A Kiss in the Dark: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

They arrived on the first floor and headed for the meeting rooms. The Conservatory was on the right side of the building, a pleasant, airy room done in shades of tan and ivory. A silver tray sat on the conference table with a full French press of quality coffee, cups, spoons, a bowl of sugar packets and artificial sweeteners, and a small decanter of cream. That kind of attention to detail was one of the many things he liked about working at Sharpe Designs, and one of the things that continually pleasantly surprised him.

Kat settled down next to him on the same side of the conference table, their backs to the bookshelves lining the west wall of the room. She pointed to his eye. “Did you win?”

“I did,” he said with a grin. He could tell people that all day and never get bored.

“Dean and I want to be at the finals. When is that happening?”

“Two weeks. At a gym downtown. I’ll email you the details when I get back to my desk.”

“We’ll be there.” She gave him a wide smile. “I can’t wait to see you fight.”

The door opened, and Ryan and Kat rose to their feet as the receptionist showed in a well-dressed woman. She was tall, probably around five-eight or five-nine, wearing a sleeveless black silk shirt with a scooped neckline. Her long, rich brown hair was pulled away from her heart-shaped face, the ends curling around the swell of her breasts. Her skirt was black and white, simple and elegant, her shoes designer flats.

“Hi,” the woman said, leaning over the table to shake their hands. “I’m Grace Betancourt.”

Ryan took her hand, instantly captivated by the spray of freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose, the small dimple in the corner of her cheek. Cute, definitely cute. “Ryan Granger.” He gestured toward Kat. “And this is Kat Greer.”

With the introductions out of the way, everyone sat at the conference table, ready to begin. Ryan caught Grace’s eye and a sharp, electric spark of attraction hit him square in the gut. It was a feeling he knew well. Chemistry. And all the right kinds.

“Coffee?” Kat asked, depressing the plunger on the French press.

Grace smiled, lighting up her aquamarine eyes. The color reminded him of the water in the Caribbean, a sight he’d seen on a Spring Break trip long ago. She was very attractive. And in a totally different league than the women he usually hit on.

“That’d be great,” she said to Kat and then glanced over at him again. Yes, there was something there between them for sure. He could all too easily imagine breathing in the scent of skin right at the hollow of her throat. She probably smelled of roses, maybe even lavender. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice. I had to be downtown to meet with my agent today, and I decided to see if you were free.” She grinned. “I never expected to actually get in.”

That smile just about killed him, and Ryan crossed his legs beneath the table. His priorities were fucked. He needed to refocus. This woman was his client. His first client. He needed to do this right. That wasn’t going happen if he spent all his time thinking of ways to sleep with her. He cleared his throat, opened a fresh page in his notebook. “It’s great to meet you, Grace. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself and what you’re looking for.”

“Right,” Grace said, hooking her hair back behind her ears. Ryan got a better glimpse of her rounded cleavage and had to quickly look away. “I just signed a new contract for a cozy mystery series—a four-book deal.” Her eyes glowed. “I just had a basic website before with my contact information and not much else. But now I need something that’s going to attract some serious traffic.” She sat up, and there was determination in her posture, a steel in her spine, which only made him want her that much more. “I need to sell some books.”

Kat propped her pad up against the rim of the table and picked up her pencil. “Tell me about your series.”

“It’s called The Georgica Pond Mysteries, and it’s about Mia Keller, a former investment banker who leaves Manhattan to open an inn out in the Hamptons.” She tilted her head from side to side, seeming to find the description amusing. A tinge of a blush shaded her cheeks. “On the side, she solves crimes.”

Kat looked up from her notes. “What kind of body count are we talking about here?”

Grace sipped her coffee, thought it over. “At least one dead per book, but usually it’s two. The most I’ve ever had was six.”

Ryan couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s a lot of people dying in the Hamptons.”

Grace favored him with a smile that did terribly wonderful things to his libido. “It’s a dangerous place.”

Kat tapped her pencil against her lips, a faraway look in her eyes. “The creepiest thing happened to me last night. I don’t think I can use it, but you might be able to.”

