by Mae Clair
He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Do you know how badly I want you?”
Fear knifed through her eyes. “Not here.”
“Not here,” he agreed. He found the bottom of her shirt and slipped his hand beneath the silky barrier that kept him from her flesh. She gave another gasp, but didn’t protest when he swept his fingers up her side. He toyed with the lacy edge of her bra, watching the effect it had on her eyes. Her lids dipped lower, her gaze growing sultry, veiled by lush thick lashes.
He kissed her again, moving his mouth over hers, slipping his hand beneath her bra. She moaned and locked her arms around his neck. Turning in his lap, she pressed against him, pushing him into the seat until he felt the breath sucked from his lungs, the fire in his body consumed by hungry passion. He cupped her face and felt a searing flush of heat beneath his fingertips. His hand dropped to her throat, where her pulse beat frantic and wild like his own. As his fingers trailed away, he grazed the delicate links of a necklace. Her necklace.
Elijah groaned as thought connected to thought in his head. The clue and its answer fell into place like dominos toppling in a line. He couldn’t stop his mind from working, despite the punishing cravings of his body.
Shit. Not now.
But he’d long grown accustomed to the curse of a mind that wouldn’t shut down. Reluctantly he broke the kiss, bowing his forehead against Reagan’s.
“I know the answer to the riddle,” he said raggedly. “But if I’m right, I want you back in my arms before the end of the night.”
Chapter 9
Reagan stared down at the items displayed on an ornate sideboard, the results of the second riddle. Among them was a gold necklace with an albatross charm, a symbolic representation–at least to Eric Sothern–of the Ancient Mariner’s sin. Elijah had realized what they were looking for, but it was Reagan, who after two unsuccessful visits to different jewelers, had suggested they look on Twelfth Street. Sure enough K. Karese Jewelers was tucked on the corner of Twelfth and Bayfish. When they inquired about a package for Mr. Sothern, they were given the albatross necklace. Clue number two successfully solved.
Not everyone was as fortunate. Livy Franklin had spent most of the evening sniffling through dinner. It had been a miserable affair, the atmosphere depressing and strained. Reagan desperately wanted Rook’s journal for her uncle, but couldn’t help feeling sorry for Livy and Alan, who had been unable to solve their clue relating to some obscure Viking myth. As a result, they were out of the treasure hunt. What had begun with five participants was now officially down to four. Immune to the emotions involved, Pellar told the Franklins they were welcome to remain to end of the week, or could pack up at their leisure.
Reagan had wanted to hit him.
The subdued crowd broke up shortly after dinner, scattering in different directions. Only Earl Tarvick was unaffected, humming lightly under his breath as he wandered toward the billiard room. Reagan took a final look at the trinkets gathered from the latest round of clue solving, committing them to memory before leaving the room.
Elijah had departed earlier, muttering he needed fresh air. She found him outside on the deck with Brody. He’d already shed his jacket and tie, and was slouched in a chair staring moodily at the beach. Brody lounged near the railing, his arms braced on top, a glass of white wine held loosely in his fingertips. Low-level lighting illuminated patches of sand and dimly defined a well-trodden path among the dunes. The air was warm and whisper soft, the sky cloudless, littered with stars.
“What do you think they’ll do?” Elijah ventured as Reagan stepped onto the deck.
Brody rolled his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “Hang around until the end of the week and see how it works out, who wins the journal. Wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe. Then again, three more days with Pellar and I might gut him. He’s one arrogant bastard, Brody. I swear he practically gloated when Livy and Alan couldn’t solve their clue.”
“Maybe he’s the one who comes up with them,” Reagan suggested, moving into the light.
Brody turned to face her, one arm still braced on the railing. “Now there’s a scary thought.” He grinned sloppily.
Elijah sat straighter, as if trying to shed his surly mood. “Hi.”
She smiled in his direction, worried at his barely perceptible grin. His expression sobered too quickly, reminding her of the oppressing mood hanging over them all day like the Mariner’s ill-fated albatross. Each item retrieved in the second round of riddles had related to an abstract representation of remorse or regret. Like Elijah, Reagan was beginning to think Eric Sothern was playing some kind of twisted psychological game. She sighed, wishing Elijah would revert to his usual irreverent humor.
