt Ben, she didn’t want to start the process until she proved for herself that Connie had been justified in keeping his existence a secret from Morrison.

Her biggest concern was how to learn the truth without putting Ben at risk. If she discovered the man was as cruel and dangerous as she’d been led to believe, she’d do whatever it took to protect Ben. She wanted to believe Connie’s story, but what if Connie had lied? What if the guy turned out to be a decent person? It would be wrong not to tell him he had a son.

Delaney turned away from the mirror. It did no good to speculate. What she needed was real answers, and she hoped to get some tonight.

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It had been a stroke of luck she’d overheard Ted tell Mary that he and Morrison were going to the Halloween dance at the fire hall. What better opportunity to observe Ben’s father without arousing suspicion?

She blew out a sigh. Ben needed stability. The kind she could give him. In the months he’d been living with her, and especially since Connie’s death, she’d grown to love him as if he were her own son. Was she a fool to risk losing him by coming here?

Her heart felt heavy as she slipped on the black canvas sneakers she’d found at a thrift store in a shopping strip on Route 50. Thanks to a hurried trip to the closest mall, twenty-five miles away and not a Starbucks in sight, she’d found a costume shop at the last minute.

The leopard outfit and a ten buck donation would gain her admission to the Halloween dance.

“HI, MARY,” Delaney said, when she found her hostess in the inn’s kitchen a few minutes later. “You made me promise to stop by and show you my costume.” She did her best imitation of a purr, which needed work, laughed, and then extended her arms and did a 360.

“Oh, my gracious,” Mary said, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh, don’t you look wonderful.” Her smile grew broad. “I can just see all the young men fighting over you now.”

Delaney’s stomach did a little flip-flop. The leopard leotard fit like spotted skin. When she’d seen herself in the mirror, it had made her feel a touch wicked. That was not something she was used to.

“You don’t think it’s—I don’t know—indecent?” She caught the corner of her lip between her teeth.

“Oh, posh!” Mary waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Why with that sweet smile, you could just wear the tail and still look innocent as a babe.”

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Delaney doubted that. At least she hoped that wasn’t the case.

She may be closer to innocent as a babe than Mary realized, but she wasn’t without some feminine vanity.

“Gee, thanks.” Delaney frowned. “Not that I want to get arrested or anything, but I thought I looked—well—a little sexy.”

“More than a little, my dear. But never underestimate the appeal of innocence. Especially,” Mary added with a mischievous twinkle in her bright blue eyes, “when it’s wearing a leopard leotard.”

Delaney glanced down at the costume. Would it attract Morrison? She was no great beauty. Her hair was red, undeniably red. Dad thought it was beautiful, but then she’d inherited it from him. She didn’t have the tall willowy model look all the rage in fashion magazines. Still, she had a decent figure, even in a leotard. And she’d been told she had great eyes. They were probably her best feature, something else she’d inherited from her father and a long line of Brannigans before him.

“It’s a shame Blake won’t be there.” Mary clucked her tongue.

“That scamp wouldn’t be able to resist you. It’s well past time a nice woman caught his eye.”

“I thought I heard Ted say they were both going. I was looking forward to meeting this paragon you’re always talking about.”

“I suppose I do go on about him.” Mary feigned an apologetic look which Delaney didn’t buy for a minute. For some reason the innkeeper adored the guy. “It’s just that Blake’s always looking out for me, sort of like a son. He’s had some rough patches the last several years. The boy deserves a little happiness.”

“Hmm,” was all Delaney could say. She questioned Mary’s objectivity but would reserve final judgment until after she met him. “So he won’t be at the dance?”

“No. He came by early this morning to drop off some wood and told me he’d be away until tomorrow evening.”

Delaney tried to mask her disappointment. The dance would have been the perfect opportunity to meet him without being

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obvious. She hadn’t planned to be away from Ben for more than a week or two, but it had already been four days, and she’d discovered zip.

When she got back to the cottage a short while later, she considered passing on the dance. She started to unhook her tail.

“Oh just go,” she mumbled out loud. Even if Morrison wouldn’t be there, she needed to get out. Left alone to worry about everything one more night, she might toss her nagging conscience out the window and go home. She’d spent half the morning trying to find a costume. She was dressed. And the diversion might help her forget how much she missed Ben. Besides, everyone in these small towns knew each other. She could still learn something.

