Chapter Five

 

“I’m in.” Her voice was a harsh whisper.

“Well, now, that was fast. You’re better at this than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not sure I can go through with this,” she said softly-”It’s more complex than anything I’ve tried before.”

“You’ll do it, Brigit.”

There was a pause, tension, as her breath rushed in and out a little faster than before. “I need to know more,” she said at last. “Who is this client? Why does he want—”

“No sense asking, Brigit. I don’t have the answers either. You just do your part and don’t worry about the rest.”

“Adam Reid is an intelligent man,” she said slowly. “He’s going to catch on.”

“You’ll just have to see to it he doesn’t. Distract him, Brigit. Come on. Use your imagination.”

“You’re a pig!” She all but spat the words.

The reply was low, vile laughter.

“I want to talk to Raze,” she said, her voice choked now. No longer assertive or sure. It was pleading instead.

“Then I suggest you get the job done.”

There was a click, and then silence. Brigit swore very softly and there was a coarseness to her voice that suggested tears. And then she set her receiver down, too.

Adam didn’t hang up until the other two had. He drew his brows together in a frown, and wondered just what on earth he’d got himself into. This woman who looked like his fondest fantasy was conspiring against him. Plotting with someone else...to do what? He couldn’t even begin to guess. Hell, if they were planning to con him out of his fortune, they were almost a year too late. Sandra had seen to it there wasn’t anything left worth stealing. And it was a sign of his own hardened heart, he supposed, that he missed the money more than he missed her. Hell, no wonder she’d left him.

Brigit was up to something, though, and he had an instinctive feeling in his gut that she posed far greater danger to him than his wife ever had. And it was too late to back out now, whatever it was. Brigit had arrived later that same night with three large suitcases and a bulky garment bag. And he wondered why she was in such a damned hurry to get under his roof, and what the hell she was planning to try to pull on him. He’d find out. He’d find out if it was the last thing he ever did.

Easy to say, now, he thought. With her in his ex-wife’s bedroom, out of his sight. But when he was near her and she started working him over with those eyes of hers, his. common sense seemed to take a powder. Because of her likeness to the woman who was the center of his obsession, he realized. He had to find a way to get past that. He had to get a handle on his rampant interest in her. Distance himself. Find out who she really was and why she’d nearly fainted when she’d seen the painting. She must know something about it. She had to. It was the only rational explanation. If it killed him, he would find out what. And while he was at it, he’d find out what she was after here.

To do that, he realized, he’d have to spend time with her, and do so without falling under her spell. Away from her, he was sharp and objective and insightful. Near her, he became a helpless puppet, incapable of thinking beyond the moment. The beauty in her eyes. The shape of her mouth. The satin curls and raven lights in the hair she kept bundled up tight, which was

a crime in itself.

Adam closed his eyes, grated his teeth, and banished the apparition from his mind. God, he’d conjured her image with no more than a thought. And there he’d been again, stricken what felt like a mortal blow from the sheer force of her presence.

This kind of attraction just wasn’t natural. But it was understandable. He rationalized that it was only because of this longtime obsession. Only because he saw her as its center, its essence. If she were a blue-eyed blond, he told himself, he’d feel nothing for her. But he had to wonder if that were true.

He stared for a long moment at the telephone on the nightstand. And finally, with a sigh, he gave up trying to untangle the reality of the conspirator in the next bedroom, and the fantasy woman who’d haunted his soul for nearly all his life. He needed to stop thinking about all of this, just let it go. His head throbbed and his nerves stood on their quivering ends. He wasn’t thinking about newly translated texts, or tomorrow’s class, or his tenure, or his finances. He wasn’t thinking about the approaching winter and the need to have the heating system replaced, or the ominous clunk in the Porsche’s transmission. He was only thinking about Brigit Malone.

Impulsively, he turned to the French doors. With the darkness outside and the lights on within, their smooth glass became a mirror. He could see nothing outside. Only the perfect reflection of his own, gloomy bedroom. And the image of a man in abject—if inexplicable—misery.

