by Nora Roberts
Portia had told her that the star-shaped window was no longer lit at night, to guide the ships home to port. “Cost, you know.” But Lily could not deny the bone-deep belief that she’d seen the star guiding her to safety and heard Rees Tregarrick’s rich, resonant voice leading her toward the granite sea-stairs.
Felt the warm, very human touch of his strong hand on her arm.
There she’d admitted it.
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” She realized the hostess was holding out the handwritten menu. Lily took it and set it aside.
“Tell me,” she asked, “have you ever been up to the Star House Museum?”
“My goodness, yes. I’m not from St. Dunstan, you know. I’m at university, and they take me on here for the summers. I visit the museum at least twice each season. You really should tour Star House. It’s a fascinating place. Millions of pounds’ worth of wonderful things.”
Lily was surprised. “I thought it was just a restored manor. What kind of museum is it?”
“Oh, all sorts of treasures! Lovely Chinese porcelain and Indian furniture that Captain Tregarrick brought back from his voyages. Venetian glass, trinket boxes covered with semiprecious stones and mother-of-pearl, and snuff bottles carved out of amethyst and opal. My favorite is the Jade Room. It used to be the library.”
Lily remembered a glimpse of pale yellow jade when Captain Tregarrick had vanished into his study. But it was all fading, running together, exactly ike fragments of the dream that Dr. Landry had called it.
An elderly couple entered the dining room, and the hostess edged away from Lily with a polite murmur. “If you go,” she said over her shoulder, “look out for the engravings done by Mrs. Tregarrick. She was a noted botanist—quite famous in her day.”
Lily hunched forward, as if a fist had punched her in the stomach. That’s exactly how it felt. Of course there was a wife in it somewhere. Hadn’t she come reeling off her last failed romance with the same discovery?
It took Lily a minute to recover. She’d felt as if all the breath had gone out of her. Which is utterly ridiculous, she told herself. Why be upset over something that happened to a man who who lived almost a hundred years ago?
She finished her meal and went out into the sunlight, strolling past shopfronts brimming with geraniums, up past the slate-and-granite houses, where the ubiquitous hydrangeas of Cornwall bloomed blue, and pink, and lavender in prodigal beauty. Ignoring a crowd waiting to get into the St. Dunstan Tin Museum, with its working model of the old mine that had gone out into the bay, far below the seabed, she turned south as if pulled by a magnet.
She climbed the cobblestones until she was high above the village, with the sea spreading out like a swath of crimped blue satin. Sequins of light glittered through the spume of brilliants the waves dashed up. Lily had never seen it look more beautiful. She stopped at the granite wall above the village, to watch the seabirds skim over the waves. Higher still, the dark bulk of Yearning Head towered over the cresting waves, drawing her back.
Rees Tregarrick stood at the star window and looked out at the headland. She was still there. Although the tree hid her from clear view, he could see the ends of her long blond hair, and the thin white of her skirt billowing in the breeze.
She had never appeared to him by daylight before. It had always been in starlight or moonlight that he’d seen her moving across the headland, or walking the strand below the cliffs, with her fair hair streaming out like satin ribbons.
He’d never managed to get close to her. Usually by the time he reached the front door she was gone. Then, lately, he’d been able to cross half the distance to the cliff’s edge before she vanished.
Until last night.
He turned away from the window. Until last night. Those were the critical words. Until then, he’d turned his back on the sea and walled himself away in the house. His emotions had been as dead as poor Catherine. And then she had come, stirring up terrible memories, this mysterious woman who haunted his nights. His dreams. Terrible longings that had kept him awake till dawn. She hadn’t had a stitch on beneath her summer frock, he was sure of it. God in heaven, I am a man. And a lonely one, at that.
Perhaps the sea had sent her to torment him, to lure him back to it. Why else had she vanished without a trace in the night? Cursing beneath his breath, Rees Tregarrick turned away from the window.
Lily had unplaited her hair and let the wind blow through it. The rubber thong sandals that Portia had loaned her were still in the canvas bag by her side, along with a notepad, a new copy of People, and the paperback of a favorite by Mary Stewart that she’d picked up on her way.
