by Nina Bruhns
She pulled away and looked at his face. The man who stared back at her was no dewy-eyed, sated lover, illuminated by the growing light of morning, he seemed almost … angry.
She smiled uncertainly, but wrapped her arms around him. "Yes, I'm yours. For a few days, anyway."
"I want more than a few days."
"Last night, you were the one who said—"
"That's not good enough," he interrupted. "Not anymore." He set her aside and jumped out of bed. "I have to find Sully."
"Tyree!" she called after him, alarmed as he swiped up his clothes from the floor and stalked out of the bedroom. "Wait!"
She cast about for her sleep shirt and didn't find it, but ran after him anyway. In the living room, he had his clothes on and was sliding his second boot on, hopping toward the door.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. He turned and ran his eyes over her nakedness. "He's here for a reason. I have to find out what it is."
"How? By barging into the Old Fort Mystic fire station and giving the fire chief the third degree about a two-hundred-year-old curse? They'll think you're nuts."
The scar under his eye twitched. "No one else will see me."
"Oh, that's right," she said as calmly as possible. "You're invisible. So, they'll all think he's standing there talking to himself. Don't you think that'll raise some questions?"
"So I'll follow him until he's alone."
"That's called stalking. Besides," she argued, "he already denied knowing you. What good will it do, besides drawing attention to yourself?" Something Tyree was always careful to avoid.
He put his hands on his hips and let his gaze drift over her body. She stifled the urge to run back and grab the coverlet; instead, she closed the few steps between them, stopping just short of touching him. His cool breath soughed over her breasts, and she felt her nipples swirl and tighten.
"Forget Sully," she pleaded. "Let's just think about us for the time we have together."
His expression relaxed slightly. "You're right," he said, reaching out to brush his hand over her breast. He pulled her close and kissed her. "You'll have to ask him for me."
"Tyree—"
"Please?"
She couldn't believe he was asking her to do this. But when he looked at her with such … trust, it was impossible to deny him anything at all.
"What am I supposed to ask him? 'Um, excuse me, are you a two-hundred-year-old pirate?'"
He made a face. "You'll think of something. Just find out if it's him."
Of course it wasn't him. But maybe she could use the opportunity to learn more about the fires, something that could conceivably benefit her article.
She checked the mantel clock over his shoulder. Only 7:00 a.m. She snuggled closer. "Come back to bed. We hardly got any sleep last night."
It was so nice just to be in his arms. She didn't want the closeness to end. Not yet.
He tipped up her chin with a finger and smiled. "I have a feeling we still won't get much sleep if we both get back in that bed." He kissed her and turned her toward the bedroom with a light smack on the rear. "You go on. I have a few things to get done this morning."
She swatted at his hand and sent him a pout. "Spoilsport."
"I promise I'll make it up to you later," he said with a wink, and strode out of the bungalow.
She pushed out a breath. Yeah, unless she recovered her lost mind in the meantime. Which she should make every effort to do.
Wandering into the bedroom, she picked up his eye patch from the nightstand. Being with this man was incredibly dumb. Any man would be risky, but this particular one was just plain crazy. She smiled wryly at the unintended but direct hit.
Crazy but marvelous.
Slipping the black leather over her own eye, she gazed at herself in the armoire mirror. How appropriate. Half blinded by a simple scrap of leather. Whether on him or her, the effect was much the same. She couldn't see past it to steer clear of the dangers she was surely heading for.
Ah, well. Now was not the time to fight her feelings. Not with the scent of their lovemaking clinging to her skin and the memory of his tenderness turning her brain to mush. Time enough for that after she'd gotten some sleep. Or, better yet, on Sunday, after he left her for the mysterious appointment that would part them forever.
Crawling onto the bed, she wrapped herself in sheets that smelled of him and told herself that leaving Tyree would not kill her. And for the few seconds it took for her to fall asleep, she actually believed it.
