“Soooo...” Olivia said in a singsong voice as she leaned in the doorway and eyed Elise balefully over the rim of her reading glasses. “Joel called.”
“I figured he would. What did he say?” As if she didn’t already know.
“He said that you walked into his house, stayed just long enough to decline his case and then walked right back out. And then you were in some sort of road-rage incident that led to a car accident?” Arms still folded and eyebrows raised, Olivia padded barefoot across the foyer until she was close enough to see Elise clearly in the muted lighting. Circling her slowly, she looked her up and down with a wrinkle of concern creasing her forehead.
“What are you doing?” Elise asked, tracking her movements suspiciously.
“I’m making sure you’re okay. The way Joel was going on and on, it was like listening to an episode of How to Get Away with Murder. I was worried sick. What in the world happened to you after you left here earlier?”
“Well, Joel was right about one thing. There was an accident but—”
“What? Oh my God, what happened?” Eyes wide, she pounced on Elise, checking with searching hands for possible bumps, bruises or breaks. Finding none, she breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Elise said, warding off Olivia’s hovering hands as she moved around her and reached for the wooden banister behind her. “It was really just a tap, and it happened on my way to Joel’s house, not after I left. I’m surprised Joel even knew about it.” She climbed one step, then two and then it occurred to her. “Wait, what am I saying? Of course, Joel knew about it. He probably told him all about it before I got there.”
“He? Who’s he and exactly what was there to tell?”
Elise opened her mouth to explain, then thought better of it. Introducing Broderick Cannon’s name into the conversation right now would only result in more questions, and, if Elise factored in the questions that were already in queue to be asked, they could end up standing there half the night, which was so out of the question that it was laughable. There was only so much harassment that she was willing to take in one day, without a chilled glass of Reisling on hand as backup, and she’d reached her threshold well over an hour ago.
“Elise?” Olivia prompted with a cocked brow when the silence stretched from one second into five.
“Just some friend of Joel’s from college. No one important,” Elise explained vaguely, impatiently. “A private investigator, I think.”
And a demigod, she silently added, mentally reviewing Broderick’s finer points in her mind. Six-three or -four, with the kind of imposing build that was best served scantily clad and glistening with body oil. Smooth, mocha brown skin, full lips and sleepy-looking bedroom eyes, rimmed with long black lashes. A deliberate five-o’clock shadow that was as expertly groomed as his close-cropped black hair was and a slightly off-kilter smile that, by itself, was seemingly harmless but that, together with the whole of him, was exactly the thing that instantly melted a woman’s panties and summarily dismissed every ounce of her self-control.
Elise knew because she’d been transfixed herself by the way his protruding Adam’s apple bobbed rhythmically in his powerful-looking neck as he talked and the way the slashes in his cheeks bracketed his mouth just so when he smiled. She’d been secretly appreciating the way the muscles in his forearms strained against the sleeves of his black trench coat whenever he moved his arms, when she also happened to notice that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and suddenly thought, eighteen months. That’s how much time had passed since her last relationship ended and, not until the moment that Broderick loomed over her and blithely suggested that he could be a serial killer, had it ever occurred to her to question exactly why.
At some point, very early on, when she was still thinking clearly and in her right mind, she noticed the look in his eyes, recognized it for what it was and knew she was in trouble. The same X-rated thoughts that were running through her mind were clearly running through his, but, unlike her, he didn’t seem to care that she could see them. She should’ve been offended by the unobstructed view into his carnal thoughts, but, instead, she was excited and slippery wet, and embarrassed by her body’s reaction to him. And, honestly, she’d been too busy ogling him right back and thanking God for dark sunglasses to hide behind while she did it, to bother jumping on anyone’s feminist soapbox. Frankly, his boldness, his tendency to stare at her mouth when she talked and at her breasts when he thought she wasn’t looking, turned her on.
He was a spectacular-looking man, an interesting cross between Boris Kodjoe and the Terminator, with a hint of something else lurking beneath the surface, something other than his amazing looks and tall, powerhouse physique. He’d been dressed like a business mogul, in a flawlessly tailored trench coat, cashmere dress slacks and hand-sewn Italian loafers. But the energy around him was raw and intense, his gait controlled and predatory, like a caged beast, one that was chomping at the bit and impatiently biding his time on lockdown.
My God, he was sexy.
Elise had never been more attracted to a man in her entire life.
But that information was on a need-to-know basis, and, as far as Elise was concerned, Olivia didn’t need to know. They were identical twins, but when it came to men, the two of them were like Jekyll and Hyde. Olivia was a femme fatale, with a trail of broken hearts in her wake that dated all the way back to kindergarten to prove it. While Elise...well, Elise had simply watched the drama that was her sister’s life unfold from the sidelines. She was a bookworm, who’d been obsessed with maintaining her position as captain of the debate team and with maintaining at least a 3.5 GPA at all times. She was seventeen, almost eighteen, when she got around to her first tongue kiss and a whopping twenty-one when she fumbled her way through losing her virginity, and even then she’d only done it because she figured that it was about time. To this day, she could count on one hand the number of men that she’d been intimate with since then.
And she’d still have two fingers left.
Men like Broderick Cannon scared the hell out of her.
“Wait, so Joel hired another firm?” Olivia wanted to know. “A competing firm?”
“I didn’t really leave him any choice. After he hit me, I—”
Olivia gasped. “What? Joel hit you?”
“No,” Elise cried impatiently, stretching the word out into five long syllables. Just a few minutes ago, escape had seemed so possible. Now? Not so much. “Joel didn’t hit me, Broderick Cannon did. Please try to keep up.”
“I am trying, but you’re not making it very easy,” Olivia said, laying a hand on Elise’s forehead and looking concerned. “You seem rattled, and you’re a little flushed, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Elise rolled her eyes to the ceiling and swatted Olivia’s hand away. “Stop that. Of course I’m okay.” She climbed two more steps. “I just need a few minutes—”
“Well, at least come into the kitchen with me and have some tea. It should be done steeping by now. It’ll help you relax, and you can tell me all about whatever happened today...from the beginning and in chronological order this time. How about that?”
—alone to catch my breath and process everything, Elise finished silently. Aloud, she said: “Well—” The ringing doorbell cut her off. For a second, she was torn between hanging around to see who was at the door and getting out while the getting was good. “Who could that be at this time of the evening?”
Olivia frowned at her watch. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the courier that Eli was supposed to send over with some papers five hours ago,” she said, referring to Eli Seamus, the retired CIA agent who moonlighted as their Competitive Intelligence Analyst, or CIA, and all-around computer hacker. “He’s called five times now, each time to let me know that he was running a little later than he was running when he called the time before that.”
“Who?