Like Honey (9 page)

I
t was three a.m. and Gray had another erection. One that ached and needed release. Kasey used to say he was a sex machine, then when it was over between them she called him an oversexed asshole. In any case, he knew he had a strong drive, one that not every woman appreciated. Which is one reason he sought out so many different women.

Only one other woman could ever keep up with him, sexually speaking, and that was Regina. She never complained about his drive and in fact welcomed it. Once, for his birthday, she even brought a friend for them to share. Having two women at once was definitely easier to think about than to actually navigate. Especially for his first time involving a threesome. But he had managed. In fact, Regina brought her friend back to spend the next weekend with them. Then she moved to another part of the state and they never saw her again. She was the only woman he had ever known who preferred anal sex. And would actually have one orgasm after the other from it. But he found that it wasn't one of his favorites. He was an ass man, loved taking a woman from behind, but he loved plowing into her. Didn't want to need to be careful—and that was the bad thing about anal sex.

Thinking of asses brought him back to Jennifer, whose naked one met every expectation he had—and then some. It was the best ass he'd ever seen. Firm, round, high. The way her small waist curved into it made him ache.

But as he turned to face Jennifer, he paused before trying to wake her. The moonlight was streaming onto her face. She was glowing. She was so relaxed that the little stress lines around her eyes had vanished.

God, this woman had been through hell. And she wasn't backing down. At least not yet.

He brushed a strand of her hair out of the corner of her face. He had known all along that she was innocent. Last night confirmed it. If she knew the millions this place was bringing in, she would not be considering selling it, nor would she be racking her brain trying to figure out what was happening.

Her mouth was slightly open and breath moved in and out audibly. Not quite snoring, but breathing loud.

The blankets were pulled around her naked body, but the curve of one breast was visible. He wanted to take it in his mouth. He wanted to sink himself deep into her.

But he held back.

Why?

Like it or not his conscience was tugging at him.

She was not really his boss. But she thought she was. This was going to disturb her.

And she didn't give herself easily. She was, after all, a widow, and Gray would not be surprised to learn that he was the first man she'd slept with since she lost her husband.

He thought it was time to tell her who he really was and what he was doing there.

But Kasey would be pissed and maybe fire him. Maybe he should talk to Kasey first, leaving out the part about having the best sex of his life, of course, and just let her know that he felt Jennifer was not a suspect. After all, she wanted out.

He was certain Kasey would tell him it was okay to bring her in to the story. To let her know about the investigation.

He would call Kasey first thing in the morning.

He would still help Jennifer out with her bees until she could find a new beekeeper.

This pit of his stomach formed into a hard ball.

His job took him all over the world. But Jennifer needed to know all of this. She was not a woman to be toyed with. And he didn't want to. He really liked her. He needed to confess to her as soon as possible. He did not want any kind of misunderstanding. What he did want was a few more nights like this. At least.

J
ennifer awoke with a pounding in her head and a thunderous start in her heart.
Oh, my God, what have I done?

She slipped out of Gray's arms, careful not to wake him.
Please don't wake up. Please, I just can't face you.

She slipped her jeans and shirt on and found her underwear and bra, tucked them under her shirt. She just needed to get back to the house and get into the shower.

One quick look at the magnificent man she shared a bed with last night. Rumpled between the sheets. His dark hair on the white pillow. Eyes framed in luscious dark eyelashes. His chiseled arm crossed, curled over himself. The outline of the rest of him gave her an embarrassing tingle. Oh, Lord. What he did to her last night. What she did to him.

She tiptoed out of the cottage.

And when she finally reached the safety of her own house, she burst into tears. How could she have slept with an employee? A good one? One that she liked? Damn, things could get complicated.

As she walked through the snaking corridors of her home to the shower, she felt Ren everywhere.

“Ren would want you to move on.” She heard Maeve's voice in her head.

Jen willed away sobs, stripping, placing her clothes in the hamper. She knew it was time to move on from this place and from Ren. She was almost there. But not quite. Why was it so hard?

