He hesitated. “I thought you were ready for the sherry.”
“The sherry?” She touched two fingers to his lips, and traced the outline of them.
He parted his lips and she slipped her fingers between them, the movement so erotic he lost the battle for control. He sucked and nibbled her fingers, his body reacting as if it were a separate entity, as if all he could do was go along for the ride and accept his destiny.
He wasn’t sure who made the first move, or maybe they did it together. All he knew was that their lips met. He kissed her over and over again—couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. He let his mind go numb and his feelings take over. He felt the heat of her beneath the cotton shirt, reeled from urges that possessed his body, ached to make love to her the way a man should make love to a woman. Nothing held back. Just give and take, and drown in the pleasure.
Her hands were all over him. In his hair, trailing his rib cage, dancing along his waist. Moving lower, searing a path toward his abdomen. Touching the spot—
Reality surfaced in an eye-opening blow of frustration as her hands paused over the grotesque patch of blotchy, wrinkled flesh that darkened his belly. He’d lost his mind completely, giving in twice in one night to this crazy, destructive hunger. He couldn’t have her, not now and not ever. Once she saw him, she’d run away in disgust.
“I’m sorry, Becca.”
She held out her hands, palms up, her eyes flashing. “Why do you keep doing this? You kiss me senseless and then withdraw and say you’re sorry as if you’ve stepped on my toe.”
He backed away from the bed. “You’re intrigued by a legend, by some beast who lives in a forbidden castle on the hill.”
“Maybe I was at first, but not now. Not since I’ve met you.”
“But you haven’t met me, not really. I’m not just a legend, Becca. I am a beast, a hideously ugly beast who’s best left to hide in shadows and dark chambers.”
“Give me a chance, David. Let me see you—not in the shadows, but in the light.”
He stood and thrust his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. “I can’t do that.”
“So you can just pretend you didn’t like kissing me just now and move on?”
“I never said this was the way I wanted it. It’s the way it has to be.”
“This morning you wanted me to move in with you. Now I feel as if you’re kicking me out of your life.”
“No. I want you here, at the Bluffs. You’ll be safe here, even from me. Especially from me. I won’t bother you again.”
“You won’t touch me and yet I know you want to. Are you sure it’s because of your appearance? Or is it because you’re still in love with Tasha Pierce?”
“My personal life is my business.”
“Tasha’s dead, David, and no amount of wishing she wasn’t will ever bring her back.”
Her words ground inside him, cutting and tearing at his heart. “This isn’t about Tasha.”
“Then what is it about?”
Damn, but he wished he knew the full answer to that, but the truth was snarled and convoluted, too tangled for him to unravel. It was part of the past and the present and the future that Becca might not have if she got mixed up with him. It was the fact that he was only a mangled scrap of a man—a sight too hideous for any woman to bear. And, on some level, it was still Tasha. It would always be Tasha.
So he did the cowardly thing, walked away without answering. It was the only choice he had, but as he walked the dark hallway to his own room, he felt the loss deep in his gut. There was no way out of the hell he lived in.
BECCA OPENED HER EYES to bright sunlight streaming across her bed and the odor of fresh perked coffee. And to Richard Crawford setting out china, silver and napkins on the round table next to the window. She stayed beneath the covers.
“Room service, and I didn’t even order. I like this place better all the time.”
“I hated to wake you, but a Detective Carson Megham has already called three times this morning. Apparently he wants to talk with you about your accident. I’ve managed to put him off so far, but he seems determined on paying you a visit.”
“Jeez! There goes the neighborhood.”
“It sounds as if you know this detective.”
“For the last couple of days, I seem to see him more often than I do my toothbrush.” Thinking of which, hers was back at the Cavendishes’. So was her hairbrush, and her hair was probably a mass of tangles. And she wasn’t sure where her watch was, either. “What time is it?”
“Ten past ten.”
“You’re kidding. I haven’t slept this late in years. No wonder Megham’s called three times.”
“Yes, ma’am. Dr. Bryson said you needed the sleep.”
“Evidently he was right, but still I’m surprised I didn’t wake with the sun as I usually do.”
“You had no way of knowing the sun was up. It was dark as a cave in here before I tied back the curtains a minute ago. Can I pour you a cup of coffee, ma’am?”
“You can if you promise not to call me ma’am. Becca will do nicely. Do you always refer to David as Dr. Bryson?”
“Yes. I know it’s too formal for the younger generation, but it was customary in the family where I worked before moving to America, and old habits die hard.”
He poured the coffee from an insulated pitcher into a china cup. “Cream and sugar?”
“Just black. Where is David this morning? Is he sleeping in, too?”
He arched his brows. “Hardly. He was up at seven and has been in his lab since before eight.”
“He must be working on a very important project.”
“He never talks with me about his work, but he puts in lots of hours in the lab, so I’m sure it’s important.” Richard placed the coffee on the bedside table. “I took the liberty of bringing you a scone and some marmalade. I thought you might be a bit hungry. There’s a cup of fresh fruit as well. But the cook is here today, so if you want a full breakfast, I’m sure she can handle that.”
