Someone had shaved him since my last visit. If it hadn’t been for his wild hair, he’d have looked unnaturally tidy. His face was too thin, his eyes too restless, the big, lanky body hidden under the sheet surely much too weak to belong to the man who’d made love to me so fiercely last night. It hurt me to look at him.
But nevertheless, an echo of the old, familiar gleam lurked in those hazel eyes, reminding me of too much, making me hope.
Emotion flooded me with such force, I couldn’t move. By the time I’d gathered myself enough to retreat from his family, it was too late. I’d been spotted. By Tony who looked up from the back of the room and grinned at me.
“Nice reviews, Lili!” he yelled across the racket.
Inevitably that drew all attention to me. And I, who thrived on being the centre of as many performances as possible, froze like a rookie with stage fright. Not because I hadn’t seen any of his family since the divorce, or because I had a good idea of the light in which they now regarded me, but because the only attention that truly mattered in that moment was Rab’s.
He turned his head quickly and saw me.
The years didn’t roll back. This was Rab now, a somehow bigger Rab, despite his physical weakness, with serious eyes and no smart-ass greeting. And I had a terrible, disorienting feeling that I didn’t know him at all. But I couldn’t look away.
“Hey, Lili, listen to this,” said Aileen, as if we’d parted yesterday on cordial terms. “Miss Graham’s brilliant performance lifted the rather contrived script and by the sheer power of her emotional portrayal, made Queen of Scotts the masterpiece of this year’s Fringe.”
“Not bad, eh?” said Richard, Rab’s younger brother, with enthusiasm.
Rab’s lips quirked upwards at last. He didn’t speak or even gesture, but his warm eyes, inviting me to share his amusement, drew me forward into the room. He didn’t look surprised to see me, so surely he must remember something about his spiritual travels? Please…
A nurse stuck her head in the door behind me. “I’m sorry,” she said with severity rather than contrition, “I’ll have to ask you all to leave now. There are several very ill people in this ward, not least of them Mr. Connor himself. We can’t allow this level of…”
“Aye, aye, we’re going,” said Rab’s father, Robert. “Come on, Connors out!”
“Except Lil,” Rab stated.
The nurse opened her mouth to dispute that.
“Except Lil,” he repeated, and she closed it again and disappeared.
Moira said approvingly, “You tell her, son.”
Aileen grinned at me and hauled her younger siblings out the door. Tony brought up the rear, rounding up youthful stragglers.
Gathering her usual, formidable array of bags and coats together, Moira finally got to her feet, kissed Rab’s forehead briskly and charged for the door after the rest of her still highly vocal family.
Beside me, she paused, catching and holding my gaze.
“Rab says you might be getting back together.”
Might…
I swallowed. “Yes,” I agreed. “We might.”
She nodded. “Aye, well don’t take any shite off him this time,” she advised and bustled out.
My breath caught. If I hadn’t been so scared, I’d have laughed aloud. I remembered all over again how much I liked Moira and the whole Connor clan who came with the Rab package—erratically but unpreventably.
Into the silence, Rab said, “Are these for me?”
I glanced at the forgotten flowers in my hand. “Yes. I thought you might be dead.”
His eyes gleamed appreciation. “No chance. Buggered if I’ll have gone through all that just to die.”
Comforted, I came closer. “Why…why did you tell them we might be getting back together?” I hated that might…
“Don’t want to count my chickens.” There was a drip feeding into his right hand. With his left, he patted the bed. Slowly, I sat on it.
“Then—you remember what happened?”
“What, like finding you in bed with some old minger?”
“Rab,” I said dangerously.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist it. All right. I remember the Glasgow to Edinburgh train. And shagging you in the flat.” Abruptly, his face changed. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh fuck it, Lil, why do I talk like that? I didn’t shag you, I made love to you, though I have no idea how it was possible. And I’m so sorry for being such an arse.”
Enchanted, I smiled tremulously at him. “You’re my arse. And it’s such a nice arse.”
Rab lifted his face. I bent and our lips met.
Which is when the police arrived. Our old friends from Glasgow, both coughing with deliberation to announce their presence.
“Glad to see you’re awake,” the Inspector offered. “Just came to show you these before we head back to Glasgow. The Edinburgh boys’ll take a formal statement from you when you’re fitter.”
Sergeant Lovat threw two police photographs on the bed. Unmistakably my fans who’d run from the police last night.
“Recognize these guys?” he asked laconically.
“Yes. They shot me. At least he did. The other shoved me in the boot of a car.”
“He also claims to have bandaged your wound and therefore saved your life.”
“Why did he do that?” I interjected.
“Expects leniency for it,” Lovat explained kindly.
“No! Why did he do it at the time? Why shoot someone so deliberately and then try to patch them up?”
“Because Rab didn’t have the games on him after all. The whole point was to get the games. When they discovered he hadn’t got them, they tried to keep him alive so he’d tell them where they were, only he never regained consciousness. They were on to you, planned to kidnap you either to get the disks or to make him talk if he could. If he couldn’t, I think they planned to frame you for the murder. The last was their own scheme, by the way, not orders from the masters. They’re not actually that bright.”
