King of the Castle

by Heather Graham

“Good night, Justin. Thank you.”

  “Justin,” Kit said irritably, “we don’t—”

  “We do.”

  She shivered as she slid the key into the ignition. Though she didn’t look at him again, she felt him watching her. She trembled all the way back to Jamie’s, and far into the night.

  CHAPTER 6

  Kit leaned closer to the wavery mirror over the sink and studiously blended her blush over her cheeks. She moved back anxiously to view the effect of her artistry, wondering at the jittery feeling that wouldn’t leave her.

  Good God! she chastised herself. It didn’t matter if her makeup was perfect, nor if her outfit—a soft, tawny knit outfit, with the skirt falling to midcalf in a gentle swirl over her boots—was attractive. There was no reason to fuss, no reason for this anxiety, for her feverish excitement. She had left Ireland and Justin years ago, then closed him out of her life.

  He shouldn’t matter—but he did.

  She shouldn’t have come back. She shouldn’t have seen him again…. But she had. And the feelings, the needs, the confusion, that she had felt eight years ago were back. But there was an even sharper edge of danger now; there were no walls between them. She was no longer young and innocent, and her tragedy was long in the past.

  Kit swallowed fiercely and gripped the sink, fighting a wave of dizziness. She was blowing things all out of proportion. Justin had not—by his own admission—spent his life waiting for her. She just happened to be there now, an available diversion when everything else in his life had become chaotic. The magic was all in her mind. Once upon a time they had shared a single passionate moment, and that had been that. It happened all the time. There was nothing special between them….

  But there was, of course. Something very special, but she didn’t know if she could ever tell Justin or not. Or if he would care.

  “Oh, stop!” she said out loud. She was driving herself crazy.

  She stared steadily at her reflection again. “He’s being suspected of murder—and he isn’t guilty. You owe him your support and help, but that’s all.”

  “Owe” was a curious word, and it had nothing to do with the way her heart was beating, or with the way that she was wishing he would show up this morning, ready to insist, in his autocratic manner, that she moved into the cottage, that she see him again and again.

  She ground out a sound of irritation and turned away from the mirror. She was going to go downstairs and have breakfast and a nice conversation with Jamie. Then she was going to drive around the countryside, before beginning to study the books she had bought from Julie McNamara. She was here to work. And since Mike had gone off to school with Douglas again, she had the whole day in which to do it.

  Kit left her room and started quickly down the stairs. She burst into the kitchen with a cheerful smile for Jamie glued to her features and a happy “Good morning” on her lips, but she never uttered the words.

  Justin was there.

  She stopped dead just inside the door and stared at him, wondering whether time could stand still, whether it could create aeons out of a single moment. Maybe Justin hadn’t waited for her, but suddenly she felt as if she had been waiting for him all these years, no matter how much she had tried to delude herself that he was entirely in the past.

  He was seated at the table, holding a cup of coffee. She wondered if he was feeling all the things that raged through her; curiosity so deep it was a poignant ache; need so rich that it caused her heart to shimmer. She shouldn’t feel such things, but she did.

  And then the moment passed, and time began to tick again. Kit felt embarrassed, as if she had been standing there with her emotions obvious to both of them.

  “Justin,” she said in what she hoped was a casual tone, trying to hide the excitement she felt at seeing that he had come for her, that he wanted something from her, too.

  “Good morning, Kit. I was just telling Jamie that you were moving into the cottage.”

  “I—”

  I never said I was. She wanted to say it, but the words wouldn’t come. She was barely aware that Jamie was in the room, because Justin had moved closer and taken both her hands in his. She felt his eyes on her like a caress—a bold caress, but intimate and caring—and she felt his fingers curling over hers like a promise, strong and sure.

  He grinned, crookedly and a bit awkwardly. “Am I acting ‘Irish’ again, Kit? Too autocratic?” he asked softly.

  She pulled her hands away without answering and turned quickly to Jamie instead.