Why did she keep falling for the wrong men?

Gray McGhilly was a nice enough guy—but he worked for her. And she really barely knew him. There she was hopping into bed with him. What possessed her?

As the hot water poured on her skin, it hit her with a cold stone
thud
. He was American. He was hot. He was a nice guy. She had to admit to herself that she was lonely and vulnerable.

She had always thought she didn't need people around her, that she could be a hermit. But what does she do when the first eligible man crops up?

Well, that wasn't really true. There was Liam. But that didn't work out at all. She could have . . . but she didn't. With Gray, she wanted it. Badly. It felt right. Familiar. Exciting. A bit dangerous.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, she was more confused than ever. Maybe Maeve was right, maybe she should get away. Maybe they could manage for a few days without her. Gray could certainly handle the business.

Yes, I'll go to the beekeepers conference in France, then take a few days to relax on the beach.
It was just what she needed.

Walking into her room, heading for her closet, she smelled something burning. Odd. What was burning? She slipped on a skirt and a blouse because she had some meeting lined up today with the mead makers. She headed to the kitchen to make coffee and the scent of burning became stronger. When she entered the kitchen, she was assaulted with smoke.

What? What was happening? Did she leave a burner on? She quickly checked over everything. Nothing. Where was the smoke coming from? Trying not to panic, she ran into the next room, where smoke was billowing through an open window, just catching the drapes on fire.

She ran to find her fire extinguisher and pulled the knob, dousing the curtains and window.

Now she was yelling fire, fire. Was anybody around to hear her?

She found the telephone and called the fire department as she heard commotion outside the window. Gray and the Grady men were already there fighting off the fire.

She ran outside, still in her bare feet.

“Get back!” Gray shouted at her.

She held up her extinguisher and Seamus grabbed it from her.

The trees and grass just outside the window were ablaze, and smoke was filling the sky as the outside of the house was sparking.

Where were the firemen?

Gray, Seamus, and Ian were losing the battle as they ran out of the extinguisher and were now beating the bushes with huge blankets and tarps. She remembered the hose and pulled it out, switched on the spigot. Seamus grabbed it from her. Every bit helped.

What the hell was happening? How did a fire start out here?

After the fire was put to rest, even before the fire department got there, Gray picked up a device that he found.

He held it up to her.

“This is a bomb,” he said in a low voice.

“Liam?” she answered back.

“Liam's been found. He's in jail,” Seamus said, coming up behind them. “Meant to tell you that this morning, but we got kind of busy here, fighting the fire.”

Jennifer's heart sank. If it wasn't Liam, who could it be? Who would want to set her house on fire?

“Jennifer.” Gray grabbed her elbow, pulling her away just as the fire trucks were approaching. “We need to talk.”

The sirens interrupted. She couldn't hear him. He stopped trying to talk.

But she noticed that he slipped the device in his pocket.

She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to be around him at all. Humiliated, embarrassed, she just wanted to run away. But now she couldn't because of this mess.

After the fire department left, the whole crew sat in the office and Jennifer canceled her meetings. “I want to know from each one of you what went on this morning. Seamus, first. The rest of you can wait in the next room.”

Ian's story checked with his brother. Jennifer knew that would happen. The Gradys were thick. They were always together, clannish.

She girded her loins because she next had to speak with the very last person she wanted to speak with. He walked in and sat down across from her.

“I woke up late,” Gray said, sending a message through the intensity of his blue eyes. “Alone.”

“And did you see anything odd?” she asked. He was upset with her for leaving him this morning?

“Besides the empty bed?” he said in a hushed tone, in case any of the others were listening. “Cold, Jennifer.”

Her heart fluttered. “Let's get something straight, Gray. What happened last night was a mistake. Can we just move on from that to the fire?”

He pursed his lips, and his face turned an angry red. “Okay. Whatever you want,” he said, and then, “So, I looked out the window, thinking I might catch up with you. Instead, I smelled smoke. I went outside to investigate. I saw nothing. I saw nobody until the Gradys came up over the hill.”

