by Judi Lind
Storm hitched a hip on the countertop beside her. While she was grateful for his bracing presence, she suddenly realized he’d never actually said whether he accepted her explanation of Heather’s death.
“Hi, sweetie, you feelin’ better?” Miriam handed Elisa a mug of steaming herbal tea. “Don’t you two want to sit down with the rest of us?”
“We’re fine here,” Storm said, as if he understood Elisa’s need to keep a distance between herself and the others.
She didn’t speak while she sipped the soothing tea. When her mug was empty, she set it on the tile counter behind her. Storm gave her arm a reassuring pat, and she turned to the expectant group sitting around the table. Not knowing how to start, she simply plunged in.
“I can’t offer a reason why, but Heather snuck into my room around one-thirty.”
She could see Carey bristling, eager to defend Heather’s reputation. Elisa rushed on with her explanation before he could interrupt and sidetrack the others. “She, uh, took a pillow from my bed and tried to smother me—”
“Now wait just a damn minute!” Carey leaped to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor.
David reached up and snatched his wrist. “Sit down and shut up.”
Carey stared at Elisa for a long, hate-filled moment before he righted his chair and dropped onto it.
Trying her best to appear calm and rational, she eased her hands behind her back and clutched the countertop for support. She didn’t dare look at Storm. If he trusted her, believed in her, he would have told her so upstairs. But to actually see the skepticism that she knew must be reflected in his eyes would be too crushing to bear.
“Go on, Elisa,” Storm urged softly, from the position he’d taken right beside her. Her heart swelled at his show of support.
Drawing strength from his gentle, blameless tone, she continued. “There’s not much more to tell. I, uh, somehow grabbed the lantern on my nightstand and—”
This time it was David Welton who rose. “Stop!”
“What? What’s wrong?”
He stalked across the room and stood in front of her, his feet wide apart, fists jammed against his hips. His voice, when he spoke again, was tense and low-pitched. “For your own protection, do not say another word.”
“I don’t understand.”
Casting a sharp glance at Storm, he dropped his voice to a near whisper, as if to prevent being overheard. “This is going to be a criminal matter, Elisa. You’re distraught and possibly suffering from shock. If you say anything that might be misconstrued by someone in this room, you will have to account for it later. Maybe in a courtroom.” His grave voice told her he was offering a dire warning.
She turned to Storm to ask for his input. David put his hand against the side of her head, forcing her to face him. “Dr. Delaney is certainly who you should turn to for a medical problem, Elisa. But this is going to be a serious matter for the law to decide. And right now, I’m the only person who can give you legal advice. I’m urging you, begging you, not to say another word until you can consult with your own lawyer. Preferably a criminal lawyer.”
Elisa blanched at the word criminal, but at least now she understood the jeopardy she was facing. It was possible that she might be charged in Heather’s death. Remembering Carey’s cold, scornful hostility, she was certain he, at least, would push the authorities for her arrest.
She still felt the high-priced attorney had an ulterior motive for coming to the island, but right now, she was convinced that she should heed his advice.
As if reading her thoughts, Storm flicked on his flashlight and said, “He’s right. Let’s go upstairs.”
Buoyed by his apparent support, she gave Miriam what she hoped was a smile but felt more like a grimace. “Thanks for the tea.” Murmuring a vague good-night to the others, she followed Storm through the swinging door and into the dining room.
Once they were alone, Elisa waited for him to comment. She needed his verbal support, as well as his physical presence at her side. She needed him to tell her not to worry, that everything would work out. That he’d be in her corner. But he didn’t say a word as their footsteps echoed through the near-deserted hotel.
She had to hold his robe up high to keep from tripping on the staircase. She stumbled twice, as Storm’s continued silence shattered her composure. Why didn’t he say something, anything, that would express his faith in her?
When they reached the top of the staircase, she automatically headed for her own room.
“Wait!” Storm called. “You don’t want to go back in there.”
“Oh!” She stopped cold, and slowly turned on her heels to face him. His face was invisible behind the shining flashlight. “I—I almost forgot for a minute. I guess I should’ve asked Miriam for another room.”
She could feel him slowly advancing toward her. That almost palpable sizzle of electricity whipped through the atmosphere, as his body radiated little sparks of lightning that bit her flesh with a gentle nip. When he was so close that she could smell his heady, masculine scent, he murmured, “No. I’d rest better if you stayed in my room.”
Did that mean he was worried about her, wanted her company, or feared she would try to escape? His words and tone gave nothing away, and once again she felt the crush of despair pressing against her spine. Still, the only alternative to his suggestion was to venture back downstairs and face those curious faces again.
Silently acquiescing, she slowly passed him on the way to his bedroom.
Chapter Twelve
The moment her cheek nestled into Storm’s pillow, Elisa wasted no time dropping into slumber. Although she slept straight through the pitifully few hours before morning, she remained eerily connected to her consciousness. As if she couldn’t trust what might happen if she slept too soundly. She had a vague awareness of the bedroom door opening and shutting twice, yet she felt no alarm. Still later, she heard the sheets whisper when Storm slid into the far side of the bed, taking care not to touch or disturb her.