Grace put her coffee aside, giving Kat her total attention. “I’m interested.”

Kat learned across the table toward Grace. “My boyfriend and I have this wireless printer in our bedroom, one we use mostly for non-work related stuff, so it doesn’t get turned on all that often. Last night, in the middle of the night, it came to life. It was probably just updating itself or something like that, but it woke me up. I laid in bed, in the dark, listening to the cartridges scrape and the wheels turn, just like they do right before they’re about to print something.” Kat gave an exaggerated shiver, but Ryan could see the delighted gleam in her eyes. “While it was doing its thing, I realized I had left my laptop in the living room. All I could think about was what if there was some stranger in the other room, using it to send me some kind of crazy message through the printer. I freaked out a little bit, thinking of the things it might say. Stuff like, ‘I see you’ or ‘You’re pretty when you sleep’. I think it would be a great riff on the whole, ‘the phone call is coming from inside the house thing’. ” She held Grace’s eyes. “You know what I mean?”

Grace grinned like a mad woman. “That’s a really good idea. Maybe not so much the horror story aspect, but maybe the killer could be sending notes, taunting her through the wireless printer. Or maybe he could even send her pictures.” She sat back in her seat and nodded. “I like it. Can I steal that?”

“Of course,” Kat said. “But you have to dedicate the book to me.”

“That’s a deal,” Grace replied, and the women laughed together. Ryan knew that he should not be fascinated by their conversation. It was morbid and kind of sick. But he liked it. A lot.

“So, the Hamptons,” Kat said, picking up her pad once again. “And murder. Is it glamor or is it rustic?”

“Definitely rustic,” Grace said.

Kat nodded. “Any themes you use over and over again? Any character traits? Gimmicks? Anything you’d like to see incorporated into the basic design?”

“Just the lake and the B&B. Those things are always in the stories.”

Kat made more notes. The room was quiet as her pencil scraped across the paper. “Okay,” she said, finally looking up from her work. “I have another appointment, but I’ll get Ryan some mock-ups in a few days for you to look over.” She stood up, gathered her things. “It was great meeting you.” She circled around the table to stand beside Grace. “I’m going to make you something spectacular.”

Grace smiled. “Thank you.”

Kat nodded, said goodbye to them both, then left the room.

Grace looked at Ryan and sipped her coffee. Suddenly the pressure was on. He had to make the right impression, but now that Kat was gone, the funky feeling in his gut was insanely distracting. He would be willing to wager a considerable amount of money that she was just as interested as he was. It was loud and clear in the tension in the air between them. But he couldn’t act on it. Couldn’t even consider it. She was his client.

“So, okay,” he said, fumbling a bit. What did he need to know? He looked her over again. Was she free tonight? How did she feel about shameless, hot, animal sex? He took a deep breath and bit down on the inside of his cheek as hard as he could. “Let’s start with the basics. What kind of pages would you like your website to have?”

“Hmm,” she said, thinking it over. “A page for my books for sure. A bio, a contact page, maybe news and appearances? That can be one page.” She tapped her index finger against her upper lip and his gaze fixed on her mouth. She was turning him inside out and she didn’t even know it. “I think that’s it.”

He struggled to keep his face professionally plain. “Do you have a fun kind of page? Or a blog? We’ve found that authors who give readers a little something extra get a lot more traffic and repeat hits.”

She curled her upper lip, obviously not liking the idea. “I don’t have time to constantly update things like that. I have a tight schedule.”

Ryan nodded. “I understand. I could do the updating for you, but the information would have to come from you. Quirky things that you’ve come across while researching, free reads, giveaways. These things really help traffic. It gives people something beyond the basic, ‘here’s my book, buy my book, please’ kind of thing.”

She blew air out of her nose. “That does make sense. I’ll have to think about it and get back to you.”

“Great,” Ryan said. “Make me a list and we’ll build something from there.”

“Have you done this before?” she asked. “You sound like you know what people want.”

“No,” Ryan admitted. “You’ll be my first author.” He did not allow himself to fully contemplate the possibilities and implications of that statement. “But Sharpe Designs has a lot of authors for clients, in all different genres. We know what works.”

