Widow's Tale

by Miller, Maureen A.

Hand in hand, they mounted the first step, but the muffled sound of a phone ringing made Serena tense.

  "Was that upstairs or downstairs?" Brett hesitated.

  "Upstairs." She hastened a step ahead of him.

  "Let it go." His hand tugged on hers.

  Serena stopped and looked down at Brett. His eyes reflected the moon, still smoldering with promises that made her feel weak.

  "It could be the police." Reluctantly, she climbed another step.

  "At this hour?"

  At the door, she halted and Brett moved in behind her. In a haven of male musk, his body gloved hers as he dipped and whispered in her ear. "Whoever it is, get rid of them."

  That soft voice made her shiver. The swathe of his body made her hot.

  Inside the apartment, the phone continued to ring, the party on the other end persistent. It took all the willpower in the world, but she wrenched from Brett’s warm shelter.

  The phone sustained its shrill assault, and at this point Serena was tempted to just lift the receiver and drop it back in its cradle. Instead, she pressed it to her ear.

  "Hello?"

  CHAPTER XXI

  Brett watched Serena. The healthy blush in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes, the swollen lips. His fists clenched to keep from touching her.

  If this was wrong—if God looked down on him with censure—then he would willingly accept Hell.

  "Brett?"

  The blush had gone pale. The sparkle dulled, and her lips thinned in apprehension.

  "What’s wrong," he stepped towards her. "Who is it?"

  "Your Mother."

  Brett reluctantly accepted the receiver, but wouldn’t release her eyes. He locked Serena to him with that simple connection.

  Distantly, he heard it all. Ethel Murphy’s stern berating that she had to discover her son’s death via a voice message. He listened to her admonishment that Alan was neglected by Serena all these years, and he listened to her distinct disapproval of Brett answering Serena’s phone at nearly midnight. Ethel would have gone on were it not for his gravelly injection.

  "Are you done?" He didn’t wait for a response. "Firstly, Serena told me that she had tried to reach you, but you were off in Europe with no word left behind as to where you were staying. She had no choice. And as for Alan," Brett rubbed a hand over his face and suddenly felt deflated.

  Jealousy could have made him point out all of Alan’s faults. He could have hoped for once to disillusion his parents about their prized son, but instead he said, "Don’t worry, I’ll bring him home."

  Serena saw the pain in Brett’s eyes and longed to go to him, but something in his stance dissuaded her. In fact, she felt that she was intruding on his privacy. She retreated, and he seemed not to notice. He looked tormented and continued speaking into the receiver.

  "And as for me being here at this hour," he took a deep breath, "you are not the only one to grieve, Mother."

  With a click, her bedroom door closed behind her. Serena rested against it, her palms touching the wood. It was a marvel that she could stand in this dark room and not rush towards the lamp. Instead, she focused on the trail of moonlight slicing through the window, sketching a path to her bed. Outside, she heard the soft murmur of Brett’s voice on the phone and her heart went out to him.

  It still amazed her how two families could be so different. The O’Flanagans knew nothing but love, while the Murphy’s seemed cold and aloof. Right now they were probably telling their older son to keep away from her.

  That was what truly hurt.

  Because as immoral as it may be, she knew she wanted Brett more than anything.

  A soft knock nearly made her claw her nails into the wood. Numb, she stepped away from the door and watched hypnotized as a pie of light pooled across the floor.

  Brett filled that gap, his shadow obscuring the glow.

  "Serena?"

  She moved to the dormer window. "Are they okay?"

  "You worry if they’re okay," he gritted, "when they’ve shown you nothing but disrespect?"

  She shrugged. "They lost a son. I grieve for them for that."

  Brett advanced a few steps, but hesitated at the foot of her bed. "Funny, but they don’t seem to remember that they still have one son left."

  Serena turned. "That’s not funny at all. It’s sad. What magic spell did Alan weave that he had everyone under such influence?"

  Brett shook his head. "I wish I knew."

