“And when you walked up those chapel stairs, I got chill bumps from the way he watched you.” “If he isn’t just to die for…” “What are you doing at work today, girl? If he was my new husband, I’d be honeymoonin’.”
New husband. Legally speaking, he was. Only she and he knew differently.
Forcing a smile, she joked, murmured thanks for the compliments and sold an astounding number of dresses. At the first lull, her mother and sister wilted into chairs on either side of Tess, stunned by the response to the prime-time television broadcast.
“I decided to open the store this morning,” Margaret said, “since your father’s still in the hospital, and there’s not much for me to do. I barely had the place open before I was swamped. Then Kristen dropped by to tell me the news about Josh, and when she saw how busy I was, she stayed.”
“The news?” Tess turned to Kristen in surprise. “About Josh?”
Her sister’s lovely blue eyes lit with a smile, and she explained, “Late last night, Josh started to feel tingles in his leg. This morning, he responded to reflex tests. The doctor said those are excellent signs that he might recover all feeling and use of his leg.”
“Kris, that’s great.” Tess squeezed her hand. “I’m praying that he does.”
“Pray that he beats those criminal charges, too. I can’t stand to think of him being sent to—” She broke off, bit her lip with a sudden welling in her eyes.
Tess’s heart bled for her. “We’ll beat those assault charges, Kris. It was just a misunderstanding, and we’ll make the court see that.”
“That reminds me,” Margaret said. “A lawyer called your father all the way from New York. He offered to represent him and Josh in the criminal action for next to nothing. We think he’s after the publicity. Wouldn’t it be great, not having to pay?”
Tension percolated through Tess at that news and she wasn’t even sure why. “What’s this attorney’s name, Mama?”
“Let’s see. Hmmm.” She screwed up her face, then shook her head. “I can’t recall at the moment. But your father was very pleased. It seems like our luck may have started changing for the better.”
Luck? The luck of the McCrarys was starting to change for the better? The thought brought to mind the curse and all its implications. Could their turn of luck be due to the fact that she and Cole were complying with its terms? She pushed that notion away, reluctant to get her hopes up; to believe it could be so simple.
“What about you, honey?” Margaret eyed Tess with concern. “Did everything go okay yesterday? We hardly talked at all when you called last night. You sounded so preoccupied.”
“Preoccupied?” Of course she’d been preoccupied, with Cole on his way up to plant his seed within her. “I was just tired, I guess.”
“This morning when you were late, I was worried. You’re never late.”
“I’m sorry you were worried, Mama. I overslept. I had a hard time getting to sleep last night, so…” Warmth rushed to her face. “N-not a hard time, really. Being in a strange bed, I… Well, the bed wasn’t strange. But—”
She was saved from her floundering by another gust of business. Chattering customers gradually filled the shop and kept all three of them busy for a while.
When the pace again slowed and only a few customers remained, the telephone behind the counter rang and Kristen answered. “Oh, hello, Mr. Westcott.” Tess, who stood directly across the counter from her, stiffened in surprise. Kristen pointedly met her gaze. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted cautiously into the receiver. “Cole, then.”
Tess noticed that her sister’s usually friendly tone held a cool note of reserve. She supposed she understood. Her family had always considered him the enemy, but even more so now, in light of their opposing legal interests. Oddly enough, though, Kristen’s coolness toward Cole bothered Tess. It hadn’t been his fault that the crisis had happened. His cousin’s, maybe, but not his.
Caution lurked in Kristen’s eyes as she politely responded to something Cole had said. “They’re both doing a little better, thanks. But we won’t know for a while how much damage has been done.” After another moment, her golden eyebrows rose. “Oh, thank you. That’s … very nice.” In a warmer tone, she murmured, “Yes, I’ll get her.”
Covering the mouthpiece as she handed the phone to Tess, she whispered, “It’s him. Cole.” As if everyone in the store wasn’t already aware of that. Customers had broken off in their conversations the moment she’d said “Mr. Westcott.” Kristen knit her brows and added in a confidential undertone that Tess hoped only she could hear, “He says he’ll do everything he can to help us with Daddy and Josh’s situation.”
A warm, gratified feeling radiated through Tess to know he’d reassured her sister. He was a fundamentally kind, caring man, and she had no doubt he meant what he’d said. She knew he didn’t want to see her family harmed.
That thought stopped her cold. She knew he didn’t want to see her family harmed. When had she come to that conclusion? He was a Westcott … one of the very ones who had helped drive her father to ruin. Yet, she did trust him.
A little more of her world had somehow ceased to make sense.
“Tess?” prompted Kristen, holding the phone out to her with a concerned frown.
Taking the phone from her sister with a ridiculous thud of her heart, she turned her back to the watchful eyes, which included Kristen’s and her mother’s. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
The very sound of his sexy baritone set her pulse to leaping. “Hi.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day.”
Reaction sizzled through her, as sharply as if he’d pulled her into his arms. Conscious of her audience, she cast a quick look around. Everyone turned politely away, but the shop remained suspiciously quiet.