Yet the next morning, when the tide of wakefulness slowly flowed over her, she was surprised to find herself nestled in his arms. On his half of the bed. She turned her head to watch him sleep, and wondered anew about this complex and compelling man. That she was incredibly drawn to him on a physical level was a given. An immutable law of natural chemistry that couldn’t be denied. She was human, after all. Given to the same instinctive urges that had plagued every living person since Eve developed that lust for Adam.
More disturbing was the way he got under her skin, into her very soul. Why had his opinion been so important to her last night? Why did she still crave his endorsement now? She didn’t want the answer that she feared she might find if she searched her heart. She was willing to accept that, for this short period of her life, Storm Delaney was as important to her as her own lifeblood. His unflagging support in front of the others had been a life preserver, saving her from drowning beneath their skepticism. Saving her from doubting herself.
She watched him a few seconds longer. Her lips turned upward when his light snoring took on added volume. Then eased again when he wrinkled his nose.
She studied the lines and planes, noting a slight crease here, a faint line there. While she doubted he’d make it as a runway model—his face was too rugged, too unique-she preferred his craggy good looks to the life-size Ken dolls Hollywood kept churning out. This face belonged to a man who was dependable, competent, thoughtful and mature. It was also a face that had endured hardship, even tragedy. But it was in his eyes, those eloquent deep green eyes, that she’d seen his heartache and isolation.
Her fingertip hovered over his mouth—broad, firm, and decidedly masculine, with that tiny scar on his upper lip. Her finger lightly traced the outline of his mouth until he stirred in his sleep.
Not wanting to disturb him, she eased away from the warmth of his encircling arm and slipped into the bathroom. Automatically flicking the light switch, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that the ge
nerator was running. If there was light, maybe there would be a trickle of hot water left.
Stripping off Storm’s oversize robe, she turned to hang it behind the door and was startled to find her own dangling on the brass hook. Her cosmetic bag and purse were on the marble counter. Another demonstration of his consideration. Why didn’t she ever stumble on wonderful men like him in the real world? And why did he continue to waste his obvious skill in this tiny community?
She sighed as she twisted her hair into a knot and pinned it atop her head. Wasn’t that always her luck? Lifetime city dweller Elisa finally discovers a sexy, exciting, mature and talented man, and, of course, he’s hell-bent on living like a hermit on a secluded island.
SHE HAD JUST COMPLETED her morning’s ablutions when she heard a frantic knock at the bedroom door. “No…” she moaned. “What now?” She fought a frantic urge to lock herself in the bathroom; she just couldn’t handle any more trauma.
Her hand froze on the doorknob when she heard Storm moving about. A moment later, the murmur of excited voices drifted through the closed door. She couldn’t make out actual words, only the animated tone.
Then Miriam Danziger’s booming voice joined the others, and Elisa pressed her face against the door. This had to be a never-ending nightmare. But how much more bad news could any of them absorb?
After a few moments, the voices disappeared and she eased open the door.
Storm was facing the bureau, clad only in his gray sweats. Under different circumstances, Elisa knew, she would have stolen a few seconds’ pleasure admiring his bronzed back and defined musculature. This morning, however, she tightened her sash around her waist and stepped into the room. “I thought I heard Western Union at the door. What’s today’s crisis?”
He turned and grinned. “Have you completely lost your sense of smell, or are you one of those tofu eaters that don’t drink coffee?”
“No on both accounts.” She strolled toward the dresser. “But I thought I might be hallucinating. Is that coffee I smell? Real perked coffee?”
In response, he held up a steaming mug. “Take cream or sugar?”
“Both, please.”
He curled his upper lip in an exaggerated grimace. “And here I had you pegged as a purist.”
She accepted the cup, tasted it and added another teaspoon of sugar. “No, a perfectionist. Now that’s perfect.”
“Perfectly awful.” He carried his own mug back to the bed. Using the headboard for a backrest, he stretched out and crossed his legs at the ankle. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine. But you’re stalling.” She settled into the easy chair in the corner across from the bed. “What grim news of disaster and peril was just delivered to our door?”
“Actually, our coffee was just delivered. I may have to bump off Hank and marry that woman.” His teasing words fell flat, as they both suddenly remembered Heather.
“Guess that was kind of insensitive,” Storm said.
She shook her head in response, and realized her hair was still knotted on the top of her head in a close facsimile of an old lady’s bun. Setting her cup on the floor, she unpinned her hair and fluffed it around her shoulders.
Storm whistled appreciatively.
Embarrassed by his obvious appreciation, she growled, “Now that was insensitive. If you’re not careful, I may have to report you to NOW.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Not to the dreaded feminist group! Oh, please, don’t throw me in that briar patch. They might revoke my membership.”
Elisa groaned aloud. It made a certain perverse sense that Storm would be an active supporter of the National Organization for Women, when she herself had never gotten around to joining. Giving up on that empty threat, she thought a change of subject might be in order.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s up, or do I have to ask Carey Howard? I’m sure he’d be delighted to do what he can to really muck up my day.”
