Page 41 of Mistletoe and Malice
“Sort of? Did somebody else do it and you just paid for it?”
“Yeah.” He avoided her eyes as he walked around to the passenger side of the Range Rover. “Pretty much.”
“It’s nice. But isn’t this place a little big for you? What is it, four bedrooms, three baths?”
“Three-and-a-half baths.”
“And your kitchen is to die for. Do you use all that space?”
He threw his bags in the back, then opened her door. “Secret?”
“Oh, yes, please.” She rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain. “I love secrets.”
He chuckled. “I enjoy cooking.”
“You do?” The delight on her face made his pulse skip. So, it was definitely her and not something medical he could fix. Not good.
“Picked it up in college. I got so sick of fast food that I finally broke down, got some cookbooks, some pots, pans, and started cooking. Found I really liked it.”
“I’m not great at it, to be honest. Mom cooks with Hilda quite a bit and handles the cooking whenever Hilda’s off. And although I’ve hung with them a few times in the kitchen, I’ve never really caught on. I’d make someone a horrible wife, I’m sure.”
“More to being a wife than being a great cook, Riley.” And any guy fortunate enough to be with her the rest of his life probably wouldn’t miss the cooking.
He closed her door and walked around to his side to climb behind the wheel. A quick click of the garage remote brought the door up, and he backed out slowly, searching for any out-of-place vehicles or people. No people that he could see on this frigid, cold day, and the only cars still on the street or in driveways had been there when they arrived.
On the way out of the neighborhood, he again kept a watch on the rearview mirrors and traffic around them to determine if they were being followed. While Paul was without a doubt the best driver at Petersen, Colton’s thorough Secret Service training had included high-speed maneuvering and braking techniques, attack recognition, and defensive positioning. Mack also made sure his operatives went through their paces behind the wheel every two years to keep their skills sharp.
Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to take advantage of it today.
“Beautiful.” Riley gazed out the side window as the car meandered through the tree-lined subdivision. “Like something from one of those TV shows, where everybody on the block knows one another, and you can run to a neighbor’s house to borrow eggs or sugar. Or let your littles play while dishing with the other moms over a cup of coffee.”
Smiling, he glanced over at her. “It’s a friendly neighborhood. I’ve enjoyed living here. My next-door neighbors take care of my house when I’m on an op where I can’t be home for a while.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About six years.”
“It’s lovely.”
She watched the rows of upper-middle-class homes go by, wisps of smoke rising from almost every chimney. Why was she so mesmerized by this humble neighborhood? Had she grown up in that vast house longing for the simple pleasures of American suburbia?
Could she really be happy living in a place like this?
Not that it mattered if she would be or not. He’d certainly never find out.
He cleared his throat. “Where to?”
“Head back toward River Oaks. I’m a little west of my parents.” She gave him directions to her house, and they spent the forty-minute drive talking about his work, her work, current affairs. The detours around flooded roads and the drizzle of sleet still coming down made for slower going than usual.
She pointed to an entrance leading to curving rows of private luxury townhomes on the other side of a decorative wrought-iron gate. “Five, two, seven, nine.”
Once he’d punched in the numbers, they made their way inside, meandering along the curved lane until she gestured to a two-story, white, Mediterranean-style home on their right. He parked next to the curb and came around to let her out, both hunkering down into their heavy coats.
They hurried up the walkway, passing through another gate that led to a courtyard on the way to her front door. “This is nice.”
“Thanks. I love living here. It might sound prideful, but it’s the first home I’ve called my own.” She pulled a set of keys from her jacket pocket. “It was a blast dec?—”
He grabbed her by the arm, pushed her up against the wall. Shielding her body with his, he stared at the door.