  “I think Mike and I will take the cottage, Jamie. I’ve decided to stay around for a while, at least until Halloween. The celebration should be just what I’m looking for.”

  “Oh, aye, ’twill be just what you want fer that book o’ yours,” Jamie told her with a pleasant smile. He didn’t seem to mind the loss of two guests. “But ye’ll have your breakfast first, lass.”

  She smiled. “Yes, thank you, Jamie.” She still couldn’t look at Justin.

  “Bacon and toast and eggs over easy,” Jamie said. “Coffee’s in the pot, and porridge is on the table.”

  “Well, I’m not eating alone,” Kit protested, beginning to feel a bit more normal.

  “Justin?” Jamie asked.

  “I’ll have the same, then, Jamie. Hand me the bread, and I’ll be in charge of toast.”

  Kit felt awkward letting the two of them do all the work, so she poured out the last of the coffee and started another pot. She couldn’t help brushing against Justin occasionally, and each time it felt sweetly warm and wonderfully natural and intimate all at once.

  Even the conversation became easy. Jamie told Justin that he’d seen some pictures on the news about Justin’s latest office building in Dublin, and once they were all sitting at the table, Justin sketched out the design for Kit with such enthusiasm that she was enchanted by this whole new side of him.

  “I’m working on a very similar one in London,” he told her, then went on to explain that the design was not only aesthetically pleasing but incorporated an unusual plan for escape in the event of a fire. “See, Kit,” he said, rising to point over her shoulder while she studied the drawing on the napkin before her. “If you were forced to, you could come down all forty stories by way of the outside balconies.”

  “It’s wonderful, Justin. It really is,” she said enthusiastically, turning to face him. He smiled, and it was there again, that hint of the diabolical, of mischief. Suddenly they were both caught by that sense of intimacy, and she knew he could read her mind. She’d never experienced anything like it, and it was so strong that it was frightening.

  She knew that she was blushing—and that he saw it—and she hurriedly turned her attention back to the paper. She made her voice as cool and courteous as possible when she said, “I must say, I’m rather proud to know you. Few architects seem to be as concerned with people’s safety as you are. I think what you’re doing is wonderful.”

  “Thank you.” His fingers closed over the napkin and crumpled it. “Want more coffee, Kit? Or shall we get going?”

  He had put some distance between them again, and Kit was grateful. “Maybe I should wait for Mike to come home from school.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Kit,” Jamie asserted cheerfully. “Douglas can bring him on over to the cottage.”

  Kit smiled weakly. She could feel Justin’s eyes on her again. It was almost as if he was holding his breath. Was it possible that he was worried she would change her mind?

  He had nothing to worry about: she couldn’t. Destiny was driving her. Almost in resignation, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “I’ll just run up and get our things,” she murmured weakly.

  “Take your time,” Justin told her.

  It didn’t take long to pack. Even when she tried to dawdle over Mike’s things, she couldn’t seem to make the job last.

  She could still run, she told herself. She could get her things together, go downstairs and tell both Jamie and Justin a firm goodbye, the
n hop in the car, drive to the school and take Mike away.

  And then they could leave this part of Ireland forever.

  But she wasn’t sure that she could face herself if she ran away. She didn’t know whether she loved Justin, feared him or despised him, but she had never felt anything as intense as the emotions that surfaced when she was around him. She didn’t know where they might lead, but whatever lay between them had to be explored.

  Kit heard footsteps on the stairs. In a wild panic, she rose and rushed out—she didn’t want to be alone in the room with Justin. But it wasn’t Justin coming up the stairs; it was Jamie.

  “All set, Kit? Can I help ye, lass?”

  “Yes, thank you, Jamie. If you’d like to take Mike’s duffel bag there…”

  Jamie didn’t take the duffel bag; he took her heavier suitcase. She worried about the weight being too much for him, but as soon as he reached the landing, Justin was there, ready to take the heavy bag.

