Mary McBride – Romancing the Crown: Nina & Dominic: A Royal Murder (страница 17)

“Tomato. I hate clams.”

His actions stretched his shirt smoothly across his broad shoulders, emphasizing their width. Nina hitched one hip onto a stool and propped her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand.

No question, the man was very easy to look at. Incredible buns, she thought, idly tracing her smile with one finger.

Every move he made was a study in graceful economy. Amazing how much he accomplished and how quickly he did it without seeming to hurry.

“When I do the interviews, I guess you’ll want to sit in,” he said.

“You bet.” She continued to watch as he bent over, retrieving sandwich things from the small, European-size refrigerator. “Do you realize that almost every conversation we’ve ever had has centered on the case?” she asked.

He straightened and turned around, frowning. “So?”

Nina shrugged. “So, I thought maybe we could take a break from it. Talk about something else for a change. Sort of rest and regroup.” Ryan yanked open a drawer and fished out the silver ware. “I don’t break until the case is closed.” He met her eyes directly. “To me, that means solved.”

She flared her hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. It was just a thought. How is your solve rate, McDonough?”

“Pretty damn good. I mean to keep it that way.”

“A fanatic, huh?” she guessed. “Pitbull tenacity?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he admitted, methodically slicing a thick loaf of crusty bread.

Nina reached across and grabbed one of the knives, the mayo and the plate of bread. “I’ll do that. You do the soup.”

He placed a slice of bread on the plate just as she took it and their fingers touched. For a second, neither of them moved. With a short embarrassed laugh, Nina pulled the plate toward her and Ryan turned away.

She began spreading the condiment, slowly to make the task last since it was all she had to do. “You know, you had me fooled in the beginning. The way you move. The way you talk. I admit I worried you might have an idle streak.”

He gave a self-deprecating grunt, plopped the tomato soup into a pan and ran a canful of water to add to it. He stirred while she watched the subtle play of shoulder muscles beneath his shirt.

Nina continued. “But you don’t have. I guess you’re the proverbial duck. Serene and smooth on the surface, and paddling like hell underneath.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “That’s how you see me? A duck?”

She grinned back at him, loving his Southern drawl, now knowing how deceptive it was. The guy was no duck. If he only knew how she saw him. What would he do?

“How do you see me?” she asked.

He drew his mouth to one side and frowned in thought. Then he held up one finger. “Cat,” he said with a firm nod and a reluctant smile. “Yeah. Sly. Independent. Unpredictable and untamable.”

“Lots of ‘uns,”’ she remarked, not totally displeased with his comparison. He couldn’t seem to hold on to that determined resentment of his for long. Nina decided doing that just went against his nature.

“And you’re a little bit wild and scary when riled,” he added.

She also purred when she was stroked, but he hadn’t found that out yet. Probably never would. But she figured it was smart to drag him out of that mood of his if she ever planned to get on his good side.

“See there?” she said. “I’ve tricked you into a break after all.”

He had put down the spoon he’d used to stir and was now propped against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. “You always get your way, don’t you? Smiling like the kitty that ate the canary.”

His intense gaze lingered on her mouth, then roamed every inch of her visible above the bar. Nina had the distinct impression that he was filling in the rest from memory, since he had undressed her after the fire.

His voice was a near growl when he spoke again. “Yeah. Definitely a cat.”

Nina pursed her lips and raised her brows, not certain whether she should read more into this sudden rapt attention than simple teasing.

Then she looked past him. “You might want to paddle around to that soup, Ducky. It’s about to boil over.”

They laughed together as he rescued their dinner and began dishing it up. She loved his laugh, the spontaneity of it. He always sounded a little surprised by it, as if he’d never expected it to happen again.

“Tell me, Chef Duck, what brought you here to Montebello?” she asked, satisfied that she was making real progress, establishing camaraderie.