“I feel bad for Livy and Alan,” she admitted. “I want the journal for my uncle, but…” She took a seat near Elijah, trying to put her feelings into words. “This whole thing feels wrong. Maybe we should all refuse to participate.”
Brody snorted. “A lot of good that would do. Tarvick would never back out, and I’m not so sure about Monica.”
“What about you?” Reagan challenged, trying to keep her voice neutral. She was still convinced Brody was in the thick of things with Pellar, pulling strings, manipulating clues, not who or what he claimed to be.
He tilted his head, studying her briefly before grinning. “I think this conversation is downright depressing and, personally, I’ve had all the glum I can stand for one night.” He tossed down the remainder of his wine, then set the glass on the nearest table. “I’m going swimming. How about it, Doc?” He tugged at his tie, carelessly dropping it on the deck. “You up for a swim?”
Elijah sulked. “Forget it. I’m not trekking up to that pool on the roof.”
“Neither am I.” Brody’s jacket followed his tie. “Who said anything about a pool?” With a departing grin, he gripped the railing, vaulted over the top and dropped four-odd feet to the soft sand below.
“Hey!” Elijah bolted upright in his chair. “Brody, you ass! What do you think–” His voice broke off as he scrambled for the railing, Reagan right behind him.
Brody’s laughter drifted from below. “Hurry up, Cross. I’m not going to wait all night while you decide whether or not to get your toes wet.” He sprinted across the sand, pulling his button-down shirt over his head as he raced for the dune break.
With a soft curse, Elijah dropped into a chair and hastily tugged off his shoes.
Reagan watched with growing alarm. “Elijah, what are you doing?”
“Going swimming.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Just because Brody–”
“He’s been drinking, Reagan.” His shoes thunked against the deck, followed by his socks. “I’m not going to leave him out there on his own. It’s high tide, and the surf is rough from the storms we’ve had.”
“But–” She watched as he stripped off his shirt and unbuckled his belt.
“Besides.” He winked at her, the irreverent grin resurfacing now when she wanted him to be sensible. “After what you did in my Jeep today, I could use a cool down.” He hopped on one leg, peeling off his pants to reveal a pair of dark green boxers with black vertical stripes. “Unless you plan on leaving your door unlocked tonight.”
Reagan swallowed, her mouth dry. The man was practically naked. She should be used to the sight by now, having seen him completely in the buff, then dripping wet, wearing only boxers. She tried not to stare, to keep her eyes on his face. But her lashes dipped and heat crept into her cheeks as her gaze swept over his bare chest to his flat stomach and lower.
She gulped, looking quickly back to his face. Her palms felt sweaty and her cheeks flamed red, making her thankful for the relative darkness of the outside deck. “I–”
Elijah slipped a hand behind her neck and pulled her forward. His mouth closed over hers, sending a bolt of lightning to her toes. Heat sprang between them, gushing and warm, riddled with desire and deeper affection. He stroked his fingers down her bare
arm, causing her to her shiver with desire.
“Hold that thought.” He broke away and vaulted the railing in one fluid motion, dropping to the sand below.
Reagan stepped quickly to the edge, leaning forward to see into the darkness. Elijah sent her a reassuring wave, his teeth a white flash in the shadows where the light did not reach. He sprinted across the sand, his long, curling hair flying behind him, lean body riddled with bands of illuminating light and dusky shadow.
Reagan felt her heart thud, her body tingling with the latent spark of shared contact. Straining to see to the dark figures disappearing into the surf, she frowned when she lost sight of both. Anxious, she gathered Elijah’s carelessly discarded clothing along with Brody’s coat and tie, and carried the whole mess inside. She dumped them on the nearest chair, kicked off her high-heeled sandals and padded barefoot for the beach. She walked quickly, breaking into a jog when she stepped outside. Warm air struck her in the face and ruffled the cool shimmery silk of her strapless, turquoise cocktail dress.
