Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

you.” He raised his finely chiseled chin and glared. “You weren’t home so I decided to take a walk too. That’s it.”
    I shivered as a brisk wind ravaged my hair. “I’m hungry, but I need to freshen up and walk Cato.”
    “Ugh! That little brute gets more attention than I do.” Deming is adorable when he pouts.
    We entered the lobby of my building under the watchful eye of the concierge. The Tudor ranked among Boston’s most august structures. It had everything I lusted for and aspired to in a sanctuary: privacy and pristine surroundings. Who could argue with beautiful dentil moldings, high ceilings, and location, location, location? The corridors were whisper-quiet, ultra-thick walls redolent with fifty years of glitz and glory. Each floor contained only two spacious flats, or residences as they were called.
    Much to Deming’s delight, the Medeco lock gave me fits. “Here. Let me handle that,” he said with an unmistakable note of triumph in his voice. “You’re hiding something. Come on. Out with it.”
    Fortunately, the door swung open, and Cato charged, giving me some thinking time. He made a beeline for one of Deming’s pant legs and held fast to the cuff.
    “Stop it, you little bastard! That suit is brand new.” Deming prided himself on sartorial splendor and was especially fond of anything made by Kiton. The suit was pricy, and teeth marks were not an approved accessory.
    I lured Cato away with a treat and faced the accusing stare of my fiancé. It was hard to ignore those hazel eyes, particularly when they blazed with passion.
    “You were saying . . .” I folded my arms.
    Deming assumed his bland courtroom face and eyed me. “You hate exercise.”
    “You’re always nagging me to improve. Some thanks I get for listening.”
    He put his arms around me and squeezed. “You never listen to me, Ms. Kane. I still think you’re up to something.”
    “How about a drink?” I asked. “You’re terribly cranky.”
    Deming sighed and pointed toward the scotch. Personally, I loathe the nasty stuff, but he considers Johnnie Walker Blue mead from the gods.
    “We can order out if you want to relax,” I said. “Let me loosen your tie.” I spent some time playing with the silken fabric, slowly unfastening the buttons on his shirt. By the time I brushed my lips over his collarbone, he was half asleep, and I was awash with sensation.
    “I’ll go freshen up,” I whispered, covering him with the cashmere throw. “Won’t take long.”
    I soothed my aching muscles in the steam shower and loaded up on French honey gel. My feeble efforts at the dojo had antagonized body parts I didn’t even know I had. Master Moore’s homily echoed in my brain: discipline and practice. Tomorrow was another session, this time a private one under the gimlet eye of Justin Ming. His wary look this evening told me that he hadn’t bought my act one bit. Perhaps with Anika’s help, I could pass the second Shaolin Law and keep in step. Diligence and practice—my new watchwords.
    Chapter Four
    DEMING WAS WIDE awake, clutching his iPhone when I entered the living room. After issuing a series of terse commands, he ended the conversation and looked me up and down.
    “Hmm. Nice cleanup job, Ms. Kane. Why waste that beauty by staying indoors?” He jumped up and held out his arm. “Come on. We can make No. 9 Park if you’re quick about it. It’s only two blocks away.”
    “But we don’t have reservations,” I protested.
    Deming gave me a pitying look reserved for the uninitiated. I’d forgotten. Swanns never need reservations. “Chop, chop. Can you walk in those heels, or shall I carry you?” The gleam in his eyes said he would do just that.
    I gave Cato a quick hug and sped out the door. “Bet I beat you there,” I said. “This is a challenge.”
    Deming laughed all the way to the elegant townhouse that was No. 9 Park. He was no stranger to the hostess, who beamed like a searchlight and immediately seated us. I