  Outside, a storm loomed. Victory Cove was still basked in moonlight, but the first howling protests of wind assaulted the old inn. A shutter clanged against the façade. Serena jumped and Brett tensed, primed to charge after their nighttime assailant, but her voice stopped him.

  "Don’t worry," she assured. "It always does that. Believe me I’d be able to identify an artificial noise from anything this old house can muster."

  In the blue glow of the moon, Brett arched an eyebrow.

  "Oh really?" he grinned.

  Her lips lifted as she realized that he was referring to her inability to distinguish her ghosts for what they really were. The fact that the insinuation was done so with a smile warmed her heart.

  "Okay, maybe not always."

  “I searched the loft,” he said. “No sign of an intruder.”

  She nodded and silence descended between them. Brett’s hand was propped up high on the doorjamb. He watched her in the dark.

  "Look," he began. "I’m not going to stand here and deny how much I want you."

  She trembled.

  "But, I’m also not going to push you into something you’re not ready for. Now is not the time for this to happen between us."

  His hand slid down the jamb and in the dark their eyes met while O’Flanagans shook under the force of the wind. With a lingering glance that revealed all of his desires and trepidations, Brett nodded and left.

  An arresting hand on his arm kept him from getting far.

  "Now is the time for this to happen."

  For a moment he stood perfectly still. Serena moved in behind him, slipping beneath his arm, her hands climbing up his chest.

  "Now is the time, Brett."

  She tilted her head back and caught the stark slash of his jaw in the moon’s glow. That glow reflected off his eyes as she willed him to dip his mouth and take her−but he seemed adrift, lost in the tempest brewing over the Atlantic.

  "Brett?"

  It was a tangled cry of frustration and desire, and it succeeded in snapping his eyes to hers. That gaze dropped to her lips, lingered, and then with a low growl, he covered her mouth with his.

  Brett’s kiss was tender, yet it wholly enveloped her. Serena clung tight as her knees buckled when his tongue slipped into her.

  Strong arms wrapped her tight, the impetus of the embrace making her bow backwards against the steel band of his forearm. She was hauled close enough to feel the effect of his arousal, and she whimpered her need.

  "Serena," Brett wrenched his mouth away and whispered hoarsely. "Are you sure? Baby, I don’t want to hurt you in any way."

  Rooted in his embrace, linked in a position that connected them intimately, she smiled. She felt intoxicated by the crisp, manly scent. Her fingers probed, sought, and demanded. She wanted him.

  There was no doubt.

  She wanted Brett Murphy.

  "Oh yeah, I’m sure."

  As if to prove it, she reached for the buttons on his shirt, baring his chest for her consumption. She felt the thunderous beat of his heart beneath a layer of muscle and the flesh was warm against her lips.

  Heat.

  Finally, there was something to warm the chill she thought she would die with.

  "My God," Brett drove his hands into her hair, lifting her face. "I want to do that to you."

  Perhaps it was the gravity in his eyes, or maybe the husky tone of his voice, or possibly just the fact that she was so damned turned on. Serena splayed her hands across Brett’s chest and used the leverage to urge him towards the bed.


  On the edge of the mattress, Brett submitted to the hands on his shoulders, but he could not stay idle with Serena close enough to taste. He reached out and slipped his hand under her blouse, climbing till he achieved his goal and watched her neck drop back and her mouth slacken. She felt perfect. Her breast filled his hand as his fingers toyed with her, masterfully arching Serena into his touch.

  Locked between his thighs, she seemed to revive enough of her senses to coax him back onto the quilt. Using this leverage, she wrenched off his shirt and drew in a ragged breath, her eyes flaring. He nearly growled at the awe on her face. No one had ever looked at him like that before.

  He reached for the bottom of Serena’s blouse, and hoisted it over her head, watching her hair spill back onto her shoulders in a silken shower. In an equally swift gesture, he unfastened her white lace bra, and his eyes dipped to savor the view.

  Bathed in the moon’s radiance, the ethereal glow outlined Serena’s body. Her arm reached up to brush back bangs from her face, the motion lifting the perfect curve of her breast.

