by Jo Goodman
"That's it."
"Does it work?"
"Not yet."
"Hmm." She wondered how he would know. There didn't seem to be many moving parts. "What are those?" she asked, pointing to the cylinders.
"Pistons."
That made everything clear. "They're part of it?"
He nodded.
"What is it you do all day?" she asked.
"Sometimes I sit and think," he said, shrugging lightly. "And sometimes I just sit."
Skye smiled because it was expected of her. He had said it with a smoothness born of practice. She realized Parnell wasn't predisposed to make many explanations about his work. For some reason he had simply wanted her to see it. She looked around casually again, trying to memorize everything she was seeing. There was no chance she was ever going to steal this greasy black monstrosity for her father. Did Jay Mac think it would fit in her valise? Her only hope was to commit the look of the thing to her mind. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the large glass jugs on the floor. They were filled with a very light amber liquid that looked to be no thicker than water.
"Fuel."
"I see," she said. "It doesn't smell very good, does it? Worse than kerosene."
"It's very much like kerosene," he told her. "Highly flammable. Not something to be careless with, I assure you." Parnell leaned against the door while Skye walked around the table, viewing his invention from all angles. "You're inspecting it like a piece in a museum," he said, watching her.
"I don't know quite any other way to look at it," she said frankly. A little sheepishly she added, "It's not as interesting as I thought it might be." She risked a glance at Parnell to see if he was offended. Far from it, he was smiling at her.
"You have a disarming sort of charm, Miss Dennehy," he said.
Skye's attention was back on the engine. For no reason she understood goosebumps suddenly rose on her flesh. She was wary. Something had shifted in the room. Was it only the conversation, or her perspective? She quelled the urge to shiver by crossing her arms in front of her.
"Is that what Mr. Caide finds so attractive?" he asked.
"I wouldn't know."
"You mean he hasn't said?"
Skye looked at Parnell straight on. "This is hardly appropriate to discuss. You're making me uncomfortable."
Unabashed, he returned her stare. One of his brows lifted slowly. "You like Mr. Caide, don't you?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Never mind. The truth is there in your eyes. He must know it as well."
Skye's palms were damp. "I'd like to go up now," she said with a calm she didn't feel.
"In a moment." He pulled the door into place as he moved away from it. Curiosity was evident in his eyes as he set the lamp on the table. "Why, Miss Dennehy," he said. "I believe I've frightened you."
"I said you're making me uncomfortable." She backed toward the bordering workbench as Parnell came around the table. "What is it you want?"
"The same thing you're giving Mr. Caide," he said. His tone was matter of fact. "I saw you first. I wanted you first. You must have known when I hired you how I intended it to be. It really isn't right that Walker's taken you for himself. Not in my house, not under my very nose."
Skye's thoughts were muddling as Parnell came closer. Her voice was a strained whisper. "Don't you think I'm trying to kill you?"
"Are you?"
"If you come any closer I might."
His blue eyes were cool as they searched her face. "I'll take my chances." Skye feinted to the left to dodge his outstretched arms. Parnell was too quick for her. He grabbed her wrists, hauled them up behind her back and pushed her against the workbench. The small of her back was pressed to the sharp edge of the bench. Pain caused her to gasp. Her parted mouth was all the invitation he needed. His lips were hard on hers, the slant of his mouth angry. His teeth ground in her as he forced his tongue into her mouth.
Skye struggled, striking out with her legs. Her skirts trapped her. She couldn't raise a knee with any force.
She tried to retract her head but he bent her farther, painfully, following her movement with his head. Skye had only one tactic left. She went limp.
Parnell didn't react immediately. His mouth remained insistent on hers as if he could resurrect a response. When there was none he lifted his head slowly. His grip on her wrists lessened as he straightened. Her face was pale. He could see faint blue lines against the skin of her eyelids. In contrast to her ashen skin her mouth was suffused with color. He stared at it.
