Inconnu(e)

by Vicki Hinze

  Forget it? How could he forget it? “It had been a long time for both of us,” he whispered softly. “It was too fast, Maggie, but I wanted you so—”

  “Then it didn’t feel right to you.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Oh, hell, she meant emotionally. Did the woman have a hotline to his soul? She couldn’t. He had to be reading more into this than was there.

  “You didn’t say it, but you felt it, Tyler. I know you did.”

  “Because you felt it, too?” His heart nearly stopped.

  Blinking hard and fast, she nodded.

  Not only a hotline, it appeared, but a personal 800 number. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you. I did. I still do.” More than was safe or wise for either of them. “You mean... a lot to me.”

  “Then what was wrong? Did I do something—”

  “No, you were perfect.” From her tone, she wanted reassurance. He stroked the length of her back with tender, long sweeps of his hand and decided to ask her. “Do you really want the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  She hadn’t hesitated. He pressed a kiss to her temple to let her know that pleased him. “I think I’ve done something unforgivable, honey. Something so bad I can’t believe I let it happen. And, I think, it’s got me unintentionally holding back.” He shuddered.

  “Nothing can be that awful, MacGregor.”

  “It can. Knowing what I know, it’s criminal and cruel that I think so much of you and yet I did this anyway, Maggie. What kind of person am I to do that?”

  Maggie winced. He sounded so sincere, so troubled. “What have you done?”

  “I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  Stunned, she went totally still. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t believe it. He was sincere, but he was wrong. He’d see that soon enough and, if she dared to believe it, then when he realized he’d been mistaken, she’d be hurt. “Tyler, you haven’t,” she reassured him, forcing a lightness into her voice that she sure didn’t feel.

  Why did knowing he didn’t love her hurt? She should be happy. Elated. Delighted. She was the woman who didn’t even like him most of the time. Instead, as Miss Hattie would say, Maggie felt depressed to the gills. “It’s just lust. You’ve been alone here for a long, long time. When you have no woman around, any woman appeals.”

  “That’s not true.”

  The seventeen mismatches. “Trust me, Tyler. Take lust, toss in a soft spot of caring because you’re tenderhearted—I dragged you over the cliffs, and I didn’t bombard you with uncomfortable questions—and you’ve got it. It’s not love.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  The hope in his voice crushed her. “I’m sure of it,” she insisted, swallowing a knot of sudden tears that had lodged in her throat.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am.” Damn, she was going to cry. Why in the world should she even want to cry? This wasn’t a long-term thing with them. She’d known that going in. So why did she expect the rules to change in the middle of the game? Why did she want them to change? He could hurt her, and she knew it. He wasn’t like her father now. But surely her father had changed after her mother had fallen in love with him, too. Otherwise, she’d never have taken the plunge.

  T.J. sighed, as if letting go of the worry. “Maggie?”

  “Mmm?”

  “There’s a little problem.”

  “What?”

  “If it were lust, then when we made love, wouldn’t that end it?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” No lie there. She hadn’t a clue. “Maybe it’s been so long that you’re just not satisfied yet.”

  “Are you?”

  “No, but it’s been a while for me, too.” Thank God for darkness. Her face had to be fire-engine red. The heat coming off it likely would scorch him, but at least he wouldn’t see her flaming face, too.

  “I’m not satisfied—neither of us are—and that’s my point.” He urged her onto her back with a hand to her shoulder, then raised up on his bent elbow, draped his leg across hers and cupped her breast in his huge hand. “If it were lust, I wouldn’t be here telling myself that I shouldn’t be here. I’d be having sex with you, slaking the lust, and not thinking about my feelings because I’d know that tomorrow I’d have no feelings and this thing between us would be over.” He dropped his voice. “But it won’t be over, Maggie. Not tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. And I’m not lying here thinking of slaking lust and having sex. I’m thinking of how much I want to make love with you because I want to give you all of me, and I’m fighting it because I’m afraid of what will happen to you if I do. I’m afraid I’ll lose you, and I’m afraid of what will happen to me if I lose you. There won’t be anything left inside me.”