  "Serena." His voice was hoarse. "For ten years I’ve wanted you. I waited—watched, and all along I hoped—"

  Sliding up her stomach, his palms sought that perfect curve and molded it with his hand, marveling at the immediate response.

  "And now you’re here, and the only thing in the world that can stop me from making love to you is if you say no."

  Serena tugged her hair behind her ear, holding it in place as she bowed down to kiss him. Her breath whispered against his lips.

  "Then I guess nothing will stop you."

  With a growl, he hoisted her atop him. Outside, the Atlantic expressed itself with gale force winds picking up in strength, but he ignored its protest.

  Clothes came off. Serena traced Brett’s muscles, testing the resiliency of his thigh, playing with the course hair and nimbly climbing enough to elicit a strangled groan from him. Through a haze of arousal he noticed her slight hesitation and hitched his index finger beneath her chin so that he could look into her eyes.

  "What is it, honey?"

  "Is this wrong, Brett?"

  He looked away, solemn. "Does it feel wrong?"

  "No." She wrapped her arms tighter. "No, it doesn’t."

  Serena pulled Brett’s mouth down to hers. He hesitated and then returned her kiss. When she tried to speak, compelled with the need to say what was on her mind, his gentle lips would not stop. Using her palms, she was able to push off and lay beside him, face to face. Her fingers reached for his black hair, loving the glossy sensation.

  She searched Brett’s eyes in the dim light and found the truth. Swallowing against the constriction in her throat, she whispered, "Brett, I love you."

  Something kindled in his eyes. "I know that."

  "You know that?" Her tone rose just before he squelched it with a kiss.

  Taking his time, Brett drew back from Serena’s mouth with a soft smile. Tension eased from his expression as he caressed her breast.

  "I know," his tone lost its levity, "because I love you too."

  Before she could inject, he continued. "I wanted you, Serena. The first day I saw you—I wanted you." He touched her lips. "I’ll always want you."

  On instinct, Serena’s hand fisted over her heart. She had to put pressure against the alien sensation. Brett reached for that hand and gently pushed it aside, dropping his head down to skim her fevered flesh. His mouth trailed up the arch of her throat before he suspended himself atop her by his elbows. He looked down, and she was lost in his eyes, ready for the storm to take her.

  The words were unsaid, but he waited for Serena−the decision was hers to make. Her kiss of assurance was blatant enough to make him even harder. With the flick of her tongue, Serena conveyed what she wanted, and his answering volley said he would provide.

  After ten years of marriage, Serena finally realized what it was like to make love. Her body hummed under Brett’s mouth. It was first tender, then patient, and ultimately so hot, he made her feel molten.

  When her caresses grew emboldened, when her kisses grew desperate, when she cried his name against his shoulder—he took her.

  And they found peace.

  CHAPTER XXII

  "Oh my God, I probably woke up the neighborhood."

  Serena’s arm was flung over her head, her mussed hair cloaking an eye. With her free eye, she studied the man stenciling innocuous patterns on her stomach with his finger.

  "Which time?" Brett teased as his finger dipped lower, only to be halted by her emphatic grip.

  "I’m being serious—I—I never—" She floundered for a way to describe her total abandon, the way she cried out when Brett drove her to yet another trembling climax.

  How could she explain all that he had done for her tonight? His actions, let alone the quiet declarations he whispered in her ear had ebbed the pain of years of rejection and cold treatment. In his embrace there was an overwhelming feeling of devotion—alien—yet suddenly everything she ever wanted.

  "I never made so much noise."

  Brett snorted against her breast and looked up. "Honey, you can go on making all the noise you want, the rest of the world be damned."

  She ruffled his hair.

  "What’s wrong?" he asked, so easily able to read her.

  Continuing to toy with his hair, Serena evaded his glance.

  "Do you think less of me?" she asked. "I just found my husband’s body yesterday, and not even twenty-four hours later I’m in bed with you—his brother nonetheless."