“And their masters?” Rab asked.
“Going down,” said Inspector McInnes with some relish. “Oh and by the way,” he added as his sergeant gathered the pictures back up. “Head Games will accept your resignation and provide a large compensation package. The sale is off. See you around.”
I watched them go with some relief, but that inspector was like Columbo—there was always one more thing. “Incidentally,” he asked me from the doorway. “How did you know where to find him?” He jerked his head at Rab.
I shrugged. “I just followed my nose. I’d seen these two before, skulking there, pretending to be autograph hunters. I suppose it suddenly clicked that they weren’t.”
He nodded as if he bought the story, and finally left.
I lay back on the pillow beside Rab. He turned his head to look into my eyes. “How did you find me?”
“I don’t know. I felt you.”
Rab smiled, tired but curiously contented. “Sounds good to me. Lil?”
“Yes?”
“Are we really right again?”
I swallowed. “If we remember to talk to each other. No more secrets. I waited too long and then threw you out too quickly without making you talk to me… I missed you so much, Rab.”
“I was dead without you.” Then, tiring of seriousness, he grinned, “Dead with you, too. How was any of that possible?”
“Rose—the medium—said she’d never heard of it. She said you weren’t really solid. It was only my—need that gave your spirit form.”
“There was a lot of need,” Rab agreed ruefully. “Yours and mine. Building for a long time. We’ll never know, will we?” I smoothed back his unruly hair and his eyes closed. “I hate being this weak. I wish I could take you in my arms…” He smiled. “Take you on this hospital bed.”
His eyes snapped open, gleaming with sudden vitality. “Hey, Lil…”
“Give it a couple of days,” I said hastily. After all, it might be amusing. We’d never done it in
a hospital before. Contemplating all sorts of delicious possibilities, I smiled and wriggled.
Rab was back.
About the Author
To learn more about Marie Treanor, please visit www.marietreanor.com. Send an email to Marie at [email protected] or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Marie! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/sexydelights. Subscribe to Marie’s Newsletter:
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Look for these titles by Marie Treanor
Now Available:
Killing Joe
Gothic Dragon
Ariadne’s Thread
The Devil and Via
Queen’s Gambit
It was supposed to be a simple burglary…but the ghosts had other ideas.
Ariadne’s Thread
© 2008 Marie Treanor
Glaswegian single mother Ariadne McSween is not having a happy New Year. Instead of celebrating with family and friends in time-honoured tradition, she’s helping her scallywag brother and his even less-savoury friends burgle a mansion in the Scottish Highlands. And nothing is going right.
First there’s the bad weather and car breakdowns. Then, instead of a quick, quiet robbery under cover of a noisy party, Addie finds herself flirting outrageously with the house's owner, sexy concert pianist and accused murderer, John Maxwell. Worse, her violent and erratic accomplice, Shug, takes their hosts hostage.
Another complication: The house turns out to be haunted, and not just by the ghost of eminent composer Christopher Maxwell. Two randy spirits drawn to the lust of living want to join the party—along with the vengeful shade of John's murdered wife.
Soon Addie becomes entangled in a host of mysteries, like why are Ariadne and her cohorts being paid to rob a house that holds nothing more valuable than dusty musical manuscripts? And most of all, how does she avoid falling in love with the chief victim of her crime?
Enjoy the following excerpt for Ariadne’s Thread:
Don’t get involved in this, Add—get yourself out the door. Any minute now, someone’s going to discover Tammy locked upstairs… She’s going to scream… She lifted the glass to her lips.
He said, “You’re beautiful.”
Startled, she almost choked. “Aye, right,” she said cynically and became fascinated by the way his eyes laughed at her while the rest of his face remained straight.
“And that’s the other reason I like you.” His gaze dropped to the region of her lips, causing those butterflies in her stomach to tighten once more. Heat began to spread outward. She wondered how he would kiss, how he would taste.
Hastily, she took another gulp of the gorgeous whisky.
He said, “So is there a boyfriend lurking somewhere?”
“What’s it to you?” she demanded from habit, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Absolutely nothing, as it happens, but I thought it might matter to you.”
“Do you always speak in riddles?”
His intense gaze remained steady. “You know exactly what I mean. I like you and I’d like to know you better.”
Oh, Jesus, why does this have to happen now? Does he know what these words do to me?
Of course he does. He’s just another man…
She said, “Aye, well I know exactly what that means.”
“Tell me,” he invited.
He really thinks I won’t. She looked straight into his eyes. “You fancy a quick fuck.”
Laughter and something far hotter swept over his stormy face. “Not quick.”
Oh, Christ. Heat swamped her, melting her jeans. Before the conversation got even further out of hand, she downed the last of her whisky and laid her glass down on the nearest table. “Look, I have to…”
“I want to show you something,” he interrupted with a bewildering change of mood. “Come on.”
