by Ciar Cullen
“Ex-brother-in-law. Oh, you think the character Simon is like Shawn? How funny! All my characters look like someone, Dana. Dark hair, green eyes, big deal.”
“Come on now. It’s me. I’m not buying this. Mnnn, I like that Simon. Sexy, sexy guy. I guess I never thought of Shawn that way, which I suppose is normal.” Dana laughed. “But women do drool over him. He used to not notice, buried in his work. I guess with the line of female students trying to get into his office—well, trying to get into his pants, actually—he’s taken notice.”
“Yep, he seems to be catching on a little.” Jennifer was still rattled from his sensuous stare, his teasing. “But your brother and I haven’t shared more than a meal and some mindless chitchat since he was a teenager and I married Frank. Unless you know something I don’t…?”
“You want me to tell you whether or not Shawn likes you? Honey, we’re not thirteen. You can’t figure that one out for yourself?”
Jennifer ran her fingertips through the warm sand, thinking about the expression on Shawn’s face as he stared at her body. Lust. Pure lust.
“What’s he like these days, Dana? I mean, he seems different somehow. Like a…”
“Like a man, you mean? Like a man who might want something from you? What do you want to know?”
“He’s a friend, that’s all. I care about him. Is he happy? Seeing anyone?”
Dana laughed. “Man, I can see where this visit’s going. Okay, I’ll play along. No, he’s not seeing anyone. Yes, he’s more confident—I think partly from teaching, publishing his papers, buying his own place. And yes, I think he likes you.” Dana batted her eyelashes. “Would you like me to pass him a note in study hall? His room is down the hall from yours—why don’t you walk in on him tonight while he’s reading your book. See how shy he really is?”
“Shut up. It’s not like that. Sorry I asked.” Jen leaned back in her beach chair and opened her book, her eyes squeezed shut beneath her dark glasses. What does he think? Is he reading it all? Oh God, what the hell were you thinking? You underestimated him. He’ll laugh at you, maybe even pity you.
“Jen.”
“Hmnn?”
“Your book is upside down.”
“Shut up and get a tan.”
Dana giggled. Jen threw the book at her and rolled onto her stomach. The warmth of the weak fall sun soaked away some of the tension in her shoulders, the rhythmic crashing of the waves lulled her into near sleep, but each time she started to drift, the picture of Shawn, shirtless, sprawled out on her deck chair intruded. Her heart would beat quickly and she’d imagine him pulling her down to him, looking into her eyes, kissing her, telling her wonderful things about love and forever…
Forever? My God, is that what you want?
Jennifer bolted up, brushing the sand off her hands. She turned her back to Dana and stared out at the surf.
You’re in love with him. A fist gripped at her heart and squeezed. That ache—she hadn’t felt it in years. And you’ve left him with a silly book that’s going to make him think you’re a…a wanton older woman, throwing yourself at him. Jennifer wanted her manuscript back, and quickly.
“Rats, looks like we might get the tail end of that hurricane after all.” Jennifer brushed off her feet and pointed to the grey clouds, looking more threatening by the minute. “Let’s hurry inside, Dana, before it comes through. We can have an early dinner, maybe take in Atlantic City?”
“Now, you know I don’t gamble, except for the slots.” Dana gathered her things and ran her hand through her short hair.
“Your brother does that a lot. You two are alike.” Jen studied her.
“Does what? Plays slots?”
“No, I meant pushes his hand through his hair like that.”
Dana laughed and shook her head. They walked up the slope to the path to the beach house.
“What’s funny?”
Dana stopped and turned to face her friend. “Jen, you’re full of shit. You have it so bad for Shawn…I bet if he tapped on your door tonight you’d be on all fours so quickly…”
“Dana! I can’t believe you!” Jennifer pushed her up the sand embankment and kept cursing.
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“So I think your brother is cute. Big deal, sue me.”
“Just cute?”
“Well, hot, okay? And nice. And brilliant, and really, really kind. And did I say he’s hot?” Jennifer stopped and Dana turned around.
“Uh-oh.” Dana looked over her sunglasses. “And you’ve written a book about him, hoping to let him know how you feel?”
