Sinister Summer

by Colleen Gleason

  A loon called out, sending a shiver of familiarity down Ethan’s spine, and its cry was joined by a whippoorwill and chirping crickets: the comforting, familiar sounds of Michigan in the summer.

  The canoe moved silently through the water, the oar cutting into its blackness with clean, smooth strokes. After a while, Ethan drew the paddle from the water and rested it across his thighs, letting the canoe drift. He was in no hurry to get home.

  Diana’s silhouette only hinted at her features in the dim light, but he could picture the wide, full curve of her mouth with no trouble at all. The moonlight gleamed over her ivory skin and iced her hair with a blue tint. She sat on the canoe bench, facing him with her knees to one side, and feet tucked modestly under her seat as women did when wearing short skirts. She had taken off her sandals, though, and the silver shoes gleamed on the dark floor. He could see the soft ripples the breeze made, playing with her thick, sexy hair.

  Ethan drew in a long, slow breath and admitted it: he hadn’t felt this depth of attraction for a woman since…well, forever. Maybe even ever. No matter how much he didn’t want to be attracted to the stiff, repressed attorney, he was.

  And, sadly, the knowledge that Diana was involved with another man was the only thing that kept him from making a move, female moratorium or no.

  “This is so peaceful,” she said after a moment.

  She didn’t ask him why he’d stopped paddling, nor did she seem to mind that they simply drifted—odd for a woman so hesitant about taking the canoe in the first place. Not that he minded in the least. She was a lot more approachable now that she’d mellowed out a bit. Since they’d had that talk yesterday in her kitchen. He had to admit he really admired the sincere admission of her mistake and her gracious apology.

  “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” he asked.

  Diana’s smile gleamed in the darkness. She turned so that the wind caught her full in the face, allowing the breeze to lift and toss her thick hair. “Yes. More than I thought I would. The people of Wicks Hollow are an interesting bunch.”

  “With Maxine topping the list of interesting characters,” he added, and she laughed.

  “Yes, but it’s obvious that, despite her caustic ways, she’s got a heart of gold.”

  “And a spine of steel. Impossible to get that woman to do anything she doesn’t want to.”

  “That’s the way it should be—when you get to be eighty years old. Aunt Jean was that way too. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She was just who she was.”

  “I think that’s part of the blessing of age,” he said, thinking of his mother. “And a lesson we can take from our elders.”

  “Spoken like a true cultural anthropologist,” she said dryly, and he laughed.

  Silence reigned between them for a moment. Again, there was only the cry of the loon and the occasional plop of the oar sliding into the water as he adjusted their path. He would have been lulled by the peacefulness if he weren’t so damned aware of her.

  At last he spoke. “Have you looked up the meaning of those two cards you have lying out in the den?”

  Diana’s shoulders drew up and he saw her stiffen across the boat. “Of course not. I told you, I don’t pay any attention to those things.”

  “Would you like to know what they mean?”

  She didn’t respond; just stared up at the heavens.

  Way to ruin the mood, Murphy. He continued to paddle, debating with himself whether to remain silent or to share what he knew.

  The latter won out—as it most often did. He was, after all, at the heart, a teacher.

  “The Wheel of Fortune often indicates a turning point in one’s life,” he spoke quietly. “It suggests that one is experiencing a change—such as in a relationship or career—or becoming aware of a larger picture...or even learning one’s true role or purpose in life.”

  When Diana didn’t speak, he continued, trying to keep his tone conversational. “The interesting thing is that the Two of Swords is an opposing card—it’s very odd that you should pull those two up together.”

  “I didn’t pull them.” Her body language indicated some sort of struggle, as her shoulders rounded and her hands fisted in her lap.

  “The Two of Swords alludes to someone being at a stalemate, or having blocked emotions and denying one’s true feelings. It can even mean someone is avoiding the truth.”

  He adjusted the boat’s drift once more, and to his dismay, saw Jean’s white clapboard house looming far too close. A single light burned in one of the windows.