No one knew her. She could mingle incognito. If she slipped up, she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone tipping Morrison off that Delaney Brannigan, Mary O’Meara’s guest, had been asking about him. No. Tonight she would be the leopard—only—the leopard.

DELANEY DIDN’T know whether to credit her anonymity or the leopard costume for the copious male attention showered upon her since she’d arrived at the Glebe Point Fire Hall. It wasn’t something she was used to. Oh, men hit on her, but no more than they did most women. The way they were buzzing around her right now, she felt a little like one of those glowing bug zappers on a sultry August night.

“Did you talk to Blake yesterday about the electrician?” the vampire next to her asked the lumberjack she’d danced with two songs ago.

“I didn’t get a chance,” the lumberjack replied. “He’s probably here though. I’ll tell him when I see him.” The man looked around the hall. “You know he’s gonna be pissed when he hears the guy didn’t show.”

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“Yeah,” Dracula agreed. “I wouldn’t want to be in Wilson’s shoes when the boss gets hold of him.”

So they worked for Morrison. Even though they were in costume, Delaney knew she hadn’t seen them at the inn. They must be on another construction job. She could have told them their boss hadn’t come. But then they’d want to know how she knew.

“I’m glad you’re delivering the bad news.” The vampire scanned the crowd. “I’m already on Blake’s shit list for being late Thursday.”

Neither man seemed too anxious to anger Morrison. Was he the type who flew off the handle? Was he capable of violence? Had Connie experienced it?

“It sounds like your boss has a nasty temper.” Delaney smiled when they both glanced down at her.

“He’s been known to get riled a time or two,” the lumberjack confirmed with a chuckle. “Best damn builder on the Eastern Shore, though.”

“No doubt about that,” the other conceded. “Just stay out of his way if you cross him.”

“What does he look like?” Delaney cocked her head and smiled again. “So I know to stay out of his way.” She hoped the joke would cover any suspicions her questions might have aroused.

The men glanced at each other then started to laugh.

“That’d be a first. He’s usually the one doing the avoiding.”

The lumberjack gave her a wink. “I think he’d make an exception in your case though.”

“Yeah, well forget introducing them, Jake,” the vampire piped up. “I’m still waiting my turn for a dance.”

“You’ll have to wait a little longer; I was next.” A tall man with blinking red lights in his hair stepped forward. Delaney let the flashing head escort her onto the floor. After that, she danced with a football player, a cop, and a mummy. It definitely had to be the costume.

During a brief reprieve from the dance floor she glanced around the hall. The place was packed. Where had these people come from?

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If even half of them lived in Glebe Point, she’d like to know where they hid all the houses.

Her eyes passed over a tall man dressed entirely in black leaning against the bar and then flew back. Whoa! Wake Up! Was he for real?

Men like him only existed in her dreams or Calvin Klein ads.

She was acutely aware of him. He set off a riotous response in her body like nothing she’d ever experienced. So this was what… lust? Oh yeah! And wow, did she feel it.

His legs were long, crossed below trim hips that cocked to one side with a reckless casualness. Things got broader as her eyes moved up and over a chest she just knew would be hard with lean muscle.

When she realized she was staring, she tried to force herself to look away. Her eyes had a mind of their own and returned. She couldn’t seem to help it. He was delicious. An appropriate term for a chef, she thought with a wry grin. Yes, very scrumptious. He was delectable—he was—Oh God! He was checking her out.

The cowboy cocked his head, and she could almost feel the heat of his gaze slide over her until he finally lifted his study to her face.

She couldn’t see his eyes from this distance, and he was wearing a mask. She knew from the angle of his head, though, that he had her locked in his sights.

A bolt of pleasure shot through her. She couldn’t look away.

Nor did she want to. She knew she shouldn’t encourage him but even as the thought occurred, she tilted her head and smiled. He smiled back. Her lips felt suddenly dry, and she ran the tip of her tongue over them.

Her body had subordinated her better judgment, and with what little experience it had was doing its best to attract a total stranger.

She never acted this forward, especially with men she didn’t know.

It absolutely had to be the costume.

“How about that dance, sweetheart?” Dracula asked from beside her, breaking the spell. As the vampire led her onto the dance floor, Delaney stole a glance over her shoulder at the devas-

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tating man in black. When she did, he smiled and touched the brim of his hat.

BLAKE STOOD by the bar that had been set up against the front wall of the fire hall. As usual, the annual dance had drawn a large crowd. He could figure out who most people were, although some of the getups were pretty creative.

