But she didn’t want to be just one more in a long string of casual lovers. She didn’t want to have a fascination with him that bordered on obsession. But she did, and she could only stare at him when he spoke.
“Do y’know, Kit, I fell a little bit in love with you that first night I saw you. You had on that gauzy shift, and your hair was flying about you like waves of silk. I knew ye’d just come from some man’s bed, and that ye’d liked it there, and I felt an envy in my heart for that man. You were so fresh and innocent. I wanted to touch you then. And I wanted to touch you when I finally did, although I knew it wasn’t right, because you were everything that you said—young, hurt, and too much alone. I’m not a fool, woman, or a celibate. I haven’t spent these eight years living like a monk. But I’ve thought about you—often. And, seeing you now, nothing has changed. There’s still an innocence about you that makes a man want to protect you, but there’s something else, too. It’s in your smile, in the way you move. Something that brings out all that’s primitive in a man and makes him tremble with longing.”
“No, Justin, there’s nothing. There can’t be.”
“There will be,” he said, and the words were a warning.
“Mom!”
They snapped to attention when Mike burst into the room.
“Mom! Come see what Molly made. They’re really neat! And she says she’ll show us how to make them!”
Kit breathed deeply. Mike had made the room ordinary again. Even Justin was ordinary again, not a demon—or a diabolical god. He was smiling as he looked at Mike, his arm resting on the mantel. He was just a very attractive man, intrigued by the antics of a boy.
“What are you talking about, Mike?” Kit asked her son.
“The faces, Mrs. McHennessy.” It was Molly who answered her, following Mike in from the kitchen. She smiled broadly, a tall woman with iron-gray hair and a warm smile. Douglas had her smile, Kit thought.
“Come see for yourself, me girl!” Molly urged.
Mike took her hand and dragged her along. She caught Justin’s eyes; he grinned and shrugged. She could hear him walking behind her.
They were lined up on the long kitchen worktable. At first Kit thought they were only an assortment of vegetables: turnips, beets, potatoes. Then she saw that they all had faces carved into them. Macabre faces, with slanted eyes and broad, toothless grins. They made her uneasy, but she couldn’t draw her eyes away from their evil grimaces.
“They’re jack-o’-lanterns!” Mike exclaimed. “Molly let me help her—but just a little.”
“Jack-o’-lanterns?” Kit murmured stupidly.
“Why, ’tis almost All Hallows’ Eve,” Molly said, her tone slightly chastising. She picked up one of the potatoes and traced the toothless grin. “This lot is for the church fair on Sunday. They will’na last the month, of course. We’ll do another lot before the night is on us.”
“Potatoes?” Kit asked.
Behind her, Justin laughed. “I’ll have ye know, Mrs. McHennessy, that the potato is the original jack-o’-lantern. You Americans came up with the pumpkin.”
“Really?” Mike demanded.
“Oh, aye, really!” Justin replied. He sat on one of the old kitchen chairs and drew Mike to his side, handing him another of the potato faces. “The Irish began carving these little faces centuries ago for All Hallows’ Eve. They were done to drive away the evil spirits that might have been about. That’s why they’re so ghoulish.”
“’Tis even an Irish legend that supplied the name,” Molly inserted proudly.
“Really?” Mike repeated, his eyes wide and fascinated.
Justin laughed. “Really. ’Tis said there was a man named Jack, and a miserly fellow he was. So miserly that he denied God, and he denied the devil, and lived out his days believin’ in none other than himself. Came the day old Jack died, he was barred from heaven. But neither would the devil take note of him, and he was also barred from hell. So Jack’s spirit was doomed to roam the earth forever, with never a place to call home.”
“Wow!” Mike murmured. He looked at Justin and grinned. “So people put little candles inside the faces, and then they were lanterns!”
“Right!”
Mike looked at Molly. “Could I keep this one? Could I, please?”
“Aye,” Molly agreed.
“Mike, I don’t think—” Kit began.
“’Tis just a potato!” Justin protested with a laugh.
It was indeed only a potato. In a few days it would start to rot, and Mike would have to throw it away. She would be an idiot to cause a fuss over a potato.
“When it starts to smell,” Kit said, “you’re going to have to get rid of it.”
“I know, Mom.”
All three of them were staring at her, as if she was behaving peculiarly. She hadn’t thought she’d given her feelings away, but apparently she had. She would have to be more careful.
She smiled, then gave Molly a little hug. “Molly, Justin, thank you so much for the lovely dinner. I think I should get Mike into bed now.”
“Ach, ’twas nothing. Such a pleasure to see ye, lass. I’m hopin’ ye’ll come agin,” Molly said.
The older woman’s hug was as warm as her words. Kit drew away, a little guiltily. “I’m not sure how long we’re staying yet, Molly, but I promise I’ll come to say goodbye.”
“I’ll walk you to the car,” Justin said.
Mike held his potato tightly as they walked along the path to Kit’s car. There was only a sliver of a moon, but it was enough to cast an eerie glow on the carved face, and suddenly Kit realized why the jack-o’-lanterns had frightened her. There was something about the face that reminded her of the mask of the goat-god, Bal. Something about the grin, something about the slitted eyes.
She swallowed. It was only a potato, she insisted to herself.
Mike crawled into his seat. Justin opened the driver’s door for Kit, but he didn’t touch her.
“I’ll help you move into the cottage tomorrow,” he told her.
“There’s no need. I’m not sure what I’m doing.”
“Well, then, you can tell me in the morning. I’ll be there early.”
“Justin—”
“Good night, Kit.” He stared into her eyes. “You will see me. We’ve still got things to settle, don’t we?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer as he smiled across at Mike. “Night, Mike.”
“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 wai
ting 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, then 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 s
ay.
“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.
Sinister Intentions & Confiscated Conception Page 10