Her smile turned playful, flirtatious. “How’d you get that black eye? An unsatisfied client?”

He laughed. “No, I box.” He rubbed his stubbly cheek and the flare of pain was a welcome distraction. “I’m usually more put together than this. Sorry. I was in a tournament last night.”

She leaned across the table toward him, offering him an outstanding view of her plump cleavage. “Did you win?”

His mouth went bone dry, and he quickly lifted his gaze up to her face. “I did.”

“You must be pretty good.”

“I’m very good.”

“But not the best?”

He grinned. “I don’t like to brag.”

She responded with a slow curve of her lush lips. How was he going to get this woman into his bed? That had to happen. Because he wanted her a whole lot.

Her cell phone vibrated, and she jumped. The way she scrambled for it made him think she was expecting an important call. Or maybe dreading one. Her face was tight and tense as she looked at the screen, and then she visibly relaxed. Whatever it was, she decided not to answer it now and tucked the phone back in her purse.

“Sorry,” she said, looking back up at him. She took a deep breath, let it out. “I actually need to get going. Is there anything more I can tell you? I have to get my words in for the day.”

“I think we’re good for now.” He wanted to see her again. Needed to see her again. And it was perfectly reasonable. It was for the site. Today was Thursday. He thought about the earliest he could have something done. He didn’t want to stress Kat out with a tight deadline. She had at least three other projects going on. “Can we meet again on Wednesday? I’ll have a solid working outline for you by then.”

She bit her lower lip, looked away. “Do we have to meet? Can’t we just do it through email?”

Ryan tried not to take it as hard as he did, but his heart sank as the rejection set in. “Whatever you’d like, Grace. It’s your site. We can do it however you want.” But please say you’ll meet me, that I’ll get to see you again.

Grace grimaced. “No, never mind, it’s okay. I can come in.” She gave him a beseeching look. “I just… I have tight deadlines and daily word counts that I have to meet. This is just a bad time.” She let out a long breath. “But I guess there never is a good time, is there? And I do want this done. Wednesday is fine. Is the afternoon all right?”

“The afternoon is excellent.” Technically, he could do everything by email. But he was selfish and far too happy to let any guilt ruin his good fortune. “How about four?”

She nodded. “Sounds good.”

She rose out of the chair, and Ryan held the door open for her as she exited the meeting room. He wanted to offer her his arm, not for support like with Kat, but because he wanted to be close to her, touch her in some way. He couldn’t get quite close enough to get a whiff of her perfume and he was intensely disappointed. He really did want to know what she smelled like.

She left the building, and he smiled to himself as he watched her disappear into the crowd on Spring Street. He was a little pained to see her go, but he would be seeing her again. They had a date. Well, an appointment. Whatever. He was seeing her again and that’s all that mattered.

Back at his desk, he sat down and cracked his knuckles. Before he could even begin her project, he had to do a little research on the author. He needed to get a sense of her books, her style, before he could know what was right for her. He tried not to feel like a creeper as he typed her name into Google. It was for work. It was what he would have done with any client. His personal interest had no place in it. The fact that he was thrilled when he saw that she was single meant nothing. She was just another client. He scrolled through the returns, picking up little tidbits about her professional life. She’d won quite a few awards and was part of a reading series last month at The New School. He opened a new tab, went to Amazon, and downloaded her first book to his tablet. He’d read that over the weekend. He went back to his search list and clicked on her Wiki page. It was time to get to know Grace Betancourt.

Chapter Two

Grace flexed her fingers over her laptop keyboard. 4,742 words done. Not the best words, she was going to have to do some serious editing, but still, words on the page. Her gaze flicked to the lower left side of the screen. 31,284 words in total. Not enough. No break for her today. She was writing on a tighter deadline than she had ever worked with before, and she constantly felt like she could fall behind at any moment. She had to make this work, find a way to write more. Missing any one of her new set of deadlines was not an option.