Lily had made no attempt to return the sandals, nor had she bothered to even skim the magazine’s table of contents. She took out a pencil and sketched one of the flowers growing in the protection of a stunted tree. The rough bark made a pleasing contrast with the soft-textured pink petals of the blossom. Quite lifelike, she decided.
Soon, though, even the drawing palled. The breeze sighed, filled with invisible yearnings longing to be made real. Lily closed up the notebook and looked out over the sea.
The light was changing. The view had been like an Impressionist painting, myriad dots of color blending into one another. Now it was bold and crisp, each in-rushing wave distinct from the others. With the sun turning the air all crystal and gold, she was content to sit beneath one of the wind-gnarled trees. And wait.
She’d been waiting for some time when she felt his presence. Suddenly the light shifted, became clearer. The scent of some unfamiliar, exotic flower filled the air.
Lily didn’t look up. She was afraid to.
She’d known that he would come. Known it deep in her bones.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see his boot, with grains of sand and a blade of fresh green grass clinging to it.
“Go away,” she said. “You’re not real.”
“Oh, I’m real enough,” Tregarrick responded. “Too damned real for my own good. It’s you who are the ghost.”
She looked up at that. “A ghost?”
He stared out past her, to the restless sea. The same aspects, changeable and fathomless, were reflected in his eyes. “Aye. You come and go like the moon through clouds, vanish like the mist.”
“I’ve only been here once before. Last night, when you rescued me.”
“Ah, no. I’ve watched you a hundred times before. I know the way your hair turns color in the light, and the whiteness of your skin beneath that dress.”
He turned his head then and faced her fully. Her heart thudded painfully. Above the knitted fisherman’s sweater his face, so handsome and intense, robbed Lily of breath.
“It’s been more than a year since I had the first sight of you,” he told her. “At the time I thought you were…someone else.” A muscle ticked at his jaw. “Tell me, for God’s sake! Why are you haunting me? If it were Catherine now, I could understand…”
He uttered a muffled oath and moved a little away. Lily watched him. The wind ruffled his thick, dark hair, the same as it did hers. His shadow fell across the tree’s knotty roots, just as did hers. Surely there was a mistake somewhere. He was as real as she. Lily rose to her feet.
“You are Captain Rees Tregarrick? The man who built Star House?” she asked. She was surprised her voice remained so steady.
“Aye, lass.” He looked back at her, frowning. “Why do I think I know you? We’ve never met in this life.”
“No.”
And yet she had the same feeling as he. The crosswinds blew against the headland, and the soulful sound of the sea echoed up to them, like the murmuring of lovers. The air seemed to thicken, steeped with the echoes of old and powerful emotions.
Shivers ran up the back of her bare arms. Tentatively Lily reached out and touched his sleeve. Woolly, soft, and very real. As were the steely muscles of his arm beneath it.
“It’s summer,” she said, feeling the warm breeze against her face. “Aren’t you warm in such a heavy sweater?�
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He shook his head. Leaves skittered past his boot. “It’s autumn,” he told her. “You should be shivering with cold in your light frock. You’ll catch a death of a chill.”
Lily smiled. “Not if I’m a ghost…”
For a moment the air rippled between them. It was like looking down into the sunny tide pools of the bay as a light breeze ruffled the water over the rocks and moss and tiny scattered shells. She expected him to thin and disappear like fog in sunlight. The shimmer steadied, hardened.
He was still there.
Rees Tregarrick caught her hand in his, as if he were afraid she would run away. Or vanish like sea spray, among the sunbeams.
“Who are you?” he said. “What are you?”
Lily’s breath snagged in her throat. “A woman,” she whispered. “Just a woman.”
5
REES TREGARRICK LOOKED down at Lily with an enigmatic expression. “A woman.”
The wind whipped her hair around them like a cloak. Without warning, he pulled her into his arms. She trembled in his embrace, as his hand splayed against her back. Her breasts pressed against him as he smoothed the light fabric of her dress down the gentle curve of her spine, along the lush curve of her waist and hip. His breath came quicker.
