He was still looking at her oddly. “Sure.” Then he glanced at the pool. “Maybe.”
She grinned at him. “See, you do have an imagination.”
“I never said I didn’t.” Now he sounded grumpy again.
“Right.” Teddy walked over and slipped her fingers into the water. It was hot. And it would feel so good on her skin. “I wish for whatever energy is in this pool that it helps me attain my heart’s desire,” she said, trailing her fingers through the churning pool.
“Your heart’s desire? What are you talking about?”
She shrugged, feeling a little foolish. After all, he was a fact-based scientist who couldn’t even run with her plot idea about random bad stuff. “I don’t know. What if it is a sacred or special or holy place, and this pool is special somehow? I figure I’m going to increase the chance of getting what I want by—”
“By wishing for your heart’s desire over a hot spring?” He was looking at her as if she’d grown that third ear again. “You’re an interesting woman, Teddy Mack.”
“But,” she said, “what if you only think you know your heart’s desire? Like, mine right now is to figure out how to finish this damn book. That’s all I want. But what if deep down inside, my heart’s desire is really to find another career? Or to write something different? Then I wouldn’t finish the book, my career would be over—or at least it would change—and then I’d move on. And that would be my heart’s desire—even if I didn’t actually articulate it.”
He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure most people know what they really want.”
“So what’s your heart’s desire? What do you really want?” She gave him a cheeky grin, then it faded. “Oh. You want Marcie back.”
He didn’t respond. But he didn’t need to; sadness was written all over his face.
Suddenly sober and feeling bad for bringing it up, Teddy pulled off her sundress, under which was her bright blue one-piece bathing suit, and climbed over the rocks to slide into the pool.
“Ohhh,” she groaned as she settled into the heat of the water. It felt good, but it was hot. She swam over to where the little trickle of a waterfall poured into the pool and let the cool spill over her. “Ohhh…my…God…”
When she opened her eyes, her hair slicked back from her face, she saw that Oscar had zipped off the bottoms of his cargo pants, turning them into shorts, and taken off his shirt. And…yes indeed, her memory from last night was dead on: he looked pretty damned good for a nerdy scientist who was mourning the loss of his fiancée.
Good enough that Teddy took her time checking him out (now that it was daylight) when he wasn’t looking. He wasn’t bulky or hugely muscular, but wiry and toned and well proportioned. Though he had a farmer’s tan, his shoulders and upper arms were covered with freckles that gave him a lightly bronzed appearance along the top. His calves were muscular, and he didn’t have knobby knees, which was a major bonus in her book.
When he came over to the pool, Teddy looked away, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that not only were they alone here and now, but they were sleeping under the same roof. And they’d been trapped up on the lighthouse together, with her slumped against his warm, solid torso last night…
All of a sudden, the pool seemed even hotter, and she smoothed a hand over her wet hair and moved under the cooler waterfall again.
Get a grip, Teddy. You have a book to focus on.
But getting laid might lube things up…so to speak.
As if! I don’t even know the guy.
You could get to know him.
“Pretty warm, huh?” Oscar said as she came out from under the waterfall. He eased into the pool with his own sigh of pleasure, leaving his tools and gear untouched on a nearby rock. “Your face is really flushed.”
I’ll bet it is. “So is yours.”
“Even though it’s pretty warm already, it feels good in the water.” He leaned against the side of the pool, and the water surged and bubbled against the rocky rim. The waterfall splashed down between them, sending little sprays of cool droplets against her skin.
“So you really don’t like my RBS idea?” Teddy asked, pulling her attention from his freckled shoulders and the patch of blond-red hair on his chest. It was either that, or talk about what had happened up on top of the lighthouse last night, and that she wasn’t ready for.
“No.”
She sighed and sank deeper into the water, despite the heat. Rivulets of sweat and water ran down her cheeks and throat. But maybe if it was a sacred, special pool, it would take a while to do its work. So she had to soak in it for a bit. “Well, I’ve got to get my hero out of a difficult situation regardless.”
“That’s right. He’s got to save the world.” Oscar eased lower in the water too. His hair, now damp from the humidity, had begun to curl up into tiny, dark waves around his temples and neck. “You know what always gets me about books and movies like that is how complicated they get. Why does villainy have to be so complicated? Why can’t it be a simpler situation than a plot to infect the entire city of New York with a virus—which is ridiculous anyway—or…or mechanized robots that are going to pilot a bunch of planes and crash them into the ocean with important people on them?”
Teddy sat up, and the water surged away from her. “Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Mechanized pilots…they could be flying Air Force One, maybe.”
“No, no, no,” he said, waving his hand and sending droplets of water flying. “Too complicated. Couldn’t you just write a computer hacker who sends out a false news report—sort of like War of the Worlds, but done purposely—that causes the stock market to crash or even the Internet to go down because of too much traffic and not enough bandwidth? Then he could take over communication and cause all sorts of chaos.”
She stared at him. “Yes. I like it. Hmm. That might work. Let me think on that…” She settled back and stared at the waterfall, working through the details.
