by Dawn Brown
Would she admit to it now? Admit to lying, admit to the torrid affair she’d denied? Part of him wanted to tell her to stop. He didn’t want to hear the rest. He wanted for things to go back to the way they were, but it was too late.
“When did it stop being funny?”
Hillary jerked a little when he spoke, and hoped Caid didn’t notice. He sounded so cold and distant. But she’d been expecting that.
“He started sending me notes and following me. I’d run into him outside my office, in the parking lot, then places away from the university. While I was out shopping, or having lunch with friends. Even outside my home.”
Caid frowned. “He was stalking you?”
“Yes. I tried explaining that he was a student, that I wasn’t interested in him romantically, that he needed to stop following me and sending the letters. When he didn’t, I had him transferred from my class.”
“He didn’t stop?”
“No. The situation grew worse. He started phoning me at home, following me, waiting for me outside my house.”
“You must have been terrified.”
A small, humorless laugh escaped her. “I actually felt sorry for him. He was odd and not terribly attractive. I doubt he was very popular with girls his own age. He seemed harmless, more of a nuisance than anything else. Looking back, I was pretty stupid.”
“What happened next?” Caid asked as he stood and started toward her.
“Eventually, Randall was expelled and I got a restraining order against him. I thought, problem solved. But a few days later he showed up at my door. He knew Michael was away for the week, and that’s when I started getting nervous.”
She stopped speaking. God, this was hard, with Caid’s swirling dark eyes locked on her face and his features drawn into an inscrutable frown. Her throat tightened and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away impatiently, cleared her throat and went on.
“Randall forced his way into my house. There was a moment where I thought I had control of the situation, that he would just leave, but I was wrong.”
“Did he rape you?” Caid asked, his voice quiet. He took another step closer.
She shook her head and instinctively stepped back. “No. He tried. He hit me, threw me into a mirror, got on top of me. Then I…um…I grabbed a piece of the broken mirror. I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted him off of me. I wanted to get away.” A sob burst from her, despite her struggle to hold it back. “I killed him.”
Caid’s arms were around her before she had time to register what was happening. His warmth and strength enveloped her as he pressed her cheek against the rough wool of his sweater, and his lips brushed the top of her head. She held on to him with an almost desperate gratitude.
He believed her.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he murmured against her hair.
“Why?” She pushed away from him a little. “Why are you sorry?”
He cupped her face, and his lips brushed hers with exquisite tenderness. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I let my father give me some twisted version, and that I could think it was possible for even an instant. And I’m sorry Myers hurt you.”
He bent to kiss her again, but Hillary moved back. Fear and doubt sat like a brick of ice in her stomach. Caid frowned.
“I can guess what your father said.” She folded her arms over her chest. She was cold and exhausted. “He told you I had an affair with Randall, that I killed him to keep him from going to the university and costing me my job.”
“He didnae give me the specifics, but the general idea is the same. I’m sorry I listened to him, that I entertained the idea even remotely.”
Hillary held up her hand to stop him from talking. Her heart beat quick and hard. Surely, he could hear it. “Your father isn’t the only one who believes that story. Randall’s parents told anyone who would listen that I’d initiated an affair. That I’d only made up the stalking story to cover it up so I wouldn’t lose my job. The newspapers had a field day.”
“Why would they say that when it’s no’ true?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they couldn’t accept what their son had done. Maybe Randall lied to them and told them we were together. Some of the things he said before he attacked me made me think he was delusional. Maybe it was easier for his parents to believe I was the villain and their poor son the victim. That’s what the general public wanted to believe. People I had considered friends, people who I barely knew, came out of the woodwork claiming they suspected something was going on between the two of us. They didn’t actually see anything, but I apparently had a look about me that made them believe it was possible. I was arrested and eventually released unconditionally when the police couldn’t substantiate the charge.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?” he asked, his expression inscrutable.
“Because you should make your decision about whether or not you believe me completely informed. You should know that every decision I made about Randall Myers, from first speaking to him after class until calling 911 from my bathroom the night I killed him was called into question. That in the end the police could find no evidence that I’d had an affair with my student, but nor could they find any evidence that I hadn’t. You should know that the university asked me to quietly resign. That when I suggested to Michael that we separate, he jumped at the chance. We both taught for the same university. I imagine he was concerned that his association with me might damage his own reputation. He did ask if I’d encouraged Randall.”
“And did you?”
She shook her head. “But there was a time, right at the beginning, before the letters and the creepiness, when Randall seemed so interested in my theories and impressed with my work… I’d been…”
“What?”
“Flattered.” The word escaped her on a tiny whisper. How she hated that particular nugget of truth.
“Is that everything, then?”
She nodded.
“Well, Hillary, let me tell you exactly what I think. You should know that I think yer ex-husband is smarmy bastard for no’ standing by you. That you ought sue the university for wrongful dismissal, and while ye’re at it, you ought to sue those people who spoke against you without a shred of evidence, and that bloody psycho’s parents for slander.”