* * *
She heard a deep chuckle. "I like it."
"Hmm?"
Clara opened her eyelids, but something was blocking one of them. Tyree leaned over her, an amused look on his face.
"You in my eye patch and nothing else. Very sexy."
She reached up and touched the circle of leather. "Oh! I must have fallen asleep wearing it."
"I brought you something. I think they'll go well together." He set a gift bag overflowing with gold tissue on the bed next to her and grinned. He was wearing jeans and a snug T-shirt but he still managed to look like a rogue with mischief on his mind.
She sat up in anticipation and flipped the patch off her eye. "A present? For me?"
He gave her a kiss. "Well, that's open to interpretation, I suppose. Go on. Open it."
Sweet Secrets Lingerie was emblazoned on the outside of the bag in swirly gold letters. She shot him a bemused glance. "Let me guess. A bra?"
"Sort of."
"You are naughty," she said, and dug into the bag, lifting out the treasures it contained. "Oh! They're gorgeous!"
Three of them. All delicate and lacy and incredibly sexy, in different colors and patterns, with matching panties.
"But Tyree, I couldn't possibly accept all these!"
He kissed her again. "Sure you can. Consider them study material for the lessons you're going to give me. I need something to practice on, right?"
She wavered. They were so beautiful. She imagined him peeling each one off her and was about to give in when he whispered into her ear, "There's one for each day left."
That totally spoiled the effect.
Suddenly, the image of him peeling off the bras took on a whole new meaning. For each different one he removed, they'd have one less day together. Until the last one…
She pushed them back at him. "No. I can't."
"This one today, I think," he said as though she hadn't spoken, putting one up to her breasts. It was cream-colored with delicate black embroidered flowers all over. "Aye, definitely this one. Too bad you have to wear something over it."
"No, Tyree."
He regarded her. "I thought you liked them."
"I do. It's just…"
"It's bad enough sleeping with a man you'll be with for less than a week, let alone accepting gifts from him?"
She avoided his gaze. "Something like that."
"Clara, I'm not buying your favors, if that's what you think. I care for you. A lot. And if there were any way—"
She lifted her eyes. "You'd do what? Come with me on the trip? Move with me back to Kansas? We both know the answer to that."
It was his turn to avoid her gaze. "Not necessarily. It would depend."
"On what? No, Tyree. If anything, you'd ask me to stay here, so you wouldn't have to leave the estate. So you wouldn't have to see other people or talk to them. Isn't that right?"
He stroked a thumb back and forth over the satin of the bra cup. "Maybe. It just depends."
"Well, I can't live like a recluse. You know I want to see the world, have adventures, live life to the fullest before settling down. I want to share all that with the man I love, not hide from it."
He looked up. "I'd give anything to be that man, Clara. But you know my situation. Unless it changes…"
"How, Tyree?" she asked, grasping his arms desperately. "How can we change it?"
He shook his head. "It's out of our hands," he said, his expression wretched. "Unless…"
&n
bsp; "Unless what?"
"Sully."
Her heart fell. So they were back to fantasyland. What did she expect? That he had found some miraculous cure in her arms last night? That her budding love was strong enough to make up for whatever terrible hurts had made him like this?
She let out a long sigh. "Okay. I'll talk to him. Find out what I can."
And she would also do her best to shore up her tattered defenses against falling any deeper for Tyree. Defenses he'd nearly managed to obliterate last night. Defenses she badly needed.
"Take these," he whispered, and set the bag on her lap. "Please. I want you to have them."
She nodded, trying to keep the sadness from her smile. "Thank you. No one's ever given me anything so beautiful."
He hugged her close and kissed her temple. "Nothing compared to what you've given me."
"I should get dressed," she said, fighting not to lose it. "The museum will open soon."
"Aye. I'll wait for you in the other room."
She watched him stride out and close the door gently behind him. So straight and tall and commanding. How could a man with such a powerful presence be so loath to venture out in the world?