  “I’m not Carolyn.” Maggie blinked hard to keep the tears burning her eyes at bay. She would not cry. She’d never cry. Her father had loved her tears. Carolyn had loved them. But Maggie had stopped them then, and she’d stop them now.

  “No, you’re not Carolyn.” He stared down at her, his eyes riddled with torment. “You mean more. I can’t explain that. Please, don’t ask me to because I can’t. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s... more.”

  He thought he loved her. But he didn’t.

  Miss Hattie’s words. About him and Carolyn. He hadn’t loved Carolyn, Maggie now agreed. But he didn’t love her, either. He just thought he did. And why that devastated her when it should relieve her, she didn’t dare to think about.

  Though it seemed redundant, her heart insisted she tell him again. Maybe, just maybe in doing so, she could convince herself, as well. She reached up and cupped his hand on her face. “It’s not love, Tyler. It’s the caring that’s confusing you. It’s our bond. And it’s because you’re a healthy, virile, and very physical man who’s abstained for a long time. When you’re in lust, you satisfy it, and it’s over. But when you care, well, the tender feelings linger. Yet that’s still not love.”

  “You seem so sure.”

  “I am.” He couldn’t possibly love her. What in the world would entice him to love her? Of course, she was sure. And, God, how it hurt to be right.

  “Maybe we just need time for everything to settle.”

  They did. She grabbed onto the thought as if it were a lifeline. Because as much as he needed it, she needed it more. “Exactly,” she said. “We’ve both been under a lot of emotional strain. We came here as wrecks, MacGregor. Then the entity cranked up his antics, and we realized we share a strong bond. All that rolled together, and it has our true feelings for each other muddled.”

  He settled back onto his pillow beside her then stared at the ceiling. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re just clinging so hard because we’re out of control.”

  Missing his warmth, feeling disconnected from him and hating it, she agreed. “That’s about the way I see it.”

  The temperature in the room plummeted.

  Shivering, Maggie scooted even closer to MacGregor, breast to chest, stomach to ribs, thigh to thigh, to steal some more of his heat. She buried her head at the crook of his shoulder and neck and inhaled deeply. “Feel better now that you’re off the hook?”

  “Yeah, I do.” He slid his arm over her and cupped her bottom with his huge hand, then sighed. “But I think our entity is opposing.”

  So did she. It had turned frigid in here. She let her hand glide up MacGregor’s side, over his thigh to his ribs, then on to his chest where she stroked him, nipple to nipple. Hair-roughened, smooth and hard, like lush velvet over sun-warmed granite, the feel of him enticed her. Set her fantasies into motion. Had her longing, and her voice thick and husky. “Are we going to do anything about it?”

  She’d thought it, but she hadn’t meant to say it. Tony, are you interfering here? If so, get out. This is private, and voyeurs aren’t welcome.

  He laughed.

  Maggie heard it—and just as quickly, she denied that she’d heard it. Denied she’d prompted that laughter, and then that she’d hear
d it. She absolutely, positively refused to believe in ghosts. It’d be absurd.

  “Not just yet.” MacGregor tightened his hold on her as if to ensure she didn’t misunderstand and think he didn’t want her. “We both need to sort out some things first—so it’ll be right.” He pecked a kiss to her forehead. “I want it to be right between us, Maggie. That’s important to me.”

  He knew. Her heart sank. Before he could confront her, she’d confess what she should have confessed when he’d openly admitted to holding back. She’d taken the coward’s way out, simply acknowledging something hadn’t been quite as it should have been. “I held back, too, Tyler. I didn’t mean to do it, it just... happened.”

  The lies between them lay heavy on her soul, but as long as they resided there, she couldn’t make love with MacGregor again. As things stood, she couldn’t let him know all of her, and to let him know any less made a mockery of... whatever this was she felt for him and he felt for her. She should have realized that before and hadn’t. But she did realize it now.

  The temptation to tell him everything burned in her throat, in her heart. She fought it, knowing that in telling him the truth now, after withholding it for so long and through so much, she never again would know any of him. She would lose him.