“You mean a scone with marmalade isn’t a full breakfast?”
“Not to me.”
Finally she’d coaxed a smile to his face. He was a nice-looking man, and if he’d lived anywhere but the Bluffs, the local widows would be baking him pies and inviting him to church socials every chance they got.
Richard stepped away from the table and toward the door. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Information, but she wasn’t quite sure how to approach the subject, since he was obviously very protective of his boss. She decided on the questioning approach. “Did David tell you about the wreck?”
“Do you mean the fact that it was intentional?”
“So he did tell you.”
“We discussed it briefly this morning.”
“Do you think I should stay at the Bluffs while I work on the redecorating project, Richard?”
“It doesn’t really matter what I think. This isn’t my house.”
“I’m interested in your opinion.”
“Your coming to the Bluffs Saturday upset a lot of people, Becca. Your spending the night here last night is going to upset a lot more. But I’m sure Dr. Bryson thinks you’re the right person for the job. If not, he wouldn’t have asked you. And if he’s asked you to move into the Bluffs, I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“He hasn’t done a very good job of explaining those reasons to me.”
“Some men are afraid to admit what they want, even to themselves.”
That response surprised her, but she knew it was a deliberate statement and not a slip of the tongue. Everything about Richard seemed deliberate. “Did you know Tasha Pierce?” she asked, then wondered why she’d bothered. She knew as much about Tasha as she needed to know. Knew she was perfect and wonderful and that David had never gotten over her.
“Yes. I had been working for David about six months when they met.”
“They must have been very much in love.”
“As in
love as I’ve ever seen two people.”
She stared out the window. She hated thinking about David and Tasha together, but the image stayed in her mind. A young David. Without scars and deformities. Without the brooding and mysterious eyes. “I guess a man falls in love like that only once in a lifetime.”
“Love is infinite, Becca. Like the universe, the stars, the planets. It goes on and on forever. Every time it’s different, but it can never be measured or compared.”
A glimmer of something Becca didn’t fully understand stirred inside her. It was warm like summer sun on the sand. “You are either a very wise man, Richard Crawford, or you have had a lot of experience with life.”
“It’s a combination, but keep it our secret.” He winked. “In this town, having insight can get you labeled as a warlock, and I don’t want the tour guides adding me to their list of strange local phenomena.”
“Do you believe in people being bewitched, Richard?”
He looked at her, studied her as if trying to decide if her question was serious before he answered. Instead he returned the question. “Do you?”
“I’m not sure. I was sure, but I just don’t know what I believe anymore.”
“It’s this town that does that to you.” He met her gaze, his eyes dark, troubled. “To answer your question, I don’t believe in ghosts and witches, but there’s a spirit of evil in Moriah’s Landing that can’t be explained rationally. And there’s a presence in the Bluffs.”
“What do you mean by a presence?”
“Cold spots and areas that make the hairs on your neck stand on end when you pass them late at night.”
Just the description made hers stand on end. “Then you do believe in the supernatural.”
“I believe there are powers beyond what mortals possess. Some good. Some bad.”
She shuddered, unable to shake the chill that had overcome her.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you, Becca. This house is perfectly safe. I didn’t mean to suggest that it wasn’t. Now, I’m going to get out of here and let you drink your coffee and eat your scone. Then you should probably shower and get dressed. Detective Megham will be here at eleven-thirty. There are clean towels in the bathroom across the hall. A new toothbrush and toothpaste, too, and you’ll find personal soaps and shampoos in the basket on the counter. If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“I can’t think of a thing.” Except that she’d like to see David before the detective showed up. Unless she was mistaken, Megham had more than the accident in mind. That was why he was so anxious to talk to her while she was at the Bluffs. “I’d really like to talk to David. Do you think he’d mind if I visited him in the lab after I’m dressed?”
“I know he’d mind. No one is allowed in the lab while he’s working. Not even me.”
“Never?”
“Not in the five and a half years I’ve worked for him.”
“Will he be coming back to this part of the house when the detective comes?”
“I don’t think that’s his intention.”
“Will you take me home after the detective’s visit?”
“I know that Dr. Bryson would prefer you stay here.”
“As a prisoner?”
“Of course not. If you insist on leaving, I’ll drive you into town.”
“Were those David’s orders?”
“They were his instructions.”
And so like David. They touched when he wanted it, kissed when he wanted it. And when he wanted out of her life, he merely walked away, buried himself in his lab where no one was allowed.
She’d be a fool to stay here on his terms, and yet, how could she carry the danger that followed her back into the Cavendish home? They had been through so much already.
Which left Becca with exactly nowhere to go. No significant other to run to, no mother who’d protect and love her the way Claire’s mother did her, no family to shelter her. She’d be alone again.
RICHARD MANAGED TO HIDE his smile until he was out of sight of Becca Smith. He had the strange but comforting feeling that in spite of what she said, she wasn’t going to run away. After five long years they might be about to have a woman in the house again. Not just any woman, but a beautiful lady who was smart and spunky and tough.
He’d almost frightened her off by telling her the truth about the Bluffs. He’d have to watch that in the future. She’d find out soon enough on her own.
