Sweet Deception: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense

Sweet Deception

ANGEL NICHOLAS

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Angel Nicholas 2014

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Angel Nicholas asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © December 2014

ISBN: 9780008126254

Version 2014-12-09

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

To my darling munchkins, for their tolerance of late dinners, forgotten events, a less than immaculate house, and my general distraction. I love you!

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

If You Like Angel Nicholas You’ll Love Dani-Lyn Alexander…

Angel Nicholas

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Nausea churned as the Roller Coaster of Death plummeted to the ground.

“I can do this.” Ally’s short fingernails bit into her palms.

The ride blew past her, blowing her hair back, the screaming of its occupants piercing her tender eardrums. Cold sweat popped up across her skin.

“Why am I doing this?” Oh, right. She’d gotten tired of listening to everyone else on the entire planet, or just her office, talk about the fun they were having while she went home to a glass of wine and a book. An excellent book, but still.

The ginormous roller coaster drew her gaze skyward. Some demented creator had produced a horrific edifice with tracks climbing high into the clouds before dropping to the earth and disappearing inside a concrete building filled with fog and general creepiness. The mechanical roar and screech of the amusement park almost drowned out the heckling of her inner coward.

The line for the ride emerged from the crowd, bringing her hesitant approach to an abrupt halt. People lined up behind her and milled around on either side, boxing her in. The cold sweat from earlier spread and she shivered. Fenced in, blocked, no immediate avenue of escape. She swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth.

A sweaty hand grabbed her arm and she jumped.

“Hey. You, you and you two come with me. You’ve been chosen for the best seat on the coaster.” The guy’s grin about split his pimpled face as he ushered them away from the disappointed crowd.

Ally followed in a daze, misty visions of dashing for the nearest exit tempting her. The best seat? She didn’t want any seat, let alone the best.

Arriving at their destination, the guy stopped and turned to face them. Pimple face, aka Mr. Obnoxious, gestured to the side with a flourish worthy of a grand ringmaster. Her jaw dropped. Surely not that seat.

Mr. Obnoxious grabbed her arm again.

Gritting her teeth, she yanked free and scrambled in on her own.

A juvenile delinquent, by the look of his saggy clothes and scruffy appearance, climbed in behind her and a blonde sat beside him.

The thump of a sneaker-clad foot on her seat made her swing around. Her gaze traveled up, skating over thick muscles, golden hair and bronzed skin; something clenched deep in her belly.

Ally swallowed thickly and averted her gaze as the leg’s owner dropped into the seat with casual grace. His leg grazed hers, the coarse feel of tiny hairs against her smooth skin foreign. Self-consciously trying to make her plump curves smaller, she glanced up through her lashes at the newest addition to the suicide machine. Shaggy blonde hair, the shadow of a beard darkening his square jaw, his raw masculinity short-circuited every one of her nerve endings. He had the kind of good looks guaranteed to bring women by the droves and fit her image of a typical California Surfer Dude. Her lips flat-lined.

“Alright, folks. Let’s get you all buckled in, safe and secure.”

Safe? Secure? Was this an issue?

Mr. Obnoxious grabbed the seat belts and buckled them around her before she even had a chance to lift a finger.

Narrowing her eyes, she turned to give the jerk a piece of her mind and encountered the amused, blue-green gaze of her surfer neighbor. She clamped her jaw shut and faced forward. What fun.

After instructing everyone on proper safety protocol, Mr. Obnoxious stepped away. The other passengers chatted, clearly looking forward to the ride and all very much insane. Waiting for the rest of the ride to be loaded, Ally glowered out the front of the death-by-idiocy car and eavesdropped on her companions. Apparently, the hot guy to her right belonged with the woman in the rear seat and the juvie was riding solo.

Why had she left the safety of her comfy couch?

The metallic screech of gears made her jump. The roller coaster lurched forward. Their “special” car shuddered before accelerating smoothly down the track. Despite the restraints, the first sharp turn flung her into Surfer Dude’s rock-hard body. Apparently, there were a few benefits to a shiftless lifestyle. Pressed against him from shoulder to knee, she met his gaze. A wave of heat surged into her cheeks. Was the guy perpetually amused, or what?

“Sorry.” She straightened with effort as the car went into another loop.

Holy crap, he smells good.

They wound in and out of tunnels, faster and faster until the ride slowed, click-clacking up a steep grade. Ally white-knuckled the hem of her shorts.