“You feel like a woman.” His bent his head until his cheek grazed the top of her head. Lily heard him inhale. “You smell like a woman.”
Then she was pulled tight against his chest, and his mouth came down on hers, warm and firm and incredibly sensual.
She was intensely aware of everything about Rees Tregarrick, from the scent of cedar on his clothes to the strength of his fingers against her back, the roughness of his jaw against her cheek. She clung to him while the world spun and rocked around her. Surely she was dreaming.
His mere nearness had triggered something between them. Now the heat of his hard body against hers was like an elemental force of nature, molding them together. Melding past and present, hinting of future pleasures, delicious and dark, and well beyond her own experience.
That first, hard kiss gave way to another, softer and yet more demanding. A shiver ran through her. As his embrace tightened, he took the kiss deeper, wilder. And she responded totally to the moment.
To him.
He broke the kiss and looked down at her. His eyes looked dazed and heavy with need. “Ah, God Almighty, but you taste like a woman!”
“I told you that.”
“Yes.” He wound his fingers into her hair, lacing them through it. “But I know I’m dreaming.” He tilted her chin up until her eyes locked with his. The tip of his thumb grazed her full lower lip, and his eyes were dark as the sea.
“I’m real.”
Rees shook his head. “You’re a mirage. Or, if you truly are the woman who has been haunting my sleep, prove it. Make my dream come true. For the love of God, put an end to the curse, and to my hellish loneliness!”
How could she refuse his plea, especially when it was exactly what she craved herself? Lily stepped up on her tiptoes, and touched his mouth with her own. His lips were firm, then softened. He wrapped her close in his arms and kissed her again.
Lily had never been kissed so thoroughly, so passionately. It was a lost art, she thought weakly, a kiss for its own sake. Uncalculated and not a mere hasty prelude to something more. It was like an exotic drug in her blood. She wanted him with an ardor she had never known. Wanted him fully and completely.
Wanted him now.
His hand brushed her breast. She felt her body go liquid at its core as she leaned into him, and felt the potency of his response. Her fingers twined in his hair, pulling his mouth closer, drinking deep.
The textures of his mouth, the touch of his tongue were so real, yet she knew it was utterly impossible. This can’t be happening. It’s a dream. I’ve fallen asleep beneath the tree, she told herself, and I’m dreaming.
But his mouth was hot on hers, no less real than her own. His tongue followed the curve of her lower lip, and she sighed as it slid between her teeth. Her entire body shuddered with pleasure as something untamed and dark inside her responded. His leg nudged hers apart, and he pulled her closer, tighter, until she moved restlessly against him.
If this is a dream, Lily thought, don’t let me awaken.
Her heart pounded against his chest, and she could feel the rough texture of his sweater against her straining breasts. His hand cupped one, weighing it gently against his palm. The tip contracted, hardened as he caressed it with his long fingers, and circled it with his thumb. She gave a tiny cry of eagerness, offering herself to his questing hand.
His skin was hot against hers, as he pushed down the strap of her summer dress and tugged it low. All the while his mouth worked against her, nibbling at her lips gently, then pressing them hard against her teeth until she reeled and ached with need. He was like the sea, relentlessly eroding her ability to think. She could only feel.
It was enough.
He worked the other strap down her shoulder, and they both shivered when it broke free in his hand. His lips moved from the corner of her mouth and down her arching throat. Over the delicate hollow at its base, and along her bare shoulder. Tasting. Teasing. Taunting.
Then he bent her back along his arm, and his lips touched her breast. So light, so light, it was like the brush of a butterfly’s wing. The sensation was exquisite. Her body tingled with anticipation. Then he took the tip into his mouth and tugged, hard. There was nothing in the world but the cool kiss of the wind along her naked flesh, the heat of his hungry mouth upon her breast.
Lily lost control. Without warning she was thrown up and over the edge of reason. All conscious thought was washed away, overcome by waves of cresting desire.