His costume had been the easiest thing to come up with at the last minute—a pair of black jeans, hat, a black shirt, and one of those generic black masks from the drug store.

He’d been planning on driving to DC after his brother called last night to say he’d gotten tickets to Sunday’s Redskins game. But Jus had phoned earlier that morning to say a pipe burst in his basement, and he’d be spending the rest of the weekend sweet-talking a Shop-Vac. Rather than stay home alone with his restless thoughts, Blake had scrounged up a costume and come to the dance. He hadn’t been there long, but things were already in full swing.

“Hi cowboy,” a woman cooed as she sidled up against him. “I just love tall, dark, and dangerous.” Blake looked down to see yet another witch. This one wore a filmy black thing over tights, a long black wig, and a jeweled mask.

“Come to cast a spell on me, Paula?”

“Dance with me, handsome.” She waved a wand over his head then pulled him onto the dance floor. The room was hot, and Blake headed back to the bar after only one dance.

“I need a drink,” he said, picking up his glass for a long swallow.

As he did, he spotted a leopard about thirty feet away.

Damn! His eyes took a slow journey down the sleek curves of the cat woman. He traced his way back up. Every nerve in his body snapped to attention. When he reached her face, he realized she was watching him. She grinned. He’d been caught.

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He returned the smile. They continued looking at each other across the room as if trapped in some magnetic field neither could break.

“I’ll catch up with you later, sweetheart.” He leaned down and made his excuses to Paula. When he turned back around he saw Chad, one of the guys who worked for him, lead the leopard onto the dance floor.

Blake frowned. He was still irked with the guy for showing up three hours late on Thursday because he’d been out partying too late the night before. He didn’t begrudge anyone a little fun. But he expected his crews to show up on time and put in a full day’s work.

After the way he’d reamed the guy out, he doubted he’d have to say anything about it again. Chad was young, a little immature, but he did good work when he showed up. Blake liked the guy. Well, maybe not right now as he watched him dance with the woman who’d captured his attention.

He walked to the side of the hall where he had a better view of the one who intrigued him. Shapely legs moved to the rhythm in a costume that hugged her body in selfish possession, making him envy the material its good fortune. When she turned, he was treated to the most perfect backside he’d ever laid eyes on.

The woman spun around, and he knew she’d caught him again. Her smile reappeared. He hoped that meant the attraction was mutual.

The leopard twirled, and her long hair swirled around her like a veil. He must know her. He knew everyone in town, most of the surrounding ones as well. He couldn’t think of anyone with long red hair, though. It must be a wig.

The song ended, and she walked back to the side of the room. Another slow song began just as Blake reached the group of men who surrounded her. Buddy Carlson stepped forward to claim the dance.

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“Sorry, Buddy, this one’s mine.” Blake placed a hand under the leopard’s elbow. She let him lead her onto the dance floor as if she’d expected him.

“You’ve got me stumped, cat woman,” he said, taking her in his arms and bending his head toward her ear. “I can’t guess who you are. Give me a hint. What color is your real hair?”

“My real hair?” She pulled back. Her smile called to him with twitching flirtation. “It’s red.”

“No.” Blake drew her a little closer. “I don’t know anyone with long red hair.”

“No?” He thought he detected a hint of amusement in her tone. Was she toying with him, like a cat with a grasshopper?

“Should I de-mask you, kitten?” he teased, tucking his chin and grinning down at her. She stiffened, the barest tightening in his arms, but he’d felt it.

“You wouldn’t want to do that.” Some of the playfulness seemed to leave her voice.

“But then I’ll know who you are.”

“No…no you won’t. You don’t know me.”

Blake angled his head, trying to get a better look at her. He turned so she faced the light from the bar. The cat looked up and emerald green eyes almost stopped him in his tracks. They weren’t eyes one forgot.

“Who are you?” he asked, knowing now they’d never met.

“I’m the leopard,” she whispered, “the spotted cat.” She smiled and two deep dimples winked at him from perfect cheeks.

“Who are you?” She tilted her head to one side, slanting him a glance that stirred his imagination.

“The Lone Ranger.” Blake stuck his tongue in his cheek. He’d play along if that’s the way she wanted it. But before the evening ended, he planned to find out who she was and where he could find her.

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“I thought the Lone Ranger always wore white.”

