THE FIRE STILL BURNS

by Roxanne St Claire

Her defiant look softened, as did the color of her grass-green eyes, and she didn't pull away or break their gaze. Say yes, Gracie.

  "Colin, for the sake of propriety and sanity over the next three weeks, do you think we could manage to keep this as platonic as possible?" she asked.

  He had no use for propriety or sanity. And forget platonic, at least where Gracie was concerned. "No."

  Her lips formed a tiny little O of surprise. This time, he couldn't fight the impulse. He dipped his head and kissed her beautiful mouth.

  Her lips were warm and tangy with the taste of peppermint tea. He slid the tip of his tongue against her lips, the sensation of intimacy sending a lightning bolt of pleasure through him. Her mouth was soft and supple, causing a sudden ache to pull at him head to toe, and one very specific place in between. His desire was instant—and powerful.

  He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling the curve of her woman's body against him. Her heart hammered with the same rhythm as his, and a secret moan vibrated in her throat just as she gathered a handful of his sweatshirt in her fist. He wasn't sure if she was going to slug him, shove him across the room, or yank him in for a closer inspection.

  She did none of those things. She shuddered and inched away, shaking her head slowly as though she could will her brain to behave. For some reason, that made him want to laugh. But he didn't.

  "Some things are just too powerful to fight, Gracie."

  She responded with a flash of green eyes. "Well, you better start fighting. For twenty-one days."

  He smoothed her hair, his fingers lingering against the silk of her cheek. "I can think of worse ways to spend three weeks. But we can take things at whatever speed you want."

  She managed to escape his touch. "Zero. That's the speed I'm interested in. No speed and no 'things.'"

  "You really don't like to lose control, do you, Gracie?"

  With a deep breath, she shook her head again. "Losing control has never worked out well for me." He saw her throat move as she struggled to swallow. "As you know."

  "Gracie—"

  She held up a hand to his face. "Colin, please understand this. History is not going to repeat itself."

  He choked out a quick laugh. "I don't think you know what you're saying."

  "I know exactly what I'm saying," she insisted. "Maybe for one crazy second there, I didn't know what I was doing, but I know what I'm saying. I won't make that mistake again."

  The time had come to end this stupid misconception and get Gracie to feel something other than contempt for him. It was one thing for her to hate him because he wasn't in her social stratosphere. But he wouldn't go another minute with her thinking he'd had his way with a drunken eighteen-year-old. "Gracie, listen to me."

  She didn't say anything, but crossed her arms, backing up as she held his gaze. "I'm listening."

  "I know a whole bunch of time has gone by and you're a grown woman, so this really doesn't matter anymore, but I want to clear something up once and for all."

  He took a step closer and put both hands on her shoulders, and she lifted her chin to him. "Fine, say it," she ground out. "I am a grown woman, so I'm mature enough to accept your apology."

  Apology? "I'm not going to apologize for anything."

  A pink stain spread on her cheeks. "Of course not. Who would expect you to? Should I apologize for throwing myself at you?" She tried to wriggle her shoulders out of his grasp, but he held firmly. "You're a jerk, you know that?"

  He tightened his grip and lowered his voice. "Gracie, I didn't have sex with you."

  Everything stopped. The energy that vibrated between them, the jerky movement of her body, even her breathing. All stopped.

  "You're lying."

  "I don't lie, Gracie. I'm not capable of it."

  She just stared at him.

  "You were sick, really, really sick, when we got to my room. And you passed out on the bathroom floor."

  She cringed, then frowned in confusion. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

  "I tried," he said with an exasperated breath. "You were in no mood to listen, if you remember. All you wanted to do was get the hell out of there."

  "You—you undressed me because I was sick?"

  He nodded. "Your clothes were a wreck. You—you reeked. I couldn't take you home like that. There were still about forty people roaming around downstairs."

  "And you didn't…?"

  "No. I didn't." He gave into a sneaky smile. "Okay, I looked. I mean, I undressed you, cleaned you up, but that's all. But you were out cold. I wanted you … clearheaded. I wanted you to feel the same way I did."

