The Cards of Life and Death (Modern Gothic Romance 2)

by Colleen Gleason

  Except that she was still tied up with that dickwad Wertinger. And much as he hated to admit it, Ethan knew he didn’t want her to give in to the raging attraction between them. Because if she did, that would make her no better than Meghan—or Wertinger himself, for that matter.

  And that was one thing Ethan couldn’t tolerate, wouldn’t be party to.

  So, much as he wanted to pursue getting to know her in a more intimate, less scientific way, he shut those thoughts right down. It was a good thing she’d opted to go to Portland tonight. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to insist she stay the night again.

  Cady whined for the millionth time in the last half hour, smearing her nose against one of the windows. Her hackles stood on end and she growled faintly, then turned and charged toward Ethan. She whined again, bumping her damp nose under his arm, trying to lift it off the armrest of the chair in which he’d reclined.

  “Oh, all right,” he muttered in exasperation, folding up the recliner and hauling himself to his feet. “You see a squirrel out there or something? Hope it’s not another skunk,” he added, opening the door for the lab to shoot out into the shadows.

  Just then, he saw the faint bob of light coming up the narrow drive. Ethan frowned, squinting into the darkening night as he heard the rumble of a car. Who the he—

  Diana.

  Damn, but his heart gave a little lurch as her sleek, expensive car came around the corner more rapidly than was prudent considering the condition of the road and the low light. The vehicle crunched over the stones and then jerked to a stop. The engine had just turned off when Diana bolted out, her stricken face illuminated by the yard light.

  “Ethan,” she cried as he moved toward her, demanding, “What is it? What happened?”

  Cady burst out of the trees, circling the vehicle and doing a whiney sort of bark, but Ethan ignored her as he went to Diana.

  “He came back,” she said, her words rapid and her hands clamping onto his arms. “And he left me a w-warning.”

  Hearing the wobble in her voice, Ethan dragged her into his arms and wrapped her up close. Anger and fear had him squeezing her probably a bit too tightly, but she made no protest. “What happened?” he asked again. “Did you see him? Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head vehemently against his chest, and thus assured, he kept her there. Right where he wanted her. Her words muffled by his shirt, she said, “I got home from Portland and when I got out of the car … I saw it. Spray paint, all over the f-front of the house, on the door and window. Get out was what it said. And—and You’re next.”

  “You didn’t see anyone? You didn’t go inside, did you?” he demanded sharply. “Diana, you didn’t, did you?”

  Again she shook her head against him, and he heard a faint sniffle. “No, I’m not that stupid,” she said with a wry laugh. “And I’m too chicken anyway.”

  “Good thing,” he said, grateful for that at least. “The bastard’s probably long gone—damn coward—but there’s no sense in taking any chances.” He pulled away enough to sling his arm around her shoulders and ease her toward the house. Cady paced with them, giving a short, sharp bark, but she seemed less agitated than before. “I’m going to get my rifle.”

  “Why?” She stopped dead still in the middle of the yard and looked at him, her eyes wide with shock. “You don’t think he’ll come here do you?”

  “Not a chance. A guy like that only terrorizes helpless women. Or, at least, women he thinks are helpless,” he added quickly. “Plus, Cady wouldn’t let him near us. Damn,” he swore. “That’s why she’s been whining and climbing the walls all night! I should have let her out earlier.”

  “Then what do you need your rifle for?” she asked, and in the distance, he saw a flash of heat lightning.

  “I’m going to go over there and see what the bastard was up to. See if he broke in or took anything, or if he left anything behind. And if the cats are all right.”

  “Ethan, no, please don’t. What if he is there? And it’s going to rain, and—and we can go back tomorrow. When it’s daylight. We can call Joe Cap then. I don’t want to go there tonight. And I don’t want to be left alone.” She gave a violent shiver. “Besides,” she added, looking up at him, “those cats don’t even show themselves to me. He probably doesn’t even know they’re there.”

  He paused, standing on the threshold of his cabin. He’d never seen her look or act so vulnerable in the short time he’d known her, and the pleading in her voice gave him pause. She’d been through so much in the last two weeks. She had the right to be shaken up.

  “All right, but I think we ought to call Joe,” he said, opening the door for her. Cady gave a last rally of barks into the darkness, then streaked in ahead of them. She’d be much calmer now that everyone was inside.

  “It can wait till morning, can’t it?” she said. “I just want to sit down and—and watch TV and not think about all of this. Aunt Belinda, and my tires … and everything else. Just for tonight.”

  “I’m going to call him,” Ethan said firmly, “but I’ll tell him you aren’t going to make a report until tomorrow morning. All right? How about a glass of wine—or something stronger? And I think I saw an old chick flick when I was flipping through the channels … does that sound good?”

  She looked at him with those blue eyes, her lips full and soft with worry, and Ethan felt his scruples waver. “Thanks,” she said, “I know I sound like one of those helpless females—”

  “No, not really. You sound reasonably concerned—which anyone would be if they realized someone was trying to chase them away from the house in which a woman was murdered.”