  “What were you thinking about when you drew those cards, Diana?”

  She bent forward, resting her head in her hands. “I didn’t draw them, Ethan.” Her voice was muffled. “I think Aunt Jean did.”

  “What did you say?” He stared at her, questioning his own hearing as much as her words.

  She looked up from her hands, eyes wide with shock and despair, glistening in the faulty light. “I don’t know.” Her voice trailed off into a pained moan. “I don’t know what to think, Ethan.”

  Was she crying?

  Oh, Christ.

  He set the oar aside and stood carefully, one foot on each side of the gunwale. Holding the sides of the canoe to steady the vessel, he took careful, crablike steps until he was able to crouch in front of her.

  Any other words he may have uttered froze in his throat as he became wholly, startlingly aware of her—her nearness, her scent, the soft brush of her knees against his legs. Ethan tentatively touched her head, his fingers sinking into the depths of her hair and sliding down the back of her skull. “I’m sorry. I pushed too hard.”

  She raised her face, inches from him, and he could see that, yes, tears glittered in her eyes. He was shocked that the cool facade had been stripped from her face, and naked emotion—fear, pain, confusion—shone in her moonlit features.

  “Migraine,” she managed to say, agony lacing her voice. “So sudden…I think I may be going to…get sick.”

  His hormones pulled back, replaced by instant concern. “Do you have meds in your purse? Can you take them without water?”

  She shook her head, huddling back into her lap. “No.” Her voice was muffled with pain. “At home.”

  Ethan turned quickly, gingerly, and hurried back to the end of the canoe as the boat rocked with his haste. But he was careful—the last thing she needed was to get dumped in the lake.

  He picked up the paddle and began to make clean, strong strokes. The boat surged through the water and moments later, he was helping her out of the tipsy canoe at Jean’s dock.

  Through a haze of pain, Diana made her feet move in the proper direction. She stumbled over a sharp rock and gasped in pain—she’d left her shoes in the boat. Before she could protest, Ethan swept her up, gathering her against his chest. As his strong arms encircled her, she allowed her head to drop onto the front of his shoulder.

  It was so nice to just…let go.

  His steps were sure and smooth, and she closed her eyes, trying to relax against the pain, while being very aware of the strong arms around her, and the heat of his granite-like chest seeping through his shirt.

  The bob and sway, the easy ebb and flow that jolted her against him as he made his way up the path was surprisingly comforting. Her cheek rested on the taut, warm material of his shirt, and when she drew in a deep breath, she caught his scent—that deep, masculine essence that seemed comforting and invigorating all at once.

  His stride changed as they neared the top of the incline. “Almost there.” His voice was quiet and steady in her ear, despite his exertions.

  “Thank you.” Her mouth almost brushed the warmth of his neck, and she turned slightly away, aware that beneath her misery was a strong flare of attraction toward him.

  “I’m going to have to set you down,” he said, stepping onto the porch. “Do you know where your keys are?” His voice was more gentle than she’d ever heard it, and he set her carefully, as if she were made of the most fragile glass
, on the porch swing.

  He got both of them into the house efficiently, and settled her in Aunt Jean’s chair in the library. “I’ll get you something to take those pills with.”

  When he returned, she gulped two capsules and the water, and allowed Ethan to take the glass from her limp fingers. Resting her head back against the chair, she closed her eyes as she heard him turn on the lamp with a soft click. “Thank you.”

  Without speaking, Ethan pulled up a chair next to her. There was silence for a long while, and if he hadn’t been sitting next to her, Diana would have thought he’d left. When the pain eased and she opened her eyes, she found him watching her from his seat.

  “Better now?”

  Diana nodded, suddenly very aware of his nearness and the blatant heat in his eyes. She shifted in her seat to shake off the intense awareness, her heart thumping crazily, and looked away from him—anywhere but at those steady, deep brown eyes fringed by thick, curling lashes.