Becca would bring youth and laughter back into the house, and with any luck at all she just might lead David back to the land of the living. Of course, she’d have to march right through Tasha’s memory to do it. But if he was a wagering man, he’d put his money on Becca Smith.
How was it they said it over here? You go, girl. You go.
Chapter Ten
Becca couldn’t remember when a shower had felt so good. The hot water pulsated into her sore shoulders and rolled down her back in welcome rivulets of moist heat. After a few minutes of soaking up the steam and relief, she turned so that the showerhead directed the full spray to the back of her neck. She’d probably be achy and stiff for days, but she was just thankful she could move without too much pain. She took that as an omen that there were no injuries that would require medical care.
Taking the fresh bar of soap from the holder, she rolled it over and over in the washcloth until she had a foamy lather to spread over her body. Bending slowly, she sucked up the pain and ran the rag over her legs. The right calf had a purple-and-black bruise, ugly, but not nearly as ugly as Larry’s car had looked with the front of it crushed into an accordion.
She straightened and groaned again, not only from the pain that shot through her hip but from the prospect of having to face Larry. Hopefully she could put off the face-to-face encounter until tomorrow, but she’d have to call him today. She owed him an explanation of some kind.
First Megham, then Larry. And by that time David might have surfaced from the forbidden lab. And those were just the people supposedly on her side. Somewhere out there was a man who’d tried to kill her.
Could life get any better than this?
CLAIRE STOOD AT THE WINDOW, her mind sliding in and out of reality. One minute, she pictured Becca, locked away in the haunted stone fortress that harbored death and sordid powers from the underworld. The next, she slid back in time, to a September night five years ago.
Fear, desperation, madness. They closed in on her, choking her, making her weak. Trembling, she closed her eyes as the familiar curse fell on her like rain from a black cloud.
It was so dark in the mausoleum. She couldn’t see anything, but she could smell death all around her. Dank. Clammy. Caustic. But she was young. Death couldn’t hurt her. All she had to do was stay in here for a few minutes, and it would all be over.
She, Brie, Kat, Elizabeth, Tasha. They would have passed the test, proved their worthiness for admission into the most prestigious sorority at Heathrow. The others were right outside, waiting for her. She’d drawn the picture of McFarland Leary, but any of them would have taken her place if she’d let them. They were those kind of friends, thoughtful and protective. One for all and all for one.
She concentrated on the positive as she moved deeper into the inner chambers of the tomb. It was colder here, as if death were trying to reach out and pull her into its clutches. Something started crawling up her leg beneath her jeans. Panic knotted her insides. She shook and kicked, but the creature clung tenaciously until she trapped it between her jeans and her legs and crushed its life away. Likely a spider, though it could have been anything with legs, and for all she knew the floor was alive with them.
Don’t think about them. A few more steps. Make it all the way to the back. Then she could light her one match that the sorority allowed and retrieve the gold box that proved she had indeed visited the house of the dead.
Something flew by her head. She put up her hand to protect her eyes from what had to be a bat. She tripped and pitched forward, catching herself on a wall of
cold, abrasive concrete. Thank God, she’d surely made it all the way to the back of the mausoleum. She reached in her pocket for the matchbox with the lone match inside it. Something clamped around her arm before she could, and a large, foul-smelling hand covered her mouth, trapping her scream inside her dry throat.
The sound of ragged breathing seemed to echo through the tomb, but she wasn’t sure if it was hers or the person’s who smelled of aftershave and whiskey. Fear roared in her brain, terror so excruciating she thought her heart was going to thrust itself through the walls of her chest.
She felt the sting of a needle as it punctured her flesh and sank deep into the veins in her arm. And then the pit opened and sucked her inside.
“No. No. No. No.”
“Claire. It’s all right, sweetie. I’m right here.”
Claire’s eyes flew open. She was incredibly cold—bone cold—as if her veins coursed with frigid blood. She fell into her mother’s open arms and held on tight. If she didn’t, she’d fall back into the pit.
Her mother rocked her to her breast, stroked her hair and her back. “Don’t go back there, Claire. Don’t go back to that horrible place in your mind where you get so frightened.”
“I can’t help it. It just happens. I don’t go looking for it, but it finds me and drags me back there.”
“Well, I won’t let it have you. Not again. At least not for good. I’ll always be here to pull you back to safety.”
“I’m counting on that.”
But she would go back, over and over, until her mind finally let her see past the pit, see the face of the man who’d abducted her that night and taken her to hell. That was the only thing that would ever free her from the terror—free her or destroy her completely.
“I’m okay now, Mama.”
“Are you sure, sweetie? I can stay right here with you. No one will notice if the kitchen goes unmopped.”
“No. Go ahead with what you were doing. I’ll just lie down on the couch and rest a bit.”
“That’s a good idea. You rest and I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”
Claire waited until her mother was out of hearing range before she picked up the phone and dialed Larry’s number at work. She hated to bother him, but she knew he’d be as upset as she was about Becca’s being seduced by David Bryson’s evil powers. Larry was the one person she could count on to understand that there was no time to waste.
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