As if in an act of defiance, he cranked both handles and slammed the doors open wide. The autumn chill had taken a respite today. Tonight, even the breeze had died away. The night’s air laid oppressive and silent over the world, heavy as a woolen blanket. Heat surrounded him, smothered him as he stepped out onto the wrought-iron deck he’d had built along the entire length of the house’s back side. From here, he could look out over the lake. Usually there would be a refreshing breeze waiting to greet him.

Tonight there was only a humid, sweaty hand. Invisible. Holding him in its fist until he could barely draw a breath. Holding him prisoner the way his obsession did.

Adam stared out at the dark water, seeing no movement. Only able to make out the crooked-finger shape of Cayuga by the darker shade of the water compared to the land around it. He turned toward the south, so he faced the forested hillside. Its shape swelled toward the sky, and he remembered playing there as a child. He remembered what he’d seen there, where he’d gone.

Someplace that had shaken his world to its fragile core. Someplace that had twisted his in-sides up so much he hadn’t dared go back. Not in almost thirty years. And part of him, way down deep, knew that he hadn’t stayed away out of fear of his father’s brutal reprisals. Because he could have explored those woods again, after the bastard had abandoned them. There had been time before the new owners had tossed Adam and his mother out of their home. And more time after Adam had bought the place back again. But he hadn’t. Because he knew, somewhere inside him, that he was terrified of what he might find out there. He’d never been sure whether his mind could handle going into that forest again, and seeing the magical doorway that led to an enchanted realm. And he was equally unsure he could handle not seeing it, as little sense as that made. That, perhaps, was the basis for his obsession to find the source of his fantasy. The fact that he’d never been able to fully convince himself it hadn’t been real. Oh, he pretended to believe that. But the doubt still lingered.

Blinking, bringing his focus back, he looked at where he stood. He’d stopped walking right outside Brigit’s bedroom. The French doors that matched the ones in his own, stood right in front of him. Closed, but bare. Sandra had liked all the windows in her rooms left uncovered. No need for drapes or blinds, she’d insisted. This was the second floor, after all, and only the lake lay beyond the glass, and far below. There was no way anyone, even if they were on a boat, could see inside.

He wished now that he’d had the windows covered after Sandra had taken off. It had never seemed important, somehow. At least, not until this very moment.

He closed his eyes, opened them again. It didn’t work. Brigit was still there. Pacing the bedroom like a caged lioness, tear tracks scalded into her cheeks, lashes still damp. She hugged herself, as if to ward off a chill, though Adam belatedly remembered he’d forgotten to turn the central air back on in her room. It must be stifling in there.

She wore the clothes she’d been wearing earlier. Black skirt almost to her knees. A shimmery green silk blouse, tucked into it, and a wide black belt around her tiny waist. The belt buckle was a golden sun with wavy rays sticking out all the way around. Her earrings matched. And her hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head, though the heat and humidity had coaxed several curls loose. Even the glasses were still firmly in place.

The only other difference was that she’d kicked off her shoes now. She paced, in black-stockinged feet.

The double doors, bare as they were, gave him a wide-angle view of the entire bedroom. He saw open suitcases on the darkly stained four-poster bed. Draped across one of them was a vanilla nightgown which consisted of little more than a length of satin and two spaghetti straps.

She paced in a repetitive pattern, then broke it, and walked through the open door to the bathroom. And in spite of himself, Adam took a few more steps. Steps that brought him to that arched window. And he could see so very clearly, the water spewing full force from the faucets, foaming as it hit the nearly full shell-shaped tub. He wondered briefly why the window wasn’t coated in steam. Then she stepped into his line of vision, and he only wondered how the hell he was going to make himself turn around and walk away.

 

***

Hot. The place was hot and humid. Heavy, thick air. Didn’t the man have air conditioning in a house this size? She hadn’t noticed this sticky heat downstairs. Then again she hadn’t remained down there long. Unable to look him in the eye, because of the guilt she knew he’d see in hers.

Besides, she’d been in a hurry to get the big garment bag out of his sight. With his piercing eyes, she could almost believe he could see right through it to the canvases that were hidden inside. The ones that were the exact size and shape of the painting downstairs in his study. The painting he’d said he wouldn’t trade for the world. The one she was going to steal from him.

She felt sick to her stomach, and lowered her head until her chin touched her chest.

If I survive this, I’ll kill that bastard Zaslow!