“Not this one.” He moved his hand along the firm curve of her hip. She reached down and took hold of it. He slid the other one around her waist and then down over her backside. She retrieved that hand too.

“A bit of an explorer are you?” She weaved her fingers through his and held them at their sides.

Blake chuckled. “Couldn’t help myself,” he admitted, enjoying her sense of humor. “Not with such beautiful territory to explore.”

“But it’s not yours.” He heard a playful note in her voice that made him think she was still interested. He was glad because he was definitely interested in her.

“Thanks for the dance.” The leopard blinked her gorgeous cat eyes and pulled back, sliding out of his hold. “The song’s over.”

But not the night, he thought as he watched her walk away.

Several discreet inquiries produced no clue to her identity.

Blake waited for another chance to talk to her. When he saw her go to the ladies room on the far side of the hall, he made his way through the crowded room. As she came out, he hooked her arm and steered her out the open back doors.

“What are you doing?” She sounded a little unsure but didn’t pull away.

“It’s hot in there, and crowded. I wanted a chance to talk to you without having to shout over the music.” When she didn’t object he took her fingers in his. “I’m feeling this powerful strong attraction to you, and I don’t even know your name.” He grinned, hoping he didn’t sound like a fool.

“I’m flattered, but I’m not from around here, and we’re never going to see each other after tonight so—” She looked away, as if she would reconsider, then shook her head. “We should probably go back inside.”

He searched her eyes. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

The leopard bit her lip. “Should I be?”

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“No. I’m harmless. You’re safer with me than half the guys in there. I’d just like to get to know you a little better.”

She rolled her shoulders.

Blake ran the pad of his thumb along her jaw then slid it under her chin to turn her face upward. When he leaned down, she looked away. “You are afraid of me.”

“No.” She avoided his gaze. “I’m not. It’s just—I thought you were going to,” she hesitated, “kiss me.”

“I won’t hurt you.” He brushed a finger across her mouth. “And you were right. I was.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I shouldn’t have encouraged you, but you’re just so—” Her eyes darted to his then away again. He saw little of the flirtatious kitten from the dance floor.

The rise and fall of her breasts in the leopard perfection that had become her skin tempted him with dangerous appeal. He rejected the urge to reach out and caress her. He wasn’t some horny kid who lacked control. Bad enough he’d maneuvered her out here with the hope of tasting those sweet lips.

The leopard sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I started something I shouldn’t have. I don’t usually flirt with strangers. And I really can’t believe I came out here with you.”

“Can’t you?” he asked, driven by an unrelenting urge to keep her there a few moments more. “Maybe we’re supposed to be out here together.” He smiled into her eyes. “Do you believe in fate, cat lady?”

When she opened her mouth to respond, Blake stole the opportunity to swoop in for a kiss. His leopard had just admitted she’d come with him willingly. She must feel some of the attraction that had him in its grip.

Her lower lip was full and warm against his tongue, drawing him to probe further. She leaned into him, and a soft moan drifted up her throat to taunt him.

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He savored the response, wrapping his arms around her welcoming body. His own reacted instinctively, answering a call that involved no thought, only want as he moved against her. It couldn’t have been a bigger mistake. Lust roared through him like wildfire. He shouldn’t have brought her out here. He should take her back inside and take some time just so they could get to know each other better.

He wrestled the censor in his head. Just a few sweet moments, that was all he wanted…a kiss, a caress…a what-if fantasy. It was the kind of memory that would bring a smile to his face in thirty years.

Yeah, the time he fell head over heels for the elusive spotted cat.

He felt the shiver she tried to control as he drew on her bottom lip. Her hands slid up his back. Slender fingers flitted over his shoulders like butterflies, unsure if it was safe to alight, but then they did.

“Kiss me, leopard lady.”

When she tightened her hold and leaned into him, he realized he’d been holding his breath. He released it in their kiss, in the form of a tortured groan. Her mouth was so soft, accepting his with an honest pleasure that undid him. He knew intuitively she lacked his experience. But the fresh, unpracticed way she responded only fed his desire. He increased the pressure, joined his tongue with hers, and she shivered again.

“Are you all right?” he whispered against her cheek. She might just be passing through, but he believed her claim that she’d stepped out of her normal mode of behavior with men. As much as his body urged him to take advantage of the moment, his conscience pricked with nagging insistence to restrain himself.