Suddenly he ceased what he was doing and slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. His were as cold and desolate as midnight in the desert. Though he refused to offer even one word in answer to her question, Nina understood the break was now over. She had encroached on forbidden territory.

The familiarity he’d allowed a few moments ago no longer existed. There would be no more banter about ducks or cats or long, sensuous looks or accidental touches that generated sparks. It was as if he’d thrown up an impenetrable fire wall between them.

Nina knew her question had caused the sudden turnaround, but told herself she should be glad it had happened. While a brief fling with a man like Ryan might be an experience worth remembering, Nina was all too afraid it would be impossible to forget when the time came to do that. She never had brief flings anyway, so it was for the best if nothing happened. If he could pretend no electricity passed between them, she could, too.

The man obviously had baggage. Big-time baggage she had no business exploring. He was an admitted workaholic, a man who lived for his work. She could see it clearly now.

He would never give up. He’d keep doggedly at it until he got all his answers. Then he would dive directly into another case without a pause, she would bet.

Had he always been that way, or was it connected to his leaving his job with the police force in Savannah and coming here to live? Beautiful as it was, she doubted he’d come here for the scenery. Savannah was a beautiful place, too, or so she had heard.

Something life altering must have happened, given his reaction to her question, but she wouldn’t ask him again what it was. She knew what curiosity did to cats.

Despite her decision to leave well enough alone, Nina had to admit that she enjoyed—and, at the same time, was annoyed by—the sudden, unfamiliar, and almost overwhelming thrill of anticipation that surged through herwhenever they had what she liked to think of as a moment

Well, that needed to stop. No more of those moments. She would focus only on helping discover who’d killed Desmond. That was why she was here, she reminded herself.

Someone ought to teach Ryan how to pause and celebrate the small successes the way she had learned to do, but Nina didn’t figure that someone would be her.

Chapter 7

Ryan didn’t trust himself to sit too close to Nina, so he had put the dining-room table between them. He could still smell her perfume. It teased him across the distance, barely perceptible but certainly there. She wore a subtle scent he didn’t recognize. But then, why should he? He hadn’t paid much attention to things like that even when he’d been married. Another oversight to castigate himself for, he thought as he shuffled the papers within the file and then tried to look engrossed in them.

They’d been at this for a while now, and she continued to wreck his concentration with every breath he took.

“About this Princess Samira Kamal who was involved with Desmond,” Nina said suddenly, looking up from her reading of the statements taken in Tamir. “What’s she like?”

Ryan took his time answering as he recalled the one time he had met the princess. “Sweet, trusting. Very open. Maybe a little naive. She’s led a sheltered life.”

Nina scoffed. “Not sheltered enough, apparently. She managed to have an affair with my brother.”

“Yeah, so he said.” The fact that he had said it in front of so many people in a public restaurant sure didn’t elevate Caruso in Ryan’s estimation.

Ryan looked over at the typed copy of Samira’s statement. “I didn’t do that interview with her. I was brought into the case later. From what’s in there, she thought she was in love with Desmond and believed he loved her. When she went to the guesthouse one night and saw him through the window getting cozy with someone else, she realized her mistake and decided it was over.”

“She would have been furious, I bet. She could have done it,” Nina said, a frown marring her perfect forehead. “Maybe Samira and this Farid guy are in it together, providing each other with an alibi.” She tapped her fingers on the report. “I mean, she’s a princess and he is her bodyguard.”

“Actually, he’s her husband,” Ryan informed her. “They’re married.”

She looked dumbfounded, first at him, then down at the report. Ryan knew the information was not included in what she’d just read because the couple had not yet informed her family when their statements were taken.

“I hear they sort of eloped. Difference in their stations and all that, I imagine. Word’s out now, though.”

“There you are! Jealousy!” Nina exclaimed. “What if he killed Desmond?”

Ryan propped his elbows on the table. “Farid was the best bet at first. He threatened Desmond publicly. But, no, Farid and Samira were both in Tamir at the time of death. We’ve established that without a doubt.”