  And tonight she’d only worsened the problem. She’d added another row of bricks to the wall between them. Now she not only withheld information about Carolyn, but also about Tony.

  Had he been real? Was she losing her mind?

  That she didn’t know terrified her.

  “Maggie, honey, you’re shaking.”

  Her throat tight, she whispered, “Hold me, Tyler. Would you just please hold me for a while?”

  He closed his arms around her and whispered against her hair. “This is the second time you’ve told me that you’re not telling me everything. I’m curious, okay? And I’m only human. I want to know what this is all about.”

  “Not now, please.” She squeezed his side. “Please.”

  “All right. Not now.” His sigh ruffled her hand and breezed warmth over her face. “But soon.”

  Maggie awakened snuggled to MacGregor’s chest. The smell of the sea clung to his skin and she inhaled deeply, so relieved that he’d come back with her and stayed with her through the night. She hadn’t wanted to be alone, she’d feared being alone, and she thought MacGregor just might have known it, though she’d no idea how he could have. Without him there holding her, she’d have paced the floor all night, worrying herself sick about this Tony business. Instead, MacGregor had held her and, feeling safe and warm and content, she’d stopped shaking and had fallen asleep in his arms. And, bless him, on her awakening, he’d still been holding her.

  Though she hated to leave the haven of his arms, had the most godawful feeling that if she did she’d never again feel them around her, she had to do it. She had to ask Miss Hattie about Tony—without MacGregor being around to hear it. She had to know if Tony had been real—Good grief, am I seriously considering this?—or a ghost.

  As Maggie passed the grandfather clock on her way to the kitchen, it chimed nine. She smelled apples and cinnamon and her stomach stopped fluttering.

  When she stepped into the kitchen, Miss Hattie stood at the stove, humming along with the radio and pulling a coffee cake out of the oven. “Morning.” Maggie got a glass out of the cabinet then at the fridge filled it with cold water. Her throat felt as if a camel had parked in it. Did she have a fever?

  A fever.

  Yes! With a fever she could have delusions. Tony could have been a delusion!

  “Morning, dear.” Miss Hattie glanced up at Maggie and her smile faded to worry. “Oh, my. Are you feeling poorly?”

  Heat surged to Maggie’s face. Did Miss Hattie know MacGregor had slept in Maggie’s room last night? That he was still up there sleeping? Oh, please, God, let it be a raging fever. “I think I’m sick.” She took a big gulp of water. “I think I might have a fever.”

  Miss Hattie came around the end of the counter and slapped a blue-veined hand to Maggie’s forehead. “Why you’re as cool as a cucumber, dear. Though you do look a bit peaked.”

  No fever. No delusions. Damn. “I didn’t get much sleep.” That was true enough.

  “Well, why don’t you go on back up and rest some more. It’s awfully messy outside this morning. Been sleeting since dawn.”

  She didn’t know MacGregor was in Maggie’s room. Maggie leaned against the wall beside the fridge and watched Miss Hattie step back around the counter then lift a knife to her coffee cake. “Do you recall me asking if anything unusual happened around here?”

  “Of course, dear.” Miss Hattie ran the knife’s edge around the smooth edge of the pan, then turned the pan upside down on a pretty flowered plate.

  Maggie had the feeling the angelic woman was avoiding her eyes. “Well, something strange might be happening.” She had to be delicate here. What if Tony was just a villager? If she came across as though he were definitely a ghost, she’d look like an idiot.

  “Strange?” Miss Hattie paused, holding the knife midair, and looked up at Maggie. “What might that be?”

  She debated for a long second. Plan A. She’d tell Miss Hattie everything, and see how she responded. She knew about MacGregor’s boundary-crossing attempts and didn’t think he was nuts. But she did think those episodes were psychologically rooted, induced by his troubles. Still, she could be trusted. Maggie long ago had concluded that. She opened her mouth to begin relaying the oddities, but her throat suddenly went bone dry. She paused to sip from her glass.

