Page 31 of Dangerous Secrets

“No!” Charity said sharply. God, the last thing she needed was for Uncle Franklin to get lost in the snow, too. “You stay put, now. I’m coming right over.”

She clicked off so he wouldn’t have time to protest. It was entirely possible that Aunt Vera was in the basement or had wandered into the cellar. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Charity yanked out her down parka from the closet, rattling the hanger, and turned around with a heavy heart.

Through the haze of anxiety, she could still feel Nick inside her, that warm column of hard flesh making her glow with heat, his large hands gripping her, the feel of him hard against her back. The signs of sex were still in her body—her panties were damp, her super-sensitized nipples grazed her bra—yet her body already felt bereft, lost and cold without him.

This might actually be the breaking point. When Nick decided she was more trouble than she was worth. There was no time to explain that she had to rush off, that it was her duty. He’d have every right to be annoyed. Bed partners aren’t supposed to disappear in the middle of the night. Certain not in the middle of making love.

He was too good to be true, anyway. Maybe the sooner he left, the better, before she started hoping?—

Zipping up the parka, she turned her head towards him as she rushed to the door. “Nick, I’m sorry, I really am, but I have to?—”

But he wasn’t on the bed. He wasn’t anywhere in the room. Oh, heavens—had he somehowleftwhile she’d been fumbling in the dark? Wouldn’t he have at least said good-bye?

She switched on the overhead light and there he was, fully dressed, waiting by the front door. Oh, God, hewasgoing.

“Nick, I’m really sorry, but my Aunt Vera is missing and I have to leave. Believe me I wouldn’t go unless I had to.” She swallowed heavily. “But, wouldn’t you like to stay the night? I might not be too long.”

Just the thought of coming back to an empty house made her heart clench.

He didn’t answer, just opened the door. “Let’s go, Charity.” He had a grim expression which she couldn’t decipher. She was in a hurry, but she stopped when she saw his face. Was that anger? No, not anger. But what was it?

“Go?”

Snow was already accumulating in the foyer through the open door. “I’m not letting you drive in this weather. You can tell me all about this in the car. Nowmove.”

Charity started at his tone. “But—” She was talking to the empty air. He’d disappeared into a white swirl.

Charity locked up and followed Nick as fast as she could over the slick ice-covered path down to the street where Nick’s car was parked. What a nightmare of a night.

Her heart squeezed and she prayed to the god of good, elderly women that Aunt Vera had simply wandered into the basement or the garage.

It felt like forever, but was probably only a minute before the shiny black fender of the Lexus appeared between sheets of snow.

It looked like they were taking Nick’s car. This was good news and bad news. His car was undoubtedly better equipped to deal with bad weather than hers. It was powerful and would hold the road much better than hers. That was the good news. The bad news was that Nick was a poky driver, overly cautious. Charity wanted to get to her uncle’s house as fast as possible and Nick was guaranteed to take forever getting there.

In good weather it was a twenty minute drive. In bad weather forty minutes. Nick, slow, careful driver that he was, could take almost an hour. In that hour, Aunt Vera could die.

Nick was behind the wheel, the engine running, windshield wipers clacking back and forth, passenger door open. Charity poked her head down.

“Nick, um, do you want me to drive? I know the way and?—”

“No,” he answered curtly, jaws clenched.

“But—”

“Get in. Fast.” There was real command in his voice, flat and imperative. “Now, Charity.” He glanced at her briefly. One look was enough.

Charity instinctively obeyed, scrambling into the passenger seat as fast as she could. The powerful engine idled, the vibrations a low hum of power under her. It was like sitting on a tiger in the instant before it leapt.

“Buckle up.” Charity turned her head. Nick’s face was completely impassive, devoid of all expression. She was so disoriented and frightened she’d forgotten to buckle her seat belt. Driving in a snowstorm without a seat belt was just asking for trouble.

“Tell me where we’re going.” Nick’s tone was flat, remote.

“Ferrington. It’s a small town about 15 miles?—”

“I know where Ferrington is. Hold on.”

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