Brigit blinked in shock at the potent anger she’d heard in that voice from within. The voice of her other self. The wild one. She quelled it quickly, because the anger she heard in it frightened her. No. She wouldn’t kill him. She was a sensible, civilized woman. She wouldn’t kill anyone. She’d just do what she had to do, and find some way to go on.

God, she was so worried about Raze. She’d wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice. Zaslow could have allowed it. He was being deliberately cruel, and enjoying it. Either that, or...or he’d done something to Raze. Hurt him so badly he was unable to talk...

Tears spilled from her eyes again at that thought, but she pressed the back of one hand to her lips to keep from sobbing, and rapidly blinked the tears away. She couldn’t afford to think that way. Not now, not here, with Adam Reid’s sharp gaze always probing for secrets and lies. And finding them.

Now...now she needed a cool bath...and rest. She needed rest. Her wits were already dulled from lack of sleep. She’d need to be sharp if she hoped to fool Adam.

She wondered if now that she’d met him, he’d still appear in her dreams at night. Those erotic dreams woven by that wanton inside her. Brigit lost control of the wild thing when she was sleeping. And her control during the hours of wakefulness would be sorely tested, she thought, now that she was living under Adam’s roof. Even now, she felt a ripple of desire for him flitting up and down her nerve endings. She hoped the spell of those dreams would be broken now that she’d met the real man. But somehow, she doubted it. If she had those kinds of dreams about Adam Reid tonight, she wasn’t sure she could get up and look him in the eye tomorrow morning.

Brigit brushed her fingertips across her damp forehead, pushed sweat-soaked tendrils of hair off her skin. She lifted one hand to begin unbuttoning her blouse, as she walked into the bathroom to check on the cool bath she was running. The tub was like an ivory seashell, with little steps cut into one side. No curtain around it. No frosted glass doors. It was open, and she squirmed a little at the idea of feeling so exposed as she bathed. The one inside disagreed. She found the idea tantalizing.

Brigit wished she would go back to sleep and stay there.

Still, she supposed it would be all right. There was only one arched, floor-to-ceiling window in here, and nothing but the lake beyond it. She could see nothing now, of course, but by daylight, one would be able to see the incredible view from the comfort of the tub. She could almost envision some purely sexual creature soaking in that shell of a tub, like a pearl. Sipping champagne and staring out at the lake and the hills and the greenery. The blue sky above. From way up here on high. Queen of all she surveys, Brigit thought.

And oddly, she thought of the painting again. Of the woman bathing in the midst of all that natural beauty.

Brigit glanced at the tub, and thought she should have settled for a quick shower.

Oh, go on! Who’s going to know?

That one inside her was yearning to try a little decadence on for size. And Brigit was tempted to let her. She’d never lived in a place like this...never had the chance to feel such luxury. She went back to the bedroom for a vial of essential vanilla oil. And while she was there, she removed her glasses, and placed them carefully on the bedside stand. A little more of the wild one’s impishness possessed her as she hurried back to the bathroom and poured a generous amount of oil into the cool water. Impulsively, she leaned over the tub to inhale its fragrance.

 

***

This was not what he’d had in mind when he’d decided to come out onto the balcony. Nor when he’d decided he ought to keep a close eye on her. She was doing nothing more suspicious than running a bath, and he ought to leave.

Right now. He ought to leave.

He didn’t, because there seemed to be some kind of magic at work here. He watched her as she shook her hair loose. The first time he’d seen it down, wild and untamed, since that day in the classroom. Her glasses were gone now, too. And—and she’d somehow lost the appearance of the shy, the controlled, the staid plant shop owner. He realized with a little jolt of surprise that his instincts about her had been right on target. The primness had been an illusion. He saw that now, in the simple way she ran her fingers through that mane of hair, arching her back and tipping her chin up. She was a creature of pure sensuality. She was desire, in a physical form. Venus. Aphrodite. And the transformation seemed to come from within her.

Her back was toward him as she slid the green silk blouse from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. And why had he somehow known her skin would look luminous? Satiny? That the curve of her spine would be perfect and enticing, beckoning him closer?