  The same way I do.

  As quickly as the color rose in her cheeks, it faded to a bloodless white. "You mean … all this time, I thought I lost…"

  "As much as I would have loved to have the honor, Gracie, I wasn't your first. All I did was…" He paused and rubbed her shoulders gently, the way he had that night. "I just stayed awake and watched you. To make sure you didn't get sick any more in your sleep. People die like that, you know."

  Still she stared at him, her mouth open. He finally took his finger and tapped her jaw up. "See that? You didn't even know it when you did lose your virginity."

  "But I haven't," she said simply.

  This time, he stopped breathing. He couldn't have understood that correctly. "Excuse me?"

  She let out a self-conscious laugh. "I've never had another drink, either. And if you're telling the truth, I haven't … you know."

  She … hadn't? Was it possible Gracie was a virgin?

  His immediate reaction was so strong, it felt like a punch. He wanted to be her first. An unfamiliar euphoria erupted in his chest just as a glint he'd never seen before lit her eyes. Could she be thinking the same thing?

  She laid a hand on her own chest and shook her head slightly. "You have no idea what a gift you've given back to me."

  "A gift?" He heard the tightness in his voice.

  Her fingers fluttered self-consciously. "I know this sounds kind of old-fashioned, but I've always wished I could have given my virginity to someone I love."

  Her words flattened his fantasies like a bulldozer. "That's … noble," he managed.

  The sparkle in her eyes turned into a full-blown glisten. No. A tear. "Now I can give myself to the man I fall in love with."

  "Yes, you can," he whispered, a twinge of flat-out jealousy replacing his short-lived ecstasy. "And he'll be one helluva lucky guy."

  But his luck had just run out. Because even if he had any desire or inclination to fall into that black pit of trouble, he was the last man on earth Grace Harrington would ever love.

  * * *

  Four

  « ^ »

  Grace flipped the eyelet comforter off her, surrendering to sleeplessness. Even opening one of the windows to let in the salty, September air didn't make her sleepy. What was wrong with her?

  Hunger. Of course. She'd skipped dinner and that emptiness in the pit of her stomach was the need for food. The glow-in-the-dark hands of her travel clock pointed almost straight up. It was only a few minutes past midnight. She had a long, sleepless, hungry night ahead of her.

  It had been a little childish to forego dinner, and she knew it. But Colin had suddenly disappeared, telling Leonard that he would be having dinner in town with a friend—he had a friend in Newport?—and Grace had declined the butler's offer to make her the blackened salmon he'd been planning to prepare.

  What was she going to do, sit out on the patio and eat alone by candlelight? Leonard wouldn't have joined her even if she'd asked. He was a by-the-book butler, that was for sure. For a moment she thought of Hannah, the housekeeper who'd practically raised her. Miss Hannah would certainly eat with her; she'd never let Grace eat alone. In fact, she had kept Grace company on many a night in the empty Harrington house.

  Her feet hit the wood floor with a thud. There was no way she'd just lie here and think. She didn't relish the thought of raiding Leonard's pantry this late at
night, but maybe she could scare up a cup of tea or glass of milk. She'd find something in that vast country kitchen.

  The hallway outside her room was lit by one tiny lamp on a table at the far end. There were two closed doors—one was Colin's room. The other was another guest room. Her bare feet made no noise on the long Oriental runner in the hall, but the second step squeaked on the massive staircase. She paused, waiting for the sound of a door to open upstairs, but the house stayed silent.

  In the kitchen, she noticed the door to the back rooms was closed, but light could seep underneath and wake Leonard up. Right now, she didn't want any company or help, so she simply popped the refrigerator door a little and peered in.

  What was that on the second shelf? She slid the dish closer and saw the cherries mixed into the creamy frosting. Black Forest cake. She stifled a moan of delight.

  But it was just too decadent to eat cake in the middle of the night. Tea would do the trick.

