Kept by Jami Alden Page B

well, she had to fuck it up over a hot guy she barely knew. No sex, no matter how amazing, was worth the interrogation she’d face in the morning.
    Hands, hot and rough, skimming over her hips. A deep, raspy voice whispering how hot and tight and good her pussy felt around him. Full, firm lips closing over her nipples.
    A burst of warmth chipped away at the building dread. Okay, maybe sex with Derek Taggart would be worth it.
    The car pulled up in front of the Van Weldt estate, and the driver paused to key in the security code.
    Aaron opened the door, and Alyssa thanked him as he assisted her out of the car. She looked up, stomach sinking when she saw the lights were on upstairs. Oh, crap.
    She hadn’t even considered that anyone would still beawake. She’d hoped to greet them in the morning with a vague story about being tired and not wanting to miss breakfast and tell them she’d arrived shortly after the auction ended. If Grace or her father caught her she would have to explain why she was still out this late and come up with a plausible accounting of her whereabouts.
    There you go again, Alyssa, thinking things through.
    She should just go home. She turned just in time to see Aaron driving away. She winced as the gate clanged shut and considered calling him back. But that would mean more noise and make it more likely that her father or Grace would hear and come to investigate.
    She sucked it up and went inside, praying Grace was far enough gone from the martinis she’d chugged at the fund-raiser and that her father wouldn’t hear her from the master suite in the back of the house.
    She paused and took several deep breaths, stalling before keying in the security code.
    Alyssa slipped off her heels and tiptoed across the marble tiled foyer. She just needed to make it past the curving staircase to the door that led to the guest wing of the house, and she’d be home free.
    Her fingers closed over the door latch, and her heart accelerated. She was going to make it, free and clear, at least for tonight—
    A loud, popping sound erupted from upstairs, and she froze. Then another. And another, like two firecrackers going off in rapid succession.
    “Dad?” she called, moving automatically to the foot of the staircase. “Grace? Is everything okay?”
    Her heart thudded against her ribs, and cold dread settled in her stomach. She raced up the stairs as though propelled by an unseen force, fear tightening her rib cage with every step. Heedless of the danger, she hurried down the hallway, calling her father and stepmother’s names.
    She skidded to a halt outside the door to their suite and pounded on the closed door. No answer. She opened the door, her mouth opening wide in a silent scream at the sight that greeted her.
    The huge master suite was lit by only a single lamp on top of an end table, but it was enough for Alyssa to make out her father, lying sideways across the king-size bed. A crimson stain bloomed on his chest; another rapidly spread on the cream silk comforter under him.
    Hand over her mouth, one arm wrapped around her stomach as if it could contain the horror rising in her gorge, Alyssa took a tentative step into the room, looking frantically around for her stepmother.
    She rounded the bed and saw Grace Van Weldt crumpled in a heap on the floor, blood burbling from a wound in her head. Loosely clasped in her limp right hand was a handgun.
    The French doors that opened onto a small deck stood open. A cool breeze blew in, stirring the silk hem of Grace’s nightgown and whipping a strand of hair across Alyssa’s face. But the breeze couldn’t mask the smells in the room. The acrid smell of gun powder and something else she didn’t recognize. The sweet metallic smell of blood. And death. A scent so thick she could taste it on her tongue.
    The two sips of wine she’d had at Derek’s erupted in her throat, and she barely made it out onto the balcony before heaving up the contents of her stomach. As she