Then the lights went out.
"Ham!"someone screamed.
And then Corrie realized it was she.
Chapter Ten
A chill, unaccounted for by his drenched state, raced through Ben as he heard Corrie's cry of terror. He turned toward the sound, knowing only that he had to get to her, to hold her and wrap her up safe in his arms.
Another clap of thunder sounded, and Ben waited for the flash that followed to help him get his bearings and find her. Rain pounded incessantly outside, loud enough to compete with his heartbeat as he stumbled through the dark to where he'd last seen her.
He hoped for the lights to return or another flash of lightning, but this time, none came. All he had to go on was the memory of her pale face and the sound of her whimpering fear.
His searching hands touched something solid and soft and living, and Corrie clutched at him as if she were drowning and he were the only thing between her and a watery grave.
He drew her to him, enfolding her in his arms, closing them around her, trying to wrap her chilled and trembling body in the warmth of his love.
Love? Where had that come from?
"Oh, Ham. Hold me. I'm so afraid."
Without thinking about the sudden change in the woman's attitude, or exactly what she had said, he complied.
He caressed her chilled skin, brushing away the beaded drops of rainwater, smoothing away the raised flesh. He crooned softly to her, calming her with his voice, his body, his touch.
There was nothing else in the world at that moment except Corrie and him and the raging storm.
Corrie's shivering eased, the shuddering reduced to an occasional sob. Ben knew he should let her go, should step away, but though his mind produced compelling reasons why he should release her, why he should leave her downstairs and go up to his own room, he couldn't seem to make his body obey his commands.
"Kiss me," Corrie whispered, her voice needy and soft as she pushed away from his chest. He felt, rather than saw, her eyes as they bored into him, pleading unseen in a way mere words could not.
A body that only a moment before had refused to allow him to walk away, now permitted him to cup her face and tilt it upward, allowed his lips to find hers.
Ben meant his kiss only to reassure her, but her response was so much more. She seemed to drink from him every shred of will and reason… and sanity he possessed. He drank from her in return, tasting peaches and cream and growing hungrier with every sip.
He tried to pull away, but Corrie held him. Not with her strength, but her will. She teased his mouth with her darting tongue, tracing the outline, forcing her way between his lips until their tongues dueled and danced.
His heart raced and his palms dampened with desire. Suddenly, he knew that it was not he or Corrie who orchestrated this moment.
Them!
He wrenched himself away, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath and control. "Corrie," he gasped. "We can't. It isn't… us," he rasped.
"It is us, Ham. It is," Corrie answered in a voice not quite her own. She clutched at him, drawing him back.
Ben wrenched away. "No," he rasped, though every molecule within him shouted yes.
"Yes," Corrie whispered back in that same unearthly voice. The fading thunder rolled, followed by a brief flicker of light that illuminated her face.
Cory Venable, wearing a high-necked lace gown, looked up at Ben, her face full of need and slick with tears. One tiny rosette was missing from the bodice, Ben noticed abstractly. He wanted so much to help Cory and Ham, but still… Corrie Wallace.
"She would help us," Cory whispered. "She would help us if she knew."
"But, she doesn't…"
"You must explain it to her."
"Then you'll have to let her back. Let me see her."
Cory bent her head and covered her face with her hands. "I don't think I can. It's gone too far. I'm afraid if I let her back now, I won't—"
Another clap of thunder interrupted Cory's words. Another flicker of lightning illuminated her face. As Ben Chastain looked into her desperate, sea-green eyes, he knew he'd have to stop fighting and let Ham take over.
"All right," he said resignedly. He didn't know how he'd feel when all this was over, or how he'd explain to Corrie, much less make amends. But he couldn't look into Cory Venable's sad eyes and not want to grant her only wish.
He lowered his hands to his sides and looked out into nowhere. "Okay, Ham. I'm all yours." He waited for the sharp bite of cold he had felt before.
There was no chill, no shudder, nothing to indicate the moment that Ham gained control completely. Ben felt a brief surge of power and then…
As if from a distance, Ben Chastain watched Hamilton Jordan lift his bride into his arms and carry her up the stairs.
****
Cory clung to Ham, relishing the solid, reassuring warmth he offered. She wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but the sweet ache deep within her assured her that she wanted it. Needed it. And that it would be wonderful.
She nestled deeper into Ham's arms, comfortable and warm after the long years of lifeless cold. She breathed in his manly scent, heavy with Bay Rum, tobacco smoke, and him. Cory felt the brush of his clothing, the starched linen of his shirt, the silk of his waistcoat, the rasp of his evening beard. She had to memorize it all, for she knew it would not last.
Ham reached the top of the stairs and made quick work of the length of the gallery illuminated only by the occasional flicker of distant lightning and the weak light from the cloudy sky. He found the door.
Cory's breath caught in her throat. "Here? The room where we…" She could not finish the thought.
Ham finished it for her. "Where we are to share our love," he whispered, his warm, moist breath teasing her ear and fanning the fires within her to burn hotter.