“Something like that. Shit, he’s going to think I’m the biggest loser…”
“Jen, stop it. Don’t do that to yourself. That’s Frank talking. Not Shawn. Shawn worships the ground you walk on. Everyone he’s dated in the last four years has been a pathetic imitation of you. Give him a chance. Just take it slowly, okay? Or he might have a coronary.” Dana turned back towards the boardwalk. “Unless he already has. We’d better go check on him. He’s probably finished the book by now.” She giggled.
They reached the house and kicked off their flip-flops, dropped their towels and chairs, and pushed through the kitchen door together. Jennifer’s heart fluttered in nervousness as Dana called upstairs to her brother.
“Shawn!” Dana called in a singsong voice. “Guess what I found out?”
Jennifer widened her eyes in panic, shook her head, and put her hand over Dana’s mouth. Shawn wandered into the kitchen to find the women locked in that position. Jennifer kicked Dana’s ankle, and she nipped at Jennifer’s hand with her teeth.
“What’s gotten into the two of you?” Shawn pushed his hand through his hair. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head as he stared at them.
The two women burst into laughter at the gesture.
“I found out we’re going to Atlantic City tonight, isn’t that right, Jen?”
“I thought you said it was a dump? A hellhole? That you’d never put money into the Mob’s pockets. That there was no such thing as a winner…”
“Shut up and shower, Shawn.” Dana patted her brother’s cheek and ran out of the kitchen.
As Jennifer stood still and held Shawn’s gaze for a moment, his nerves caught fire and his heart pounded as if it would leap from his chest. He had never wanted anything more in his life than to kiss this beautiful woman.
Instead he tried to look and sound nonchalant. “Ready for my feedback on your writing?”
She turned her back and grabbed a soda from the fridge and threw it to him. “You’re burnt, Shawn. Gotta watch it, even in September.”
“Nah, I’ll be tan by tomorrow. I got the Black Irish part. Dana got Mom’s coloring.”
“Oh, uh-huh.”
“I asked you a question. Want to hear it again? Actually, I have a few questions.”
Shawn saw her take in a deep breath. She opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head. “Let it go, Shawn. Every character has to look like someone.”
“That’s what I told myself at first. Do you like your hero, Jen?”
“Like him? Sure, you have to like your hero. What’s not to like, anyway? He’s gorgeous, young, sexy…”
“Right. I guess you don’t know anyone like that. I’ve been told I’m handsome under the right light, maybe if you squint. I am a few years younger than you. Maybe I have to work on sexy, though. What do you think?”
“Yeah, work on that.” Jen’s sarcasm and smirk thrilled Shawn, and he moved a few steps towards her.
“I wonder why you wrote a story about brothers? Married to one, in love with the other. Well, in lust at least.”
“Would you like to be him, Shawn?” Jennifer bit at her lip and he took another step towards her. Is she serious? Is this serious?
When he didn’t answer, she shrugged, picked up her things, and headed towards the stairs. She turned and nearly whispered, “I see. That’s a damn shame, Shawn. Because I thought of you every moment I
wrote the thing. Hey, at least I finished my romance.” She ran up the stairs and Shawn stood in shock, listening to her slam the door to her room. He ran up the stairs and banged on her door.
“What? I’m getting into the shower,” she called out.
“Yes! The answer is yes. Do you hear me? Jen? I want to be him! I am him, aren’t I? Damn it, open the door!” He leaned his head against the door and groaned. “What a fucking idiot,” he mumbled as he made his way down the hall, and turned when he heard her door open. Jennifer peered around the corner of the door.
“Really?”
He managed a breathless nod.
Jennifer smiled more broadly, puckered a kiss at him, and dangled a towel in front of the door. Giggling like a young girl, she slammed the door shut again.
Shawn pounded on the door and struggled with the locked handle.
“Open up! Damn it, Jen!”
“Ahem.” Dana opened her door and leaned against the frame, arms across her chest, grinning broadly. “This is amusing.”