  Look not beneath the veil, Maggie. It’s not yet time.

  The man’s whisper. Tony’s whisper.

  Maggie’s hand shook, threatening to slosh the water right out of her glass. He obviously didn’t want her telling Miss Hattie anything. What would he do if she did it anyway?

  Because Maggie didn’t know the answer to that, she switched to Plan B. “Do you know a man named Tony?”

  Miss Hattie dropped the metal pan. It clanged on the tile counter, then vibrated on and on. She pressed a finger to it to stop the noise.

  A knock sounded at the mud room door.

  Maggie looked over and saw a sleet-dappled Vic through the foggy glass pane.

  Miss Hattie looked immensely relieved to see him. “Ah, he’s early with the mail today.”

  If her jerky gestures and edgy manner were a fair indicator, she was relieved to see him right that moment. The timing of the interruption permitting her to avoid answering Maggie’s question couldn’t have been more perfect had it been choreographed. Tony, are you doing this intentionally? What’s wrong with Plan B?

  He didn’t answer.

  Maybe he couldn’t answer because he didn’t exist.

  Miss Hattie rubbed her hands dry on her dishcloth then tossed it onto the counter. “Why don’t you go on back to bed for a while, dear.”

  Knowing she wouldn’t hear another word on the matter of Tony, Maggie nodded, mentally searching for Plan C. “I think I will.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Miss Hattie said, looking definitely upset. “Rest and you’ll feel better. I’m sure of it.” She headed toward the mud room door to let Vic in.

  Of course! Maggie set the glass in the sink, left the kitchen then rushed up the stairs. Vic!

  MacGregor was still asleep. Stretched out on his side, he held the twisted, blue coverlet scrunched up near his chin. Vulnerable. Tender. But strong and gentle and caring. Maggie sighed. He was a good man.

  And she’d lied to him repeatedly and suspected him of unforgivable crimes that paled to those her father had committed.

  Guilt swarmed her and tasted so bitter. MacGregor had been busy earning redemption points, but she was the one who needed to earn them. She had to do what she could to make up for her suspicions and doubts, for all the wrongs she’d done him. But first, she had to resolve this Tony thing so she knew she hadn’t totally lost her mind, only her good judgment and sense.

&n
bsp; She dressed quickly, tugging on jeans and a sweatshirt, then jostled his shoulder. “MacGregor?”

  He didn’t stir. He didn’t even flinch.

  “Tyler, wake up.” She jostled him again, harder. “It’s important.”

  “I’m awake.” He snaked an arm around her and pulled her down on top of him. “God, but I love an impatient woman.”

  “No.” Maggie ordered him. “Quit, dang it, and get your buns out of that bed.”

  “Get out?” He faked a perfectly transparent frown, belied by the twinkle dancing in his eyes. “What, you mean you didn’t wake me up to make love?”

  Phony jerk. But a darling one, and far too gorgeous for his own good—or hers. “No, I didn’t.” Her face burned hot for the second time already that morning.

  “Are you saying that making love with me isn’t important?”

  “Damn it, MacGregor, get sex off your brain. This is serious.”

  “We don’t have sex. And I take our lovemaking—very, very different from having sex, Maggie—extremely serious.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Will you shut up and listen to me?”

  “I think I’d rather kiss you.”

  “MacGregor, you’re trying my patience here.”

  “I can tell.” He laughed at her, ran a hand down her back and cupped her buttock in his huge hand. “You’ll come out ahead by just giving me my kiss. I can be very persistent when the occasion arises, and you might—”

  “You might not be dead by dark, MacGregor, but only if you knock it off now.” She glared daggers into his eyes. “I said this is serious, damn it!”

  His expression immediately turned solemn. “What?”

  She backed off the bed then stepped away. “I should’ve told you this last night, but we, um, got—”

  “Last night?” He let out a sigh strong enough to power windmills. “Damn it, woman, are you always going to hold out on me?” He sat up and stared at her. “What is it this time?” A muscle in his jaw ticked.

  “Would you chill?” She wrung her hands. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I’ve never rattled you.”