his investment company was turning a couple of old warehouses into loft apartments just a couple of blocks away. But he’d been very tight-lipped about the reasons he’d decided not to renovate the historic Denver Railroad Hotel himself.
“All right. Come back to my apartment,” Della said. Their footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as she led the way down a short hall to the three rooms behind the hotel office, which she had turned into her private apartment. Blending the old with the new had been a challenge. She’d cleaned the brick fireplace, polished blackened copper fixtures to a bright glow, freshened the elaborate moldings adorning the walls and ceilings, and chosen wallpaper and window hangings that were harmonious with the ambience of the original building. She had filled the apartment with some nice pieces of old furniture from her aunt’s home and had added a few things she’d found in the shops on Larimer Street.
Much to her surprise, Colin nodded his approval as his measuring gaze went around the living room. “I like it.”
His open appreciation of what she’d accomplished in her apartment disarmed her. “Thank you,” she said as a spurt of pleasure rushed through her.
“I think you’ve made a good investment.”
She laughed. “I hope so. My Aunt Frances would be horrified to see what I’ve done with the inheritance she left me. She never gambled on anything speculative. Always put her money in solid investments. The idea of buying this place and spending so much money on renovations would have sent her into orbit. My aunt wasn’t sentimental about anything. She was a hard-nosed businesswoman.”
“Like you?” Was there a hint of a smile at the corner of those appealing masculine lips?
“I owe my aunt for whatever business sense I have,” she admitted. “She raised my sister and me from the time we were ten and twelve. My parents were killed by a drunken motorist who demolished our car. Somehow Brenda and I miraculously survived the crash.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
An ache Della thought she’d conquered stabbed her. “I’m two years older. Brenda never adjusted to Aunt Frances’s strict upbringing and ran away from home when she was sixteen. She broke my heart and was a great disappointment to my aunt.”
“And you tried to make up for it?”
“I suppose so,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes. I guess I’ve always been what you’d call an over-achiever.” She gave a light dismissive laugh and fixed her gray-green eyes on him. She realized she was glad he’d come. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
He studied her for a moment as if debating whether or not to accept her gesture of hospitality. Then he nodded.
“Be back in a minute.” She quickly prepared a tray in the kitchenette, and when she returned he was sitting in a wing chair that had been her aunt’s favorite. His arms rested on the padded curves of the chair and soft cushions cradled his firm body as he leaned back. Even though he was in a relaxed position, she sensed in him a guarded inner shield. Flickering, leaping flames were reflected in his blue-black eyes as he stared pensively into the fire. As she stood beside him, she was aware of long legs, muscular arms and shapely hands that reeked of masculine sensuality.
She set the tray on the coffee table and handed him one of the steaming cups.
“Thank you.” His appraising gaze traveled boldly from her honey blond head to her scuffed shoes.
She stifled an impulse to tuck in the wispy strands of hair that had slipped out of her French braid. Her faded jeans, blue-checked short-sleeved blouse and dirty canvas shoes showed the wear and tear of a day spent in the middle of sawed boards and paint cans. The fact that she looked a mess upset her more than she was willing to admit. He could have called ahead and given her a little warning, she thought ruefully, and then silently laughed at herself. This unexpected visit was not a social call. He’d had plenty of chances to ask her out and hadn’t.
“Sugar? Cream?” she asked.
“Black.”
“I hope it’s strong enough,” she said as she sat down in the middle of a couch opposite his chair. Why had he come to see her tonight, in the middle of a storm? she wondered again. She studied him over the rim of her cup and felt a stab of awareness. Why did she have the feeling that his visit was going to affect her in some momentous way? Her stomach muscles suddenly tightened.
His long fingers curled around the cup. A soft brush of black hair showed darkly on his tanned wrists. When he leaned forward in his chair, she found she was holding her breath in anticipation.
“Tell me about it,” he ordered.
“What?” She looked blank.
“This afternoon on the phone, you said you’d made an interesting discovery about the hotel. What did you find?”
“Oh, that!” She gave a relieved wave of her hand. Is that why he’d come? She had called him on a business matter and on impulse had told him she’d show him something interesting the next time he came around. “I didn’t mean to sound all that mysterious.” She smiled. “We didn’t find a cache of buried gold under a floorboard, or anything like that.”
He didn’t return her smile. “What did you find?”
She took a moment to set down her coffee cup. Something in his manner was making her nervous. “A relic of the hotel’s shady past, that’s all.”
“What?”
“A couple of workmen were shoring up the floor in the basement corner of the building and found a tunnel.”
The chords in his neck tightened. “Are you sure?”
“At first, we thought it might be an old wine cellar, but it’s a tunnel, all right…a very old one. One of the men took a few steps inside and said it probably runs under the street.”
She waited for his response and when he remained silent, she prodded, “Did you know about it?”
A shadow passed over his eyes. “I thought it had been destroyed long ago,” he said tautly.
She didn’t like the look in his eyes or his tone of voice. Anger was there, and something else, some deep emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Hatred? Suppressed violence? She was taken back by the sudden lines around his mouth.
“I guess I should have known. Evil never stays buried,” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand,” he told her. “Just fill the damn thing in!”
His sharp tone brought a flash of color to her cheeks. She’d already instructed the workmen to close up the passage when they had time but she wasn’t about to say so to him. His autocratic manner rankled. She looked him steadily in the face, her jaw set as rigid as his. “This is my property now. I’ll decide what to do with it.”
A black cloud crossed his face, then he swore, got to his feet and stared down at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to jerk her to her feet. Instead, he turned his back to her and put his hands on the mantel. Leaning against it, he stared into the fire.
She