“Not now, Dana. Go away. Far away.” He tried the handle again and then put his ear to the door, and heard the shower running. “Shit.” He turned to Dana, who was laughing, one hand covering her mouth. “Our sister-in-law is a fucking tease.”
“Ex-sister-in-law. This is so damned cute.” She coughed dramatically. “You know, Shawn, I’m not feeling well. I may be coming down with a bad cold. Here, feel my head.” She coughed more dramatically. “I don’t think I can join the two of you for dinner. Darn. I think I’ll take a little nap. Have fun without me.” She winked.
“You’re a terrible actress.”
“I know.”
She turned to her room and Shawn put his hand on her shoulder. “Dana?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“What’s going on here? I mean, am I imagining all this?” He leaned against the wall and blew out a deep breath. “I’ve wanted her so long…even when Frank…”
“I know, honey. I know.”
“Frank! My God, what the hell would he say if I hit on his ex-wife?”
“He lost the right to say anything when he cheated on her, robbed her and the rest of the family blind to support his habit, and then turned his back on our offer to get him help.”
“I don’t know. You don’t think she’s looking for another Frank? We look a little alike…”
“You don’t look anything alike and you’re asking the wrong woman. For once in your life, Shawn, why don’t go after what you want. The worst that can happen is you can say you tried. Who knows, you might get lucky in Atlantic City.”
Dana looked at Shawn seriously as she grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek.
“Shawn, have I ever told you that you’re really, really handsome and that women like Jen fantasize about men like you? No? Don’t expect me to ever say it again. Have a great night. I love you.”
“Me too.” Shawn ran to his room and grabbed the pages of Jen’s manuscript, desperate to ensure he hadn’t missed a clue, anything that would tell him what she wanted.
Chapter Six
Simon nodded absently to Cecelia’s young friend—what was her name? Esmeralda? The girl put her hand on his arm and did her best to push her small breasts upwards by arching her back. The whole damned county had designs on his holdings, and Esmeralda’s father was no exception, now offering his third daughter as chattel. Esmeralda was fair but insipid, and she paled in comparison to Gwyneth, the Raven, a grown woman with a brain and breasts to feed on and secrets between her thighs begging to be uncovered.
He had quenched his passion only a few times in the last year, and only with whores he knew would never lay a claim to becoming mistress of Carnoor.
Simon bowed politely and extracted himself from Esmeralda’s flirtations. He made his way to the serving table to down more hearty wine, to push away thoughts of Gwyneth, of their one night of passion. What should he do—reveal himself and hope that the night had held magic for her as well? Or keep his deception a secret, and apologize for his suspicions, his behavior. He felt foolish. The woman had no lover, Adrian had confirmed it.
“Oh, damn you to hell,” he chastised himself. He wondered how he could have punished an innocent woman.
He looked at the door each time a new guest arrived. Couples danced to the pipes and drums that grew louder with each tune. The cackling laughter of matrons grated on his nerves, as if they laughed at his childish crush. Simon wanted to throw his goblet against the wall and frighten the guests into leaving his home.
He had sent the carriage to Gwyneth’s door, but the coachman had returned to say the lady was not at home. Surely she hadn’t walked several miles to the manor? She would not arrive, and Cecelia would be crushed. And Simon would toss and turn in his bed again until he was forced to find his release alone, finally admitting that the Raven would fear him forever, forgive him never. Her touch would grow into a bittersweet memory.
When he heard Cecelia’s excited squeal, his heart missed a beat. Gwyneth! He looked to the doorway and saw a flash of deep red fabric as she removed her heavy black cloak. Simon moved subtly to get a better view. Her cheeks were flushed—perhaps she had walked after all. Her gown was simple and stunning, her full breasts threatening to escape their tentative prison, her full hips making the fabric of her dress swish as she scampered to her dear young friend. Gwyneth’s black hair was piled into ribbons of midnight velvet, some escaping the arrangement to caress her white skin.
This is the woman who used her tongue and lips to bring you to incredible bliss. Who bent over a low wall to let you fill her, pound her with your need. Who opened her legs to wantonly display her precious folds, to caress herself for your pleasure…no, for the monk’s pleasure.