  By some misfortune, her gaze landed on the two Tarot cards that remained in their places on the desk, and Ethan’s attention followed hers.

  Nevertheless, he said nothing until a few moments passed, and then it wasn’t what she’d expected.

  “How often do you have migraines like this?”

  “Hardly ever anymore,” she replied. “But I’ve been having them much more frequently in the last week. And they’ve been more intense, coming on more quickly than I can ever remember. Maybe there’s something in the air up here.”

  Ethan gave her a significant look. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  But Diana was already violently rejecting the idea—whatever it was. “I’m under a lot of stress,” she explained. “With work, and…other stuff.”

  “Diana. At the risk of infuriating you, I’d like to suggest something.” He grinned crookedly, but his eyes became wary.

  “Infuriating me?”

  “Is it possible the migraines could be the result of an inability, or an unwillingness, to allow parts of your unconscious to surface to your conscious mind?” His gaze searched hers as he continued, “Because you’re suppressing something from your consciousness?”

  She gaped at him, ready to argue, but just then, a shrill brrrringg! cut the silence. She looked down the hall toward the kitchen, where she could see the phone sitting like an ugly black toad.

  It was either Jonathan calling…or it wasn’t. But it was nearly midnight. Who else would be calling here?

  “Answer it. Please?”

  Ethan gave her a measured look, but he rose to do as she asked. She watched him pick up the phone and realized she’d curled her fingers in to fists.

  “Hello,” he said. There was a pause, then, “Yes, she’s here. Who’s calling?”

  Diana was already out of the chair. She didn’t need Ethan to convey any message, for Jonathan’s irate tones were audible. Her insides were a jumble, for she knew she’d just crossed a chasm, making a leap from which she and Jonathan might never recover.

  And for some reason, it didn’t bother her.

  She held out her hand for the receiver. “Hi Jonathan.”

  “Who is that?” he demanded. “I’ve been calling you all night, and you haven’t answered your cell phone either. What’s a man doing at your house this late?”

  “Definitely not the same thing Valerie the Voracious Vixen was doing in your hotel room in Las Vegas,” she said, much more calmly than she felt.

  “Diana,” he gasped, his shock reverberating over the wire. “When are you going to let that go? I told you, I made a mistake. Is this—is this some sort of revenge play? So you can get even with me?” He heaved a deep, wounded sigh. “I guess I can understand it, Diana-baby. And if that’s what it takes for you to get over this, then I guess I have no choice.”

  She avoided looking at Ethan as she replied, “Think what you like, Jonathan.” Then she lapsed into silence—a powerful place to be. Waiting for him to speak.

  “Diana,” he said again, a little more strongly this time. “When are you coming home? I miss you,” he added, his voice softening. “I don’t know how you think we can work this out with you gone like this.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be here for more than another week or two.”

  “Another week? Or two?” His voice rose. Then, as if realizing his mistake, he softened his voice yet again. “I miss you, Diana. I love you. Come home soon to me. Please?”

  “Good night, Jonathan,” she said, and reached across Ethan to hang up the phone. Only after the receiver settled into place did she look at him.

  “Valerie the Voracious Vixen?” A smile played around the corners of his mouth.

  Diana couldn’t contain a little smile of her own. “That’s one of the more polite things I’ve called her.” She bit her lip and then, suddenly feeling utterly awkward, began to play with the twisty phone cord. “Thank you. For—for everything tonight.”

  Ethan stood, still watching her. She could fairly feel the curiosity and unspoken questions rolling off him, and appreciated it when he only said, “I guess I’ll be heading home now.”

  But he made no move to do so.

  Diana’s palms felt damp and something alive seemed to be squiggling around in her stomach, not at all unpleasantly. In fact, the feeling was warm and expectant, and exciting.

