pink, cream, and green.
Working on the house had, according to Heather, saved her sanity after her divorce. Luckily, Heather had inherited enough money that she didn’t have to work unless she wanted to, and Heather definitely preferred a life of leisure.
Thinking about how different she and Heather were, how different they had always been, Ella rang the doorbell. Even as children, they’d been exact opposites in appearance and temperament. Ella waited. No one came to the door. She rang the bell again. No response. Heather was home. Her black Corvette was parked in the driveway. Ella tried the bell one final time, then gave up and walked off the porch. She’d try the back door. When she made her way around the side of the house and opened the gate that led into the enclosed backyard, she heard water splashing. Of course. Why hadn’t she realized that Heather would be in the pool?
Ella marched across the patio and reached the side of the pool just as Heather emerged, water dripping from her tall, slender body, which was clad in a thong and nothing else. Now, as always, Ella envied her friend’s almost boyish physique. No matter how much Heather ate—and she had a ravenous appetite—she remained pencil-skinny. But whenever Ella had mentioned this fact to her best buddy, Heather had informed Ella that with boobs like hers, she didn’t need to envy anyone.
“Hey, girlfriend, what are you doing here?” Heather reached for a large white towel resting on the wicker chaise longue a couple of feet away, then picked up the towel and ran the terry cloth over her freckled arms and legs. Four sets of gold hoops in Heather’s ears and two gold toe rings glistened in the sunlight. A quarter-sized tattoo of a red heart stood out plainly on Heather’s tanning-bed-tawny buttock.
“I need an understanding friend to tell me that I haven’t completely lost my mind.” Ella rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers, trying unsuccessfully to ease the headache that had hit her moments after leaving Conway’s Garage.
Heather tossed the damp towel onto the tiled patio floor, picked up a short, see-through robe, and slipped into the hot pink fishnet garment. “The ever sane and sensible Judge Eleanor Porter thinks she might have lost her mind. I’m shocked. Sit down”—Heather pointed to the wicker chair to her left—“and tell Auntie Heather all about it.”
Ella sat, sighed, and closed her eyes. “You cannot repeat what I’m about to say to another living soul.”
Heather plopped down on the chaise longue. “Oh, boy, this must be good. Tell me it has something to do with a man.”
Ella’s eyes popped open and she gazed at her friend with a startled expression. Maybe this was a bad idea. Heather was bound to get a great deal of pleasure from Ella’s admission. After all, Heather had always been the wild one, dating bad boys and even marrying one. On the other hand, Ella had always been the sensible one, dating only upstanding men who had received the stamp of approval from her mother.
“My God, it is about a man.” Heather twisted around on the chaise and faced Ella. “Surely not Dan Gilmore. The guy is as dull as dishwater.”
“No, it’s not about Dan.” Ella hesitated. Her heartbeat accelerated. “It’s about Reed Conway.”
“Reed Conway?” Heather’s mouth dropped open. “Reed Conway who was sent to prison for murdering his stepfather?”
Ella nodded.
Heather scooted to the edge of the chaise and leaned forward toward Ella. “I take it that you’ve seen him since he was released from prison yesterday. Come on”—Heather motioned a hurry-up wave with her fingers—“confess. How did you happen to run into Reed and—”
“I didn’t run into him,” Ella said. “I—I stopped by Conway’s Garage to see him.” She opened her purse, jerked out the letter, removed it from the envelope, and handed it to Heather. “I found this lying on my desk this afternoon.”
Heather took the letter, scanned it quickly, and let out a long, low whistle. “Hmm…This must have reminded you of those two letters Reed wrote to you way back when. So, you think he wrote this letter?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“You went to see Reed about this letter?” Heather stuffed the letter back into the envelope and returned it to Ella. “Why on earth didn’t you just call Frank Nelson? Checking into something like this is a job for our police chief. I cannot believe you actually confronted Reed. I’d have been scared spitless to accuse him to his face.”
“I didn’t want Daddy to find out and go ballistic or for Mother to get all upset, so I thought that if I handled the problem myself—”
“What did Reed say? Mercy, Ella, what did he do?”
“He denied writing the letter.”
“Of course he did. You didn’t think he’d admit to doing it, did you?”
Ella sighed. “After speaking to Reed, I’m not so sure he wrote the letter.”
“Uh-oh.”
“What does that mean?” Ella asked.
“It means something else went on between you and Reed, didn’t it? Something besides a confrontation over that letter.”
Ella nodded. She twined her fingers together and nervously rubbed her thumb over the palm of the opposite hand. “I can’t explain what happened. It was like heat lightning. For just a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me.”
“You’re kidding me.” Heather reached out and grabbed Ella by the shoulders. “Now, you listen to me, girlfriend—stay away from Reed Conway. The guy is trouble with a capital T. Whatever game he’s playing with you is a dangerous one. He’s got to know that the best form of revenge against your father is by using you.”
“Don’t you think I know that? But it doesn’t change the fact that I…responded to him. I wanted him to kiss me. I actually hoped he would kiss me.”
“Shit!”
Reed rang the doorbell, then banged on the door. Ever since sweet Miss Ella Porter had left the garage, he’d been walking around with a hard-on. What kind of fool did that make him? He had wanted to lift her onto the desk in Briley Joe’s office, strip off her panties, part her legs, and ram himself into her. When she’d stared at him with those big brown eyes, it had taken all his will power not to grab her and kiss her. And if he hadn’t read her wrong, he figured that she would have let him. Kiss her, that is. Not screw her.
Reed knocked again. The door swung open and Ivy Sims’s mouth spread into a wide grin.
“Well, hello there, sugar. You’re early. I just got out of the shower.”
Reed visually raked her body from neck to knees. The short floral robe hung open just enough to reveal her thighs and parted above the belt to give him a glimpse of the inner curve of her breasts. Reed pushed her backward, came into the apartment, and shoved the door closed with his foot. Then without saying a word, he grabbed Ivy, thrust his tongue into her mouth, and lifted her up by her butt. She quickly wrapped her legs around his hips as he carried her through the living room and straight to her bedroom. She giggled when he tossed her onto the bed. He unzipped his jeans; then pulled a small square packet from his pocket. She squirmed and held out her arms when he opened her robe. He parted the fly of his briefs and freed his sex, then donned