“So you said your hero’s caught? Well, what about a trapdoor? Or what about a skylight? Put in a trapdoor or a skylight and he somehow—”
“Yes!” Teddy shouted, erupting from the pool with a violent splash. Her brain exploded with ideas and images and answers. “That’s it! That’s it! That’s perfect!” Exhilaration and relief burst over her, and she was filled with joy. That was it.
Before she realized what she was doing, she surged toward Oscar and threw herself into his arms. She hugged him, then pulled back and smacked a kiss onto his warm, damp lips. “Thank you! You’re amazing! You’re—”
He pulled her back to him and kissed her again…this time much more thoroughly. His lips were warm and full and he tasted faintly of salt and sulfur. His torso was warm and wet against hers. And firm. When she pulled away, she saw droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and that his pupils had widened.
But her brain…it was on fire. It was furious—unleashed, undammed, and finally, after months, the ideas were flowing and spilling free. The energy pulsed through her like the roar of pool churning around her.
She had to go.
She had to write.
Seven
One minute, Oscar was easing into a long, deep, wholly unexpected and hot kiss…and the next, he was sitting in the pool alone. The water surged and splashed even more violently than before now that she’d sloshed out of it.
“Thanks again!” Teddy called as she shoved her feet into her shoes. She looked as if she’d just been awarded a million dollars: her eyes were bright, droplets of water sprayed from her hair, and her movements were quick and energetic. “You’re absolutely brilliant, Dr. London! I’m going to dedicate this book to you!”
And with that, she charged off into the bushes in the direction of the lighthouse.
What did I say?
Oscar stared after her, figuring he owed himself at least a good look at her rear end. Which, as it happened, was barely covered by the blue swimsuit. And it was, as he’d noted previously, quite a fine rear end.
He l
et out a long breath and slid under the water to his shoulders. That had been an unexpected but extremely pleasant moment, a fact that his long-neglected hormones were still reminding him. He wasn’t certain what he’d done or said to induce such a reaction from her, but he wasn’t complaining.
In fact, it took him a few minutes to put his scattered brains back together.
But now that the writer and her distracting conversation were gone, Oscar had the opportunity to get back to work uninterrupted. He heaved out of the pool and got his equipment, then, methodical as always, went to work.
Ninety minutes later, he returned to the cottage with new samples. The heat and humidity of midday had nearly dried his clothes, and he was hungry for lunch.
He wondered if Teddy had, by chance, made anything to eat. Maybe she’d left something for him to nibble on. It would be the polite thing to do.
After all, he was brilliant and had, apparently, somehow, helped her. He grinned to himself.
But when he got inside, the place was quiet and the kitchen empty of even a crumb. The lack of dirty dishes in the drainer indicated she hadn’t eaten and then run, either.
Oscar set his samples on the table and unslung his pack, then tiptoed to the connecting door and eased it open.
Teddy’s bedroom door was closed and silence hung over the cottage.
He waited a minute, but when he heard nothing else—including the agonized groans from yesterday—he decided it was best to retreat.
He was just about to walk back through the connecting door when he heard a thump, like someone smacking a fist onto a table.
He tensed, but then heard, “Brilliant! My God, I am brilliant!” from behind the bedroom door. After that, silence reigned once more.
Oscar scratched the back of his neck, chuckled to himself, then went to the kitchen for lunch. At least now he could work uninterrupted. He ate, and within forty minutes had another fresh, uncontaminated sample on his slides.
“It’s the same thing,” he muttered. They were there—those microscopic, spiky crystalline shapes that had no business being in the hot springs. They didn’t even resemble anything from nature. A niggle of excitement tickled his brain, and he looked again, admiring how beautiful the shapes were. Like spiky snowflakes, all shades of blue and gray.
It didn’t mean the hot springs had magical powers. That would be ridiculous.
But what if they did?
No way. He’d been hanging around that crazy writer for too long; she was starting to get into his scientific head.
Oscar tried another sample on another slide. And took a different sample from one of the three Cubitainers he’d filled up himself. He continued to find the same results.
He pulled out his laptop, connected it to the Wi-Fi hub he’d brought, and began sending off images of what he’d found to friends and colleagues. He did some more research, looked up a few unrelated things, and then checked his email. All the while, Oscar felt a strange sort of comfort knowing that Teddy was just beyond the curve-topped door, doing her own work…and not bothering him.
Then he picked up his computer tablet and began to read an e-book by a new-to-him author named T.J. Mack.
And the next thing he knew, he had to turn on a lamp—and he was hungry again. Oscar looked at the time on his computer. Eight thirty?
In the evening?
Where had the time gone?
And where was Teddy? He eyed the connecting door. He’d been engrossed in the book, but surely he would have heard her if she came out looking for food. Maybe she was sleeping by now.
Oscar considered, but he didn’t hesitate for long. He rose and again went to the connecting door. There was silence. This time, he walked all the way across the small vestibule to her bedroom door, and carefully opened it a crack. But he didn’t even need to look inside, for he heard the busy clicking of a keyboard. Damn, she typed fast.
