The Last Landry. Kelsey Roberts

three hundred and ninety-whatever dollars! Hell, I’d pay ten times that.”

      He had just put a plate with crumbs of her delicious apple pie in the sink and was about to call it a night when he heard the muffled sound of footsteps on the front porch.

      A sense of excitement rushed through him as he stilled, listening to the door opening and closing, followed by the familiar rhythm of her moving in his direction.

      Taylor’s subtle perfume entered the room a split second before she appeared.

      He knew something was wrong the second he saw her. “Fail a pop quiz or something?” he asked, disturbed by the tension in her hazel eyes.

      Damn it. Taylor had hoped he’d be asleep by the time she got home from class. She wasn’t up to a verbal sparring match with Shane tonight, she really wasn’t. She’d been on a razor’s edge through the entire class, absorbing nothing. Anger over the knife and the note had claimed her focus for hours.

      Somebody had strolled up to her car, in full view of the house, and had taken the time to open the door, stab the knife and note into her upholstery and walk away.

      Who? And why make such a cruel and false accusation about a man who’d just buried his parents?

      She tossed her purse on the foyer table by rote, then panicked a little—what if Shane suddenly ripped into it and demanded to know why she was carrying a knife? She shook with pent-up rage, and rubbed her arms as a diversion, trying to avoid him when he stepped farther into the hallway. “Not now, please? It’s late. I’m tired.” And spitting mad and…

      She’d pivoted, fully intending to hide in the sanctuary of her room, when she felt his large fingers gently close on her shoulder. Fighting the urge to lean into the invitation of his touch, she stopped in her tracks. Finding the note, trying to figure out who might have sent it, sitting though a class without processing so much as a word of the lecture—all of it had zapped her energy. She was exhausted and wired all at once—that jittery, caffeine-rush kind of energy that had her stomach burning and her pulse pounding in her temples.

      “What’s up, Taylor?” he asked softly, the teasing tone gone from his voice.

      She opened her mouth, then went mute when he eased up behind her and began to softly massage away the tension that had been holding her hostage since leaving the ranch. His fingers moved gently, subtly. Because her still-damp hair was up in the clip, she was able to feel the warm wash of his breath against her neck.

      “Your shoulders feel like rocks. Come on, tell Dr. Shane all about it.”

      Tell the truth? Lie? She didn’t know. Couldn’t know, not when his touch scrambled her already taxed brain. The bombardment of sensations easily overshadowed all rational and intelligent thought. It was impossible for her to process anything beyond the soothingly familiar scent of his cologne as he continued the massage.

      Warnings flashed in her mind and she couldn’t ignore them. Deliberately, she turned slowly, lifting her eyes to his. Taylor noted a slight amount of apprehension in his gaze. But mostly she saw a smoldering, tightly leashed passion that threatened to turn her knees to jelly.

      It was easier—not to mention smarter—to simply walk away before this went down the proverbial path of no return. That was the wise move and she knew it. Which was why she lifted her palms and placed them against his chest. She fully intended to push him away, toss out a cutting barb, then find sanctuary in her room.

      Those good intentions pretty much evaporated the minute she felt the taut plane of corded muscle beneath her palms. The rapid, even pace of his heartbeat. Shane’s body was as solid as a statue and as unyielding as his clear blue eyes. Her fingers fanned out, as if acting of their own volition. Her normally sharp intellect was no match for the years of curiosity that fueled the longing building in the core of her being.

      The pads of his fingertips slipped slowly up, over the flushed skin of her throat. His eyes fixed on her mouth, on the way her pale, rose-tinted lips parted ever so slightly when his thumbs hooked beneath her chin. Her eyes blazed but she didn’t look away. Brave Taylor. Maddening Taylor. Shane wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

      He also wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Or even if there should be a next move. She sent out mixed signals, and Shane was afraid if he read them wrong he’d be in a world of hurt. He had no idea if Taylor would verbally knock him into the next county or if he was actually seeing possibility in her steady gaze. The signals she was sending right now all seemed to indicate she was as interested and inquisitive as he was. However, she’d shot him down enough times that he was unwilling to rely on the reading or misreadings of signals alone.

      “Is now a good time for me to kiss you senseless?” he asked, applying subtle pressure to properly position her upturned face.

      “That would certainly level the playing field. Then we could both be senseless.”

      He smiled in spite of the remark, only because he felt her trembling. Though Taylor couldn’t keep her sharp tongue in check, neither could she keep her body from reacting. Thankfully, that much she couldn’t hide. The knowledge made him feel a tad more confident. So Shane inched his forefinger toward her mouth. He loved seeing that flash of heat in her eyes as he brushed it across her lower lip. He felt her breath rush over his hand. When she moved fractionally closer, Shane increased the pressure of his fingertip, his confidence rising.

      His palm rested against her throat, allowing him to feel a hint of her response. Taylor’s pulse quickened, growing more and more rapid as he dipped his head, stopping just short of making contact.

      He could have pulled her against him. Lord knew he wanted to—had for what seemed like forever. He could have kissed her, tested the passion that was smoldering in her eyes. But then he would have given up this. The heady, powerful sense of expectation coiled in every last one of his cells.

      Somehow, seeking personal fulfillment suddenly didn’t seem as important as knowing she felt something. Maybe the same things he did. As strange as it sounded to his desire-addled brain, he needed her to make the move, be the aggressor. Say it out loud, clearly, without equivocation, letting him know this was what she wanted from him.

      “Tell me,” he prompted. “Tell me what you want.”

      For the first time ever, he saw something bordering on indecision pass through her pretty eyes. Not exactly encouraging, but not totally discouraging either. He took it as a minor victory.

      “I—I’m not sure.”

      It took all of Shane’s fortitude and self-restraint to step back. His body practically throbbed with need denied, but if he had any hope of changing the nature of their relationship, this was the best way to go. He hoped. “Well, until you are, I can’t help you. Good night, Taylor.”

      She blinked up at him, said nothing, then turned and walked briskly down the hall. At first, he labeled her quick retreat as a defeat, but then he saw the way she was digging her nails into her palms as she hurried away. He smiled. So, Taylor Reese wasn’t as immune as she pretended. That knowledge alone made the whole self-denial thing worth it.

      Chapter Four

      “You can’t be serious!” Taylor stared at the burly detective standing in the foyer. “A search warrant? To find what, exactly?”

      “Read the warrant, honey.”

      Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the man. She didn’t care that he had a dozen officers in tow. Nor was she terribly impressed by the shiny gold shield clipped to the front pocket of his tweed jacket. She didn’t even care that him calling her “honey” was both demeaning and dismissive and normally would have caused her to launch into a strict lecture on sexism. All of that paled badly in comparison to the dread that came in a rush.

      Detective Rollins and his uniformed minions invaded the house. Unfolding the paper, she carefully read the unfamiliar wording, pausing to absorb the part about probable cause. “An anonymous tip?” she repeated.

      “Yes,