by Jenna Ryan
Orry’s lips thinned to near nonexistence. “That’s it. All of you, out. Now. Before I toss you in a cell and throw away the key.”
In spite of everything—and the day had been jam-packed—a laugh climbed into Isabella’s throat. She’d never seen anyone go from red to white to green in the space of five short minutes. Until now.
“Come on,” Donovan said while Denny glared his cousin down. “I want to see that napkin again.”
Isabella didn’t, but she drew it from her pocket when they reached the sidewalk. She frowned. “Do you think Denny really saw his cousin at the manor?”
“Probably.” Donovan held the napkin up to the streetlight. “This is written in lipstick.”
“Maybe it’s Sybil who wants me gone.” She tipped her head for a better look. “It’s not the same color as the lipstick on Orry’s collar. That was Bordeaux. This is poppy red. Guess his wife’s not the culprit.”
“She’s not.” Donovan continued to study the note. “Orry’s wife doesn’t wear lipstick.”
IF ISABELLA HAD BEEN tired before, she was exhausted by the time she staggered into her cabin. Donovan wanted to work on his laptop, and yes, he told her flatly, he planned to camp out on her sofa again.
Fight it or let it be? she wondered wearily. Going into the bedroom, she stretched her arms up to release the tension.
A lavender-scented bubble bath should have improved her mood, but her emotions continued to fluctuate with every twist and turn of thought. By the time she’d drained the tub and wrapped herself in a white bath towel, she was more sick of the ups and downs than the strain of the day itself.
A soft nightlight came on when she extinguished the overhead light. She considered opening the door, but that would only lead to trouble. She wasn’t coy enough to play the kinds of games David had accused her of playing before their breakup. Dinner with a coworker was business, whatever he might have believed, whereas contact of any sort with Donovan was a sexual minefield waiting to explode.
“Okay, stop,” she said out loud. “This pissy day ends here.”
Determined, she drew the shade halfway down. She thought she spotted movement in her peripheral vision, but when she looked, there was nothing. After folding the quilt back, she shot a last smoldering look at the door, and started to drop her towel.
It might have been a faint rustle of fabric that alerted her, or maybe some innate sixth sense. Whatever the case, her hand and eyes froze when she noticed a bulge under the sheet.
The hot fear that leaped into her throat threatened to choke her. She wanted to scream, but shock prevented any sound from emerging.
She was six years old again and too terrified to move. She could only watch in numb horror as a long, mottled snake slithered out from under the sheet and turned its slitted eyes toward her.
Chapter Ten
No one who worked at the Boxcar Hotel in Bangor would admit to placing a call from a phone in the lobby, even when the police came through.
Seated on the floor, with his back propped against the sofa, Donovan drank black coffee and went over what little he had.
He’d sent a sample of the suit fabric to Portland for testing. Fiber analysis put the manufacturing date between 1925 and 1930, long after Aaron Dark’s time.
Three bullets had been fired from the rifle they’d found in the rose bed, and that weapon had been in production back then. However, the lipstick used to write tonight’s napkin message likely had not.
As for the van Isabella’s abductor had abandoned in the woods, the vehicle had been stolen from a used-car lot two towns south of Mystic Harbor. The thief had left no traceable clues behind.
So far they had a sketch of a man who could be placed both at the Raven and in the tunnels under Darkwood Manor. They had a dead ex-boyfriend whose car hadn’t been tampered with, a missing cousin, a knife that had landed mere inches from Isabella’s feet, and in Donovan’s case alone, a tension headache that was endeavoring to hammer its way through his skull.
He felt restless and irritable, and despite the fact that he’d heard water running thirty minutes ago, he wasn’t going to find an excuse to go into Isabella’s room.
Like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man, his computer signaled a late-night email from Haden.
Going into Darkwood Manor tomorrow. Maybe. No ghost’s gonna say I can’t. I’ll be there at 5 p.m.—maybe—if you or Isabella happen to be in the neighborhood. Bringing the floor plans. I want to see the writing on the wall and the entrance to the underground passageways. I repeat, want to see. Not sure if I have the backbone to actually do it. Haden.
The last few lines had a smile grazing Donovan’s lips. Even so, he knew where his mind would be spending the rest of the night, and it sure as hell wasn’t on the sofa.
Seriously out of sorts now, he drained his mug, thought about going for a walk. Maybe a blast of cold night air would beat the lust into submission.
He was reaching for his jacket when he heard Isabella scream. Grabbing his gun instead, he ran for her door.
His first thought was that someone had come in through the window and taken her. He refused to acknowledge the second.
Kicking the door open, he swung in gun first.
“No, don’t,” she said and pointed with an unsteady finger. “I’m fine. But—right there.”
He saw the snake at once and lowered his arms.
“Don’t say it.” She sidestepped toward him. “Just make it go away, and we’ll be good.”
Donovan held a hand out to her. “It’s not moving, you can get past.”
“What kind is it?”
“I don’t know.” He did, but why make things worse? “It’s only watching you, Isabella.”
“They always do.”
She said it through her teeth and barely loud enough for him to hear. But she looked pissed off, and he preferred that to terrified.