Today she would find out about Rosalind. Perhaps she was the key to bringing him back to reality. And just maybe the key to Clara's own happiness.
* * *
"What's that?" Clara asked.
Tyree looked up as she walked into the main room. She was feeling much calmer, now that she had a plan for the day.
"Another of Davey's journals," he answered, thumbing carefully through the yellowed pages. "It appears to be from 1798."
"Wow. Where did you get that?"
"The Pryce-Simmons House."
Her eyes widened. "You're kidding."
"On the library floor in the corner, hidden behind a table. It looked like it might have been thrown there by someone."
"Thrown? And you just took it?"
"It would have been ruined by the water if I hadn't."
"Tyree, that's evidence! You never thought to turn it over to Chief Sullivan?"
He scowled. "Sully? Surely, you jest."
"There could be fingerprints!"
He shook his head. "I doubt it. They said on the news none were found at the scene. The arsonist evidently wore gloves."
"Have you ever tried leafing through a book with gloves on?"
"Ah." Consternation crossed his face and he looked back at the diary. "Good point."
She fetched a paper bag from the kitchen area. "Put it in here. I'll give it to Sully when I talk to him."
He dropped it in but snatched the bag from her hand. "Not Sully. That arson inspector, what was his name?"
She thought for a second. "Jake Santee."
"Slip it on his desk while no one's looking. That way, they won't connect it to you."
She raised her brows. "Oh, no. They'll catch me for sure. You're the invisible one," she challenged, crossing her arms when he tried to hand it to her. "You slip it on his desk."
Tyree gave her a grumpy look but to her surprise said, "Fine. I'll leave it in the fire station mailbox."
Progress? She didn't dare hope. She gazed longingly at the diary instead. "I wish I could look through it first."
"Bad idea," he said. "Then your fingerprints would be on it."
"True. Maybe Santee will let me see it after the forensics are done."
"Maybe."
"Well, I have to be at the museum, so let's get this over with. Coming?"
"You're going like that?" he asked mildly.
Suddenly, she realized he'd casually blocked her way to the door. She glanced down at her outfit, a pretty lavender cap-sleeved T-shirt with a jean skirt and sandals. She'd also relented and put on the bra he'd chosen for today.
"You have a problem with what I'm wearing?"
He gave her an inspection that sent warm shivers through her whole body. "Too sexy," he pronounced.
He sounded like he actually meant it, too. She smiled. "Now you know what it feels like when you walk in wearing those tight pirate pants." Though frankly, the jeans he was wearing hugged him nearly as well and were every bit as appealing.
The corner of his lip curled. "But you're the only one who sees me in them."
"What about Mrs. Yates?"
"Doesn't count."
"Neither does Jake Santee."
"And Sully?"
She splayed her fingers on his broad chest. "Only interests me on paper lately."
Tyree's large hand cupped the side of her face, then slid down her throat to her shoulder. Catching the scooped neck of her T-shirt in a finger, he dragged it partway down her arm, exposing her left breast. His eyes darkened to midnight and she broke out in goose bumps as he deliberately ran his thumb along the satin edge of her bra.
He leaned down, stealing a feathery kiss from her. One that teased more than satisfied. His powerful hand enveloped her breast and the tip quickened instantly.
A soft moan escaped her. That swiftly she wanted him again.
"Just remember you're mine," he whispered in her ear, and pulled up her sleeve. Off balance, she tried to hold on to him as he stepped away, but he slipped from her grasp and said, "Now, let's go see Sully."
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Tyree waited impatiently outside the fire station for Clara.
He'd decided to play it cool. After strolling nonchalantly to the mailbox and depositing the bag containing the journal, he'd taken a seat on a rough stone wall across the street, in full view of the station. So far no one had noticed him. But it had been nearly fifteen minutes since Clara'd disappeared into the old brick building, and his cool was wearing thin.