  In a cabinet, she found some Earl Grey tea in an unopened box. Did Earl Grey have caffeine? She didn't want a boost of energy—just the opposite. The label didn't mention caffeine and the idea of a cup of tea was so inviting, she decided to take a chance.

  Even though the moonlight that poured through the window over the sink offered enough light, she couldn't find the tea kettle. Leonard ran a shipshape kitchen, which she appreciated, but she had to settle for heating water in a saucepan. She was sure she could figure out the microwave, but the beep might wake up Leonard … or Colin. She glanced down at her flimsy tank top and sleep pants. Nope, she certainly didn't want Colin's company.

  The idea sent a little zing through her and she just shook her head as she cut a lemon for the tea. How long could she lie to him—and to herself? How long could she act cool and unresponsive? The man did things to her. He electrified her. He jangled every nerve ending in her body and sent pulsating shockwaves to places … that she had effectively deadened for most of her adult life. And he did something else.

  He made her doubt her decision.

  For the first time in ten years, Gracie wondered exactly why she was so determined to hold on to her virginity.

  Refusing to examine the thought further, she took her tea into the living room, but the autumn air called to her. Grabbing an afghan from the back of the living-room sofa, she slipped out the front door to the veranda.

  Perfect. Ocean air and Earl Grey tea. This would surely make her sleepy. She lifted the cup from her saucer to her mouth, inhaling the citrusy aroma of the fresh-cut lemon.

  "Are you all alone?"

  The china bumped her front tooth, but she managed to avoid spilling the tea at the sound of a voice from the lawn. Not just any voice. Colin's voice.

  She peered into the darkness. "Where are you?"

  A shadow moved near a cluster of evergreens on the side of the carriage house. "I'm right here," he said, the sound closer. Suddenly she could see him in the moonlight, at the bottom of the veranda steps.

  "What are you doing out here?" she asked, pulling the afghan a little tighter over her pajamas.

  "I live here, remember?"

  "I mean out, at night."

  "I'm a big boy," he laughed and took the first few steps up. "I was in town. What are you doing up so late? Surely you have to rise and run in a matter of a few hours."

  "I can't sleep, so I decided to have some Earl Grey tea. Would you like me to make you some?"

  In the dim light, she saw a wry smile tip his lips. "No thanks. I just had a Sam Adams at the Black Pearl. I never mix Earl and Sam."

  She smiled at the joke, but wondered just who he'd been drinking his beer with. "I thought you were asleep."

  He shrugged and approached the glider. "Nah. I'm a certified night owl. Can I join you?"

  She scooted into the farthest corner of the glider, and he dropped right into the middle, leaving the whole left side open. The seat rocked a little under his body weight.

  He wore jeans and a dark sweatshirt. As he sat down, Grace noticed that his hair wasn't tied back. For a minute, she stared at the sight it made, falling to his shoulders, straight and black as the sky. Utterly beautiful. Utterly touchable.

  She turned her full attention to the tea.

  He put his arm across the back, and extended his long legs in front of him. She closed her eyes and sipped.

  "It can't be a guilty conscience keeping you awake," he said.

  She opened her eyes. "Pardon me?"

  "My Gram says a guilty conscience keeps a good man awake. Or woman, in this case. But since you've been absolved from a sin you never committed, that can't be what's causing your insomnia."

  She shot him a warning look. "Do you think we can just drop that subject for the next, oh, three weeks?"

  With a soft chuckle, he crossed his ankles and she could still feel him looking at her. Defiantly, she took her swallow of tea. Neither said anything for a minute, the night sounds of the crickets and an ocean breeze rustling in the dry, autumn leaves enough to fill the silence.

  "What did Lenny make you for dinner?"

  "Lenny?" She almost choked on the tea. "Lenny?"

  "Mr. Billingsly, my dear. Our esteemed valet."

  She laughed at his fake English accent. "I didn't eat. But don't make fun of a man who can bake a Black Forest cake. I saw it in the fridge."

  He shifted closer and she could feel the weight of his hand and arm at the nape of her neck. "Why didn't you eat dinner?"

  She refused to admit it was too lonely without him. "I was busy. Making calls. Checking things in the office."