  In what seemed like no time at all, their things were in the trunk and she was ready to go. She really hadn’t been at Jamie’s long, yet she had the strangest feeling that she was leaving home. Jamie seemed like a father, watching his hatchling leave the nest.

  “Jamie…” she began, but he brushed aside her thanks and anything else that she might have wanted to say.

  “Ye’ll be seein’ me, lass, that ye will!” he promised. “And don’t fret for the boy; young Douglas will bring him along when he comes.”

  “Be seeing you, Jamie,” Justin said. He was standing by the driver’s side of her car. For the first time, Kit realized that his own car was nowhere in sight.

  “How did you get here?” she asked.

  “Molly dropped me off. Let’s get going, Kit.”

  Jamie came around to open the passenger door for Kit, but, though she didn’t mean to be rude, she ignored him. She was suddenly determined not to let fate blow her where it would.

  “Wait a minute, Justin O’Niall. You just had her drop you here, did you? Pretty damn sure of yourself!”

  “Ah, Kit! For the love of God, will you get in the car, please?”

  She stared at him stubbornly.

  He sighed in exasperation, and said, “Katherine, if you hadn’t wished to come, I could have called Molly to come back.”

  “I rented the car; I’ll drive it.”

  “Kit, please—”

  “I said I’ll drive.”

  He threw up his hands and spoke not to her but to Jamie as he came around the car. “May the saints preserve us from fools—and women!”

  He slid angrily into the passenger seat while Kit got in on the driver’s side. She waved cheerfully to Jamie while she snapped at Justin, “I heard that!”

  “Well, it’s the truth,” he said heatedly, staring at her. “You wanted to drive—so drive!”

  She slammed the car into reverse with such vigor that Jamie jumped back. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry, but decided that it would look like an admission of guilt, so she merely took it more carefully as she turned the car around and headed for the road.

  “I don’t even know what I’m doing,” she muttered.

  “You never did,” he commented dryly.

  “If this is supposed to be a charming seduction, you’re not doing very well.”

  “Ah, yes, I’m acting ‘Irish’ again.”

  “No. Just like a drill sergeant.”

  “Honest to God, Kit, I didn’t start this. I didn’t say a single negative word. You’re picking the fights, creating the argument.”

  “No—you started it. You presumed.”

  “I ‘presumed.’ Ah, come on, Katherine! Damn!” he swore suddenly, his eyes glued to the road, and Kit looked ahead to see that she was about to smash head-on into a delivery truck. She swerved quickly, coming to a halt on the shoulder of the road. Her hands shaking, she covered her face. If they’d been any closer to the gray granite cliffs of the coast, there would have been nowhere to swerve.

  She couldn’t look at Justin, but she expected his verbal tirade to come lashing against her any second. It didn’t. She hadn’t realized how badly she was trembling until she felt him gently removing her hands from her face, forcing her to look at him with very wide, very frightened blue eyes.

  He smiled and stroked her cheek once with his knuckles. “May I drive, Kit?” he asked softly. “We’re both nervous this morning.” He gave her a rueful smile. “But I’m familiar with the roads, and you’re not.”

  She didn’t answer him. She just opened the door and got out of the car. By the time she had walked around it, he had shifted over in the seat and the motor was humming again.

  He was silent when he pulled back onto the road, and the silence seemed to grow louder and louder, tense and electric. Kit looked down at her folded hands; they were still trembling. And then Justin began to talk.

  “I read your book on Nassau.”

  “You did?” she asked, startled.

  He nodded, his eyes still on the road. “Actually,” he said softly, “I have all of them. I have an associate in New York who sends them to me.”

  “Oh?”

  “I liked them very much.”

  “Well,” Kit murmured, “my things are really rather specialized. They’re for the tourist who has an interest in history, rather than suntanning or gambling.”

  “Oh, I imagine a number of people would really enjoy learning some of the history of what they’re seeing.”

  “Well, I hope so.”

  “Had you been planning to work today?”