Her hands moved around to the front, and a second later, she was pushing the skirt away. Stripping away the vestiges of civilized woman she’d been wearing. Pushing the skirt down over her hips, letting it pool around her feet. Standing there in a forest-green camisole with black lace trim. Further evidence of the woman she was pretending so hard not to be. Her panties had high-cut legs. And she wore black stockings that only came to mid-thigh.

She lifted one leg, propping her foot on the edge of the tub, and she pressed her hands to her thigh, and Adam shuddered with a primal twinge. Those hands, small, efficient hands, rolled the stocking down, all the way to her ankle, then worked it off her petite foot and dropped it carelessly on the floor.

Sweat broke out on Adam’s forehead. His breathing was deep, ragged. And he was hard. He told himself to look away, to leave this deck right now, before it was too late. But he couldn’t do it. It was almost as if some spell were keeping him there, as if she’d truly mesmerized him, cementing his feet to the spot, refusing to release the hold her body had on his eyes. His physical self refused to obey his mind’s commands. In fact, his body refused to do anything at all, except respond to the slow revelation of hers.

By the time she’d removed the other stocking, he was throbbing. Aching.

But it wasn’t over yet. Not yet. Because her hand came up, and pushed the thin strap down from her shoulder. And as she undressed, she moved through the bathroom, looking it over, taking it in. The other strap was lowered.

Jesus! He bit his lip, leaning forward in anticipation.

She pushed the camisole down, wriggled her hips through, and let it fall at her feet. And without a second’s hesitation, she shoved off the high-cut panties as well, and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and he thought he’d stopped breathing.

The luscious curve of her spine dipped inward at the small of her back, then eased and vanished between two perfect buttocks. Smooth and rounded just enough, he thought. Swaying oh-so-slightly as she moved to the tub.

“God damn,” he whispered.

She bent over to shut off the water, then lower, swishing one hand through it.

He choked out a hoarse, involuntary curse, his erection so hard it was painful.

And she whirled to face the window, startled, and Adam went utterly still. Maybe she’d heard him. He was given a brief, tantalizing glimpse of small, firm breasts with upturned nipples that looked as succulent as honeydew. Looking at those confections made his mouth water, and his heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer. That silver necklace winked and glimmered from between her breasts, and the pewter fairy that embraced the diamond-like quartz crystal took on a new degree of sensuality. One he’d remember whenever he saw it from now on.

He saw something else. Something red, a small mark on her lower abdomen. Only a glimpse. No more, as she snatched a towel and yanked it over her body, frowning hard at the glass, seeing nothing, he knew, but her own reflection.

He stood motionless on the other side. And though he knew she couldn’t see him with the light on inside and the pitch darkness without, he got the feeling that she knew he was there. Sensed his presence somehow.

Or did she?

Impossible to tell. Because she turned her back, and she let the towel fall away. Quickly, she stepped into the tub and sank down into the water, hiding her body from his hungry stare.

And only then was Adam finally able to convince himself to walk away.

At breakfast, she was once again the reserved, the wary, the shy woman he’d first known. She wore a loose-fitting crinkle dress of deep blue, with yellow stars dotting it. She’d belted it at the waist with a braided yellow belt, and there were tiny golden suns and cradle moons hanging from the belt, moving when she did. And, of course, that necklace hung around her neck. He’d come to the conclusion that she never took it off, and he wondered why.

Her hair was in a tight French braid all the way down to the middle of her back, again, and her round wire rims were perched over those mystical eyes. She was hiding. This was her facade. He knew the real woman. He’d seen her last night. But he’d known her even before then. He’d met her almost thirty years ago.

“Sleep well?”

She lifted her gaze from her empty coffee mug to meet his. “Fine, thank you. Although...I thought I heard something on the deck outside my room.”

He crooked a brow at her. “Really?”

“Probably an animal.”

A barb...meant to stick him. No doubt about it, she had known he was out there last night. Why not just say so, then? Why not call him on it?

Because she had to stay here, in order to pull off whatever con she was working up to. And if she admitted that she knew, then she’d have to leave, wouldn’t she? No self-respecting woman would stay. It was easier to play word games, to throw missiles and see if they hit any targets.

Well, he wasn’t rising to her bait.

“I’ll take a look around out there tonight before you go to sleep, if it will make you feel better.”

