Page 29 of Colton's Last Resort

“Of course.” She offered her hand. “And no need to call me Ms. Colton anymore, remember?”

He gripped her hand softly. Cradled it. What else did someone do with a hand like hers? “Laura,” he said, hearing how it left him like a prayer.

The other night, he’d dropped her hand like a hot potato. Now he made himself hold it. He made himself picture it—her and him. Together. If he was going to convince anyone else they were an item, he had to convince himself first. For one dangerous moment, he let himself imagine pulling her closer. He imagined holding her, the smell of her hair, pressing his lips to the curve between her neck and shoulder, running his hands up the length of her spine...

He imagined the shape of her under his hands, how a woman like her would respond to his touch...

“Noah,” she replied.

Heat assaulted him. Before he could hit the safe button, a vortex of flame swept him up. It refused to spit him back out.

Noah took a step back. The doorknob bit into his hip.

Shaking her hand had been too much? What was he going to do tomorrow when they had to convince Laura’s family, friends, employees and guests that they were a couple? Flame-retardant gear wouldn’t keep him safe from this inferno.

Allison’s death had ripped his defenses wide, exposing him.

He couldn’t let Laura Colton take advantage of the fact.

“Good night,” he said shortly.

“Good night,” she returned, and the slight smile on her face stayed with him long after he left.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Laura stood her ground. “It’s a good plan, Adam.”

“He’s the wrong cop,” Adam reminded her. “He’s emotional. According to his commanding officer, he’s not even supposed to be anywhere near this.”

The guy in her office hadn’t seemed emotional. Determined? Yes. Standoffish? Absolutely. Underneath, Laura was certain Detective Steele—Noah—had to be hurting. But his clear-cut focus had struck her, inciting her own.

Someone had drugged her friend, cut her life short... She couldn’t walk away from that. “I’m doing this,” she told Adam. “We’re doing this—him and me—whether you think it’s advisable.”

“Laura—”

“This happened on our watch,” she said, and the horror of that made her stomach lurch. “Someone killed her here. This is our home, Adam.”

Adam planted a hand on her shoulder. “You are not responsible for Allison’s death.”

“Then help me catch who is,” she insisted. “Don’t get in the way. Please.”

The last word splintered. He closed his eyes in reaction.

Voices down the hall echoed toward them. Adam’s hand lifted from her shoulder. “We’ll finish this discussion later,” he concluded.

She raised her chin in response. Recognizing the voices as those of Joshua, Greg and Clive, she braced herself for what was to come. The family attorney stood as a buffer between father and son as he escorted them down the hall to the conference room. His Hawaiian-print shirt seemed loud and cheery, his smile in contrast with Joshua’s scowl and Clive’s expressionless face.

The only nondescript thing about Greg was the beige folder he was holding. He raised his free hand to wave at Adam and Laura. “We’re not behind schedule, are we?” he asked them.

“We arrived early,” Adam replied. He stepped aside, motioning for Clive to go ahead into the conference room. As his father moved beyond him and Laura, they both raised questioning looks at Greg.

He offered them a slight nod.

Laura’s lips parted. She glanced between her brothers, noting Joshua’s grim intent. She watched Adam button his suit jacket, the galvanized rods of his business mien snapping into place. He let Greg follow Clive into the room first. “Shall we?” he asked the others.

Laura wished she knew what was in that folder. As she and Joshua entered the conference room, she leaned over and whispered, “Did Greg tell you what he found?”

“Nothing,” Joshua answered.

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