He held her close until it passed, murmuring words in an unknown language against her flesh. When it was over, she lay limp in his arms. Lily felt shattered. And he hadn’t really touched her. Not yet. Not the way she ached for him to do.
He lowered her to the sun-warmed ground, out of the breath of the wind. He didn’t speak, but pressed a soft kiss against her throat. His hand kneaded her breasts gently, while he kissed his way back up to her lips. He kissed her deeply, plundering her mouth with his tongue until she was eager and wanton with desire.
Only then did he look down at her. His stern, masculine beauty struck her like an arrow to the heart—a sharp, sweet piercing surely as fatal to her peace of mind as any shaft of feathered wood. His eyes were ablaze with need that found an answering echo inside her.
Lily’s lips were swollen from his kisses, and her breasts ached to feel his mouth once more. She touched his face, cradling the side of it with her hand. So real, so solid. She traced his lips with her fingertip, and he closed his eyes until she was done.
“Are you a witch?” he whispered, frowning down at her. “A creature sent by the sea to lure me back into her clutches?”
She could have wept with need and tenderness. “Only a woman,” she said, trailing a hand along his jaw. “And who are you?”
He laughed without mirth. “Only a man. One you have driven half mad with desire.”
“Then take me.” She stretched her arms above her head, offering her breasts to his seeking mouth. “Make love to me. Even if this is nothing but a dream.”
“If this is the dream, then I am the dreamer,” he said, his voice rough with passion. “I have waited months to know the end of it.” He caught her hands and kissed her fingers. “And I intend to make it end my way! Don’t vanish on me now, woman, or I swear to God I’ll go mad!”
Another ripple shuddered through the air, as dazzling as sunlight. Lily was afraid that it was he who would vanish, that she’d awake and find herself back at her hotel—or worse, back in her lonely apartment.
But, no, she was still dreaming. With her head turned seaward as he kissed her throat, she watched a freighter fade and wink out on the horizon. The newer houses high above St. Dunstan were gone, as if they never were and the bright blue bay was cover
ed with sailing ships, their acres of white canvas billowing in the wind like cumulus clouds. It had to be a dream…
Yet he was so real, so ardent. He kissed her breasts, and the touch of his mouth was more genuine than the earth beneath her, or the twisted, sunlit branches above. Heat built up inside her, spreading through her limbs like warm honey.
“Hurry,” she whispered. “Oh, hurry!”
He pulled his sweater off, and the sun gleamed on hard muscles sculpted by the rigors of the sea. Lily laughed in delight and ran her fingertips through the crisp hairs on his chest, watching his face flood with desire.
Stripping off the rest of his clothes, he slid her skirt slowly up her legs, caressing her skin as he worked it higher. “No stockings,” he said, as if to himself. “No corset and no garters. Nothing but beautiful woman beneath this flimsy frock.”
He shook his head wonderingly at her skimpy lace bikini panties, then tried to tug them down. Lily lifted her hips, and the fragile lace tore in his hands. She was free, naked and warm beneath him. He covered her with his length and lay still, breathing hard, like a long-distance runner. Waves of pleasure rolled over her, and he caught her in his arms as she trembled beneath him.
His chest rose and fell, and its mat of hairs tantalized her nipples, bringing them erect. He tightened his embrace and groaned. “Sweet vision, if you vanish now, I’ll never find you again. And I will be doomed, lost forever in my lonely hell.”
Instead of answering, she brought his head down to her breast and arched against him. As he took the velvety tip into his mouth, teased it with his firm lips, she shifted her legs apart. He was hard and ready, and she couldn’t wait any longer. The fear that she was dreaming, that he would disappear stabbed at her. At least give me this, she thought. This one moment of perfect joy.
She moved against him with a small, sharp thrust of her hips. A tremor shook his big frame, and he groaned again. “So impatient, love?”
“Yes.” And so afraid to wake up and find herself alone. That the lover of her dreams was only, after all, a dream-lover. She moved against him, watching desire chase the shadows of pain from his face. “Love me, Rees. Now.”