What was she doing in there? He was tempted to walk in and find out. If it weren't for the fact that Sully could see him, he would. But Clara was right. That scenario would either produce an uproar, or Andre Sullivan would be put on immediate emergency medical leave for acute hallucinations. The first would be disaster, the second unproductive—if tempting.
It seemed like an eternity before she finally came out.
"Let's walk," Tyree said the second she crossed the street, steering her in the direction of the pirate museum. "Tell me what happened."
She gave a soft whistle. "I can see why you thought he was Sully. The resemblance is incredible. Almost as close as you and St. James."
"So I wasn't crazy," Tyree murmured.
Clara smiled wryly. "But he wasn't Sully," she said, reading his mind.
"Are you certain?"
"Positive." She bent to touch a rosebud growing along a fence. "I introduced myself as a distant relation of Sullivan Fouquet and said I'd heard he might also be related to him."
"How did he react?"
"With amusement. He assured me he knows his family tree, and there are no Fouquets on any of the branches. And he'd specifically looked."
"Because people have remarked on the resemblance."
"Right." They continued strolling. "I pried a little, and found out his family has been in South Carolina for five or six generations, after coming down from New England."
He glanced over. "Connecticut?"
"Didn't ask. Anyway, about that time Jake Santee walked by and saw me, so the topic switched to the fires."
Tyree wanted to grill her more about Sully. In his gut, he knew Sully's sudden appearance on the scene was no coincidence, but it was obvious she didn't agree and had finished with the subject. So he said, "Anything interesting turn up?"
"You were right about the paintings," she said. "Each house that was targeted by the arsonist contained at least one painting by Thom Bowden that is now missing."
He shook his head, puzzled. "Hard to believe all this is over a few mediocre paintings by an unknown local artist. Doesn't really make sense."
"I agree. But they seem to be following that lead. Santee asked if I know anyone else who owns one. Do you?"
He considered. "Not since they s
old my portrait along with the one of Sully and me that used to hang in the Moon and Palmetto. Guess I could run a computer search on insurance companies' lists and see if I get lucky."
Clara looked at him askance. "You mean hack into their files? You'll be arrested!"
"Unlikely. Besides," he said with a wink, "there's no jail that could hold me."
"Tyree—"
"Hush, now, and give me a kiss."
They'd arrived at the entrance to the museum, and he pulled her into the small niche that framed the front door. She melted into his arms, warm and pliable.
A long moment later, he whispered, "I like the way you obey my commands."
"Obey, nothin'," she murmured. "I just like how you kiss." She gave him a last one and opened the door.
"When will you be home?" he asked, hating to let her go.
She sighed. "Closing time, no doubt. I have a lot to get done."
"Mrs. Yates is volunteering at the desk today. Maybe I'll drop by at lunchtime."
"That would be nice."
He watched her go and fought the impulse to trail after her like a hound dog, making sure she was safe, curling up at her feet as she read.
He grimaced. God's Bones, he had it bad.
What he really wanted to do was go in and throttle Mrs. Yates for bringing Clara to Rose Cottage.
He'd nearly made it. With one week left on earth he had been happy as a clam, looking forward to meeting his fate as soon as possible. But now, just four short days later, he was desperate to change the hand of destiny.
The question was, how?
* * *
Tyree stretched out on the wooden pier in his favorite spot and stared up at the gray clouds trundling by overhead. It would rain soon, but he didn't care. At sea, he'd been soaked half the time, and had long ago learned not to mind the elements. Besides, in his present state, he didn't feel true cold or heat, wet or dry, just misty shadows of the senses he remembered from life.
First one drop fell, followed by another and another as cloud after cloud rolled past.
What lay beyond the clouds? He wondered. Beyond the sky and the edge of the universe? Heaven?
Was that where he was bound on Saturday night?
He closed his eyes, felt the warm drops trickle down his face and cheeks, and smelled the dark, musty smell of rain hitting the earth.
