two years ago.
As easily as slipping into the shower, Nova slid into the past. He and Sophia Cardeña had been swimming naked in a spring-fed pool surrounded by the jungle. He’d been deep undercover for four months and had fallen for the drug lord Alfonzo Cardeña’s daughter he’d been using as his in. His liaison with Sophia had smoothed the path to the leader’s confidence and allowed him inside the compound hidden away in the darkest jungles of Bolivia.
At first he’d faked being in love with the beautiful Sophia. But after being in her presence and learning that she was as innocent as her father was corrupt, Nova had fallen for the dark-haired beauty.
Unfortunately, on their way back from the pool, through the trees and bushes, Nova had pulled Sophia to a stop. He’d twirled her around in front of him and kissed her. Knowing he’d be leaving soon, his intelligence-gathering mission coming to a close, he didn’t want things to end between them. He’d made the mistake of daring to dream he could have a life with a woman in it.
The DEA would have taken over with the information he’d compiled and sent back to SOS. He’d been about to ask Sophia to go with him, to get away from the jungle, claiming he had to make a trip back to the States to visit a sick grandmother.
He’d prayed she’d go along with him and trust his lie until he had her away, and before the DEA moved in and the war on drugs commenced.
Only, the bullets started prematurely. When he’d turned her around in front of him, the loud crack of a rifle shot split the air.
Sophia fell against him, her eyes wide with her surprise, her mouth open on her last gasp.
The bullet had gone straight through her heart. Within seconds, she was dead, her hand in his, dragging him to the ground.
More bullets flew overhead. Though he’d covered her body with his, it had been too late.
One shot. That was all it took.
“Want a shot?” Creed nudged him, holding a bottle of tequila and a glass in front of him.
Nova pulled himself back to the present, the coppery scent of Sophia’s blood still clinging to his memories. “What?”
“I asked if you’d like a shot of tequila, but you were obviously somewhere else.”
“I’m back.”
“Good, because for a moment there you looked ready to kill. You really aren’t here tonight, are you?”
No, he wasn’t, but he’d wallowed long enough. A drink might take the edge off the painful memories. Just one wouldn’t impair his driving skills. He nodded. “Nothing a shot of tequila won’t cure.”
Before Creed could pour the shot, Tazer reached across and placed her hand over the shot glass. “No way. He’s driving me to the airport tonight. I need him sober.”
“Right.” Creed set the empty shot glass on the table. “Not all of us are staying for some R and R.” He glanced across at his fiancé, Emma Jenkins. “Thankfully, I am. And I know I can use a few days of downtime.”
Molly moved away from their table and back to the crowd on the other side of the room. “If you all are done, I’ll bring out dessert and we can begin with the legend of McGregor Manor.”
The group of young and older people set down their forks and knives and offered up empty plates to Molly.
When she teetered under a stack of dishes almost as big as she was, Nova leaped to his feet and offered to help.
“No, no, I’ve got them,” she said, her face pink from the strain.
“Yeah. I can see that.” He took half, his fingers brushing against hers, sending a shot of adrenaline skimming through his body, and something more. Awareness—powerful, hot and completely arousing.
Molly’s eyes flared, the green irises darker, the color in her cheeks deepening. Had she felt it, too?
Rather than drop the dishes and explore this phenomenon further, Nova gathered the remaining plates from the nearby tables, stacking them on top of the ones he’d taken from Molly, and followed her into the kitchen.
“You can set them beside the sink. I’ll wash them later.” She waved a hand toward the sink, refusing to lock gazes with him.
He moved around the center island, close enough to touch her, but avoiding contact. Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid his body’s reaction to being alone with Molly.
As directed, he set the plates on the counter beside a sink full of water frothing with suds.
Molly washed her hands, making even that routine action sexy. Then she gathered a large tray of key-lime tarts and hurried backward through the swinging door into the dining room.
Left to himself in the kitchen, and too turned on to risk reentering the dining room with his friends, Nova scraped the leftovers off the plates into the trash can, rolled up his sleeves and started washing the enormous stack of dirty dishes. His mother had always said empty hands were the devil’s tools. For some reason, he was on edge and in need of something to keep him busy. Maybe a little mindless dishwashing would calm him.
He was halfway through the plates when Molly entered, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back with coffee.”
When she spotted him, she yelped and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, my. You scared a year off my life. What are you still doing in the kitchen? You’re a guest.”
He shrugged, his shirt damp with water he’d splashed onto it. “I thought you could use an extra set of hands.”
“I would have done them later.” She bit her bottom lip, the green of her eyes sparkling in the overhead light. “But thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He wanted to bite that lip and suck it into his mouth. Nova fought the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms, shocked by the raw need coursing through him.
Molly grabbed a full coffeepot and backed toward the swinging door, pausing as she pressed her shoulder to the door. “You should be out there enjoying your dessert with the others.”
“I’ll sit when you join us.”
Before he’d finished his words, she was shaking her head. “Not possible. This is my busiest time of the day, besides breakfast. I rarely sit.”
He dried his hands, gathered a second pot of coffee and turned toward her. “Then let me help you.”
With a smile that lit up the room, she said, “Thanks. It is a little busier than I’m used to.”
Together, he and Molly made it around the room, pouring coffee into mugs and then gathering the dessert plates as the guests polished off the last of the miniature pies.
The ghost hunters and Nova’s own table of friends pushed back and stood, moving toward the dining-room door.
Molly made one more pass to collect the last of the dishes and asked if anyone wanted anything else. “If you’re ready, you can step into the lounge. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Gabe McGregor took the plates from Molly’s hands. “Go on. Kayla and I can finish up the dishes while you see to the guests.”
Nova let Kayla take his plate and he followed Molly into the study along with Creed, Tazer and the ghost hunters.
Molly stood in front of the fireplace and waited for everyone to take a seat, then she began.
When she started, her smile was bright, her face open and frank.
“Ian McGregor came to this country from Scotland in the late eighteen hundreds to escape political oppression and make his fortune. Not long after he arrived, he signed on with the Burlington Northern Railroad Company and helped build the rail system that spanned the United States from coast to coast.
“He worked his way up the