“You still believe me.”
“Aye.” He took her hand, pressed his lips to the puckered skin. A hot zing shot up her arm. “I’m ashamed I doubted you for even a moment.”
“Don’t be.” The words barely left her mouth and he was kissing her again. His mouth moving over hers hungrily, almost desperate.
“Do you forgive me?” he murmured. His lips brushed feathery soft against her cheek. Something quivered low and deep inside her.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
Her heart swelled inside her chest. She loved him, mistake or not, there was no point in denying it any longer. She would take whatever she could for as long as she could, and when it was over, she would have this moment in her heart forever.
His faith, his trust, forever.
She pressed her body against the length of him, wrapping her arms around his neck. As he caught her mouth in a frantic kiss, a low growl resonated from his throat, sending a shiver racing over her skin.
He slid his hands beneath her blouse, cupped her breasts and his thumb lightly circled her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. Her flesh pebbled. Thick molten heat pumped in her veins.
Caid lifted his head, his eyes the color of the sea at dusk and fixed on hers as his fingers moved deftly over the buttons of her shirt, exposing a thin line of pale flesh. He parted the material, bent forward and pressed nibbling kisses against her shoulder as he bared more skin. His slow exploration of her body with his fingertips and lips made her tremble until she was certain she would shatter.
She needed more.
Wanted more.
All of him.
She grabbed the edge of his sweate
r, and Caid helped yank the rough wool over his head. Her gaze swept his hard, lean muscles. He was well formed, but not bulky. Something in his stance, in his watchful stare, made him look edgy, dangerous. Tiny thrills streaked low in her belly, and she ached to have him inside of her.
“I want you,” she whispered, running her fingers over his smooth, warm flesh, trailing the sparse line of black hair until it disappeared beyond the waistband of his jeans.
He stepped back and leaned against the desk. A cocky smile curved his mouth. “What are you waiting for, then?”
With a grin, she tugged open the button on his jeans, slid down the zipper. “Not a thing.”
Caid thought he’d explode right there when Hillary wrapped her fingers around his cock. His breath caught as her hand slid up and down his length. He gritted his teeth, fighting to contain himself. He had to stop her, but those nimble fingers working him felt so good.
“Christ’s sakes,” he muttered grabbing her hand and pulling it away from him. “We’ll try slowly the next time.”
“Wait.” She pressed her hand to his chest, the roughened skin of her scar resting on top of his hammering heart.
“What is it?”
“Condom.”
“Shite, of course. Dinnae move, I’ll be right back.”
Caid left the study, took the stairs two at a time and jogged down the hall to his room. He snatched one of the packets from his dresser and rushed back to the study. She was leaning against the desk, waiting for him. Her dark hair fell loose and tousled past her shoulders, her cheeks flushed as her hungry gaze moved over him. She moistened her lips and a jolt rocketed through his system, exploding in his chest.
He closed the distance between them, dropped the condom on the desktop and cupped her face in both hands. His mouth covered hers, his tongue tasting, exploring. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tiny needles stinging his scalp.
As he tugged down her jeans and underwear, she nipped at his jaw and chin, feeding the hunger swelling inside him like a gathering storm. Gripping her bottom, he lifted her onto the edge of the desk. With a low moan, she tilted her head back and parted her thighs, then wrapped her legs around him, drawing him against her.
“Sweet Christ,” he muttered, closing his eyes in a last ditch effort for control--if he couldn’t see those pale, slender thighs, perhaps he could keep from losing himself between them for just a moment more--he slid his hand between her legs, pressing a finger into her wet heat. She whimpered, her undulating hips rocking against his hand, the sound and feel of her nearly driving him mad.
He opened his eyes and looked down into hers, glazed and hungry. He couldn’t wait. He needed to be inside her now.
He fumbled his erection from his jeans, grabbed the condom and somehow managed to tear it free of the packet despite his shaking fingers. He pulled the rubber over his head, rolled the latex down his shaft.
“Yes,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around his length and following the path his own hand had traveled. His balls pulled tight and he nearly came where he stood.
God help him, he couldn’t wait any longer. Gripping her hips, he thrust deep. She closed around him, tight and slick. When her legs locked around his waist, he was lost.
Mindless, he pumped harder, faster, his every thrust making him hungry for more.
“Please,” she gasped. “Oh, please.”
Her arms wrapped tight around his neck. Her body tensed. She cried out, contracting around him, pushing him past the edge of control until there was nothing.
Just them.
Just this moment.
He drove deep inside her. A groan tore loose from his throat, and he came in his own shuddering climax.
Chapter Twenty-three
Caid watched the bath water lap lazily against Hillary’s bare breasts, and trailed a finger over her pale nipple. The skin puckered beneath his touch, the sight fascinatingly erotic.
“Hmm,” she murmured dreamily. Her head rested on his shoulder, her back against his chest and stomach, and her bottom fit perfectly between his legs. “I don’t know why they ever stopped making bathtubs like this.”
