Read Online Twice Upon a Blue Moon by Helena Maeve - Free Book Online

magnetic like a dazzling sun, Parrish put Hazel in mind of Old Testament fables and a jealous God. She found herself staring at his perfect mouth with all its straight, white teeth. She imagined she could see old blood and sinew caught in the gaps around his canines.
    “Dylan! Ah, and this must be Hazel.” He held out a broad, white palm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    “Well, that’s good… Me, I’ve heard nothing about you, Mr. Parrish,” Hazel shot back, pumping his fingers in a sure grip. You don’t scare me.
    The arch reply only broadened his smile. “Ward, please. We’ll have to see about remedying that oversight, won’t we?” He released her hand without preamble.
    Dylan pulled up a chair for her on Ward’s right. She sat down carefully, hoping against hope that the fraying seams of the dress would last out the night.
    “So what’s good here?” Hazel quipped. “I’m guessing it’s not your first time.”
    “We don’t have many of those left,” Ward countered. He alone didn’t pick up his menu. “I recommend the fennel soup, perhaps followed by the roasted sole. And a waltz, of course. Do you dance, Hazel?”
    “Not if it involves choreography.”
    “Ah, but with a firm hand to lead you, there should be no need.”
    Hazel slanted a glance across the table at Dylan. How much did Ward know about her, exactly? “I’m not really interested in being led by anyone, but thanks. I think I’ll have the salmon.” She folded the menu shut. “And I’ll skip the wine.”
    Dylan sucked the corners of his lips in. “So will I.”
    “You’re joking,” Ward scoffed. He had a faint accent, not British but not American, either. “You’re not joking?” He frowned. “Well, this is a sad day. I’m glad I didn’t order champagne.”
    He flagged down the nearest waiter. “Change of plans. Forget the wine. Bring me a Scotch instead.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Ward had such ease with barking orders that Hazel was willing to bet money he was an only child—a pampered only child, at that. This was what spoiled little tyrants grew up to become. It didn’t explain why Dylan smiled so fondly in his direction whenever Ward was focused on something else.
    Stockholm Syndrome is a thing.
    It struck her suddenly that if she’d seen them together from the first, she wouldn’t have given Dylan the time of day for all the free dinners in the world.
    “It seems I owe you an apology,” Ward announced out of the blue, training his arresting gaze on Hazel. A pair of lasers would’ve unsettled her less. “Dylan explained what happened last night. Had I known, I would’ve stayed another night in San Diego.”
    “I didn’t want to put you out of your home…”
    He waved a hand, dismissing the apology. “You wouldn’t have. There aretwo levels to the loft, and the walls have been decently soundproofed.” Ward smiled when the waiter deposited his Scotch on the table. He tapped a finger to the edge of the tumbler, looking like a man who enjoyed drinking but knew that he needed to pace himself.
    This one’s the control freak . Which meant Dylan was what? The sidekick? The enabler?
    The accomplice?
    Hazel buried her apprehension deep. She had watched enough TV to know that pairs of serial killers were rare. More than that, she wanted to believe Dylan was a good egg. Why else would he have encouraged her to send Sadie a text when they got to the restaurant?
    That indefatigable voice at the back of her mind whispered that he was obviously trying to make Sadie jealous. That it was her he wanted all along. But he wasn’t introducing Sadie to his friends. He wasn’t mouthing ‘sorry’ at her as Ward launched into a convoluted tale about the loft’s history as a shoe polish manufacturer’s and a speakeasy before it came into their possession.
    Hazel pretended to listen, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that Ward was pulling double duty, at once playing master of ceremonies and observer.
    She was relieved