Trick Me, Treat Me. Leslie Kelly
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to keep playing the game. Heâd use this mystery scenario to be more outrageous, more provocative than he might normally be with a woman heâd just met.
Miles Stone answered, not Jared Winchester. âAs for the second part of your questionâ¦what am I doing here?â
He stepped close again, until he felt her calf brushing against his pants. She licked her lips, but didnât step away.
âYes?â
He reached up and touched her throat, sliding his finger up to caress her earlobe as he leaned closer, until their mouths were a breath apart. Then he filled that miniscule space with a whisper. âIâm afraid if I told you that, Iâd have to kill you.â
3
IF I TOLD YOU THATIâd have to kiss you.
Only, he hadnât said kiss, had he? No, surely heâd said kill. But Gwen didnât care. Kiss was what flashed in her mind. Kiss was what echoed in her brain, tempting her to be outrageous. A kiss might be daring enough to test that sexiness, that womanliness, that had eluded her since her failed engagement.
So, kiss she did. When the possible ax murderer whoâd just threatened her life leaned close until their breaths mingled, she grabbed his face and proceeded to kiss the lips off him.
Of course, sheâd known he was joking with the killing part. In spite of the aura of danger, sheâd felt sure from the moment theyâd started speaking that he was no threat to her. At least not physically. Mentally? Well, in that respect, she wasnât so sure. Her libido had been on high alert all night. An unusual occurrence for a woman who hadnât had sex in over a year.
But she was entitled. She hadnât done a single daring thing today. Besides, it wasnât like she was getting engaged to a cheating bastardâagain. She was just stealing a kiss. One kiss.
Twining her fingers in his hair, she tugged him closer until their lips could meet fully. He tasted dangerous and delicious. She didnât get too serious, just slid her lips against his, letting them part the tiniest bit, but no further. His body was close, a thin aura of awareness the only thing separating them. He made no effort to pull her tighter, letting her take what she wanted.
So she took. Without thought, without common sense, with only a bit of Halloween-and-moonlight-inspired madness.
Finally, after what could have been five seconds or five minutes, she pulled her mouth away. She felt no embarrassment. Sheâd kissed a stranger. Not a big deal in the scheme of things, right? She hadnât robbed a bank, or fled from the police or been around during a shootout. Unlike some members of her family.
âOkay,â she said with a soft sigh.
âOkay?â he asked, looking surprisedâbut not displeased.
âYes. That was my one impulsive act for the day.â
âThat was it, huh?â
She nodded. âYep. One a dayâs my quota.â
He frowned. âToo bad.â Reaching up, he traced the line of her jaw with the tip of his finger. âBut, you know, itâs only an hour until midnight. Wanna stick around and see what impulse you feel like giving into tomorrow?â
Naughty. Very naughty. She liked that about him. âIâm afraid Iâve gotten it out of my system. One kiss was all I needed.â
âThatâs like saying all you need is one piece of rich, decadent chocolate.â His voice thickened. âSome things just scream to be tried again.â
She nibbled her lip. He was right. With some things, one was never enough. And this manâs kisses could be more addictive than chocolate. âIâve done enough trying for one night. At least now, if you end up killing me, Iâll die after having enjoyed a nice kiss.â
He tsked. âI only kill bad guys.â
Though she suspected he was teasing, his voice sounded somewhat serious. âIâm not a bad guy.â
âNo, youâre the mysterious, sultry, kissable innkeeper whose story I donât yet know.â He spoke so strangely, playfully almost, fitting in with the surreal mood sheâd felt all night.
âI donât have a story.â
He brushed a long tendril of hair off her face, his fingertips lingering on her temple. âEveryone has a story.â
âWhatâs yours?â She clarified. âOr, at least, what of yours can you tell me without needing to do me in?â
He laughed softly, and her breath hitched at the low, resonant sound. She liked the way this man sounded as much as she liked the way he looked.
âMaybe I donât have a story, either.â
âYou have âstoryâ written all over you.â
âToo bad itâs not in braille,â he said, all flirtatious charm. A twinkle in his eye dared her to follow his meaning.
She didâ¦and chuckled. âOkay, Mr. Stone, youâre very entertaining, but I do like to know something about the men I stumble over in darkened kitchens and kiss against their will.â
âWho said it was against my will?â
âYou certainly didnât ask for it,â she pointed out.
âI didnât ask the cheerleading squad at my high school to flash me and my buddies, either.â He grinned. âSome things you want are just obvious.â
âLike that second piece of chocolate,â she admitted, conceding the point. Then a gentle warmth spread through her as she focused on the want part of his statement. He wanted her. Or heâd at least wanted her kiss. So, she wasnât the only one affected by the seductive atmosphere in the air tonight.
Trying to turn this strange encounter into something more normal, she stepped away from him and walked to the huge storage freezer. Opening it, she pulled out a tray of frozen pumpkin muffins. After sheâd set it on the counter, she glanced over her shoulder, aware that he watched every move she made.
âBreakfast?â
She nodded. âYou are staying the entire weekend?â
âYes.â
She wondered if he could tell she was pleased. Then she sighed. âWeâve got a full house. Itâs going to be busy. Iâm sure Iâll be dead tired by Sunday night.â
He laughed, as if sheâd made a joke. âRight. Dead tired. I probably will be, too.â Though she raised an inquiring brow, he didnât elaborate. âSo, who else is here for this holiday weekend? Just who is sleeping in this house tonight, other than the innkeeper, the ex-movie starsâ¦and me?â
She nibbled her lip as she thought about it, trying to remember everyone whoâd checked in. So many facesâsome familiar, but some having come into Derryville for only this one event. A weekend magazine mention of the new haunted inn had appeared in a Chicago paper in time to get them several last-minute reservations. People appeared willing to travel a long way to spend a night in a haunted house on October 31. A spooky B & B was perfect for grown-ups who wanted to give in to their deep-rooted need to revisit childhood and scare themselves silly on Halloween. Without giving up pampering and comfort, of course.
âWell, in addition to the older couple, thereâs a pretty young doctor,â she said, remembering the woman sheâd shown to the Lady in Red room. âSomeone who says heâs an archeologist, and one woman who works at a museum. An older man