“Hold for a moment, please.” Striving for a business-like air, Tess returned the receiver to Kristen. “Would you please hit the hold button and hang this up? I’ll take it in the bedroom.” Mortification struck her as she realized what she’d said. “I … I meant the office! I’ll take the call in the office.” Her face burned as she strode to the back of the store, pretending not to notice the customers’ smirks and knowing glances.
How could she have made such a humiliating slip? It was all his fault for throwing her off-balance. After locking the office door, she snatched up the phone. “I can’t believe you’re calling me at work and saying things like that.”
“Things like what? That I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day? It’s true. And uncomfortable as hell, believe me.” She heard the wry note in his voice, and imagined how his eyes looked right now, brimming with that fine, dry humor. “I was called away too early this morning. Pipes broke at one of my waterfront restaurants and flooded the place. The manager quit, the chef threatened suicide, and the governor is supposed to be holding a fund-raiser there tonight. Otherwise,” his voice lowered into a gruff, teasing murmur, “I’d have knocked the phone off the hook at home and we’d still be there, you and I, in my big ole’ bed … doing all sorts of necessary things.”
She leaned weakly against the desk, overcome by a flux of heat, indignation and reluctant amusement. Worst of all, pure feminine gratification. He had wanted her this morning. And he wanted her now. “I think that’s assuming quite a lot.”
“I think we need a honeymoon.”
She pressed a hand to her heart. Every thundering beat shook her.
“What about it, Tess? A few weeks. Somewhere we can be alone.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling. What was she doing, letting him rile her into a state of starry-eyed arousal? And over the phone, yet. “Cole, about what happened between us last night…”
“Our wedding night happened last night.”
She almost groaned. She liked the way he saw things, and didn’t want to argue. She liked the way he made
her feel, and didn’t want the feeling to end. “But we both know that we aren’t—”
“I’ll tell you what I know, Tess. For the rest of my life, when I think of my bride, I’ll remember last night. And I’ll get hot and hard for wanting you. “
An awesome heat washed through her. An irresistible heat. The rest of his life. She knew it wasn’t true. He’d used it as a figure of speech. Poetic exaggeration. And though he’d called her “my bride,” she hadn’t really been his bride. Their vows had been a mockery. Someday he would marry, she felt sure. And Tess McCrary would be long forgotten. Rightfully so.
But his hoarse whisper had set her ablaze with dangerous yearning. He was a threat. A terrible threat. She couldn’t take anything he said or did too seriously.
“Choose a place,” he urged. “Anywhere. And we’ll lose ourselves there.”
Oh, yes. She would indeed lose herself. In the steadiest voice possible, she replied, “You do understand, Cole, that the seed has already been planted. There’s no need for a … replanting.”
Abject silence answered her. She believed she’d stunned him.
Rising on weakened legs from her perch at the edge of the desk, she murmured, “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“There is a need, Tess. We proved that last night.”
“I’m too busy to talk now.” Her whisper shook. “I’ll see you—” At home, she’d been about to say. But the word seemed too intimate.
“At home,” he finished for her. “I’ll see you at home, Tess. For dinner.” As she struggled with the realization that he understood her too well, he added, “And bring the rest of your clothes, along with anything else that would make you feel that you live here. Do you need help moving anything? I’ll meet you at your apartment, if you want. I can send a moving crew and truck tomorrow for the bigger pieces.”
“No, I won’t be moving furniture. I won’t be staying all that long.”
Tense silence stretched between them across the phone line.
“Maybe not. But while you’re with me, I want my home to be your home.”
She couldn’t allow herself to start thinking that way. She didn’t try to explain, though. He wouldn’t understand. Or he might understand too well. “Thank you.” She hung up the phone before he could say another word. He had a way of rousing her emotions even when he was simply being nice.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a daze for her. Though she tried to keep her mind on her work, Cole never left her thoughts. And every time she glanced at the clock, it was to see how much longer she had until she’d be with him again.
That realization alone shook her up. Worse, though, was the knowledge that he wouldn’t let her have the last word about their lovemaking. She knew him well enough to be sure of that.
With a disturbing sense of self-discovery, she realized that the challenge of squaring off with him over that particular issue stirred her. And her growing tension had less to do with apprehension than with anticipation. Breathless, bone-deep anticipation.
To be with him again. To spend another night in his bed, regardless of what they did there.
Trying to ruthlessly squelch that anticipation, she dropped by her apartment after work and took her time packing another suitcase. She wouldn’t hurry or glance at her watch or wonder if he was waiting for her. And she wouldn’t be caught without adequate clothing again, no matter what situation arose. As she tossed in the last few pairs of shorts and tops, her gaze lit on the framed photograph of Phillip on her dresser.
Emotions assaulted her—guilt that she had betrayed him with another man; anger that he had left her and never returned; longing for the simplicity of their relationship. But strongest of all was confusion. Why had her lovemaking with Cole wrenched her very soul from its moorings, when she’d never felt anything close to that with Phillip?
Thinking back, she tried to remember the specifics and couldn’t. Their physical relations had always been pleasant, though. Loving. Considerate. She’d believed herself to be satisfied. What accounted for the strikingly vital difference?
Passion. There’d been no real passion with Phillip.