Crisp masculine hair chased tingles up the side of her arm, distracting her from imminent death. Surfer Dude’s golden thigh pressed against her hand. His thigh moved, doing a slow slide over her wrist. She glanced up. The heat in his expression made a mockery of all her internal cracks about easy-going. He was about as relaxed as a hungry lion crouched in tall grass, eyeing the plump lines of a grazing gazelle. Licking her lip, ultra-sensitive to every inch of skin he touched, she tried to scoot away. The ride went into a free fall.

The bottom of her stomach disappeared and she lost her breath. Jerking free of Surfer Dude’s gaze, her eyes widened as they screamed down the track, slammed around a corner and into a building. In the dark and shadowy interior, fog machines worked overtime. They shot in and out of clouds of the stuff. Moist air whooshed past her ear; severe claustrophobia kicked in.

She fought to remain calm as she breathed the thick, weird-smelling fog. Squeezing her eyes shut only worsened her panic. She bit her lip, holding in a moan of pure agony.

The girl behind her let out an odd squeak. People yelled. Ally snapped her eyes open. The clinging mist lent a dreamlike quality to the scene as the coaster flew high above the ground. Several cars ahead, two men had removed their seat belts and were wrestling. The fighting men stood and she gasped.

“What the hell?” Surfer Dude leaned forward.

One of the men toppled out and disappeared into the swirling fog. Eyes wide and heart in her throat, Ally gasped. Screams ricocheted off the walls. The second man peered over the side and then sat. Just…sat.

A few heartbeats passed. The ride clattered along the track, the low rumble blending with the muttering of her erstwhile companions; the noises were distant. Surreal. She tightened her grip on her restraints. No one touches my straps.

Her brain ceased functioning.

People shouting, demanding the ride be stopped, finally penetrated her fog of shock. Someone must have heard or seen what happened because the cars slowed as they rounded several more loops. At ground level inside the building they came to a stop.

“What’s going on?” An uneasy mix of teenage belligerence and anxiety threaded the juvenile delinquent’s voice.

The blonde in the rear leaned forward. “That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?”

Ya think?

Surfer Dude twisted around—Ally assumed to comfort his plastic-perfect girlfriend. “It’s okay, honey.”

Ally started to shake. She could barely see through the shifting gloom. Strange men were talking about stuff she only encountered from the safety of her living room while watching TV and, oh yeah, she’d witnessed a man plummet to his death. Would anyone notice if she covered her ears and cowered on the floor of this thing?

Lights bobbed closer, accompanied by the sound of men’s voices. From the fragments she caught, they sounded like the police.

“Hey! Freeze. Police.”

Bile rose in Ally’s throat.

A scuffle and swearing followed. Running feet slapped against the concrete and the bobbing lights disappeared.

“Okay, let’s go.” Surfer Dude took charge, instructing everyone on getting out of the car. They all climbed out, the cool concrete floor of the dark building a small jump down from the raised track.

Ally scrambled to unclip the seat belt and get out. She almost wept when her feet touched solid ground. There might be more to Surfer Dude than good looks after all. Even so, she didn’t plan on ever getting on another roller coaster. Who knew fears could be so sensible?

Escape was in sight.

Well, not sight exactly. Between the poor lighting and the dense artificial fog, she could barely see her hand in front of her face. She leaned against the cool block wall, letting her heartbeat slow, and gradually realized she was completely alone. Apparently, her fellow passengers managed to keep their wits about them and beat a hasty retreat out of this walking nightmare.

“Hello?” she whispered.

The darkness heightened her other senses. The slow drip of water. Low-wattage bulbs flickered here and there, barely penetrating the shifting gloom. Water condensed on the hard gray walls and the scent of moist earth filled her nose. Which was strange since she stood surrounded on all sides by concrete.

Why didn’t someone turn off the fog machines?

More importantly, why was she still standing there?

Hesitant, one hand maintaining contact with the damp wall, she started away from the ride. Some guy had met his maker down here. The last thing she needed was an up-close-and- personal look at death.

Shouts erupted again, commanding yells ordering someone to stop.

Oh, wow. So not good.

The sharp echo of gunshots followed and she dropped to a crouch. Ally wrapped her arms around her bent legs and curled into the smallest ball possible. The scrape of her shoes as she edged closer to the wall seemed overly loud. Huddled against the wall, moisture seeped into her clothes and she shivered.

Gingerly rising to a crouch, she broke into an awkward trot, still hugging the wall. Two heartbeats later, pounding footsteps drew close. Ragged breathing accompanied the thud of shoes on concrete. The hair on her nape rose.