Closing the gap between them, Donovan tried to block her sight line. She’d turned off the overhead light, and he hadn’t thought to turn it on when he’d come in, so he went with a table lamp that only partially illuminated the bed.
Her fingernails bit into his ribs. “Why is it staring at me and not you?”
“Must be a boy snake.” He tucked his gun away. “There’s a blanket on the chair by the door, Isabella.”
“I see it. I’ll get it.”
Because the door and chair were close together, Donovan left her to it while he walked to the foot of the bed.
The snake was loosely coiled, flicking its tongue and, he had to admit, staring at Isabella. Smart boy snake.
“It’s a rattlesnake, isn’t it?”
He smiled. “If you knew that, why did you ask me earlier?”
“Making conversation, Black. It helps combat hysteria. Blanket.”
He caught it, then hearing the warning rattle from the bed, made a head motion. “You don’t have to stay. I’m not going to hurt it, and it’s not going to hurt you. There’s coffee in the kitchen, and my coat’s on the hook by the front door.”
On the way out, he handed her his second gun and told her to lock the door behind him.
Ten minutes and a short hike into the woods later, he returned to the cabin. She wasn’t wearing his coat, anymore, but the towel had given way to jeans and a blue T-shirt that made her eyes look like misted lake water and his groin go hard.
She was in the kitchen and more composed than he’d expected. Her forearms rested on the island counter, and she had two bottles of wine in front of her.
“I found these in the cupboard.” She blew at a layer of dust. “They’re homemade, probably crappy, but at this point I’d settle for George’s daddy’s high-octane brandy.”
“She still got that?”
“Supply’s running low, like her finances, but yes. Why did he put a proviso in his will against a sale of the lodge?”
“Because he was a bastard.” Donovan started toward her. “Don’t you want to know what I did with the snake?”
<
br /> “Far away from me is all I care about. What I would like to know is who put it there.”
So would he, but not now. He kept moving, told himself to back off. Unfortunately, his body had stopped listening to his brain, and God knew, his common sense had deserted him a long time ago where Isabella was concerned.
She touched the corks with her index finger, one, two, then touched the tip of her tongue to her teeth. “Wanna choose?”
“Not especially.”
“Thought not.” A sparkle swam up into her eyes. “I can’t guess what’s on your mind, Agent Black.”
“Then you must be a lot less perceptive than you look.”
Pushing off from the counter, she strolled across the shadowed floor. How the hell could jeans and a T-shirt get him harder than a skimpy towel? He’d been out of the dating loop too long, and out of his mind since he’d met her.
She kept coming, even after he halted, until she was close enough to hook a finger in the front of his shirt.
A smile played on her lips. “I love a man with a conscience. Just not one so massive it gets in the way.”
“You know what I want, Isabella.”
“Good, so no games then.” Releasing his shirt, she wrapped her arms around his neck and, jumping onto his hips, fused her mouth to his.
The last thought that formed before Donovan’s hormones took over was that he hoped any madness lurking inside would kill him before it killed her.
ISABELLA DIDN’T CARE if she died right then or not. At least she’d go out on a sexual high like nothing she’d experienced before.
Her grandfather’s finest whiskey paled next to the taste of Donovan’s mouth. She felt hot and tingly and eager for more.
Secure on his hips, she allowed herself to explore. Greed and need collided as his tongue slid over her teeth. The hands on her bottom rolled her against him. Desire whipped up with so much force she thought sparks might literally start to fly.
Breathless and quite frankly shocked, she dragged her mouth free. “I think I’m drowning.”
“Do you want to stop?”
She tugged on his lower lip. “Not stop, only pause. I need to breathe for a minute before I submerge again. I’m not used to feeling like this.”
“Hot and bothered?”
“Oh, I left that one in the dust before you kissed me.” Moving to his ear, she nipped the lobe. “I’ll settle for overcome and warn you that I plan for us to go on a truly spectacular mystery tour tonight. Just not in the bed, okay?”
“Not a problem,” he murmured and captured her mouth again.
With his kiss sending her airborne, Isabella could almost believe she was riding on a cloud. All the night sounds merged. The cool cabin air only made the fire inside her that much more intense.
Something solid bumped against her back. She worked feverishly at the buttons of his shirt, then gave up and tore it apart. When he brought her away from the wall, she dropped her feet to the floor and attacked the snap of his jeans.
In some distant corner of her mind, she realized that Donovan was far more adept than her. He got her top off between kisses and had his mouth on her breast before her fingers reached his fly.
A gasp escaped as he circled her nipple with his tongue. Every nerve in her body jolted. Sensation streaked from breast to thigh. With the wall behind her once again, she let her head arch and her fingers go still. But only until she felt the strength of his erection.
A sense of urgency took over as every thought in her head funneled down to a single basic need. She wanted him now, this minute, while her muscles could still function and her brain could still respond.
She wondered vaguely how much heat a person could take before she became a mass of sizzling nerve ends, one melting into another. Did it matter?
“I should hate you,” she managed at length. “I never give anyone this much control.”