Pellar had two pools on the property, but nooo, Brody had to go swimming in the ocean. What was it about men and the insatiable need to pull stupid, macho stunts? Elijah was right. The surf was much too rough from the recent storms. She hoped both men were good swimmers. Certainly Brody wouldn’t behave so recklessly if he didn’t think himself or Elijah up to the task.
But he had been drinking, Reagan remembered as she jogged the dimly lit path between the dunes. A few glasses of wine. No more than two, and that had been with dinner. He certainly hadn’t appeared drunk.
If nothing else, she could make sure her two impetuous swimmers didn’t do anything foolish.
* * * *
“Brody, you asshole! It’s frickin’ freezing in here!”
Elijah stood immersed to his knees, the surf pounding around him, spraying ice-cold water on his chest and arms, threatening to push his feet out from under him. Farther out, Brody ducked beneath a wave and came up flinging water from his blond hair.
“Don’t be a wuss, Doc. Reagan’s coming. You don’t want her to see you when things are shriveled up, if you know what I mean.” Grinning broadly, he folded his arms behind his head, floating contentedly, the water buoying his body like a cork.
Elijah gritted his teeth and strode deeper into the frigid water. “I’ll give you something to shrivel,” he muttered. It was far too early in the season for any sane person to be in the water without a wetsuit. But times like now, he considered his rash, overly exuberant friend far from sane. Deciding to get the worst over with, knowing the incoming waves were bound to take him down eventually, he dove headfirst into the salty water. The shock of biting cold registered like a sledgehammer. He came up sputtering, only to be driven under by another wave. This time when he surfaced, Brody was only a finger’s breadth away.
“Kid, you okay?”
Elijah mopped wet hair from his eyes and nodded. His teeth were chattering. “Unlike you, I didn’t have alcohol to warm me up.”
“Don’t be cross, Cross.” Brody chuckled, delighted by his own joke.
Elijah shook his head and looked toward the shore. Reagan had reached the edge of the waterline and stood with the surf lapping around her ankles. She lifted an arm and waved. Elijah waved back, unconsciously noting the way the breeze tugged at her dress, highlighting the swells and curves of her body. Moonlight snagged the flowing cascade of her hair, framing copper with silver, artfully defining the flawless lines of her face. She looked like one of Homer’s mythical sirens sent to lure sailors from the sea. He swallowed, the cold not nearly so icy when his blood boiled with desire.
Brody yanked on his hair, jarring him back to reality. “Hey, Doc, you want to put your tongue back in your mouth? It’s embarrassing.”
Elijah sliced his hand through the water, sending a drenching spray point-blank into Brody’s face. With a bark of laughter, he kicked backward, diving under a wave, surfacing five feet away from his sputtering friend. The water wasn’t so cold if he kept moving, although he was certain parts of his anatomy had to be turning blue. Hopefully not anything he wanted to use later that night.
Brody was yelling something at him, alternately laughing and cursing, struggling to swim closer against the angry pull of the tide. Elijah kept an eye on his friend, making sure Brody didn’t tire as the waves rushed around him. He glanced back to the beach where Reagan walked along the water’s edge, stopping every now and then to examine something the tide had washed ashore. Small stones, broken shells, and pieces of driftwood tangled with seaweed. A growing string of debris littered the beach, reflected in the pale light of a full moon.
Brody got closer, threatening retribution. With a grin, Elijah swam a short distance away. He saw movement on the beach and glanced back to the shore. Reagan was still at the water’s edge, bending over to study something in the sand. Behind her, a dark silhouette appeared at the corner of the planetarium. A cold, prickling sensation shot through him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His teeth chattered.
For one disorienting moment he felt a blinding, gut-twisting connection to the unfamiliar person on the beach. It was clear from the way the individual walked, head down, seemingly lost in thought, they were unaware anyone lingered nearby. Shiver-inducing water lapped against Elijah’s neck and chin. He barely felt it, unable to look away from the figure cloaked within shadow. In a few seconds he’d see them clearly. A single step and the wraith-like form would cross from the concealing protection of the planetarium into the bright, revealing light of a full moon.
