She didn’t wait for a further argument. Despite her texts to Santana, she was really late, so she made a pit stop in her bedroom and changed, slapped on fresh lipstick, and added a touch of perfume. After grabbing the box with the diamond ring in it, she was out the door again, and all the while, not too far in the back of her mind, she was thinking about Maurice Verdago and wishing to heaven above that she knew where the son of a bitch was hiding.
He had to be close; she felt it. As she drove away from her home, she checked her rearview mirror more than once. “Get over yourself,” she whispered, but couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was making note of her every move.
She pushed those thoughts aside and turned on the radio, half-listening to the music while mentally making a list of all the projects she’d have to do when she arrived at the office the next day.
She’d check with Kayan Rule and find out what he’d learned about Vincent Samuels. She wanted to interview Cameron Elders too. She felt in her gut that Samuels or Elders, or both of them, might know where Maurice Verdago had gone to ground. Alvarez could interview the judge’s maid and Brewster’s wife.
Maybe something would shake out.
As rapidly as her tires sped along the snowy streets, her mind spun with the case and by the time she reached Santana’s place, she’d nearly forgotten her fear that someone was watching her. “Paranoia’s a bitch,” she said as she followed a broken path in the snow to his front door.
Using her own key, she let herself in to the warmth and semidarkness of his cabin. One strand of Christmas lights was lit and the muted television was tuned to the news, silent reporters and anchors on the screen. A fire crackled in the hearth, embers red and glowing, flames offering a flickering light.
By the fire, Nikita yawned, the only energy expended at her arrival, his wagging tail thumping rhythmically against the floor.
Stretched out on the couch, Santana opened an eye and a slow smile spread across his beard-shadowed jaw. “Hey, darlin’,” he said, raising up on an elbow, that damnably sexy grin doing what it always did to her.
As she dropped her coat over the back of a chair, he said, “I wondered if you’d actually show.” He stretched, arms overhead, the hem of his long-sleeved T-shirt inching upward to show a slice of his muscular abdomen. Her blood heated a little when she remembered running her fingers along a body sculpted by hard physical labor on the ranch. She also thought about the return heat he gave off whenever she toyed with the buckle of his belt, her fingertips delving and teasing at his waistband.
As if he knew where her mind was wandering, his lips curved into a slow smile. Yes, they had passion all right. She couldn’t and wouldn’t deny that very obvious fact.
“I didn’t think it would be this late.”
“You never do.”
“I know.”
“It’s okay,” he said, moving so that she could sit on a bit of cushion that was exposed due to the bend of his hips. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” His voice was low from sleep and she didn’t resist when he pulled her down to lie beside him, their bodies spooned together tightly.
“I can’t stay.”
“Sure you can.”
Sighing, she closed her eyes, feeling the strength of his arms, the warmth of his body. The house smelled of wood smoke, but her nostrils were tingled by the hint of soap, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. “Don’t even think about leaving,” he said into her hair, and she knew this was where she belonged, or at least a very vital part of her belonged, with this man.
“Okay, I won’t think about it,” she promised, “but I do have to go. Soon. I just came over because I have an answer for you.”
She felt all his muscles tighten as, with an effort, she pulled the ring from her pocket and noticed how it glittered in the firelight. For a second, she wondered if she were making one of the biggest mistakes of her life. There had been so many already.
Taking his hand in hers, she wrapped his fingers over the band with its sparkling stone.
“You’re saying ‘no’?” He was suddenly awake, propped up on an elbow, dark eyes searching hers.
“Well, I guess that’s an option, but I doubt I would have driven all the way out here in the middle of the night just to turn you down.”
He grinned in delight. “You witch!” Then, “You’re serious?”
“I just thought it would be nice if you asked me again, on your knee, and this time put the damned ring on my finger.”
He stared at her as if he could not believe it.
“That’s right, hotshot,” she admitted. “You win.”
Lithely, still holding her close, he rolled them both to the floor and then, on his knees, pulled her to the same position, so they were nearly eye-to-eye.
“Let’s do this thing, cowboy.” Feeling oddly shy, she tossed the hair from her eyes.
He took her hands in his and asked tenderly, “Regan Pescoli, will you marry me?”