Perhaps she wasn’t being fair, comparing Phillip to Cole in that way. While Phillip had been the attractive, golden-haired professor that had set feminine hearts aflutter on campus, he’d also been an everyday kind of guy who became preoccupied with his work and, during his off-time, with the university’s sports, world news, classic cars and, always but always, anthropology. Which, although annoying at times, had also been endearing. He was a steady, hardworking man who would make a wonderful partner throughout life. So what if passionate lovemaking wasn’t his strong suit?
Cole, on the other hand, was a fantasy lover come true. Sinfully handsome, hard-bodied, quick-witted, he possessed the uncanny ability to appeal to the female of the species on every conceivable level—his looks, his voice, his touch. His humor. His ability to say and do the exact right things to light fires in a woman’s blood. He focused with such thrilling intensity on a woman that she felt incredibly desirable. And his kisses made her believe in her heart of hearts that he was falling in love with her.
Tess closed her eyes against the heated pang inspired by that thought.
Like the blaze of a shooting star, though, Cole’s awesome magic couldn’t last a lifetime, or even years. By his very definition—fantasy lover—he belonged not to one woman, but to every woman. She couldn’t allow herself to believe differently.
Taking the photo of Phillip from her dresser, she resolutely packed it along with her clothes. She wouldn’t flaunt the photo in front of Cole, or display it in his house. She respected him more than that. But she would keep it with her, tucked away in her belongings for occasional glances. Whenever she felt too drawn to Cole, too overcome by his appeal, a glance at Philip’s face would remind her of the important difference between them. Even if Phillip never returned, she couldn’t fall into the trap of expecting Cole to play the role that Phillip would have filled so admirably
She also retrieved the old family bible from her desk and made a copy of the curse with the scanner she’d bought during her years as financial aid director. It had occurred to her earlier today that if the translation had been written incorrectly in Cole’s bible, hers could also be wrong. Did the McCrary family’s curse mention any specifics she wasn’t aware of? Just to make sure she was covering all her bases, she would have a translator look at the original Gaelic version as soon as possible.
Determined to keep her thoughts on practical matters such as this, she drove to Westcott Hall. When she arrived and discovered nobody home except Mrs. Johannsen, she told herself she was glad. She used the time to unpack her suitcase and arrange her clothes into the dresser and closet space that Mrs. Johannsen indicated as hers, upon express orders from Mr. Westcott.
“Oh, by the way. He wanted me to tell you that he’s running late,” Mrs. Johannsen remembered. “Something about having a drink with the governor before a fund-raiser.”
Good, Tess told herself. More free time alone. Weren’t things going swimmingly?
“He said for you to go ahead and eat. I’ll bring up a tray for you, and then I’ll be going home.”
Tess murmured her thanks, ignoring her hope that he wouldn’t be too late. When she’d finished her unpacking, she dined on the chicken casserole, salad and home-baked bread Mrs. Johannsen had delivered.
She then went down to Cole’s library, where she found Henry’s name on the speed dial of the telephone. To her surprise, Henry himself answered her call rather than a recorded greeting. She asked for the name of the translator he’d used and explained her reason for wanting it.
“I hope you understand, Ms. McCrary, that the curse in your family bible has nothing to do with the terms of Harlan Westcott’s will.” The suspicion in his genteel, southern voice surprised her. She could almost hear the gears grinding as he tried to figure out the ulterior motive behind the request.
“My reason for wanting th
e curse translated has nothing to do with the will, either, Henry.”
The reassurance seemed to particularly appease him, but after a moment of doubt-heavy silence, he sighed. “You probably know the translator I used, anyway. She teaches at the university where you worked.” Reluctantly he gave her the name.
Tess couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of Professor Kathleen O’Brian on her own. Although they hadn’t been close, they’d had many friends in common, and she’d known of Kathleen’s expertise in many languages. She called her immediately, and Kathleen urged her to fax her the curse right away. She promised to have it back to her by some time this evening—much sooner than Tess had expected.
As she finished sending the information on Cole’s fax machine, the library door swung open. A tall, hulling man with a buzz cut, jutting jaw and military bearing lumbered in and regarded her in surprise. “Oh, sorry, ma’am. I heard a noise, and thought Cole might be in here.”
“I don’t believe he’s home yet.”
His wiry ginger brows puckered. “Hey, aren’t you Tess McCrary?”
The hostile, suspicious tone of the question tipped her off, and she recognized him from the news broadcasts. Setting her paperwork aside, she slowly rounded Cole’s desk. “Oh. I know who you are. Cole’s cousin. Leo. The one who beat up my father.”
Leo’s wide-jawed face flushed red. “I didn’t beat him up. The old coot jumped me. And his accomplice came at me with a rifle.”
She rolled her eyes, which clearly angered him.
“Now you tell me what you’re doing nosing around in Cole’s private library,” he demanded, his mighty shoulders squaring. “He keeps his personal paperwork in that desk:
Does he know you’re in here?”
She clenched her teeth and glared. Cole did not know, of course. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him what she was doing. How humiliated she would be if Leo turned her in and Cole accused her of snooping! “That’s none of your business, Officer Westcott.”
“Nothing Cole keeps in here is any of your business, Ms. McCrary.”
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