“I was planning to go to France for a few days for a beekeeping conference. I think I better stay. There's just too much weirdness happening for me to leave,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“No,” he said. “I think it's a great idea for you to leave. In fact, I think you should pack immediately.”

Confusing. One minute he was angry at her for leaving him this morning, the next he couldn't wait to get rid of her.

I
t was perfect. If she were out of the way, he would be more free to move about the property without her scrutiny. And she would be in less danger. The device that he found cinched it. It wasn't just Liam skulking around the property. It was probably the same people who killed Ren. She was next on the hit list.

She lurched back in her chair, as if she were surprised to hear it. Did she think he would beg her to stay after one night of passion? He never begged any woman to do anything for him. He didn't have to. His stomach twisted in disappointment. His body wanted more of her. But he had a few things to work out first. Next he needed to talk with Kasey so that he could then come clean with Jennifer.

“I think you should go,” he repeated.

“Why is that, Gray?” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

“I think you're in danger.”

Her head tilted. “I doubt that. I have nothing anybody would want. This place is in shambles. I'm in a lot of debt. That makes no sense.”

“Look, you said this weird stuff has been going on a while. This last thing? It was a bomb. Do you think that's some local prankster?”

Stunned, she unfolded her arms and leaned across the desk. “Maybe I should call someone, a private investigator.”

“How about you just leave and let me manage the bees and take care of the PI business this week,” he said.

“You'd do that?” she said.

“It would be my pleasure, but I have one condition,” he said, grinning. He knew what she would think. But he wasn't going to give that to her, as much as he wanted to.

One of her eyebrows lifted.

“When you're in France, can you bring me back some honey?” he said, his grin widening.

She laughed, swatting him away.

 

Was it going to be that easy? She agreed to let him take over while she was gone. She was leaving tomorrow. So he had plans for her tonight. He'd bring her more of his honey. Some of the best honey. He'd seduce her with his honey and pour it over her body, then indulge himself with the fine nectar and more of the best sex he'd ever had. She'd not say no. How could she? He knew she enjoyed their night together as much as he did.

But first, a phone call.

“Hey,” Kasey said.

“Hey back. We've got a situation,” he said.

“What's up?”

He filled her in.

“I understand where you are coming from on this,” she said. “I'd like to bring Jennifer in on the investigation. She checks out. I mean she is squeaky clean. But I need to discuss this with the head honcho. As you know, sometimes these things are more complicated than they seem.”

He was surprised that she agreed with him, but disappointed that she had turned into such a bureaucrat.

“Fuck, Kasey, how long is this going to take? She's heading out of town tomorrow.”

“I have no idea,” she said. “Maybe an hour. Maybe a day or two.”

“Does this have to be by the book?”

“Unless you want to get your ass fired,” Kasey said. “What's really going on Gray? I've never seen you so eager to bring a potential suspect in on a case.”

He thought for a moment. He had to be careful. Kasey knew him so well.

“Honestly, I'm sure she knows nothing about anything, and I think she might be able to help us out a bit because of her position here. That's about it,” he said.

“I'm not sure I believe you. Jennifer's hot and I know you,” Kasey said. “Are you fucking her?”

He laughed and didn't answer.

“Keep it in your pants, moron,” she said, and hung up.

Before heading out to check on the harvest he stopped by the office, but Jennifer wasn't in. So he hopped in his truck and went to check on the bees. He helped Seamus with the hives, which were full of starflower honey—not really the best. But this batch was a good grade. He filled his truck and took the honey off to processing, which was a building on the other side of the estate. Women were gathered there—many of them Grady women who were handling the honey. He was so glad it was being processed immediately—otherwise the longer it was left, the more chance for it to attract rodents.

The sight of the tools—knives, huge jars, bowls, heating elements—suddenly warmed him. He remembered home, when the honey came in, sitting at his mother's knee and hoping for a treat: honey still on the comb. He loved the sweet ooze as a child. One of the few happy childhood memories he had and he clung to it.