He watched Gwyneth scan the room and, as her gaze fell on him, his heart flopped a second time. Why, you fool! Weakling! One night of coupling and you are at her mercy?
“Raven,” he muttered under his breath. Her name was enough to bring him to his knees.
Gwyneth tried to pull away from Simon’s burning gaze to attend to the chatter of her diminutive friend. She looked into Cecelia’s loving eyes, feeling both pity and love for the young woman.
“Oh, Gwyn, I simply love the gift, I knew you would come, I told Simon you could never stay away, that you would be… Why, attend to me, sister, what is the matter?”
Cecelia narrowed her pale blue eyes and followed Gwyneth’s gaze to see her brother’s rude stare.
“Do not trouble yourself over Simon, Gwyneth. He gave permission for you to attend. He seemed rather happy at the idea—you have nothing to fear! He will not insult you on my special day.”
“It is not fear, Cec.”
Gwyneth breathed in and pulled her gaze back to her friend to break Simon’s hold. But his image burned into her brain—his stunningly handsome face, deep rich hair that brushed his rough-hewn white shirt, tight leggings that revealed muscles and contours that spoke to her core. He’d looked nearly the same since he was a very young man, but now, all the qualities had intensified. Even his tiny scar stirred her. How could a flaw look so perfect, so compelling?
Gwyneth shook her head in amazement at her own revelation. Had she acquiesced to her father’s wish for her to marry Lester simply to be near the youth who sent her senses reeling? And now, in his full manhood, how could she not crave him? Oh Simon, if only you had been born first, I could have been your wife. These years, would they have been as I imagined? Would I have been enough for you?
“And may I be introduced to this lady, young Cecelia?”
Gwyneth looked up into the eyes of a handsome young man of no more than twenty years. His dark golden hair fell over deep blue eyes. His sly smile extended to his eyes as he took Gwyneth’s hand and pressed his lips against her skin. She felt a chill as he turned her hand over and pressed a kiss into her palm.
“Sir! This is my sister-in-law, the Lady of Carnoor, Lester’s widow. Do not take such liberties!”
“Oh, Cecelia, alway
s the proper girl! Must we ship you off to a nunnery? If you will not have me, must I join the monastery as well?”
Cecelia groaned in frustration and shook her head and wagged her finger at the man. “Gwyneth, this is the insufferable oaf you no doubt heard of from Lester. My second cousin Patric, the blackest sheep ever sired.”
“Oh, indeed! You were but a lad when I saw you last, Patric!”
“And have I grown sufficiently in your eyes, Lady Gwyneth?” His smirk made her laugh. He was, indeed, quite compelling.
“You have grown indeed, as has your ego, I see!”
A strong hand pressed her arm. Simon pulled her around to face him. Gwyneth’s heart raced as she met Simon’s stormy stare.
“I hate to interrupt this charming reunion, but I would have a word with Gwyneth alone.” Simon did not hide his fury at Patric, who arched a brow and smirked.
Simon pulled Gwyneth out of the room and up the sweeping stairs to the dark second storey. Cecelia called to him, but he did not stop.
Gwyneth tried as hard as she could to keep up with Simon and not trip on her long gown as he made a blistering pace up the stairs and down the hall. He grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall and pulled her into a dark room, kicking the door closed behind her.
Finally, he released her arm and stood back from her. Gwyneth’s legs trembled at being in Simon’s private chambers, alone with him at last. The sconce he placed on the wall cast shadows about the room, revealing little, but Gwyneth remembered the details well. It was once her room, as the former Mistress of Carnoor.
“Sir, I was an invited guest. Did I not receive an invitation written in your own hand?”
“Indeed, who else would have written it?”
“As I recall, your sister has some knowledge of the learned arts. Or have you punished her in the last year as well? Turned your back on your own philosophy? I once admired your concern for Cecelia and your certainty that a woman could be a worthy pupil. Now I see you have grown to match your deceased brother in temperament.”
Simon turned away with a clenched fist. When he turned back, he pounded his fist on the table so that it shook. “Damn you to hell, woman. Do not fight with me!”