She picked up her coffee mug and blew on the hot liquid, reading over what she’d written. She couldn’t go forward until she assessed what she had. There was a new man in town, Seth Winters, and he’d just arrived at the B&B to drop off brochures with deals for the tourists and guests at his new fitness club. He was younger than the heroine, Mia, with dark brown hair and dancing hazel eyes. Tall and fit, Seth was hot, and all the locals and celebrities were flocking to his place to get worked out, slimmed down, bulked up. He had a wide grin with one imperfection, the slightest overlapping of his two front teeth. That tiny flaw in his otherwise flawless face only made him more handsome, and caused the women, and a lot of the men, of the Hamptons to swoon. So far, she wasn’t sure if Seth was going to be a murderer or a just another victim.

Or maybe, he could be a love interest for Mia.

Grace rolled her eyes at herself. Could she be more desperate? It was bad enough she’d totally put her new web designer in her book, but to make him her heroine’s love interest was going a bit overboard. If she wanted to keep him in there at all, she was going to have to change some of the details. The smile was an especially huge giveaway. Still, Ryan made an excellent model, and Mia did deserve a man. This was going to be her third book and maybe it was time for Mia to meet someone. Readers seemed to like a bit of romance.

Her old leather office chair squeaked as she sat back in it, her feet up on the desk. A love interest would definitely open the series to more people, lend it some new marketability. That was the name of the game after all. She had a four-book deal with advances and publisher expectations. She had to make it good, make it readable and liked. She also really needed the money. She wasn’t going to try any gimmick just to sell books, but over the span of four novels, Mia couldn’t remain stagnant. That would be dreadfully boring. She needed to have a life in the town. Meeting someone was the next logical step in a normal life. Seth would enrich the story. He was going to have to stick around for a while.

Grace sighed. Not that she could write from experience or anything. Her own life was sorely lacking in the love interest department. Ryan Granger was an attractive man. And if she read the signs right, kind of interested. She couldn’t believe she’d flirted with him the way she had. But he’d flirted back. No woman could pass up that kind of encouragement. Her cheeks heated as she recalled his smile, the way his gaze fixed on her, the appreciative gleam in his eyes. It was unfortunate that they met now. She had no time for distractions.

Which reminded her—she had a meeting with him on Wednesday. She needed to make that list of “fun extras” for him. She sat up, opened her calendar, and made a note to do it tomorrow. She ran her fingers lightly over the keyboard, her thoughts drifting back to her web designer. She was really looking forward to seeing him again. More than she should be. He was a rough sort, the tight, faded jeans, the black eye, the rakish grin. He knew he was attractive too and had no problem flaunting it. His butt had been stupendous in those jeans. She’d bet he’d look good in leather.

Hmm, leather. Leather jacket, leather chaps…

Inspiration slapped her across the face. She sat up, her fingers flying over the keyboard, busting out sixty words a minute. She deleted Seth’s original introduction, rewrote his entire entrance. A motorcycle. Ryan—Seth—needed to have a motorcycle. What kind of motorcycle? She paused, her hands hovering over the keys. She didn’t know anything about motorcycles. It had to be sexy, all chrome and black. She was going to have to ask on Twitter for suggestions. Maybe she should run a contest. Give away a book and allow the winner to decide which bike Ryan—Seth—gets to ride. She scribbled a note in the notebook she kept beside the computer, envisioning how she would promote it, getting caught up in the details.

“Okay, stop,” she said out loud. Write now, worry about the promo later. She turned her attention back to her work.

Mia frowned at the unfamiliar noise outside the B&B. She peeked through the white lace curtains framing the inn’s bay window and watched a man in leather ride by on a (MOTORCYCLE). He parked the bike a few feet away from the entrance, and when he lifted off his helmet, Mia gasped. He was devastatingly handsome, with a thick stock of unruly dark hair, a bold nose, and the kind of lips that could make a woman think about wicked, wicked things. His muscular thighs flexed as he dismounted the bike, and her heartbeat galloped, the blood racing through her veins suddenly a whole lot warmer.