He took her hand, and it felt so good there that although she’d truly meant to leave at that point, she actually found herself going with him. Worse, he was leading her back upstairs.
Where Tammy was, no doubt, banging on the office door.
“Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly. “I thought the party was downstairs?”
He laughed. “Why do you think we’re going up?”
She pulled away. “I’m not going up there.”
He glanced down at her, his devil’s eyebrows arching in a look both tempting and challenging. Beneath them, his eyes gleamed with that curious darkness she’d noticed before. And something else that she recognized as bitterness. Half the country believed he’d murdered his wife. Certainly, no one had proved he hadn’t.
He said, “Why not? Are you afraid of me?”
There were several good answers to that. Answers that would have lost him and got her finally out of the house. Unfortunately, her mouth always answered a challenge before her head gave it permission.
“Don’t be daft.”
And she was climbing the stairs again. “Maybe I’m scared of your ghosts.”
“No, they’re second rate ghosts, not scary at all. Mostly.”
“I think I saw your great-grandfather.”
“Bad luck, to quote my great-grandmother.”
She blinked at that, but since she really wanted to know, she asked, “Is that his piano I was mangling?”
Laughter hissed out between his teeth. “You didn’t mangle it that badly. I’ve heard a lot worse played on it, believe me. Though the old bugger would prefer if you played the notes he actually wrote.”
Suddenly she wanted to laugh, too, at his casual disrespect of a national icon as much as at the outlandish nature of the conversation. “Did you learn to play on that piano?”
He shrugged. “It was always there.”
“Did he lean over your shoulder and encourage you?”
“Well, he swore at me when I got it wrong.”
“You mean he speaks?”
“Constantly. As the ogre said, it’s getting him to shut up that’s the trick.”
Shrek? He knew Shrek? How incongruous was that?
They had reached the top of the stairs now. Turn right, please turn right, away from Tammy…
He drew her to the left. Addie was sure she could hear the office door rattling. She coughed to cover up any shouting, then found herself whisked into the piano room and the door firmly closed.
“What are we doing here?” she demanded.
“I thought you might like to play the piano with me.”
The lamp was still on. By its poor light, his face looked rugged and more devilish than ever. And he stood too close, much too close. With the door behind her, there was nowhere she could go. God help her, there was nowhere she wanted to go…
“Though now we’re here, I find I don’t give a stuff about playing.”
You could drown in the storm of those eyes. She so needed to be away from him…
“Shit, Kate.” His breathing seemed suddenly uneven. “Remember what you said about the lucky bag?” She opened her mouth to deny that she’d meant any of that, but he didn’t let her speak. “You’re right. It would be a bloody unlucky dip that dropped me in your lap. Tell me to sod off. Tell me quickly, and mean it—right after this kiss…”
His head swooped down and his mouth seized her parted lips before she could think, let alone react to his words. She wasn’t prepared for it. She had no time either to reject him or to savor the moment. He went from speaking straight to kissing, his hands on either side of her face while his body pressed her back into the door. Paralyzed, she hung there while his mouth devoured hers, moving across her lips with a strange, tender hunger she’d never encountered before. It astounded her, enchanted her. So when his tongue slid between her lips, she opened wider to him, meeting his tongue with her own. He wound it in his, danced with it, sucked it into his own mouth while he explored every nook of hers.
Sensation rolled inward like a tidal wave. Every caress of his sensitive fingertips at the corner of her lip
s, every movement of his devastating mouth, dragged her further in. She clung to him, kissing him back with forgotten passion till he groaned into her mouth.
His hands left her face, trailing down her neck to her shoulders, and down the sides of her body, just teasing her breasts on the way to her waist where they lingered, stroking. Her hard, needy nipples pressed into him through the thin camisole. She moved in his arms, rubbing them against his chest. His hands swept down her hips, holding her while he pressed his lower body into her, his sporran jabbing into her abdomen.
With an impatient jerk, his hand pushed between their bodies, pushing the sporran aside so that he could grind his erection into her instead. Through the thickness of his kilt, she could feel it already hard and thick. Desire flooded her, soaking her jeans. Her pussy pulsed with need.
This can’t be happening…how can I want him so much so quickly?
Changing the angle of his mouth, he deepened the kiss even further. One questing hand found her breast, cupping and caressing, his thumb flickering back and forth across her rigid nipple, making her moan into his mouth. She pressed forward into the delicious hardness of his cock and obligingly he rubbed it against her. She wanted it inside her, pushing, thrusting. She wanted him naked, to feel his skin, every inch of the hard body pressed so beguilingly against her now.
At last, as if it were a supreme effort, he dragged his mouth free. “Tell me now,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. “Tell me quickly… ‘Sod off, John Maxwell, you’re nothing but trouble.’ Kate…”
His mouth found hers again, brushing back and forwards across her lips as reality flooded back, bringing shame and guilt and a pain so sharp it made her gasp aloud. She grasped his head between her hands to stop his devastating mouth.
Requiem for Rab Page 7