Hand on the wall, she broke into a run. A rough spot tore at her fingers, but she didn’t pull away, praying for a doorway. Or a nook. Really, a cranny or crevice would do. Anything she’d be able to duck into and hide. Please, please, please, please.

The wall ended and she nearly tumbled into the opening.

Yes! She slid inside, the pitch-blackness of her cranny not nearly as scary as what was coming behind her. The heavy footsteps drew closer. She shrank back farther, dormant instincts screaming. Terror wrapped clawed fingers around her throat. A whimper escaped without her permission. So close…

A broad hand clamped over her mouth and a strong arm yanked her back against a warm, hard body. Eyes wide in the dark, her lungs seized. She almost peed her pants. Footsteps and heavy breathing passed within inches of her not-so-empty hidey-hole.

I am so screwed. She parted her lips.

“Quiet,” came a low masculine growl. “Just because he’s passed doesn’t mean he won’t double back.”

His palm caught her gasp as the familiar voice clicked into place. Surfer Dude held her tight against his hard body. She sagged with relief but abruptly stiffened again when he didn’t release her.

What the heck?

Mumbling into his hand accomplished zilch. He didn’t budge. She squirmed in his grasp. Nothing. Out of desperation, she licked his palm.

Soft laughter rumbled in her ear.

She shivered in delicious response. Wait, no. She shivered in revulsion. Yep, revulsion.

“You’re gonna have to do better. Licking only brings to mind all sorts of fun games.” The hand over her mouth moved down. Slowly. More of a caress, actually. He cupped her chin, skimmed his fingers down her throat and over her collarbone…

Whoa. She smacked his hand away. No way was he hitting second base when she didn’t even know his name. Oh, for crying out…No way was he hitting second base period.

He chuckled again. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She rolled her eyes. As if. A scuff of sound in the distance grounded her. Was Surfer Dude intentionally trying to distract her from the danger of their situation? Where was his girlfriend?

“I think it’s safe now.” His whisper reminded her they stood cuddled together like lovers.

She pulled free, her face burning. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“Who?”

“The gorgeous blonde on the ride. You remember her, right?” Okay, that might have sounded more snotty than she intended.

She leaned forward to peer around the wall, but his hand on her abdomen stopped her. All her nerve endings fired in response.

“That was my sister, Celia,” he whispered low in her ear. “After I got her out of the building, I came back for you. You went the wrong way.” She started to respond, but he cut her off. “Now step back while I see if the coast is clear.”

Setting aside the whole girlfriend issue for the moment, she straightened her spine and stood there like a delicate flower of womanhood while the big manly man peered around the wall. Hey, if he wanted to play hero, far be it for her to stand in his way.

He snagged her hand, dragging her along behind him as he stepped out of their hiding spot and down the tunnel. Did the guy have spidey-sense? How had he unerringly found her hand in the dark?

Returning to the main part of the building brought relief mixed liberally with trepidation. After hanging out in the pitch black, dim light was a drastic improvement. Even so, a deranged psychopath was running around inside with them.

She added a little more enthusiasm to her step. Walking behind Surfer Dude and admiring the broad expanse of his back distracted her from imminent danger. Okay, so the muscle she was admiring was a little farther south.

He stopped and she smacked face-first into his shirt. And lingered. Good Lord, he smells good. Voices drifted down the building, rudely distracting her from olfactory bliss.

“You sure you haven’t seen anything, MacAfee?”

“Nah, he didn’t come my way, Sarge.”

Her hormone-induced bubble burst. She peeked around Surfer Dude. Two uniformed police officers stood in a doorway with a man in street clothes. Probably a detective or something. Luxurious, beautiful sunlight shone beyond the door.

Intent on the freedom the swatch of sunshine represented, Ally sidled around Surfer Dude. He pulled her back into his chest and covered her mouth. She sighed into his hand and crossed her arms. This was getting old. Maybe she should stomp on his foot. Kick him in the shin. Elbow him in the ribs. Or just bite him.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, his low voice barely reaching her ears.

Annoying man. He could read minds too?

“See the dark shadow against the wall there? Between us and the door?”

Squinting, she strained to separate the subtle differences in the shadows. A soft sound reached her, like the shift of a foot in dirt. Her eyes widened as the silhouette of a man pressed into the corner became clear.

A reflection glinted, like a deer’s eyes in the middle of the night as you flashed by in your car. He was looking their way. She pressed back into her human wall, shaking. She belatedly sensed the alert edge in Surfer Dude’s stiffened muscles.