  Kit hesitated. “I was going to drive around and try to absorb some local color; then I was going to read.”

  “How about if we get your things into the cottage, drive south to a pub I know for lunch, and then I’ll bring you home again in time to meet Mike when he gets here?”

  He glanced her way quickly, smiling. Kit nodded, suddenly grateful for the casual conversation, the return to normalcy between them. “Lunch sounds nice.”

  As she turned away to look out the window, she saw that the landscape had already changed. They were nearing the coast. The emerald-green fields were gone, and the crags and cliffs were rising, along with the moan of the wind. Mauve flowers were interspersed with ragged tufts of grass that clung to the rocky ground, and the air smelled of salt.

  The cottage lay before them.

  Justin brought the car to a stop. Kit clamped her hands tightly together in her lap and stared at the small house. It hadn’t changed, of course, but she already knew that. She’d seen it yesterday when she had brought Mike here. But this was different. She hadn’t intended to go inside then, and now she was going to stay.

  Justin got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He went up to the door and unlocked it, and Kit thought dimly about the fact that he was opening the door when he had already given her the key.

  All landlords probably had extra keys, but clearly it would never have occurred to him that she might object to him using his own key while she was staying there.

  He walked back to the car and opened the trunk; then, with her suitcase in his hand, he walked around to her.

  “Are you all right, Kit?”

  She nodded.

  “Are the memories of Michael…too strong?”

  She lowered her head, ashamed. She hadn’t been thinking about Michael at all; she had been remembering her last night here.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  To prove her point, she stepped out of the car and started up the walk. She noticed the beautiful wildflowers growing along the front. And then she stepped into the cottage, and it was as if eight years of her life had never been. She knew it so well. The kitchen to the right, the parlor to the left. And the stairs that led to the bedroom.

  Justin was behind her, nudging her slightly. She had to move, so she walked into the parlor.

  A beautiful arrangement of fresh flowers sat on the lace-covered table, and a warm fire burned in the hearth, giving the room a welcoming
, lived-in feeling.

  She walked over to the fire and put her hands out to feel the warmth of the low blaze. She was shaking, and she knew it. She prayed that the warmth would calm her, yet she wondered if anything could. Inside, deep inside, she was hot and then cold, and she felt as if she could never be still. She was nervous and excited and afraid, and her throat was bone-dry.

  Justin stood behind the chair, his fingers curled over the back of it. “There’s milk in the refrigerator, along with butter, eggs, bacon and bread. Not much, but a start.”

  “That was thoughtful of you. Food, flowers…a fire. It’s all very nice.”

  “Well,” he admitted, “I ordered the food, but you’ve Molly to thank for the flowers.”

  “Oh. Still, it’s all very kind.”

  “Not presumptuous?”

  Kit nodded, her back to him. “Yes,” she whispered. “Presumptuous, too—but kind. Thank you.”

  “Shall we have something? Tea—?”

  “No!” Kit whirled around in horror. Her eyes met Justin’s just as he realized what he had said, and he smiled, shaking his head.

  “Normal tea, Kit. Irish breakfast tea.”

  She looked down, suddenly embarrassed, and turned to the fire. It cracked and popped, and the room seemed very small. He was silent, and she suddenly felt as if she had to talk.

  “Justin, lunch sounds lovely, and all this is very nice, but we’re missing the whole point, and you just brought it up.”

  “I did?”

  “Justin, eight years ago—God knows why!—someone put something into my tea. Michael went over a cliff, and a young girl was murdered. And now you’re being accused of murder again, and we’re talking about books and flowers.” She spun around to face him close to tears. “I know you didn’t do it, and—”

  She hadn’t really been aware that he had moved. Suddenly he was just there, in front of her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her chin, and he was lifting it, very gently, staring into her eyes.

  “Kit…Katherine, you mustna’ worry about me. I am innocent, and I want you here, near to me, because someone is a murderer, and I’d not have you hurt. I’ll discover the truth; I promise you that. Kit…”