“Makes two of us.” His tongue explored the valley between her breasts, before beginning a lazy ascent to her throat. “If you want to stop, tell me now, Isabella, because in about five seconds, there’ll be no going back.”
“Scary thought, isn’t it?” Her fingers danced over his skin. “But I’m thinking it’s time I faced one of my bigger fears.” Snagging the ends of his hair, she hauled his mouth back onto hers.
It seemed like a race to her overheated mind, a mad dash toward a line she couldn’t see, because everything around her had gone black. There was only sensation left and the understanding that whatever happened beyond this point could be as dangerous as the threats on her life.
Should she run from that, she wondered, or go with it and see where it led?
If an answer existed, it got tangled up in need as the last of her clothes disappeared and the cabin began to list.
Heat streamed like lava through her veins.
Sweeping her into his arms, Donovan took her to the sofa, then followed her down with his own body.
She wanted to see him, but there wasn’t enough light, and her hands couldn’t be everywhere at once.
“We’re going too fast,” he said against her lips. “We need to slow down. I need to—” When she bit him, he stared for a moment, then shook his head. “To hell with it.”
Her mouth curved into a vaguely feline smile that became a sudden gasp when he slid his hand between her thighs and began to stroke her.
A new fire burst to life inside. Her head bowed on the cushion, and a cry came from deep in her throat. Dark heat flowed through every part of her. She raised her hips to meet him, and only remembered to breathe when he left her to alter the angle of their bodies.
Color bled to shadow and shadow to sparkling black. Within those tiny snaps of light she glimpsed his face, his eyes, possibly his fears.
But they were fleeting images, there and gone in a heartbeat. It was the storm of emotions inside that drove her. She wanted to ride them, cling to them, savor and not release them until the last one slipped from her grasp.
The night dissolved to a blur. The scent of Donovan’s skin and hair made her crazy. She wanted to feed on his energy, then spin it around and give it back.
When his mouth closed on her breast again, a moan of pure pleasure escaped. Her entire body thrummed. She ran her hands over his ribs to his hips, then inward until her fingers closed around him.
He had protection. She didn’t know how it appeared or where it came from, only that it was there.
Maybe slow was better, maybe it left more of a lasting impression, but right then all Isabella could think about was the flashover, that heat-bursting-into-flames moment when there was no thought, only a full sensory burn.
He could do that to her, she knew he could because—well, because he was doing it.
The drumbeat in her head was echoed in every one of her pulse points. His hair tickled her cheek. He said something she couldn’t hear, then linked his fingers with hers. Bringing her arms over her head, he raised himself above her and slid inside.
Isabella’s breath caught and held, so tightly that her head began to swim. Then there it was—the moment. The glorious climax that shot shimmering threads of light through the dark. Wicked licks of fire erupted inside as she bucked her hips to meet him, thrust for thrust, in a rhythm so strong it very nearly had her seeing stars.
Energy whipped around her. She saw his eyes gleam and, freeing her hands, gripped his shoulders like a lifeline.
Again and again, he pumped himself into her, until the spiraling light threatened to suck her into her own orgasm.
Control. She’d held fast to it in the past, and without much effort. But not tonight, not with Donovan. For the first time in her life, she’d given herself completely to someone else.
While the wonder of that was likely to linger for a very long time, she recognized the sliver of fear that danced on the edge of her brain. Ignoring it was child’s play for the moment, but would it be as easy in the full light of day?
Because she wanted nothing to intrude on the after
shocks still shivering through her, she glided her foot over his leg.
“You know, you’re heavier than you look.”
“Dead weight always is.” But he shifted to his side and, as much as he could, kept her from tumbling to the floor.
“Don’t see this working for long.” Catching his shoulders, she laughed. “This puts a whole new spin on the phrase ‘living on the edge.’ Maybe we should build a fire and…whoa!”
He caught her before she hit the floor.
“That’s it.” She held on with both hands. “We need to take this down before we start thinking too much about the shoulds and shouldn’ts of the past hour. Not that I’ll be able to think for at least another hour, but being a federal agent, I figure you’re trained to snap back faster than the rest of us.”
A smile hovered on his lips. “Do you always talk this much after sex?”
“Only when my teeth are chattering.”
“You think a fire’ll change that, huh?”
Safely tucked in now, she ran a finger over his cheek. “Unless you can think of something better.”
“Not really.”
She sighed. “You’re not going to go all monosyllabic on me, are you?”
“I might.” Holding her gaze, he slid his hand between her legs.
“Damn!” Her hips rose automatically to meet him. “That wasn’t fair, Black.”
“Life seldom is.”
Her response was to wriggle free, straddle him and trap his hips between her knees. With her palms pressed to his shoulders, she bent forward until her lips brushed over his. “Okay, my turn. I’m going to show you how a former Girl Scout can take a spark like that and turn it into an inferno.”
THE WOMAN ARRIVED AT their rendezvous point ten minutes late—and didn’t like the self-satisfied expression on her partner’s face.
“What have you done?” she demanded. “Did you hurt her?”
He held a knife up to the weak overhead light. “I doubt it. Isabella strikes me as someone who can move pretty fast.”
“What does that mean?” She glared at him, arms folded, until he lowered the blade.