Skye wrenched away from him and surprise made his response slow. Her hip caught the corner of the table as she lurched past it. The lamp teetered on the edge. Parnell shouted at her to catch it. Skye could hardly take in what he was saying, but the urgency of his message caught her attention. She reached out, her arms flailing, and caught the lamp halfway in its fall to the floor.
She was breathing hard as she held it to her middle and secured the fragile glass globe. The flame flickered wildly, then was steady. During her struggle one of the fuel jugs had been kicked over. It hadn't broken, but the stopper was loose now. Droplets of liquid were pooling on the floor.
Skye looked at Parnell. She understood his urgency. His eyes were darting between the upended jug and the lamp she held. Skye seized her advantage and with complete presence of mind she smiled at Jonathan Parnell. It was a smile that was as cool as it was cruel.
"I suppose this answers your question about my intentions, doesn't it?" She lifted the glass globe slowly, exposing the flame. Keeping her eyes on Parnell, Skye backed toward the door. "I wonder if your invention will survive the fire," she said idly. "I know you won't."
Parnell didn't blink.
Skye thought he must have ice in his veins. "Do you think I won't do it?" she asked, raising the lamp.
The answer came from behind her. "I think Mr. Parnell's counting on me," Walker said.
Skye's hands shook.
"Easy, Skye. You don't want to make a mistake now." His arms came around her and he took the lamp and globe. Instead of replacing the globe to secure the flame, he blew it out. The workroom and the cellar beyond were dark again. "I'm sure you can find your way, Mr. Parnell. I'm taking Skye with me." Walker set the lamp on the floor and yanked Skye out of the room. He all but pushed her up the stairs to the kitchen. Without pausing, he showed her the servants' stairs. She had to raise her skirts to go as fast as he wanted. When they reached the second floor, he pointed her to his room. "Get in there."
"It's not what it seems," she said hurriedly. "You don't—"
"Get in there." He grit out the words, his lips unmoving. "Or I might just kill you before Parnell does."
He looked as if he would do it, too. Skye couldn't recall seeing anyone as angry as Walker Caide. If only she could explain. He didn't understand what had happened in the workroom. He wouldn't be so quick to condemn her if he had.
Walker placed his hand between Skye's shoulder blades and pushed. She stumbled into the room. He closed the door behind her and locked it. Almost immediately she began pounding. He waited for a pause. "You'll be safe in there." Then he walked away to find Parnell.
He found his employer in the parlor searching for the gun he'd left there the night before. Mrs. Reading was helping him. "I took it," Walker told him. "I came downstairs after everyone was sleeping and put it away. I'm not telling you where it is."
Parnell's eyes were like ice chips when he turned on Walker. "That bitch was going to kill me," he said.
"I warned you." He pointed to Mrs. Reading, who hadn't stopped her search. "Get out of here, Corina. Your loyalty's admirable, but it is misplaced in this case."
She didn't respond to Walker's order, but to Parnell's curt nod. On her way out of the room she said angrily under her breath, "What do you know about misplaced loyalty?"
He didn't respond, though he imagined his answer would surprise her. He knew quite a bit. "What were you thinking, taking her down there?"
Parnell drew in his breath,
calming himself. "I thought you were lying about her," he said. "I thought you only wanted her for yourself."
Walker swore softly. "So you set her up to force her hand?" he asked, incredulous. "It was an elaborate test? You may be some sort of genius in your workroom, Mr. Parnell, but you don't know what you're doing out of it. Leave Skye Dennehy to me." He paused. "Unless you want her out of here. I'm still offering to pack her up and take her back to Baileyboro. Hell, I'll take her all the way back to New York, if you'd like." Walker didn't expect Parnell to consider it, but he did.
"I have a better idea," Parnell said after a moment. "Let her think she's dismissed. I'm interested in where she goes and what she does."
"And then?"
"Return her here, of course. There will be questions to answer."
Walker shook his head. "Just let her go, Mr. Parnell. Who's going to watch your back if I'm following her?"
"With her out of the way, there's no need to watch my back." He went to the sideboard. "My mind's made up about this, Walker. If you won't do it, I'll find someone who will." He let Walker see his resolve. "You know I will. I found you."