  The cool air of summer night wafted in through the open window, bringing the scent of lake and a distant bonfire. But it was him she was most aware of—the crisp, masculine scent in which she’d buried her face only a short time ago, the warmth of his presence, the solidness of his strength.

  Diana’s heart began to thump harder as she looked up at him, and it was all she could do to keep from backing away. His eyes were dark, glittering with sudden heat as he assessed her.

  “Have a good night, Ethan,” she said, her pulse rate suddenly skyrocketing. “Thank you again.”

  “Don’t you think we ought to make this mutually beneficial?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with irony. His gaze seemed to pin her there, against the counter in the kitchen. Even though he still had not moved to leave.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you’re going to use me as a deterrent to your boyfriend, or a pawn in your game of revenge, I think it’s only right,” he said, reaching for her smoothly but unequivocally, “that I actually earn the reputation.” He closed his hands around her elbows, tugging her so close that her bare feet bumped his shoes. “Don’t you, Diana?”

  She couldn’t move, even when she saw that his attention had fixed on her mouth—the mouth that she knew was parted slightly, moist from the tip of her nervous tongue…and waiting in anticipation for his to close over it.

  “I…” Her heart was ramming hard and loud in her chest, and a flush of heat surged up through her body.

  “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his face moving closer, filling her vision as he captured her mouth with his.

  His move was soft and sensual, coaxing her to relax against him as his lips covered hers. He caressed her mouth lightly at first, teasing her, playing with the taste and texture of her lips as his fingers tightened at her waist.

  Diana settled her hands against him, against his broad chest, feeling the warmth and firm shift of muscle beneath. That lively squiggling in her belly turned to heat and pleasure, rolling through her, spiraling down to her core.

  Oh God. She lost her brains right then, lost every bit of common sense and control as she turned her face up to take more of his kiss, to absorb him. He gave a soft sigh at her surrender, and their lips and tongues tangled in a sleek, sensual dance. His hair felt soft and thick around her fingers, his shoulders spanned wide and muscular beneath her palm.

  When he moved from her mouth, trailing his lips to the curve of her jaw to whisper her name near her ear, Diana realized she was sagging weakly, her body plastered to him, the edge of the counter pressing into her spine. It was that sharp bite from the formica that brought her back to herself. She pulle
d away, panting a little, and definitely muddle-headed.

  Ethan was watching her with those hot amber eyes, his chest rising and falling, his lips full and damp from her. She pressed a hand to her own swollen mouth and stared up at him.

  “Well, then,” he murmured in a low, rough voice. “That was a good start.” He started to reach for her again, but she slipped away.

  “Do you feel better now?” she asked, forcing a little bite into her voice.

  “Not precisely.” He was still looking at her with dark intensity, and her stomach gave a surge and flip at the heat in his brown eyes. “But if that’s what’s going to happen when you use me to get back at your boyfriend, I’m not going to complain.”

  “I didn’t—I wasn’t ….” Her voice trailed off. “Hell. Yes I was. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry—for that,” he murmured. His eyes slid over her, as sure and heavy as if he touched her with his hands. “I’m not.”

  “Ethan,” she said, struggling to keep her composure. “I didn’t mean—I mean, this doesn’t mean anything. Jonathan is still—” She crossed her arms over her middle as a shield against him. “Everything was innocent until…you…” Her voice trailed off. Her lips were still throbbing, and there were other areas of her body that were hot and damp and pulsing as well. “I think you’d better go.”

  He gave her one last steady look, then a curt nod. “All right. Good night, Diana.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next evening, Diana was in the kitchen making pasta for dinner. She’d spent most of the day working—responding to emails, reviewing documents from the office, and beginning to schedule depositions for the AXT case.

  As she tossed her serving of bucatini with garlic and oil, she realized she kept glancing at the ugly black phone, half expecting its shrill ring.

  Of course Ethan hadn’t called. She hadn’t expected him to.

  Because he wouldn’t.

  He’d just come over and walk right into the house, she thought with a sudden smile.