He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “The Bowmans stopped by with some good news and bad.”
Elisa’s pessimistic imagination swept into overdrive. The good news would be that they were still alive; the bad was that Hurricane Jake was heading right toward them.
“I’ll give you the good news first.”
She nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate your softening the blow.”
Storm pointed to the boarded up window. “Listen.”
Elisa perked her ears, but didn’t notice anything unusual. She shrugged.
“What do you hear?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s the good news. Jake swept up the coastline during the night, but so far hasn’t actually touched land.”
Her head jerked up. “You mean it’s over? The hurricane didn’t hit us?”
“The eye didn’t come ashore, but we took a lot of abuse from the storm’s fringes. Hank and David are ripping the boards off the windows right now. Another hour or so and we can venture out to see how much damage the island sustained.”
A warm gush of sheer relief washed through her body. But before she could truly savor the news, she remembered the other half and cautiously asked, “What’s the bad news?”
“We still don’t have any communication linkage with the outside world, and it’ll be at least two more days before help arrives from the mainland.”
Elisa jumped up and spread her arms like a triumphant eagle. “That’s it? That’s the bad news? Aw-riiight!”
She strode across the short space between them with every intention of giving Storm a high five. But things got muddled somehow. He rose to his feet just as she reached the bed. His arms were also spread, and the next thing she knew, they were ensnared in an embrace that could have loosely been described as a bear hug. If the bears were in mating season.
The next thing she knew, their bodies were pressed together and Storm’s hands were tangled in her hair. And he was kissing her, evoking a crazy, light-headed passion that left her weak and trembling.
Tiny explosions of light, like holiday sparklers, fired off behind her eyes as his soft mouth savored hers. When she could no longer stand the torment, she pulled away, locking her hands behind his neck. “What a way to celebrate, Doc. I prefer your way to a magnum of Dom Perignon any day.”
He winked and kissed her lightly on one of her eyelids. “We aim to please.”
Elisa dropped her head to his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck. “I suppose we should go help the others dig out.”
“I suppose,” he replied, with more than a tinge of disappointment in his tone.
Releasing his hold, he stepped away.
She understood. If that kiss had lasted one more instant, she would have pushed him down on the bed and had her way with him. Even now, his nearness was almost too much to bear. Her agitated hormones were flitting through her erogenous zones like angry bees whose hive had just been plundered.
She took two steps in the opposite direction. “Let me find some clothes, and we’ll go help.”
“Over there.” He hooked a thumb toward a space by the dresser, where her suitcase waited.
“You brought my clothes! Oh, thanks, Storm, that was so sweet.” Fresh underwear, she thought. Hallelujah.
“Thought it was damned noble, myself,” he grumbled. The obvious implication being that he’d prefer her unclothed.
Dragging out the suitcase, she poked around until she found a clean pair of shorts and T-shirt. He’d even brought her favorite tennies. “Be right back,” she said, darting into the bathroom.
The brief time it took to slip off her robe, nightshirt and undies and reclothe herself was a welcome respite from Storm’s powerful allure.
When she reentered the bedroom, he had taken the easy chair and was staring intently into space. He didn’t move or acknowledge her return.
“Hello? Earth to Storm. Anybody in there?”
His head turned abruptly. “What? Oh, sorry, I was thinking.”
A flip retort sprang to h
er lips, but she bit it back when she saw his somber expression. “Is something wrong?”
“Not really,” he frowned. “But I wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
“Okay.” Elisa perched on the edge of the bed. “Sounds serious.”
After a long pause, he cocked his head and stared deeply into her eyes. “First of all, I want to apologize for last night.”
“Apologize! But you—”
He held up his hand, palm turned toward her. “No, let me finish. Last night, when you told me what happened, you were waiting for me to give you some feedback. Tell you that I understood that you’d acted in self-defense, that you bore absolutely no fault for Heather’s death. And I didn’t.”
Elisa held her breath. This was when he was going to tell her that, drawn to each other though they were, he didn’t believe her story. That he thought she was a murderer.
“I apologize for that,” he continued. “I did believe what you said, from the very first word. I kept questioning you because it was Heather’s sudden attack that I couldn’t get a grip on. From what you’ve told me, she’s been with you since the day you were released from the hospital, is that right?”
Elisa nodded, too taken aback by his candor to speak.
“So if she wanted to kill you, why didn’t she try before now? Why wait until she’s sealed up in a hotel with a half-dozen other people? You were alone in that cabin for several weeks—why didn’t she try then?”
Perplexed, she raised and lowered her shoulders in a shrug. “I still can’t figure out why she wanted to hurt me in the first place!”
“Maybe we can work that out. I’d feel better on your account if we were able to establish Heather’s motive before the authorities arrive. It would lend a great deal of credibility to your claim.”
Again, she could do nothing more than shrug. How could she help determine Heather’s motive, when she was clueless?