"All right," Walker said finally. "She leaves in the morning. I'll take her to Baileyboro and follow her after that. You know there's a chance she won't return with me."
"Then don't return."
Walker would have liked to set Parnell on his ass. He walked out of the room instead.
* * *
Walker turned the key in the door. He thought he might find Skye prone on the bed, exhausted from crying. He was wrong. She was sitting up at his small writing table. It was obvious from her posture that she had been working there. A scrap of paper peeked out from her apron pocket. She had splashed a droplet of ink on the desk in her hurry to stopper the well. And then there was the faintly guilty look in her eyes.
"He's dismissed you," he said. Stepping into the room, Walker locked the door behind him.
She nodded.
"You're not surprised."
Skye's tone was philosophical. "He could hardly do otherwise, could he? He thinks I was going to kill him."
"And you weren't?" he asked drily.
"No," she said. "I wasn't." She stood, smoothing the fabric of her gray gown over her midriff. "What I was going to do—what I did, actually—was scare the hell out of him."
"You're pleased with yourself."
Skye's eyes flashed and narrowed. "The bastard deserved it."
"That bastard went looking for his gun."
Some of her fierceness faded. She could only stare at Walker. He was still clearly furious with her. "Did he find it?" she asked.
"Not for lack of trying. I hid it earlier."
Her response was flippant. "It looks as if you've protected us all again. I hope he's paying you well. You seem to be able to anticipate all sorts of situations." Skye's eyes dropped to Walker's side. His right hand was clenching and unclenching. Realizing that he would have liked to put that hand around her throat, she swallowed hard.
There was some small satisfaction in seeing Skye grow uneasy. "Why did you go with Parnell?" he asked.
"I wanted to see his invention. I didn't initiate it. He made the offer."
"And didn't that seem suspicious to you?"
"I don't know... yes... I suppose so. I wasn't thinking about that." Not clearly, anyway.
"God, you really do need a keeper."
"No one's hiring you for the job," she snapped.
Walker raked back his thick, tawny hair where it had fallen forward. The brief pause helped him gather his thoughts and cool his temper. "What happened down there?" he asked tightly.
Skye feigned surprise. "Oh, you mean something might have prompted me to threaten to set him on fire?" she simpered.
The gold flecks in Walker's eyes flashed. Gritting his teeth, he gripped Skye's elbow and yanked her toward the bed. He sat her down hard, then stood over her. "Tell me what happened."
Skye had to raise her face to look at him. "He made advances."
"What does that mean?"
She gave him a sour, disbelieving look. "You know perfectly—"
"I'm asking you."
"He kissed me."
Walker waited for Skye to say more. "And?" he prompted, drawing out the single word when she remained silent.
Skye's green eyes darkened. The narrowed look was both stubborn and defiant. "And I didn't want him to."
Walker exhaled slowly. "That's all I had to know," he said quietly. He sat beside her. "Are you all right?"
Staring at her hands in her lap, she nodded. "I was able to get away from him. Did Mr. Parnell tell you I welcomed his advances?"
"No. He didn't tell me anything like that." What Parnell had done hardly fit the category of setting Skye up.
She turned her face to look at him, her expression anxious. "You believe me?"
"Yes," he said.
Skye saw the truth of it in his face. It was important that he didn't doubt her now, not about this.
Walker took Skye's hands and raised them from her lap. He turned them over, examining the wrists. The skin around her small bones was still red. "Did he do this?" he asked.
She looked down at herself. By tomorrow she would have a bracelet of bruises on each wrist. "I suppose he did." It had all happened so quickly. She hadn't had time to think of what was being done, only that it was being done to her. Closing her eyes, she thought about it now. She could see herself being bent painfully backward over the workbench, her arms jerked hard behind her. He had forced her down so that her own weight pinned her arms. His mouth was a weight on her, too. Mashing against her lips, her teeth, her tongue.
Skye shuddered.