Quietly, she nodded. Ham was right, of course. This was right. If this was to be the creating of what had never been, then it would have to begin here… where it had ended. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, and she looked toward the light shape of the canopied bed, barely visible in the gloom, and drew in a deep breath.
Ham crossed the room, navigating well in the darkness until he reached the haven of the bed. Carefully, he lowered her to the surface, one knee bent against the soft mattress as he released her.
Cory reached up and ran the back of her hand against the rough surface of his face. "Ham," she whispered. "Are we really real? Is this really happening?"
"Yes, dearest. It is," he answered tenderly. "And we must take advantage of our opportunity while we can. The night is short." He sat beside her, the mattress dipping with his weight, and he began to work at the buttons of his waistcoat.
"Here, let me help you." Cory pushed herself up and reached for him, her hands suddenly clumsy with uncertainty and anticipation. How wonderful it was to feel all the textures and the heat and the cold of the real world. She paused after she loosened the last button of the waistcoat and drew in a calming breath. Then she set back to work on the buttons of his shirt. She would have to settle for tactile sensations until her eyes adjusted to the dark.
Her fingers released the last ivory button, and Cory drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She pushed the fabric aside.
She could see him now, bathed in dark and shadows in the half light from the returning moon. In the dark he looked powerful, frightening, yet so compelling.
"Cory, you must stop torturing me like this. I am a patient man, but one hundred years has been long enough." Ham gently pushed her hands away and shrugged out of his shirt and waistcoat. His tenderness relieved some of her fears, and she leaned toward him. He began to work at the long row of tiny pearl buttons at the back of her dress.
Cory held her breath as she felt Ham's fingers release the last button. He pushed the lace and silk aside. It slid down her arms, and she pulled her hands free. She had never been so exposed to a man before. The feeling was frightening, yet heady at the same time. She felt Ha
m's fingers as he caressed her wrists, her arms, her bare shoulders.
But there were still too many clothes between them. Cory pushed him away and made short work of her stays. The encumbering garment cast away, she was able to breathe freely, at last.
Ham took her hands, raising them to his mouth, kissing them sweetly, and sending shivers of delight racing through Cory's aching body.
"Hurry, Ham. I have waited far, far too long." Cory tugged at the drawstring of her petticoat, ready to toss it away along with all the encumbrances that kept them from what they truly wanted.
Thunder rolled followed by another flash and Cory lay back among the pillows and raised her arms to her husband, beckoning him to take what she so freely offered.
****
Shards of light pried open her eyes and wrenched Corrie out of her dream. She squeezed her lids shut again as the sounds of morning birds and the onshore breeze rattled the leaves of the magnolias outside. She opened her eyes a crack, but quickly closed them again. The languid, well-loved feeling that lingered after her dream was too delicious to cast away so soon with the harsh light of day. She burrowed deeper into her pillows, warm and cozy in her soft cocoon.
But something nagged at the one alert portion of her mind, tugging at her consciousness, dragging her from sleep. Something about the morning scenario was wrong. She just couldn't quite get a handle on it. The leaves on the magnolias rattled again.
That was it! She couldn't hear the magnolias from her room on the north side of the house. She opened one eye and waited until the room came into focus.
The Honeymoon Suite!
How had she gotten there? And, more importantly, why?
She rolled to her back and stretched. At least, she started to, until her outreaching arm encountered something solid… and warm.
"Good morning," a sleepy male voice whispered, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck.
She sat up. Too quickly. She closed her eyes to banish the sickly, dizzy feeling. "Ben?" Oh no. She hoped it was a dream. "Are you… ?"
"In the flesh," he drawled, his voice husky from sleep.
That was when she noticed that the parts of him she could see were naked.
She clutched the sheet to her breast. And so was she. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. So she snapped it shut again and stared at the handsome, naked man in her bed.
A wild thought came to her, but she banished it quickly. No. She hadn't had any drinks at the restaurant last night, so she couldn't have been too drunk to… Her mind wouldn't fill in the blank.
Not… And completely forget it!
But still, the half-forgotten remnants of her dream floated around the edges of her mind. She had dreamed that she was making love. Wonderful, beautiful, passionate love… With Ben?
She shook her head in denial. No way. She couldn't have.
But the naked facts were there in front of her. Looking at her with deep, unreadable blue eyes.
"Did we…?" Why couldn't she complete a simple sentence? Because a very naked nightmare was lounging next to her in her bed.
He drew in a deep breath. "If you're asking if we slept together last night, the answer is yes. If you want to know if we made love…." He drew in another deep breath. "If you want to know if we made love, the answer isn't so simple. We did not."
Relief washed over her, but it dried up as soon as Ben spoke again. "Cory and Ham did."
Okay, Corrie realized she was a little slow on the uptake in the mornings, but she wasn't stupid. She leapt from the bed, taking the sheet with her. She wrapped it tightly around her while she struggled to compose the perfect response.
Ben grabbed a pillow and stationed it strategically over the lower portion of his middle. "I'm serious, Corrie. The storm last night brought them out stronger than ever, and they took over our bodies. I tried to resist Ham."
Either he was an accomplished liar or he believed his story, for he shuddered and swallowed before he went on. "But he was too powerful for me."