By the time he returned to the main house, Jennifer was foremost on his mind, along with the curves and slips and slides of her body. He couldn't think too much about it. He knocked on her door, with fine honey in hand. No answer.

Hmmm. He went back to his house and found a note.

Fuck.

 

Jennifer knew it seemed crazy. But she also knew how she felt. She could not deny how much she loved her bees.

One of the things she hated about the conference was the technical aspect of it. She knew that learning all of it would make her a better beekeeper, more knowledgeable, but that is not what hooked her on bees.

They made her feel a part of something bigger. When she worked in her hives, the sound of the bees comforted her. The patterns in their flight, so routine and familiar. She had actually pet her bees and watched a wave from one end of the hive to the other as each bee reacted to her touch.

More than half of the planet's food could be traced back to bees and their pollen-spreading ways. Yet, in many places they were in trouble—just disappearing. And it was troubling.

So she learned about CDC—colony disorder collapse—and more about organic farming, the anatomy of the bee, botanicals and flowers, and so on. But what held her there was that mystical feeling of being one with her bees. She wanted the best for them, and if sitting through session after session of droll voices and PowerPoint programs would help, she was going to do it.

She had a day to herself between the conference and meeting Maeve and Jackson before heading to the beach. She decided to go to the Luxembourg Gardens where Rucher Ecole, the world's oldest beekeeping school, was housed.

She wandered around the gardens and among the flowers and fruit trees. The former Palazzo Medici stood guard over the gardens. The palace was now home to the French Senate, and many of the trees were named after famous senators.

The bee house was more of a huge gazebo, which was surrounded by antique beehives. Jennifer's heart leaped—they reminded her of her collection of skeps, mostly British. But these appeared much sturdier. When she thought of the skeps, she thought of her shelf where she kept them, of the farm, and of Gray. And she had been doing so well at not thinking about him.

“It is lovely, isn't it?” a voice said from behind her.

“Yes.” She turned to find an elderly gentleman.

“The bees are not kept in those little houses anymore—they are over there in wooden hives with copper roofs that surround the gazebo.”

“I like the fountain and that it's just for the bees,” she said. She had no idea who this guy was. But he was cute and had a French accent to match.

“Ah yes, the bees need the water. It's very good for them. Mademoiselle, I forget my manners. I am Edward Du Jardin.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Jennifer shook his hand. “I'm Jennifer D'Amico.”

“D'Amico? Here for the conference?” he asked, tilting his head in acknowledgment. He had clearly heard of the D'Amicos.

She nodded and couldn't help rolling her eyes.

He laughed. “Quite boring, heh?”

“I just felt it lacked . . .”

“Heart?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I stopped going to it years ago. I'm one of the beekeepers here and I teach some classes at the school occasionally,” he said, pausing. “You know, I've met the D'Amicos. They were interesting people. Didn't really care about honey, yet they maintained the business.”

“All about tradition, I suppose,” she said.

He walked along the path and she fell in beside him.

“It's what the family has done since they arrived with their Italians in Scotland,” she said.

“Ah yes,” he said, smiling. “I remember the legend. A few years ago they had this immense . . . what do you call it? PR campaign. They said they did research and this legend was based on truth.”

“Do you believe it?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “Not my concern, but I thought it clever.”

Jennifer knew the campaign.
“D'Amico Honey, where passion, legend, and taste combine.”

“Should be easy enough to prove,” she said. “But they were not good record keepers.”

He laughed. “No. I should think they had help for that. They were independently wealthy people, correct?”

Jennifer stopped. Maybe this man could help her. “Funny you mention that, Mr. Du Jardin. Might I buy you lunch?”

He thought a moment. “On one condition, mademoiselle, that you let me choose the place we dine.”

Jennifer squealed in delight. Lunch in Paris with a Parisian was worth the price and the boredom of the conference.