Secretly Married. Allison Leigh
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between her and the rail overlooking the cliff. What didn’t surprise him was the file that she was reading, occasionally scrawling some note.
He stood there, silently, watching her for a long while, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see him standing there in the dark even if she did look his way. She was as slender as ever, her crossed legs as long and shapely as his dreams frequently reminded. Tailored, no frills and completely female with a love for shoes that made her ankles look even finer. He’d always been torn between male appreciation of her unabashedly sexy shoes and amusement that the things were hazardous. His gaze drifted down to her bare feet. Her toenails were painted red and that was new. Not at all the subtle pastel stuff she’d worn before. She’d also taken down her hair. The white-blond gleam of it drifted around her slender shoulders. From the day he’d met her, she’d confined her hair. In pins, or a ponytail. He still remembered the feel of the silky strands the first time he’d pulled the hair free. He closed his fingers against the itch in his palms.
Now, either she was playing some game that completely escaped him, or she really did believe they were divorced.
Both seemed implausible ideas when it came to Delaney.
He abruptly slid open the door and her head whipped around at the sound. “You can use the guest room,” he said before she could speak. “The bed’s not made. I’ll have to find you some sheets.”
She closed the file in her briefcase and pushed out of the padded chair to face him. The breeze lifted her hair. “I already did. Make the bed, that is.”
“Efficient of you.”
“Don’t look at me like that. It was something to do since I’ve been stuck here for the past few hours.”
He stepped closer to her, getting in her space. He’d learned a long time ago that it was one of the only ways to break through that mile-high reserve of hers. Most people would simply step away from someone invading their personal space, but not Delaney. Not when she had an even higher share of pride than reserve.
And underneath it all a boundless heart that occasionally snuck out and showed through her soft blue eyes. “I’m surprised you came out on the deck,” he murmured. “It’s pretty high up from the water.”
“Actually, it’s rather like being surrounded by the sky,” she said coolly.
Of course. Commenting on her fear of heights put that extra tone in her voice. “You have circles under your eyes.”
“Flattery always was your strong point, Sam.”
“You still don’t get enough sleep. Probably too busy reading case files in bed.”
She pressed her palm to her throat, her eyes going wide. “And here, all this time I thought you didn’t care.”
“Nice to know we still bring out the best in each other.”
She didn’t bat an eye. “Isn’t it? And I’ll take your kind offer of the guest room with my assurance that I’ll leave as soon as humanly possible. I’ll catch Mr. Montoya’s ferry first thing.”
“You can cut the act, Delaney. There’s nobody here but us.”
“Act.” Her brows drew together. “Were you always so…unpleasant?”
He almost laughed at that. “There were times you didn’t think so.” He touched the ends of her silky hair, a genuine smile tugging at his lips when her bravado disappeared in a puff. Something about her eyes. One moment they frothed like a whitecap and the next they were quiet pools that hid none of the depths inside her.
She shifted, adding a good foot of distance between them. “Really? I hardly remember.”
He had to give her credit for trying.
He turned back toward his room. “Come through here. Guest room’s across the hall, but you probably figured that out when you were hunting up sheets in my closets.”
She hurriedly snatched up the briefcase, following him. “I didn’t snoop.”
“Did I accuse you of it?”
“You implied it.”
He exhaled noisily. “Get some sleep, Delaney. And forget about catching Diego’s ferry tomorrow.”
“Why on earth would I want to do that?”
He knew if he looked at her, the whitecaps would be back. He knew if he looked at her, he’d want to touch her again, no matter how stupid it would be. “It doesn’t run on Sundays.”
She was silent a moment. “Dandy.”
Delaney was the only person he’d ever known who used the word dandy, much less for circumstances ranging from spectacular to abysmal. He sat on the end of his bed and then—because he was a man and she was his wife—he couldn’t help but look at her. “Not exactly like running to the corner and hailing a cab.”
“No.”
He pulled off one boot. Go away, Laney.
Her eyebrows drew together. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”
“By taking off my boots?” He removed the other and it hit the floor with a thud to lie by the first. “I’m not that obvious.” Yes, he was. Go away, Laney.
“By making me uncomfortable, you can control the situation.”
He stood and started on his shirt buttons. “Like this?”
“You’re so obvious.”
“And you’re not moving.” He tossed the shirt aside. “Maybe because you want to stay. The bedroom really was where we did all our best work.”
“Bedroom?” The word burst from her lips. “Half the time you—”
“I…what?” He prompted when her voice strangled down to nothing. “Didn’t wait to get to the bedroom?” He took a step toward her. And another. For each step he took, she inched farther away, the briefcase held in front of her like a shield. The door was within reach.
“Remember that time we—”
The phone rang.
She jumped a little.
He considered ignoring it. But he couldn’t. He was the bloody sheriff; the only law in a town that had a council but no mayor, because nobody wanted to take on the job of heading up the antiquated place. He eyed Delaney as it rang again.
She looked pale.
He was surprised she didn’t use the phone as her last means of escape. But then there were lots of things he’d found surprising about Delaney.
He went over to the bed and snatched up the extension. “Vega.” The airy hum over the line meant the call wasn’t local. Not the Haggerty boys getting into it again, then. “Hello?”
“Detective Vega?”
It’d been a while since he’d been called that. “Not anymore. Who is this?” But he knew the answer before the other man answered.
“Chad Wright.”
“Yeah?” Sam’s voice was bland.
The line hummed for a moment. Then Chad cleared his throat. “Well, I was looking for my fiancée.”
Fiancée.
Well, well, well.
Sam shoved his hand in his pocket to keep from tearing the phone out of the wall and slid his gaze to Delaney. “Who would that be,” he asked genially, knowing full well that it was the woman standing in the doorway of his bedroom, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Delaney, of course.” Chad sounded impatient. “Look, I know it’s late. But she never checked into the hotel in San Diego, and I haven’t been able to reach her on her cell phone. She said she planned to speak with you after she’d