Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

His tall form was a comfort no matter that they’d agreed to keep the careful physical boundaries between them. It was always like this around him. She felt at once safe and threatened. Secure in his larger-than-life warmth, afraid of what her feelings for him could do to her carefully constructed peace of mind. She focused on her surroundings, the lake air laden with the scent of whatever was cooking for dinner inside the house. Gravel and seashells—the tiny kind unique to the Great Lakes—crunched under her feet. It was as satisfying as hearing pine cones crush under her hiking boots.

“Do they know we’re coming?” She hadn’t heard him call his parents all day. He could have sent a text, though.

“No. You know my family. There’s bound to be at least one of us kids showing up at any time. They’ll be thrilled to see us.” He hadn’t spoken for the rest of the drive, after the park. After that kiss—

“Are you ready for this, Dominique?” He stopped under the porch light and the soft glow made his dark curls almost blue in the night, which made her think of his eyes, how they could devour her as good as his hands, his lips.

Stop.

“Yes, of course.” She had a story to finish and this was another step toward it. Staying alive, getting the statements she needed from all sides, compiling all the information. Whatever it took.

Are you willing to risk your heart?

“Okay, then. Let’s do it.” He rang the doorbell, punched in a code as he did. He motioned for her to step in first and she walked into the foyer. The video doorbell had at least revealed it was Stanton, and probably her, as well.

“We’re back in here!” Italia’s musical voice reached them from the spot Dominique always thought of her in, when she allowed herself to dwell on her memories of Stanton’s family. They walked forward, across the polished floors, into the large, colorful kitchen. Italia rose from the island, her short brown bob the perfect foil for her bright green eyes. Frank’s motions mirrored his wife of forty years as he stood to greet his son. Half-empty wineglasses, water goblets and plates of broiled salmon and rice signaled they’d interrupted the couple’s dinner.

“Mom, Dad.” Stanton kissed his mother on both cheeks, in true Italian fashion. Italia had immigrated to the States after falling in love with a certain Michiganian, Frank, forty-one years ago. Dominique had the numbers and dates memorized. She couldn’t help it; her mind had a yen for numbers. And they’d celebrated an anniversary with his parents years before.

As Italia kissed Stanton back, her gaze strayed to his guest, and her eyes widened when they met Dominique’s. “Dominique, bella, how wonderful!” Italia didn’t miss a beat as she walked over to Dominique and gave her an equally warm welcome. Frank Colton followed with his usual bear hug, and Dominique tried to ignore the guilt that dug its claws into her conscience. She’d never asked Stanton how his parents had taken the breakup, never reached out to them to say goodbye. Belatedly she realized that at least a handwritten note would have been a nice gesture. Grave Gulch wasn’t that big a place, and anything to ease otherwise awkward run-ins couldn’t hurt. Fortunately she’d only seen them from afar at large charity or sporting events.

“Italia, Frank, it’s wonderful to see you both again.” The warmth in her voice wasn’t forced. In fact, it came from a deep well of longing she’d been unaware of until she walked back into this kitchen, smelled the fresh rosemary that Italia grew, along with other pots of herbs on the massive marble countertop. Frank, a shipping executive, had personally seen to the shipment of Carrara marble from Italy for his wife.

“What brings you here? Both of you? Have you eaten?” Italia fired the questions as she pulled Ravello ceramic plates from the deep drawers under the counter, placed them on the island next to hers and Frank’s. “I’ve got more salmon, and oh, Stanton, your favorite dessert is in the cupboard.”

“That sounds great, Mom.”

“Can I take your coat?” Frank stood in front of her and she shrugged out of her coat as smoothly as she could without making herself wince. Her discomfort was as much from her bruises as the reality that no matter how nice and cozy this seemed, she was now a guest in the Colton family home. When she and Stanton had been together, she’d hung her coat in the front closet, next to Frank’s and Italia’s.

“Thank you.”

“Here, come sit.” Italia patted the seat next to her and gave Dominique her classic “you wouldn’t dare mess with an Italian mother” look. Dominique complied, and Stanton slid into the seat on her other side. Was that a smile he was keeping to a minimum? “So tell me, Dominique. What have you been up to?”

Italia may as well have asked how many lovers she’d taken since walking away from her beloved son. Dominique sat up straight and forged ahead. “Nothing any different. I’m wrapped up in several stories but one has taken all of my time as of late.”

“Dominique’s going to get a Pulitzer for the story she’s working on now, if it all goes well.” Stanton’s praise made her start, and she twisted around to him.

“That’s not true, and, well...” She gave him a look that his parents couldn’t see. What are you doing? He grinned.

“You’ve always been modest.” Italia didn’t miss a beat. “Stanton, tell us why you haven’t been out here for over three weeks.”

It was Dominique’s turn to stifle a laugh.

“What your mother means is that we’ve missed you, and we’re certain that Colton Protection has been busy with all of the recent local activity. I imagine the drug issue will keep you busy for a long while, unfortunately.” Frank’s smooth baritone was familiar—Stanton had his father’s voice.

“Not to mention the movie premiere.” Italia laughed. “I’m happy to say that I’ve scored an invite