Walker was watching her. She was not so unmoved by the experience as she would have had him believe. He let go of her hands and cupped the side of her face with his palm. Her eyes opened. For a moment she simply looked at him blankly. When her eyes focused she gave him a weak smile. His fingers drifted over her face lightly. He touched the arch of her cheek, her temple. He let the tips follow the curve of her jaw and his thumb passed back and forth across her lower lip.
The touch was gentle and sweet. In the dark of night, in her own room, Skye might have been repelled by the very lightness of it. But this was afternoon. Pale winter sunshine filtered in the French doors and cast a long rectangle of light on the hardwood floor. She could see the man touching her was Walker and there was nothing insubstantial or otherworldly about the tautly carved edges of his face or the slightly crooked line of his nose. The centers of his eyes were darkening as he searched her face. There was desire there... and a question.
Skye leaned into him. She rubbed her cheek against his palm, turning into his caress. His head lowered a fraction. Her own hands lifted and slipped behind his neck. Her fingers threaded in the hair at his nape. She raised her face and urged him forward with her fingertips. The air fairly hummed between them.
Walker's mouth fit itself to hers. There was a hard and heady hunger sustaining the kiss. His lips moved over hers insistently, greedy for the taste of her. His tongue pressed for entry. It wasn't enough to touch the corner of her mouth or trace the line of her lips.
Skye's hands slipped from Walker's neck to his shoulders. At his sweetly urgent stroking, her mouth parted wider. The kiss deepened. She answered it, thrusting against him, not only with her tongue but with all of her body. The intimacy of the kiss was being repeated all along her length. She felt herself falling backward, cradled first by Walker's arms, then by the bed. He followed her and she took his weight onto herself. For a moment his chest was flush to her breasts and it was her flesh that yielded. She knew the hard length of his legs by the separation of hers and the broadness of his back when her arms clutched him close.
He shifted, twisting so they lay stretched across the bed. His hard, deep kiss had become a dozen swiftly pressing ones. She felt the imprint of his mouth on her eyes, her cheek, at the base of her throat. His tongue found the sensitive spot just b
ehind her ear. His touch there made her body arch and her fingertips whiten against his shirt.
Walker had no patience for buttons. He tore at the ones at Skye's back. He pushed the loosened neckline over her shoulders, along with the straps of her chemise. His hand slipped beneath her bodice. She flinched, not from the intimacy of his touch, but from the heat. Still, he paused and looked at her. She didn't avert her eyes. He held her racing heartbeat in his palm and the edge of his hand cupped her breast. She turned slightly so that the heart of his palm only held her breast. His thumb passed lightly across her nipple and when Skye's breath caught he bent his head and kissed her again, giving her the breath she had lost in that moment.
It felt good. His weight. His mouth. The shape of his hand against her skin. Pleasure hummed through Skye. She tugged at tails of Walker's shirt, pulling them free of his trousers. Her hands slid under the material and stroked his skin. His flesh retracted under her sweeping touch. He sat up long enough to rid himself of his shirt. It sailed over the edge of the bed as she was reaching for him again.
Walker pushed the edge of her bodice below her breasts. Where his thumb had grazed her nipple, the nub was like a hard pink pebble. He bent. His mouth closed over the tip, worrying it gently between his teeth. He felt the shudder that rippled through her as if he had tugged on ribbons of pure sensation. Her fingertips trailed upward along his spine. He raised his head. She tried to say something but the words never came as he gave equal attention to her other breast. Her fingers tightened in the curling ends of his hair at his nape.
He laid a trail of kisses between her breasts. They went upward, ending at the curve of her neck. He sipped her skin. When she moved under him her thigh was pressed to his groin. Of their own accord his hips thrust against her.
"Sweet Jesus," he groaned. Her skin seemed to vibrate against the moist heat of his mouth. He raised his head a fraction. Skye was watching him, her eyes dark and wide, alert with passion rather than sleepy with it. There was a certain willfulness in her desire. Her sensual maturity had not quite outstripped her innocence. She wasn't challenging him, he thought, she was daring herself.