One more step.
“No!” Brody yelled.
Elijah gasped, his head plunged forcibly beneath the water. He kicked, trying to twist away, surprised by the brutal pressure of Brody’s hands holding him down. One second, two seconds, three. Brody shifted and a searing pain exploded in Elijah’s leg. Wispy streamers of red swirled around his head. It took a moment for him to realize the steadily darkening water was threaded with blood. His blood.
Shit.
Panicked, he broke free. Pain rocketed from his ankle to his knee. Gasping, he broke the surface.
Brody locked an arm around his neck. “Elijah, no!”
He felt himself hauled away from the beach, forcing him to face the dark swelling waters of the Atlantic. “Brody,” he croaked, barely able to find his voice. There was blood all around him in the water, barely discernible in the darkness. He could feel it against his leg, rising like filmy ribbons to brush his thigh, the physical touch increasing his panic.
“What the hell happened?” Brody’s grip slackened, his voice quaking uncertainly.
Elijah tried not to think about the pressure of his friend’s hands holding him beneath the surface, or the agonizing pain that followed. Confused, he shoved away from Brody. Something bobbed to the surface and butted against his chest. Old, encrusted with seaweed and brine, the battered piece of wood had obviously been caught in the tide for a long time, likely ripped from a discarded lobster trap. A raised nail protruded from one end. He guessed it was the culprit that had ripped open his leg.
Brody grabbed his arm, his face white as marble. “Damn it, Elijah, why didn’t you say something?” He grabbed the wood and sent it sailing over their heads into deeper water with a violent fling. “I was clowning around. I didn’t see the wood. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” He started to pull Elijah toward shore. “I swear to God, I didn’t know that was in the water.” He gulped, shaken, his eyes bright with concern. “You okay?”
Elijah nodded, uncertain what to believe. The cold numbed the pain in his leg, but did nothing to limit the amount of blood swirling around him in the water.
It’s just a scrape. He fought to tamp down his own confusion. From the nail. Surface wounds bled a lot.
But it had felt like Brody was trying to hold him under water. Pin him there. Surely, not drown him, but what then?
Dazed, he struggled to blink away his confusion. Sensing something wrong, Reagan c
alled out to him. He couldn’t decipher her words. Water lapped around her bare legs, soaking the hem of her dress. Behind her the beach was deserted, the mysterious figure by the planetarium nothing more than a figment of his imagination.
“You’re being too quiet,” Brody commented in a subdued voice. The surf retreated and the water rushed away behind them. It was barely to their knees now and Elijah could see a bloody scrape on his calf, starting below his knee and ending a few inches above his ankle.
He nodded, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Damn, it was cold! Brody and his stupid night swim. He tugged his arm free as he got closer to the beach and trudged the remaining few feet alone. Reagan rushed to his side as he stumbled from the restraining grip of churning surf.
“Elijah!” Her eyes were enormous, bright green drenched with moonlight. “What happened?” Her face drained of color at the sight of the blood running down his leg. “You’re hurt! Tell me what happened!”
“Don’t ask.” He spat the words through gritted teeth, limping slightly as he strode determinedly back toward the house.
Brody jogged from the water, running to catch up. “Elijah, wait.” Fingers caught his arm and spun him around. “Don’t cop an attitude with me, Doc. You need someone to look at that leg.”
“Yeah, how about that?” Elijah glared at his friend. “Maybe someone to explain what happened out there too.”
Brody faltered. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The hell you don’t.”
Reagan touched his arm. “Elijah.”
But his attention was fixed on Brody. “Was this your plan to make sure I’m out of the running?” He felt like he’d been gut-punched. He wanted to hit something. To crack his knuckles across Brody’s face. “You think I can’t tell the difference between clowning around and trying to hold someone under?” A gust of air scraped his wet skin, but he was too angry to feel the cold. “If you wanted the damn journal that bad, you should have told me.”