“You bastard!” she cried. At first he thought she was talking to him, but then she added, “I’ve got you right where I want you.” Then she actually gave a maniacal chuckle, and the keyboard clacked faster.
Fighting a grin, he peered inside and saw that she was sitting at the desk, clattering away on the laptop. He wasn’t certain whether to bother her, but he did take a minute to admire the way her clipped-up hair exposed the back of her neck. All at once, he had the urge to plant a kiss…right there. At the base of her slender neck.
And then he remembered the handful of warm, soft, curvy woman who’d thrown herself at him earlier today. And the sweet-peach-scented one who’d curled up next to him on the lighthouse last night and gushed over his name and his sister’s.
He swallowed hard.
He had no business thinking about Teddy that way when he was in love with another woman.
And of course he was still in love with Marcie.
Oscar pulled back sharply from Teddy’s bedroom door. He’d just realized he’d spent the last eight hours engrossed in his work—and then Teddy Mack’s book—and he hadn’t thought of Marcie once all day.
He hadn’t even picked up his phone to check for a text from Dina, nor, when he’d been sending emails to his colleagues, had he considered skimming through Facebook to see…well, to see if anything had happened. After all, last night was the bachelorette party.
But it didn’t matter. So what if he’d been able to put Marcie out of his mind for a few hours? Nothing had changed.
Oscar looked back at Teddy, then closed the door. She’d found her heart’s desire today, whether the damned hot spring was sacred or special—or not.
Definitely not.
There was no such thing as magic—or ghosts.
One other thing he was grateful for: Teddy had been so engrossed in the idea of a magical wishing-well hot spring and her RBS idea that she hadn’t brought up the strangeness from last night.
Thank heaven for small favors.
The next morning, Oscar boiled water for tea because it made him think of his paternal grandmother, who always said, “There’s nothing can’t be helped by a soothing cuppa.”
He hadn’t slept well at all, because, well, hell—he’d been half expecting to hear that horrible, terrified nocturnal cry. After all, it had occurred both nights he’d been here—one of them while he was on the top of the lighthouse.
The fact that he hadn’t heard the awful scream should have been a relief. But instead, it made him want to know “why not?” on this third night—not to mention from where it had come the previous nights. And so he’d tossed and turned, waiting to be jolted from the slumber he couldn’t attain—and, once he’d finally fallen asleep, he realized he’d dozed later into the morning than he’d meant to.
Animals in heat, he reminded himself. Or maybe a peacock.
This new idea popped into his head as he stared out the kitchen window sipping from his mug.
He liked it.
It wasn’t unheard of for people to have peacock farms—and he knew the birds’ cries were bloodcurdling. That thought, along with the strong cup of Tetley (his grandmother’s favorite), did soothe him. He’d do a little checking to see whether there were any people who owned peacocks around here. Or maybe Wicks Hollow boasted a small zoo.
He washed out his teacup and noted that, once again, there was no evidence Teddy had been in the kitchen. Hmm. Had she really not eaten since erupting from the steaming pool yesterday?
It wasn’t any of his business.
But during his shower, he considered the situation. Let sleeping dogs—or busy writers—lie, he told himself as he scrubbed his hair with the floral shampoo that had been stocked in the bathroom. He should buy something else so he didn’t walk around smelling like a jasmine blossom. Not that anyone was going to get close enough to smell his hair anyway.
Except Teddy.
The thought, which popped into his mind with startling clarity—and was both visual and shockingly sensual—was terrifying and intriguing, and the distraction caused him to nick the corner of his jaw w
hile shaving. Stanching the blood, which pooled and ran down into the shower drain like he’d murdered someone, Oscar managed to finish the rest of his shower without inflicting any other damage. But after vigorously brushing his teeth and dressing in cargo shorts and a soft blue cambric shirt, he found himself walking toward the connecting door to the lighthouse.
Let sleeping dogs lie, he told himself firmly. His hand reached for the knob anyway, and he turned it and walked through before he could stop himself. Everything was quiet and calm as he crossed the small vestibule.
He paused at Teddy’s door and heard the mad clicking of her typing. Well, she was still alive.
He knocked.
No answer. More click-clattering.
He knocked again, a little louder.
No answer. Incessant clicking, some clattering. A muttered curse.
He opened the door and peered in. “Teddy?”
No answer. A pause in the clicking, then a louder curse—followed by an emphatic thump when she slammed her hand onto the table and growled at the computer.
Oscar hesitated again, but damn, as far as he knew, she hadn’t been out of the room for more than twenty hours. Surely she needed to eat. Or…something. So he went in and said her name again, rather loudly and near her ear—which wasn’t covered by headphones this time.
She jolted and shrieked, spinning in her chair as she’d done the first time he startled her. “Oh my God, you scared the hell out of me. Again. Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
Sinister Sanctuary: A Ghost Story Romance & Mystery (Wicks Hollow Book 4) Page 9