Grace cocked her head to the side, smiling as she read over what she’d written. It was amazing how easy the words came when she was writing about Seth. She was a slow writer by nature and often struggled over every word, but his appearance seemed to flow with a rhythm all on its own. And it was fun writing about him—fun like it had been in the beginning, before she was caught up in word counts and deadlines and marketing strategies. Writing about him brought back the pure joy of simply writing. It was a welcome change—one she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing.

She went back to work, the scene playing out in her head as she typed. Seth crossing the spacious front porch, the chime of the bell as he opened the door, the fluttering of Mia’s stomach when he approached the reception desk. She gave Mia the warmth she had felt in her own chest when Ryan first smiled at her, that first pulse of instant attraction. Their handshake went on a little longer than normal, and Mia’s breath caught as the heat of his palm warmed hers, a wild flush on her cheeks. It was all so clear in her mind, and the words flowed effortlessly, the tension between Mia and Seth building with every new paragraph.

Her phone buzzed, rudely breaking the spell, and Grace lunged for it, her heart thudding in her ears. There was time when she’d keep her phone off for days, lost in the worlds of her own creation, but now the phone was never far from her hand and every buzz made her cringe and jump. A knot formed in her stomach when she saw who was calling, the dread and fear and worry making her physically ill. She slid the bar across the screen and braced herself for whatever bad news the voice on the other end would deliver. “Hello?”

“Ms. Betancourt?” a coolly professional female voice asked.

Grace closed her eyes. Please don’t be bad. “Yes?”

“This is Andrea Wilcox from Westview Gardens. Your father has had a very minor accident.”

Her stomach lurched, and she clenched her teeth. This could be the nightmare she was always dreading. “Is he hurt?”

“No, not badly. He bumped his head on the way to the bathroom, and he is understandably upset. I’m sure he’d like to see you.” The woman paused. “Of course we were concerned by this incident and we ran some tests. Before you visit him, we’d like to speak with you about altering his level of care. Would you mind stopping by the administrative building when you arrive?”

Grace knew all too well that “altering his level of care” was fancy code for upping the bill. This was the second time since her father had been admitted to the long-term care facility that they’d needed to alter his level of care. Alzheimer's had taken his memory and now it seemed to be taking his basic motor skills as well. When she’d admitted him, she’d wanted to believe they would be able to perform some kind of miracle, maybe help slow down the progression of the disease. Westview Gardens was famous for their recuperative therapies, their brochures boasting they were voted the best residential care facility in the country for five years in a row. If there was any hope for him, it was to be found there. Of course, everything had a price, and in this case, a price no health insurance plan was ever going to pay.

She took a deep breath and rubbed her hand over her forehead in an attempt to soothe away some of the tension. It didn’t work, but it was a nice try. Nowadays, she was made of tension. She glanced at the clock on her computer. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“That’s excellent,” Andrea Wilcox said. “We’ll look forward to your arrival.”

Grace ended the call and instantly went online to the largest car sharing site to see if they had a vehicle free. If not, she’d try somewhere else. She had memberships with all the services and rental agencies. This was not the first phone call she’d received, and she’d learned the hard way that relying on mass transit to get out to Long Island on a moment’s notice was not the way to go. With delays and transfers, it had taken her three hours one day to get to her father’s side. That was totally unacceptable.

She had luck on her first try and found there was a car available about two blocks away on Riverside Drive. Grace quickly reserved it, grabbed her house keys, and left her apartment. She didn’t have time to mess around with makeup or change into better clothing. Appearances did not matter.

It was a beautiful summer afternoon, bright sunny skies, a warm breeze, no clouds, low humidity. The scent of damp earth carried on the wind from Riverside Park, the trees verdant in her peripheral vision. She marched toward the garage, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk. All around her, people were smiling and strolling, enjoying the day and one another. It was the perfect day for a walk, a picnic, a bottle of wine. Sadly, that was not her day.

She got the car—something small and foreign and blue that hadn’t been cleaned out by the previous renter. It even lacked a GPS unit, but that hardly mattered. She didn’t need one. She knew where she was going. All too well. She brushed ashes off the seat, climbed in, and put the car in drive.