Heir to Murder. Elle James

couldn’t have been more beautiful. Still, those things didn’t hold her attention. All she could think about was the fact she had to tell Noah that she had been spying on him for Landry and her brothers.

      Georgia Mason, Carson’s fiancée, had been the one to notice the similarity between her stepmother’s and Noah’s facial structures and cleft chins. Until she’d pointed it out, none of them had seen it. They knew Noah as their cousin. Landry, Whit and Carson had decided it would be best to keep an eye on him. If he was the long-lost son Reginald Adair had been searching for almost four decades, had he known and was he aware of the inheritance his father had left him? They wanted to be sure he wasn’t some gold digger looking for a way to claim money that didn’t belong to him.

      When she’d hired Noah to give her riding lessons, Rachel didn’t know much about him. Spying on him seemed harmless and a way to help her friend and the family she cared so much about.

      What she hadn’t counted on was falling in love with the kind and gentle man who knew his way around horses more than he did around humans. He was patient with the animals, and with her and all her questions. She hadn’t told him she already knew how to ride, pretending she’d only done so on the rare occasion and that she was nervous around the large animals.

      They’d ride out for hours, several times a week, stopping to rest by the creek she’d found him skinny-dipping in earlier that day. God, she’d wanted to join him, to feel his naked body against hers.

      With the whopping lie between them, she didn’t feel she had the right to slip into the water and seduce him. Hadn’t she already tricked him into revealing so much of his heart and soul to her?

      His comment about not knowing who to trust had struck far too close to home.

      Rachel couldn’t go another day without confessing. If he refused to see her again, it was the price she paid for not being up-front with him to begin with.

      “Why do you have to tell him?” Landry asked.

      “I’d rather he heard it from me than finding out from someone else.”

      “Whit, Carson and I wouldn’t tell him.”

      “Not intentionally.” Rachel couldn’t risk it. And she wouldn’t feel right being with him when a lie stood between them.

      “Look, Rachel, since I was the one who roped you into spying on him, I should break it to him.”

      “No. That would make it worse. I own up to my mistakes. The sooner the better.”

      “If that’s the way you want it,” Landry conceded. “Just promise you’ll let me know how it goes.”

      “I will.” Rachel ended the call and glanced at the clock, her heart ratcheting up a notch. One hour and thirty minutes before Noah arrived.

      She hurried around the apartment, straightening bright yellow and red throw pillows, dusting surfaces of the rich mahogany antique curio cabinets and occasional tables. Some of them had come over from Europe with her great-grandmother. She’d found them hidden in the attic of her estate, collecting dust. They would never have matched the elegant, modern furnishings of the larger estate. But they were perfect for her little apartment. She’d pulled them out of the attic, lovingly repaired what was broken and moved them into her apartment, giving them the home they deserved. And she’d collected over the years. She liked that her furniture had seen many generations of use. With a final swipe of the dust cloth over her already immaculate living space, she admitted it was as good as it would get.

      * * *

      Later, with less than an hour to spare, she began preparation of their meal.

      She knew enough about Noah to realize he wouldn’t be impressed with Cornish hens or a pilaf—he’d want a hearty supper fit for a man who worked outside all day long. Steak, baked potatoes and a fresh green salad would do the trick. Thankfully, she’d been to the grocer that morning with Noah in mind.

      Pulling the ingredients from her refrigerator, she prepared a marinade in a rectangular dish and laid the steaks inside to soak. She covered the dish and left it on the counter to give the steaks time to warm up to room temperature for when Noah arrived. She’d fire up the grill on her balcony and have it hot and ready to go when Noah walked through the door.

      Rachel loved to cook but had very few occasions to do it. She stayed busy with her social obligations, organizing charitable events and philanthropies. The money she’d inherited from her parents gave her a hefty cushion to live off of the rest of her life, if she chose not to work another day.

      She’d gone to college and graduated with a degree in International Business with a minor in Marketing. It helped her run the charitable foundations her mother and father had started and set up to run in perpetuity.

      As much as she enjoyed helping others, she’d love nothing better than to cook and care for one man. As soon as she’d started going to Noah for riding lessons, she’d begun to see that he was just the kind of man she wanted. The kind of man she could see spending the rest of her life with.

      But was she the type of woman he could see himself spending the rest of his life with? For weeks, she’d basically lied to him.

      Tonight, she’d tell him the truth. If he couldn’t forgive her or trust her after that, well then, that was the end of the time she’d spent with him. Sure, as Landry’s best friend, she’d see him occasionally, but the long days riding out over Adair Acres with Noah would stop.

      She swallowed hard on the lump forming in her throat. She hoped and prayed it wouldn’t come to that. In the meantime, she would look her best to deliver her confession.

      In her bathroom, she touched up the curls in her hair with a curling iron, applied a light dusting of blush to her cheeks to mask their paleness and added a little gloss to her lips.

      Dressing for her confession was more difficult. What did one wear to a declaration of wrongdoing? She pulled a pretty yellow sundress out of the closet, held it up to her body and tossed it aside. Too cheerful.

      A red dress was too flamboyant and jeans were too casual. She finally settled on a short black dress with thin straps. Though it could be construed as what she’d wear to her own funeral, it hugged her figure to perfection and made her feel a little more confident. She knew she looked smooth, sleek and pretty.

      As she held the dress up to her body, a knock sounded on the door. She squealed and the hanger slipped from her fingers. “Just a minute!” she called out.

      Grabbing the dress off the floor, she unzipped the back and stepped into the garment. Quickly, she slipped it up over her hips and the straps over her shoulders.

      “I’m coming,” she said, hurrying toward the door as she zipped the dress as far up the back as she could, while running across the living room.

      She had her hand on the doorknob, twisting it before she realized she hadn’t put on a pair of shoes or sandals. Too late to go back for shoes, she opened the door and her breath caught.

      Noah’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. Wearing crisp blue jeans and a soft blue polo shirt that matched his eyes and complemented his sandy blond hair, he made her heart slam hard against her chest and then beat so fast she thought she might pass out. “I’m sorry, I was just getting dressed and I forgot shoes, and I haven’t started the grill...”

      He stepped through the door and closed it behind him. “My fault. I finished my errands earlier than I expected. I could have waited at a park or stopped for coffee, but...I wanted to see you.” Already standing close to her, he reached out, cupped her cheek and gazed down into her eyes. “Hey.”

      “Hey, yourself.” She laid her hand against his and leaned into his palm. “I’m glad you came early.” And she was. The right clothes, food and shoes didn’t mean anything when he was standing in front of her, looking so handsome.

      For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. He leaned forward, his head dropping low, his lips hovering over hers.

      She