Page 11 of Fortune’s Control (Fortune’s Creek #1)

Instinct told me not to ask him inside, and here we were, kissing.

Shane’s burning touch turned all my suppressed daydreams to ash. His firm lips covered mine as the kiss grew more demanding. I swallowed, opening for him, and Shane seized my neck, bending me to deepen the kiss further.

He moved us so that my back pressed against the brick wall. I clung to him as he shoved a thigh between my legs to hold me up. “Spread your legs for me.”

I shivered, despite his body heat, and he seized the advantage.

A hand traveled down my body, to my thigh and skirt’s hem. My hips bucked, and his hand slid under the dress and back up my thigh.

My body quivered as desire took over. I should have ignored that earlier instinct.

Ignoring it was always the wiser choice.

I untucked his shirt, desperate to reach for the warm skin underneath, and a hard stomach greeted me.

My hands floated up his chest, tickling the hair and thrilling at his broad chest.

Our kiss continued as we tasted each other, and I explored the soft warmth of his mouth. My shallow breathing quickened at his lips and his demanding assault. My back arched, wanting to bring him closer, to feel his leg rub between my thighs.

Shane’s hand cupped my center, and I cried at his touch. He stroked over my panties as I silently begged him to go further, to take them off and use his fingers on me.

“Can I take these off?” he asked.

“Please.”

I undid the top button of his pants and stroked, telling myself to keep going.

I spent our meal lusting over him, and he kissed me.

He ravaged me, and I wanted to do the same to him.

Shane didn’t hide his obvious attraction, with the slow glide of his tongue on his lips, or the way his eyes shone throughout dinner.

I saw the way his nose flared when I leaned forward, showing off my cleavage.

Weeks of dancing around each other, and we still had all night.

“Shane.” I managed his name between strangled puffs of breath. “Do you want to come upstairs? Stay the night.”

Our kiss ended.

Shane drew back, and I followed, confused. He smoothed my dress back into place and removed my hands from his abdomen. His obvious withdrawal confused me. He glanced towards the wooden stairs and grimaced.

“We’ve gone far enough,” he said.

“What?” Did I mishear?

“I don’t do this on first dates. Thank you for coming with me this evening, Lilah.”

I couldn’t decipher his stony expression and struggled over what to say next. His abrupt withdrawal after my offer meant I misinterpreted his interest. My lungs stopped working.

“Did I do something wrong?” My voice wavered despite my best efforts. I didn’t know the cause, but I knew what rejection looked like. I had plenty of experience with it, after all.

“No. I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good night.”

“Shane?” He quickened his steps, not bothering to respond. “Shane?”

“Good night, Lilah.”

*****

I changed into my pajamas and pulled a cozy blanket around me. A cup of steaming herbal tea with honey sat on the table beside me.

“What did I do wrong?” The living area’s window looked right into Shane’s bedroom, although he kept the blinds closed. The light shone through the edges and between the cracks, letting me know where he was. There was a dim light in the kitchen, probably a small one over the stove or kitchen sink.

Shane went straight to his bedroom. Without me.

“Whatever happened, it was rude and unacceptable.” He didn’t respond because he wasn’t with me to hear it. “I thought our attraction was mutual.”

I turned on the television for background noise and found a reality show of people performing dumb stunts for laughs. They weren’t funny.

My mind wandered, reliving our evening, as I searched for the missing clue. His attraction wasn’t my imagination, no matter how the evening ended. I gave him a peck on the cheek, but Shane said he wanted more. That wasn’t my imagination either.

“What did I do wrong?”

Was I too forward? I refused to believe that, and Shane didn’t strike me as someone who saw that as a negative.

The reality show didn’t help. I opened my laptop next and performed the same Internet search I had a hundred times before .

It was a stupid ritual that only increased my anxiety.

The latest news articles didn’t have any updates.

It put Sandy Cooper’s face in the top left corner, like always.

Every story I read used the same photo from a couple of years ago.

The pixie haircut had since grown out, but she still wore the same glasses.

A drop of blood covered one lens when I found her.

I dialed my phone, uncertain if Sarah Jane would answer on a Saturday night. My mother coveted her social life, and dealing with her daughter’s relationship problems would put a crimp in any plans.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Delilah? What’s going on? George is over right now.”

Her latest beau. Sarah Jane didn’t have boyfriends or significant others.

Her life was a parade of beaus and gentleman callers.

You could pin a shiny label on them if you wanted, but that didn’t change the relationship.

“We haven’t spoken much since the night Sandy Wilson died.

Can you talk?” The last word was a whisper. Strange.

“I thought they caught him. What was his name? Wilbur?”

“His name is Wilson Skane, and the police said they did. That’s also not why I’m calling.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Can you imagine a crazy killer on the loose? He’d be after you for certain. What’s wrong? Did you have another car accident? How’s the job search?”

“I haven’t found a new one.”

“You will soon, I’m sure. Honey, is there something important or not?

George is pouring wine and asked me to go on a cruise tonight.

” Her voice lowered, sounding like she put a hand over the receiver.

“He bought me a gorgeous set of diamond earrings. You should see them. I think he might be the one.”

“He sounds charming. Mom, I met someone.” I could use some advice.

“Did he hurt you?”

Her genuine concern surprised me, although I wished she hadn’t gone straight to that assumption.

“Not exactly. His name is Shane, and I thought he was interested in me, but I was mistaken. What do you do when that happens?”

She hesitated. “I leave them first, always. Never, ever let them see you hurt. If you learn one thing, it’s to leave before that happens. Is this all you wanted? If so, George opened another bottle of wine, so I will let you go.” Sarah Jane hung up.

Why did people say they’ll let you go, like it’s a favor, when they’re the ones who wanted to hang up?

I tried Emma next, knowing her parents’ anniversary party was tonight.

“Do you ever think life would be better with an unlimited supply of chocolate pudding? Someone should get on this. Anyway, leave a message!” Emma’s high-pitched lilt at the end of her voicemail greetings always brought out a smile.

Most people left a terse greeting or didn’t even bother setting one up.

Emma constantly changed hers, based on her mood or some random incident that had occurred that day.

“It’s me. Call me tomorrow when you can.

Shane kissed me, and then everything was awful and miserable.

Now, I’m wearing pajamas and looking for a movie to cry over.

Also, my mother thinks she’ll get married, and my grandmother probably doesn’t exist. Call me back.

Hurry. Oh, also, I hope the party went well. ”

Shane’s bedroom light stayed on. A figure moved, blocking the light seeping through the closed blinds before it stopped, planting itself on one side of the window .

“Hello, Shane. If you’re peeking out at me, please know I’m having a fabulous time watching a reality show and not thinking about you at all.”

The show’s closing credits came on.

I considered waving to acknowledge Shane’s existence, but decided against it. Our night went from perfect to horrible, and I wasn’t in the mood to give him a casual greeting. He could go on spying for all I cared.

I tilted my computer screen away from the window. I didn’t want to share it, even if Shane couldn’t see the contents without binoculars. He struck me as a man who kept binoculars close by, given his former military career and his need for control.

Determined to forget about him, I returned to my Internet search. The same thought occurred to me every time I checked on this case. What if?

I pulled up news sites from different metro areas in Georgia, but found no results, before remembering I had moved to a different state.

Miami claimed its share of crime, but none of it matched my criteria.

Tampa, Orlando, and Jacksonville were the same.

Relieved, I almost gave up before remembering Gainesville existed.

With a relieved sigh, my search ended.