  "Alerting the media of your news?"

  This time she seared him with a full-on dirty look. "Of course. I had to get it in the Boston Globe."

  His soft laugh reverberated across the grounds.

  "Shhhh." She tapped his arm and stole another peek at his hair when he wasn't looking. God, it was … inviting. Her fingers literally ached to touch it. "Don't wake up … Lenny."

  He caught her gaze. "What are you looking at, Gracie?"

  She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and blessed the dim light. "I've never seen your hair down," she admitted.

  He reached back and lifted a handful, then let it drop. "The tie fell out tonight."

  An unwelcome sensation of dread rolled through her. What was he doing at the Black Pearl that his hair came undone?

  "So who'd you have dinner with?" she asked casually, taking a tiny sip of tea.

  His fingertips brushed her own hair where it hit the back of the glider. "A close friend of mine."

  She remembered his friends from college. Edgy, artistic, experimental. She remembered the time she'd seen him with a raven-haired freshman on the back of his motorcycle near campus. To this day, she remembered the sinking feeling of inadequacy when she saw the girl wrap her arms possessively around Colin's waist, and lay her head against his back. With no helmet, naturally. A wild, uninhibited girl. Grace had been overcome with a longing so sharp, it hurt.

  "You have a friend who lives locally?"

  "A native Newporter actually. She knows a lot about the history of the town."

  She. The tea caught in her throat, but Grace asked casually, "So what did you learn about the history of Newport?"

  He moved his feet in a slow rhythm, easing the glider into a steady rock. "We were talking about Rejects Beach."

  "Rejects Beach? Isn't that what they call that area right over there by Ledge Road

  ? Where Cliff Walk begins?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. All of Bailey's Beach used to be private, part of the country club and exclusively for the wealthiest residents of Newport. But the eastern end kept getting invaded by the unwashed public, so the highbrows erected a fence."

  She couldn't help noting the bit of disdain in his voice, but drank the rest of her tea without commenting while he told her the story of how a group of radical locals fought for the fence to be taken down and eventually won.

  "They got their way, but the area was branded 'Reject
s Beach' by the members of the private club at the other end of Bailey's Beach. Even now, the tennis and polo crowd takes a dim view of the riffraff who darken their sand." She adjusted the blanket and stated to stand. "Where are you going, Gracie?"

  "To wash my cup and saucer."

  He shook his head and took the dishes from her hand. "Here." In one movement, he unceremoniously set the two pieces of fine china on the wooden floor next to him with a little clatter. "Do it later. Stay here with me."

  A splash of anticipation tickled the very nerve endings she'd been thinking about in the kitchen. She smoothed the edges of the blanket and tucked her bare feet under her.

  And Colin moved at least six inches closer.

  For one insane moment her stomach swayed, but the glider didn't. She studied his face in the moonlight as he looked out over the grounds, noticing his stubble of whiskers was darker than usual. He hadn't shaved before going out with "his friend."

  Had he kissed this local girl? Shared his beer with her? What would those whiskers feel like if he kissed her?

  She turned away and looked into the shadows. Good God, how was she going to get through three weeks if her every other thought with him included the word kiss?

  "I really ought to get to sleep soon if I'm going to get any work done in the morning," she said feebly. But she didn't want to leave this glider or end this moment.

  "Don't worry. Tomorrow's Sunday. You can have the studio all day if you want it."

  "What will you do?"

  He shrugged. "Haven't decided yet. I don't have any agenda. Do you have any plans?"

  "Nothing you'd be interested in, I assure you."

  "Try me."

  "I'll work, then I'm planning to tour some of the mansions."

  "Which ones?"

  "I was thinking I'd visit the Breakers and Rosecliff just to soak up the ambiance. They have some similarities to Edgewater, especially in the way they are situated on the property. And it's been a few years since I've been inside the Elms. Even though that's not a waterfront mansion, it is comparable to Edgewater."

  He rocked the glider again, his arm draped across the back, even closer to her. "You should go to Hunter House."