  Brett sat up against the carved wooden headboard. The sheet dropped to his waist. "Come here," he whispered. “Keep me warm.”

  She slid under his arm, resting her head against his chest.

  "He was my brother, yes." Brett’s voice was grave. "But you are the woman I want. The woman I love. Nothing else matters to me, do you understand?"

  "But—"

  He tipped her head back and kissed her forehead. "Shh. Listen to me. We both tried to save Alan. During the course of his troubled life, we both battled a fight we could not win, and during that battle we were both duped by him."

  Pain clouded Brett’s eyes. "I believed many of his tales—particularly one he told me about you. Maybe I wanted so badly to accept what he accused you of. Maybe I wanted to convince myself that you weren’t the beautiful, perfect woman I wanted to make my own, because I knew it was wrong at the time."

  He shook his head. "For a moment, I allowed myself to think less of you." His fingers clenched. "And I was wrong."

  Sensing her protest, Brett silenced it by touching her lips before he continued. "What happened tonight was not solely your doing, Serena. I’d like to think I played a part in it."

  "A damned good one," she muttered before his finger hushed her again.

  "When you think about it," he continued, "this should have happened ten years ago. So, no, I don’t think any less of you. I think—" he grinned, "what took you so long?"

  Lulled by the beat of his heart, the deep timbre of his voice, and the security of his arms, Serena whispered. "I love you."

  "I love you too."

  She bleated a protest as he hauled her away. He set her back so he could look in her eyes, his tone serious. "And I’m not going to let anything happen to you. There’s a killer out there—and we’re on our own to find him."

  "He almost took you away from me," she cried.

  "I’ve got a hard head." Glancing at the clock, Brett turned back to her.

  "As much as I’m dying to make love to you again−" he groaned when he noticed the sheet drop across her hips, "−it’s almost four o’clock and you need rest."

  Serena shook her head. "I need the terror to go away." She touched his mouth. "I need you."

  Brett listened to the sound of the shower and smiled. Sleep was something Serena and he had evaded, and though they may regret it later in the day, it was worth every damn hot moment.

  Hauling on his jeans and treading barefoot into the
kitchen to start coffee, he was surprised to see the sun rising over a clear skyline. Entranced by the dusky rose eclipse on the dark horizon, he watched the stars fade and thought about the future.

  "Are you okay?"

  Serena stood in the kitchen entryway, her hair dark sable, still damp from the shower. Dressed in jeans, a white tank top and a red flannel shirt, she appeared wholesome, but her eyes were anxious as they followed him.

  He nodded. "Yeah." Then with conviction, he added, "yeah, I am."

  He crossed the kitchen floor and hooked his arm around her waist.

  "And how about you, Miss Serena," he asked. "Are you okay?"

  Resting her hands on his shoulders for leverage, Serena thrust herself on the tips of her socked toes and kissed his cheek. “Are you asking if I have regrets?

  She reached up and administered a kiss to the opposite cheek. “No, Brett. No regrets.”

  She felt the grip around her waist tighten as she extended one last time to touch his lips and groaned when Brett’s mouth opened under hers.

  Standing forehead to forehead, grinning like teenagers in love, Serena worried that this happiness could not last. She was convinced on some inherent level that she did not deserve it. But then again, that was the seed of insecurity Alan had so successfully rooted.

  "Stop it," Brett murmured into her hair.

  "Stop what?"

  "You’re tensing up on me—withdrawing. Don’t, Serena."

  "It’s hard." Her hands curled against his chest.

  "It’s gonna be if you keep touching me like that."

  For a moment she was speechless, then her head pitched forward and she laughed into his shoulder. The gesture felt so carefree and perfect. Dusting his throat with her lips, Serena dodged out of Brett’s grasp when she heard him growl.

  "Oh no you don’t," she waggled her finger at him. "I’ve got to get downstairs and start cleaning up. If you’ll recall, you kept me from that task last night."

  "Oh, I recall alright." He grinned. "Give me a few minutes to shower and I’ll come down with you."

  Serena ducked into her room and talked loud enough for her voice to carry.