Caid leaned back against the edge of the big claw foot tub, the cast-iron cold on the back of his neck compared to the steaming hot water. “The expense. It’s no’ as dear to make them from whatever the make bathtubs out of these days.”
“But this is so much better. It’s big enough for two.”
A definite perk, he agreed silently, closing his eyes. Absently, he turned and brushed his lips against the damp hair at her temple. He could spend the rest of his life like this.
The fingers teasing her taut nipple stilled. His eyes popped open.
The rest of his life? Had he lost his bloody mind? When had he started thinking in the long term? He hadn’t. He was just very relaxed, comfortable, that was all.
He liked Hillary. He cared for her, even. When they parted ways, he might even miss her, but he didn’t do forever. He just wasn’t made that way.
“What is it?” she asked, sitting up and turning to look at him. She must have felt his tension.
He reached for her and pulled her back down against him. He liked the way she fit.
His mind whirled while searching for an answer to her question, something as far removed from his actual thoughts as possible. “Where were you when I got home? You said you’d tell me, remember?”
That’s right, she had, Hillary thought, nibbling on her lip. As if her evening hadn’t been turbulent enough. She tilted her chin so she could see his face. “You’re not going to like it.”
“No?” His mouth curved into a lazy smile. “And why not?”
“I went to see Willie.”
He tensed. “You did what?”
“I didn’t go alone, Sarah came with me.”
“That’s hardly comforting. The man’s threatened you twice…” His voice trailed off and his features drew together in a deep frown.
“I think he was the one who locked me in the cellar. I suspect he was after the journals.”
“Bloody hell, all this for a book written by a dead man?”
“There’s more to it than that.” Hillary sat up and turned so she faced him. “Those people who died over the last year, the ones Joan told us about, I don’t think they were accidents. I think someone murdered them. I was reading Roderick’s journal last night, and one of the entries mentioned a family named Fraser who died in a fire.”
“Joan talked about the Fraser’s car accident right before her own fire,” he murmured.
“That’s why the name stood out. Anyway, I went back through my notes to see if there was anyone else who died strangely. I found mention of a man bludgeoned at the side of the road. Roderick said authorities suspected vagrants had robbed and beat the man to death. It made me think of Charlie Radcliffe, the man hit by a car.”
“Beaten by vagrants isnae quite the same as a hit and run.”
“No, but similar enough for me to wonder, whether there’s a clue in these journals that will somehow connect Willie to the accidents that have been happened in Culcraig over the past year.”
“Why Willie? What makes you so sure it was him?”
“I found his earring in the pantry.”
“Christ’s sakes.” Caid leaned forward quickly and some of the water slopped over the edge of the tub. “You think he’s a murderer, had bloody proof that he’d been in here, and still you went to see him alone?”
“I wasn’t alone. I told you, Sarah was with me. And there were other people in the pub.”
“Did you happen to notice how friendly Willie is with the crowd around the bar? Do you honestly think they’d come to yer rescue if he murdered the both of you and shoved you in a bloody freezer?”
“That’s your writer’s imagination speaking.”
“Aye, perhaps it is, and perhaps you could do with a wee bit of it, yerself.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Am I? Two women alone, confrontin
g a man you think may have killed how many people? Five, so far?”
“You keep harping on the two women alone. We’re not exactly helpless.”
“Two women versus Willie and a half dozen of his mates. Call me sexist if you like, love, but I dinnae like those odds.”
“Look, I’m fine, but if I’m right about what’s going on here, you’re the one in danger. I know from my research that Roderick’s first wife and child die before Anne. If Willie is mimicking the deaths that were eventually tied to Anne, as a descendant of Roderick’s, you could be a target.”
Caid snorted. “Aye well, that’s some cheerful news. Look, do me a favor, stay away from Willie, and I’ll do the same. Tomorrow we’ll speak to Bristol and show him the earring.”
“Sure, but I doubt he can do anything with it. Those earrings are not uncommon. I saw three different shops in Culcraig selling them. The earring isn’t enough to prove without a doubt that Willie was in the house.”
“No, but I still think we should go to Bristol. He can at least keep an eye on Willie.” Caid rested his hands on her upper arms, rubbing up and down over her smooth, wet skin.
How surreal to be sitting in a bathtub with a man she was in love with, discussing suspects in a possible murder. Funny where life could lead.
“Okay,” she agreed. “But for now, let’s get out of here. The water’s getting cold and my fingers are wrinkling.”
Together they climbed out of the tub and half dried off before tumbling onto Caid’s bed. He made love to her again, slowly, languorously, just as he had promised. He explored every inch of her, touching, tasting, until she thought she would lose her mind from wanting him.
And after they came together in a frantic explosion, she collapsed into his arms exhausted and sated.
A shrill, distant ringing dragged Hillary up through layers of sleep. She sat up in the darkness. A phone? Yes, from somewhere in the house. And the thud of hurried footfalls on the stairs.