All Corrie could do was stare. The man has some kind of nerve. He seduces me, and he blames it on a pair of ghosts who've been dead for a hundred years.
"You have to believe me, Corrie. I tried to fight it. Thought I was succeeding until…" He ran his hands through his hair. "You're not going to believe this. Until lightning flashed and I looked at you, and it wasn't you. It was her, Cory Venable. And she pleaded with me with those sad, green eyes…" He drew in a shuddering breath. "I had to give in."
She almost believed him, but she shook the notion away. It was too, too weird. And what kind of fool did that make her?
A sound from outside interrupted her before Corrie could answer her own question. She heard the distinctive crunch of car tires on a crushed oyster shell road. Her gaze darted around the room looking for the clock. "Oh, no. What time is it?"
"I expect it's about 6:30, and that's Vanessa coming in to work," Ben said quietly as he slid out of the bed and bent to retrieve his scattered clothing.
Panic rushed through Corrie as she grabbed at her own clothes, snatching them from the floor, Ben's hands, or wherever she found them.
"Look, Corrie. I know this is hard to take in right now, but I am telling you the truth. Now, go downstairs and get into your room before Vanessa comes in that front door."
Corrie frantically searched the room for any more discarded clothing.
"Go, Corrie. I'll take care of this."
"But, what if I left something?"
"I'll get it. Now, go!"
With little choice but to heed his instructions, Corrie rushed out the door, one discarded sheet wrapped around her.
"You know something, Corrie?" Ben muttered as his picked up their scattered clothing. "When I make love to a woman, there's no way she forgets it!"
She probably wasn't supposed to hear it, she realized as she scurried down the gallery, but she did. And for some reason, it made her feel marginally better.
****
Ben fastened the closure on his slacks and stared at the unmade bed. He ran a hand through his hair. There on the white sheet were several tiny flecks of red. He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Corrie couldn't have been a virgin. She couldn't have. He opened his eyes and looked again. There it was. Blood.
At least he thought it was. He touched one of the tiny scarlet drops. It was dry, but it sure looked like blood to him. And if it wasn't Corrie's and it wasn't his, then whose was it? He stifled a groan with the back of his hand.
Without thinking about it, he stripped the soiled linens from the bed and bundled them up along with the clothing. He'd think of something.
His mind working frantically, his body on automatic, he threw the coverlet back over the mattress and smoothed it out. It wasn't the neat job that Corrie or Vanessa would do, he was sure, but it would pass well enough if one didn't look too closely.
He gathered his bundle of sheets and clothes and tiptoed to the door. Vanessa had no reason to come in here, and before she did, Corrie would have had time to make the bed properly.
Corrie.
What was he going to do about Corrie? Last night was a complication he'd never counted on. This was supposed to have been a quick little research trip. He hadn't even left the county he lived in. He was merely going to flush out a couple of ghosts, write their story, and eventually reel in a bundle of bucks.
How could everything have gotten so confused?
Ben peeked out into the hall — as if he expected to find anyone there — and when he'd determined the coast was clear, he stepped outside. He left the door slightly ajar as it had always been and hurried to his own room. He shouldered his way in and closed the door behind him.
He was out of breath as if he'd raced a mile instead of walked a scant twenty feet from one room to the next. He pushed the door closed and locked it for good measure, then stood clutching the soft armful of clothes until his breathing returned to normal.
Then he dr
opped the bundle at his feet and crossed to the unslept-in bed. If only he had spent the night there. Bringing his hands to his face, Ben rubbed his eyes and then pushed his hair roughly away from his forehead. What should he do next?
He sank heavily onto the bed. He couldn't claim amnesia, because he knew every detail of what had gone on the previous night. He had read Ham's thoughts, felt what he felt, enjoyed his happiness. But, he hadn't controlled any of it.
He laughed ruefully. He had made love to a beautiful woman, and he couldn't take credit for one moment of her pleasure; he had just been along for the ride. It was a crass notion, but it was essentially true.
He fell backward onto the yielding mattress. Maybe he could plead insanity. He laughed again. He hadn't been able to convince Corrie this morning, and she'd been there. He rolled over to his stomach and punched the pillows. There had to be a way to sort this out.
He had to talk to Corrie.
****
Corrie made it into her room with barely a moment to spare. She tossed the bundle of clothing into the bottom of her closet and turned to her bed. Letting her makeshift toga fall to the floor, she stepped out of it and reached for her robe, lying across the bottom of her bed where she'd left it yesterday. As she slipped it on, somebody knocked gently on her bedroom door.
"Corrie? Are you up?" Vanessa knew better than to make too much noise in the morning.
Noticing the blinking red display on her digital alarm clock, Corrie realized she had a ready-made excuse, and she clutched at it for dear life. "I am now," she called, hoping she'd faked a convincingly sleepy voice. "The storm knocked out the power, so my alarm didn't go off. If you'll get the coffee going, I'll be out as soon as I shower."
"Okay. I can't wait to hear about your date with Ben."
Corrie swallowed. That was the last thing she wanted to think about this morning, much less discuss. She hurried toward the shower.
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