  “Ethan,” she said with a short little laugh, “you’re not helping the situation.” But she gave him a quick smile and slipped from beneath his arm. “I’m thinking something stronger than a glass of wine would be in order. And a mindless, funny movie. Definitely not a thriller.”

  He poured a small glass of Scotch and called Joe while Diana flipped through the channels and sipped her drink.

  “I’m going to go over and check the place out,” Joe Cap decided. “No, you don’t need to come—you should stay with her.” There was a sly tone in his drawl that had Ethan deciding not to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

  “Okay, let me know what you find out. We’ll be down to see you in the morning,” he said, and hung up the phone. From where he stood in the kitchen, Ethan could hear Diana chuckling at something on the tube.

  Her face, always classic in its beauty, was even more beautiful when she laughed because it wasn’t so perfect. Her nose crinkled a bit, her eyes lit up, and when the smile faded, her lips drew back into a brief pout before relaxing. Hoo boy. He sure wanted to kiss her.

  Instead, Ethan settled for a beer and the armchair, rather than the other end of the couch. This not only placed him near the long, open windows that allowed a strong, cool breeze to skim over him, but it also put her out of his direct gaze. The fewer the distractions, the better.

  “Thanks for letting me stay here again tonight,” Diana said when the movie was over. She stood, giving a little stretch that had Ethan’s imagination going off in all sorts of sordid directions. With her sleepy eyes, courtesy of a long day plus the Scotch, and her short mop of tousled hair, she looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed.

  “Anytime,” he said, his voice probably a little more suggestive than it should have been. Damn.

  There was the flare of reaction in her face, but he wasn’t sure what it meant. Her eyelids seemed to droop a bit more, and he swore she skipped her gaze over him in his loose (thank God) cut-off sweats and t-shirt, but he wasn’t certain.

  “Can you think of anything else you need?” he asked, then wanted to bite his tongue. Get a grip, Tannock.

  “No,” she replied after the slightest of hesitations that had him looking at her closely—but this was Diana Iverson. From what he could tell, she’d never flirted with a man in her life. So he was reading the heat in her gaze totally wron
g. “I was shopping and bought some sleepwear.”

  “Okay, well, then I guess I’m going to head up,” he said, wondering what a woman like Diana considered “sleepwear.” A floor-length, high-necked nightgown, or at least something loose that reached to her knees. Definitely not the lacy red thing he’d instantly pictured.

  Bummer.

  ~*~

  A loud crack of thunder woke Diana in the middle of the night, pulling her from swirling dark dreams into a dim reality. She turned to look at the clock next to her bed and it was illuminated suddenly by a great flash of lightning. It was three-thirty.

  She stared up at the ceiling, watching shadows come and go as lightning flickered in the distance, then closer as a boom of thunder shook the house. She tried to push away the dark thoughts that threatened to pull her back into the maelstrom of nightmares, forcing herself to concentrate on the storm, and on the events of the day.

  Her evening in Portland had been relaxing and fruitful—in more ways than one. Diana found herself looking at clothing she never would have considered in the past—bright colors that weren’t always suitable for an attorney, flowing Bohemian skirts and even a pair of low-slung jeans in the style she’d seen Mindy Horning wear at Marc’s barbeque. Not that Diana would show her navel—and definitely not her butt crack—but at least she could wear something other than chinos or a pencil skirt.

  She attributed this new perspective to the fact that she suddenly realized she didn’t have to please Jonathan—or anyone. She could dress how she wanted, wear her hair how she wanted, even, possibly, use the bright blue nail polish she’d bought. That had been an impulsive purchase, but Diana couldn’t stop thinking about how pretty it would look on her toes.

  Perhaps The Fool had taken hold of her after all.

  All at once, another crack of thunder shook the house and a gust of wind sent hard, sharp rain against the window. Suddenly Diana remembered the row of tall windows open in the living room, and she flipped the blanket back and hurried out of the room. Brilliant flashes of lightning helped her find her way, and just as she was getting to the windows, she heard a clumping coming down the stairs.

  It sounded like an army, but it was really just six feet: Ethan and Cady.

  “Oh, hi,” he said, seeing her struggling to close the windows. The wind was blowing in through them and their panes were wet. “I’ll get them.”

  She moved out of his way and walked toward the screened-in porch to see what the storm looked like. She and Cady slipped into the enclosure and peered out to see trees bending and swaying with the wind, and jagged white lines of lightning spearing into the forest and onto the lake. Another boom shook the house and Cady whined, pushing her damp nose into Diana’s leg, which was bare under her short silky nightgown. The chill of it startled her, but she bent down to pat the dog on the head.

  She heard a noise behind her. It was Ethan coming out onto the porch to join them.

  “Looks pretty nasty,” he said as he approached.