Slow and easy, hugging the wall beside them, he moved backward. The rough block wall scraped her bare arm. She didn’t care. The closer they were to something solid, the safer she felt. A sense of impending disaster filled her.

A muffled thump and whoosh of furnace-hot air creased the air beside her face. Surfer Dude jerked her into another dark hole in the wall. Burning pain lit her cheek as a dull thud smacked into the wall, raining chunks of debris on them.

His whisper-soft expletive blistered her ears. He unerringly found her hand again, tugged her out of the hole and jogged into the darkness—away from the door. Left with no choice, she followed. Her other hand crept up to touch a fiery spot on her cheek and her fingers came away damp and sticky. She wiped the thick substance on her khaki shorts.

Could this day get any worse? She should have stayed in bed.

Running up the metal steps, she did her best to keep quiet. The light improved as they climbed. His well-muscled butt distracted her from the burn of her thigh muscles and what felt like a gigantic bull’s eye on her backside.

Finally—thank you, God—they arrived at the top of the unending staircase. Sucking air, legs shaking like wet noodles, she gratefully sagged against the nearest wall. Oblivious to her state of near-collapse, Surfer Dude leaned over the stairwell, staring down into the inky black below. How he could see anything, she didn’t know. Neither did she particularly care.

Eyeing his hunky rear end, she touched her cheek. Wincing, she traced the throbbing, damp line of skin. Surfer Dude straightened and turned. His eyes narrowed on her. Two big steps brought him toe to toe. Sucking in a breath at his nearness, she tried to step back, but there was nowhere to go.

“Damn.” His sigh feathered across her skin. With gentle fingers, he pulled her hand away and tilted her face toward the light. “I didn’t realize.”

His face came closer. Close enough to count eyelashes. Totally unfair; they were longer than hers.

“It’s not bad,” he murmured. “Just a graze. If I’d realized sooner he had a gun…I’m sorry, Sugar Lips.”

She lifted her fingers in a shaft of brilliant sunlight and stared at the glistening blood on the tips. Her vision dimmed.

“Oh no you don’t.”

His voice came through a tunnel. Everything went dark.

Chapter Two

Bright sunshine penetrated her closed lids. Ally rolled her head away before forcing them open. Squinting, she contemplated the bare leg an inch from her face. Tan and muscled, with a sprinkling of blonde hair. Nice.

“Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?”

The smooth velvet baritone washed over her, the slight roughness making her hormones sit up and pant. His voice made her think of naughty whispers in the dark, soft sighs when he kissed a special spot and the husky moans of unhurried lovemaking on satin sheets. She yearned toward it and had to fist her hands to resist temptation. No doubt he made the same unspoken offer to every female who crossed his path.

His words registered.

A snort escaped her lips before she could think better of it. His low chuckle heated her cheeks. Braving the sunlight, she turned to look at him. Up a brilliant white T-shirt, over a well-defined jawline, smiling lips and a straight nose, to focus on amused aqua eyes.

Surfer Dude. And apparently her head currently resided in his lap. The heat in her cheeks ratcheted up to a near-burn.

She sat up. They were on a roof, in a narrow spot of shade provided by the rooftop stairway access. Against her will, her gaze flitted back to where Surfer Dude lounged with impressive nonchalance.

“Feeling better?”

Prim dignity came to the rescue as she smoothed her mousy-brown hair, self-consciousness hidden behind a façade of calm reserve. “Yes, thank you.”

She ached to tug down her too-short shorts and make sure her lacy tank top still kept everything adequately covered. Pride brought her hand back to her lap and she clasped her fingers tight to prevent unlicensed wandering.

“I take it you don’t deal well with blood?”

Tensing, Ally searched his expression for any sign of condescension. Seeing none, she relaxed a little. “Not my own.”

“Yeah, I don’t know many people fond of seeing their own blood.” He shrugged. “No biggie, Sugar Lips. The bullet only nicked you.”

“Would you quit calling me Sugar…” The hot irritation faded alongside her voice. She swallowed and managed a single squeaky word. “Bullet?”

Hunky guys calling her mocking names ranked pretty high on her annoyance scale. Bullets? They’d never made it onto the scale. His shrewd gaze sharpened. Ally lifted her chin. He didn’t intimidate her.

“Yeah. You seem to have a penchant for finding trouble.”

“Me?” Her spine stiffened. “What about you? You were there too.”

“Sure, but you seem to have a way of attracting attention. Not surprising, I guess, with those big eyes and…” His gaze dropped to her lips, which promptly plumped and tingled. “…truly luscious lips.”