Under the Boardwalk (Costas Sisters 1)

Even if she obviously was. “What’s going on?” Not the most tactful way to approach her, but she hadn’t looked at him since pulling away.

She met his gaze through hooded eyes. The desire still lingered but a wealth of other emotions obviously flooded her, too. “Where’s my sister?” The question was quickly becoming a chorus.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration welling inside him. “I can’t tell you.”

She strode closer and leaned down so she could whisper in his ear. “Is this place bugged?”

He heard the hope in her voice and knew she was wishing there was a reason for his silence that she could understand. There wasn’t. His room had been swept clean, something he made certain of daily. He put up with Damon’s meddling in the office, but his private domain remained sacred.

He shook his head in answer to her question. No bugs, he thought silently. “I just can’t say.”

“That’s what’s wrong.” Disappointment laced her tone and kicked him in the stomach, sucking the life out of him.

She rose from her seat. Her clothing was still awry, her face red from his razor stubble, and still she appeared sexier than any woman he’d ever known. Even if her expression made it clear that she couldn’t be more disappointed in him. He’d rather be hit by a barrel of someone’s gun than face her disapproval. Which shocked him, since Quinn Donovan never gave a shit what anyone thought.

“Rumor has it you had something to do with Zoe’s disappearance.” She shivered and rubbed her arms with her hands.

He knew better than to offer comfort, just as he also understood her need to push for answers. “I didn’t.”

Ari narrowed her gaze. “Then tell me why and how you got to know Zoe. Because from what I can see, you don’t have much to do with the dancers. Why did you have a relationship with my mother? Why with Zoe? Why were they different?”

He admired her intellect. But that intelligence would also be his downfall, Quinn realized, since she was beginning to put together pieces of information.

How long before his cover was blown?

“Your mother was just plain friendly,” he told her truthfully. “As for Zoe . . . You’re going to have to trust me.” He held his hands out toward her but she refused to come near.

“Just because I’m sexually attracted to you doesn’t make me stupid,” she said, her exasperation obvious. “For all I know, the rumors are true and you did have something to do with Zoe’s disappearance.”

“I didn’t. Not in the way you mean, anyway.”

“Oh, okay. That’s clear as mud.” Disgust etched her features, and those lips he’d kissed earlier turned downward in a frown.

The desire raging through him hadn’t lessened, only now it was accompanied by frustration. At Ari for her persistence and at himself for his inability to give her the answers she needed.

“Give me one more week,” he said, thinking back to Damon’s insistence he’d go away next weekend. If he could stall Ari for another seven days, he’d have the proof he needed to put this case to rest.

She shook her head. “Not without a reason. Some kind of proof that I can trust you.”

“Besides my word?” he asked, not missing the irony in that statement.

“Sorry but that’s not enough.” A hint of regret flickered in her eyes.

Maybe at least a part of her wanted to believe him. “I had nothing sinister to do with your sister’s disappearance,” he told her, once more for good measure.

Her wry laugh sliced through him. “Do me a favor, Quinn?”

“What?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Take me home.”

* * *

An awful stench greeted Ariana as she walked into the kitchen early the next morning. As she’d told Quinn, her mother didn’t cook, she ordered in, and this odor was a testament to the reasons why. Her mother had pulled a barstool away from the counter so Spank the monkey could sit and watch while she cooked. A fact that struck Ariana as more normal than the sight of her mother in an apron, stirring something in a large pot.

“So, what are you cooking?” Ariana asked diplomatically.

“Not cooking. Creating.” Her mother continued to stir the ingredients with a wooden spoon.

“I hope it’s nothing like the drink you made the other day,” Ariana said.

“It’s another version,” Aunt Dee said from her place at the table.

“This recipe is for facial cream. I’m waiting for it to thicken. The combination of ingredients has restorative qualities for the skin. It’s an old family recipe. Don’t you think our new spa should have a product unique to the Costas family?” she asked.

Ariana raised an eyebrow. She didn’t know her family claimed anything but cons to pass down from generation to generation, but she didn’t want to insult her mother by asking whether she’d made up this story for the public relations benefit it would offer the spa.