  Diana nodded, folding her arms across her middle, and looked back out at the storm. It was cool but not uncomfortable on the porch, but Ethan’s presence sent a shiver through her body. His hair was standing up in endearing tufts, and he hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt.

  “I love storms,” she murmured, peering into the darkness as she tried to swallow in her suddenly-dry mouth. “Especially at night.”

  “Me too.” She felt him step closer to her and she drew in a breath, holding it. Though she wasn’t facing him, she could feel how close he was. She shivered again.

  “Are you cold?” Ethan asked, resting his hands lightly, very lightly, on her bare upper arms.

  Diana held her breath again. She could feel the imprint of each of his fingers around her arms, almost brushing the sides of her breasts. “A little,” she managed to reply. She let her breath trickle out.

  Just as he’d done on the deck off his bedroom, Ethan slid his hands down to her elbows and back up to her shoulders … once, twice, three times … and then they paused, cupping her elbows.

  A crash of thunder made her start and Cady whine, but Ethan said nothing.

  “It’s beautiful in its power, isn’t it?” she said in a low voice, trying not to move for fear he’d think she was moving away … or that she’d turn around in his arms and launch herself into something she wasn’t quite sure of. “Nature always amazes me.”

  His hands moved again, up to her shoulders, and she felt his fingers brush the ends of her short hair, brush over the sides of her neck. Little shivers erupted over her skin and down her spine. His fingers skimmed her shoulders and then fell away. “I saw a tornado once.” His voice was soft and husky in her ear. “It was one of the most incredible things I’d ever witnessed. I should have been in the cellar, but I had to see it … and I made it down there just in time. My mother was furious with me,” he chuckled quietly.

  “How old were you?”

  She felt him shrug behind her. “Oh, twelve maybe. Thirteen.”

  “You were brave to be out in that weather, especially at that age.”

  His hands settled on the curve of her shoulders, as if unable to keep from touching her. “My sister Fiona said I was an idiot—but she was standing there peeking right around me the whole time too.”

  They both chuckled at that, the short, husky laughs winding around each other, and then another boom of thunder filled the air. “I guess I’d better head back to bed,” Diana said. But she made no move to go.

  “I’d like to join you.”

  His words, unexpected, soft and heavy with desire, speared her middle and caused her to draw in her breath. “Ethan,” she began, and then suddenly she felt his lips on her bare shoulder. Sensation exploded through her body, hot and delicious, and she caught her breath, smothering a sigh.

  His mouth was warm and light and as his lips moved tenderly up the side of her neck she felt her knees begin to weaken and her eyes sink closed. Goosebumps erupted everywhere, her nipples surged and hardened, and she gave a soft sigh.

  Ethan stepped closer as he pulled her so that she leaned back against him. Now his mouth was near her ear, kissing a vulnerable spot just behind her lobe, still gentle, coaxing, erotic. His hands slid around to cover her breasts and she heard his intake of breath as he found her ready nipples where they jutted through the silk of her nightgown. She stiffened in surprise then eased as sharp, hot pleasure jolted through her.

  “Diana … I want to make love to you,” he whispered. “Let me make love to you.”

  She shivered against him and felt the warmth of his torso seeping through her nightgown. His strong arms surrounded her, pulling her back along his body, and his lips nibbled on her earlobe. He found his way beneath the vee of her neckline, feathering the tips of his fingers over her sensitive nipples as if coaxing her into submission.

  She might have tried to turn and face him, to slide her hands up over those broad shoulders … but he didn’t allow her to move. Instead, he gently bit into the tender spot on her neck, and, gasping at the intense pleasure-pain, she sagged back into him. The silk of her nightgown was clinging to her everywhere, and although the cool rain’s breeze filtered through the windows, she was warm and liquid … and yet very much awake. Alive.

  “Mm … yes,” he murmured as she closed her eyes, resting her head back onto his shoulder, his mouth close to her ear. “Come with me, Diana,” he said in a mellow voice, hot and velvet against her skin.

  One of his hands eased down over the clinging silk to its hem, and the next thing she knew, his fingers were sliding up her bare thigh. Light and sure, his hand moved to the warm, moist center between her legs and Diana found herself sagging even more as he covered her most intimately. A dull, pleasurable throb reverberated through her body, swelling and pounding as his fingers went slickly to work, exploring and teasing her into a shivering mass.

  Now, his fingers hiked up the hem of her nightgown over her bare thighs, and he lifted his face from her neck. Diana
opened her eyes. In the window in front of her she could see their reflections: she, with her dark head flung back, exposing a stark white throat and white thighs, he with a shadowed face, staring into the reflection. His hands pinned her against his body in some erotic game, and as she watched, their eyes met in the mottled image.

  Behind her, she felt his chest move with ragged breaths and he pulled a strap off her shoulder so that one white breast slipped out from the nightgown. Her nipple, full and tight, was dark in the center of her white skin beneath the long expanse of her throat. In that moment, instead of herself, Diana saw some exotic movie starlet, flush and lush with passion, captured in place by a pair of solid brown arms.