Her round eyes met his, wider than ever. She said nothing. He almost got lost in those eyes, but caught himself in time, and averted his gaze. Distance, he reminded himself. Objectivity.

“Coffee?”

“Just hot water.” She pulled a tea bag from a deep pocket and dropped it into her cup. He poured the water for her, replaced the pot, and sat back down.

The space between them wasn’t empty. There was something there, something alive and crackling and hot. He could feel it, and he was sure she could as well.

“I have classes most of the day,” he said. “I won’t be back until tonight.”

“Oh. Well, I won’t see you, then. I don’t close Akasha until eleven.”

He nodded, wondering what she’d do while he was gone today. Wondering if he should even leave.

“What...do you want done? You know...to the house.”

He shrugged. “If you can manage to keep the rooms I use everyday in something close to livable conditions, I’ll be happy. I don’t expect you to do the whole house. The service is gonna send someone once a month to do the major cleaning.”

She didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. She sat there, dipping her tea bag in synchronized movements that started to work on him as surely as a hypnotist’s pocket watch.

He cleared his throat, jerked his eyes away from her hand, stopped fantasizing about how it would feel on his warm, hard flesh. “You can clean up the breakfast mess, I suppose. You remember where the kitchen is?”

“Yes.”

“And if you get a chance you can straighten my bedroom.”

Again her head snapped up and her eyes sparked. “Where—”

“Right next to yours, Brigit.” He enjoyed her surprise, and allowed himself a smile of triumph. “The room you’re sleeping in belonged to my wife. She made sure it was the nicest one in the house. I thought you’d like it.”

“I do.” She lowered her gaze, sipped her tea. Then she frowned and met his eyes again. “What happened to her?”

The words that formed in his mind were none of your damned business. But the ones that fell from his lips were different ones. “Last I heard, she was in Venezuela.”

Those eyes of hers flickered, but held his by sheer force. An invisible force. One that made him answer questions he had no intention of answering.

“She left you?”

He only nodded, telling himself to finish his coffee, to break eye contact so he could regain some control here.

“I’m sorry,” she said so softly he almost believed her. “That must have hurt.”

It had hurt. It had torn him apart. Not that Sandra would have had any way of telling. He was an expert at keeping his feelings to himself. And it wasn’t so much losing her that had given him all that pain. It was the loss itself. The feeling of being stabbed in the back by someone he’d been foolish enough to care for, to trust, yet again.

Hell, he should have known better. Wouldn’t happen again, though. He’d finally got the point.

“Adam?”

He looked up, having lost the thread of the conversation.

“Are you all right?” she asked him, as if she gave a damn.

Those eyes worked their magic, sucked him in. Damn, he wanted her. Maybe this whole thing wasn’t such a great idea after all.

And the way she was looking at him, he could almost believe this mind-blowing desire might be mutual.

And that made it even more potent. He stood abruptly. “I have to go.”

Glancing through the glass that lined three walls of the breakfast nook to judge the weather, he yanked his suit jacket from the chair where he’d tossed it.

“It’s going to be a beautiful day,” she told him, reading his thoughts it seemed.

“Dark clouds on the horizon.”

She shook her head. “The rain will hold off until tonight.”

He frowned at her. “Amateur meteorologist?”

Her smile was quick and blinding. “Good guesser,” she replied.

He shook his head, not returning her smile.

“Have a good day, Adam.”

He stopped at the doorway that led out to the foyer, wondering at the odd tingle that had raced down the back of his neck at her words. The feeling of warmth, of...optimism...that seemed to sink through his pores. As if it were more than a wish.

Damn. He’d better try getting some more sleep tonight. “You, too,” he muttered, and then he hurried away from the woman and her mysterious vibes. In the foyer, he took a moment to snatch his raincoat from the rack near the door, his way of thumbing his nose at her predictions, he figured. But before he left, he turned, looking back toward the room where he’d left her.

She was humming, her voice angelic, her tune, haunting and strange. His throat went dry. He reached for the doorknob, and just before he turned away again, his gaze fell on that fern at the base of the stairs.

He frowned hard. It didn’t look quite as brown and withered this morning. Now what the hell was up with that?