He had enough familiarity with women to tell an experienced one from one not quite as worldly. Although she had everything it took to drive a man wild, his leopard didn’t kiss like a well-traveled woman.

“Yes,” she said on a sigh that set a match to his fuse. Blake couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this excited. He wasn’t

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quite sure what he wanted from her, but it was more than a few stolen kisses behind the fire hall.

“You feel so good in my hands,” he murmured as he changed the angle of the kiss. She shuddered, and he wrapped one arm tighter around her back to give her his warmth. He skimmed his thumb down the gentle curvature of her spine. Lord, she felt glorious. And she smelled fresh, and tasted like heaven, and damned if she didn’t kiss like the sweetest angel.

Unable to resist, he lowered his mouth to her neck and trailed his lips down to the spot where it curved gently out to her shoulder.

“What is it?” he asked when she shuddered. “You’re not too cold are you?”

“I’m—no—I don’t know.” She shook her head as if trying to clear it. Huge green eyes searched his. Damn he didn’t want her to be frightened. He stepped back and she edged away, sliding sideways against the building. Her glance darted along the wall then to him again, as if taking measure of her surroundings.

“Look, why don’t we go back inside and talk awhile.” He angled his head and looked for some agreement. “You can tell me who you are and where I can find you after tonight.” He reached out to bring her back into the warmth of his arms for one last kiss.

Before he could, she turned and darted. Son of a gun, he stood with his mouth open. He had scared her.

Blake went back into the fire hall. He scanned the room but didn’t see his leopard anywhere. He waited by the ladies’ room, thinking maybe she’d gone in there to compose herself. After ten minutes, he circled the hall again. She couldn’t have just disappeared.

“Who you looking for, Blake?” his barber, Charlie, asked as Blake did a second turn of the room.

“No one in particular, just looking.” Blake went back to the bar. He ordered a drink and decided to stay put. She’d resurface on her own.

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After another half-hour, he cursed himself for not following immediately when she’d run back inside. His leopard had split.

SHE WAS out of her lust obliterated mind! What had she been thinking? Obviously she hadn’t been. How else could she have done such a brainless thing? Delaney locked the cottage door then leaned her head against it with a groan. She’d never flirted so shamelessly in her life as she had with her cowboy. Her cowboy…oh brother! She rolled her eyes.

When she’d seen him leaning against that bar all dressed in black, the impact had been lethal, and the attraction immediate. No man had ever drawn her like that.

By the time she’d regained enough control of her senses to recognize a potentially dangerous situation, she’d already spent a good ten minutes melting from his kisses. And although the little chess game she started had seemed innocent enough at first, he’d turned the tables on her before she even realized what happened.

She couldn’t believe she let things go so far. At twenty-six, she was probably in the running for the oldest virgin in New York, maybe on the entire east coast. After witnessing the pain and humiliation of not one, but two of her very dear friends becoming unwed mothers in high school, Delaney had vowed the same thing wouldn’t happen to her. As she became older, she’d just held on to her conviction to wait until she fell in love to have sex.

Although most of the men she’d dated were nice, and some had even made her consider taking the plunge, it had just never felt right. Tonight, the man in black had stirred restless longings that made her think the time had come to give up girlhood dreams of love and find out what she’d been missing.

Who was he? He’d made her want all the passion and wonder she’d been waiting for. It didn’t seem fair she’d found it here, now, with a nameless cowboy.

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She touched her lips. They still tingled. She couldn’t afford this kind of distraction. Not with Benjamin’s welfare at stake. It had been crazy to let someone she didn’t even know kiss her with such abandon. She would have lectured any of her friends if they told her they’d been pressed against a brick wall with a stranger, playing at dueling tongues, and worse, savoring it!

Delaney pushed away from the door and walked toward the bedroom, glad for the dark. She hoped her one moment of insane behavior would remain a secret from all who knew her, and that the Lone Ranger had ridden off into the sunset, never to tempt her again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Patricia Paris lives in the Chesapeake Bay area of Maryland with her husband John; a lazy, but lovable cat named Shiloh; and James Brown, aka JB, the baddest, but also, most lovable dog in town. When not writing, you’re likely to find the author exploring the Bay area’s small towns and waterways, which provide endless inspiration for her writing; battling the weeds that insist on invading her gardens; or, being an avid foodie, experimenting with a new recipe in her kitchen.

Patricia admits to being an unapologetic romantic, and she loves to give her readers that happily ever after, every time.