Even as he formed that thought, though, he rejected it. This wasn’t her home, her safe space. In fact, what was it she’d said the other day? They’d been in the woodland folly, and she’d been staring at all the little houses. She’d sighed and said…
Nothing could ever touch her there. Not even the wind.
He stared more sharply at the woods that extended off to the right of the house, but nothing glimmered amid the thrashing trees. Nevertheless, there was no way he could go inside and sit there, wondering if she might be hunched down among the fairy houses, trying to ride out the storm under the shelter of nothing more than trees.
The fact that he’d done the very same as a boy notwithstanding.
That hadn’t ended too well for him, with the storm suddenly taking a harsh turn and his grandparents worried half to death he’d been swept away. He wasn’t going to spend the next few hours thinking the same about Caroline. The very possibility made his heart lurch.
He set off across the rain-drenched grass, his head bent into the wind.
Chapter Ten
Belle had been wrong. Seriously wrong.
Caroline crouched into the corner of the lee of an enormous old oak, glad to find temporary shelter among the trees. They were clustered together but there remained plenty of gaps between them, especially when the wind blew sideways.
There was far more wind than she would have imagined, too. The old, stately trees with their trails of hanging moss had seemed immovable when she’d visited here before, as staid and fixed as rock. But in the face of the storm, the moss flew out at right angles, and the branches thrashed, only the solid trunks remaining stoically in place. It’d be at least another half hour before this storm got any better. Not a huge problem—she’d weathered countless storms in Garronia, but still, this wasn’t exactly how she’d planned this little detour to go.
She’d only wanted to stay a little while longer after Belle and Bobo and all the others had left. Having seen the jewels, there was no need for her to return here other than to pick them up for transport back to Garronia, and that would hardly be a pleasant interaction, even if she did convince the Wetheringtons to part with the pieces. They’d seemed so entranced with the story of their donation to the museum, that she’d immediately decided not to bring up the idea of an outright purchase. She’d need to offer something else, something grand and romantic, to add to the whimsical tapestry they’d woven about the place.
She could hear her father’s voice sneering at her in her head as she thought that, however. To Silas Saleri, there would be no problem. The Wetheringtons had no legal right to the jewels, the Contoses had never signed over pure ownership. She could have scooped them up right there in the center of the museum and pocketed them, and the law would have been on her side.
But her father wasn’t here. And the expressions on all those people’s faces as they’d beamed at her, seeming not at all surprised when Simon had announced her as a countess…
No. There had to be another way.
A loud burst of thunder sounded well overhead, and Caroline crouched down further. She’d never been afraid of storms back in Garronia, and she wasn’t about to start now. Admittedly, their family home wasn’t this close to the water, and their townhome was also positioned well away from the ocean, near the rocky cliff line of the capital city. They’d both been remarkably protected. Safe.
The rain kicked up another notch, drowning out Caroline’s exasperated groan. She’d asked easily a half dozen of the hardier seniors about the nature of the storm, and they’d all rolled their eyes. So either the storm had taken a crazy turn, or they all had short-term memory loss. Because this was quite a bit different than a “rain shower.”
Think, think.
She squinted through the trees toward the fairy village, marveling at how pristine it remained. Despite the rain once again pelting down in the center of the small clearing, the houses were close enough to the ground and surrounded by so many flowers and low bushes that they seemed cheerfully unconcerned about the weather. They would wait this out and come out better than before, their painted walls and roofs gleaming, surrounded by damp, perfumed air.
Another thunder clap caught her up short, and she wedged herself deeper into the cover of the tree trunk.
“Caroline!”
Simon’s voice unexpectedly cut through the wind and Caroline started, peering through another sideways blast of rain. Sure enough, the man himself stalked into the small clearing a moment later, impossibly big amidst all the tiny houses, like the world had suddenly been set to an entirely different scale.
He stared directly at her, and Caroline struggled upright, laughing as she received a full face of rain for her troubles. “Simon!” she managed.
Simon’s curse was lost in another gust of wind, but he moved forward quickly, his long strides eating up the distance between them. He ducked into the stand of trees and reached for her, half yanking her into the shelter of his body before he paused.
“You okay?” he shouted.
“I’m fine! Just—wet. Didn’t expect it would be this bad!”
“Wasn’t supposed to be.” He twisted back toward the path through the trees. Caroline felt a surge of awareness at the touch of his hand, the nearness of his body, but then he tugged her forward, leading her back through the trees at a ragged clip.
“Brace yourself,” he called back as they neared the opening in the trees. “Wind’s up.”
They burst onto the grassy lawn and this time Simon pulled Caroline fully into the lee of his body, hunching over her as the storm seemed to redouble its strength. The raindrops were stinging mercilessly now, and there seemed to be something else mixed in with it. Sand? She didn’t know, but she gratefully accepted Simon’s shelter as he hustled her across the lawn and up the wide stairs of Pinnacle House.
He didn’t let her go as he fished in his jeans pocket for keys, and a moment later they were in the house, stranded on the thick loomed entry rug in the middle of the hardwood floor.
“I’ll drip everywhere!” she protested as Simon moved forward.
“It’ll dry.” His response was clipped and brooked no refusal, and he held onto her hand as he led her down the hallway and once more up the stairs that rose from the central greeting room. Instead of heading down the narrow passageway, however, he opened the door to the first room he came to off the near-side corridor, and tugged Caroline inside.
“Bathroom is through there, should be towels on the sink, water tank is meant to service a house of twenty guests, so plenty of hot water. If you, um,” he gestured to her clothes, the first sign of hesitation showing through. “If you give me your clothes, I’ll toss them in the dryer. There’s a robe in the bathroom as well.” He paused, running his hair through his own hair, sending water everywhere. “I’ll see what else—Belle has some clothes here, I’m sure.”
Caroline ducked her head in thanks, her teeth unaccountably chattering in the cool room, then fled to the bathroom. She closed the door behind it with more relief than she’d felt in a decade, grateful for the momentary reprieve.
Sure enough, the room was outfitted exactly as Simon had advised—a bright white waffle-woven cotton robe on a plush hanger hung from a hook behind the door, and a pile of neatly folded towels awaited on the basin. How long had they been there, she wondered? Who cares. They were warm and dry and she was chilled to the bone.
The tub itself was a claw-footed affair with a single gleaming pipe that went up from its faucets, creating a shower, and she twisted a handle experimentally, stepping back in surprise at the pounding stream of water that rushed forth. Instantly, steam filled the room, taking the edge off her chill. She took an extra moment to explore the shelves—startled to find everything a person could possibly have forgotten for a weekend getaway…everything.
Caroline couldn’t fully stifle a giggle at the well-stocked medicine cabinet. Clearly, the Wetheringtons were not prudes, for all their southern charm. Or were the bubble ba
th, condoms and scented oils for guests of Simon?
That’s none of your business, Caroline told herself sternly, shutting the cabinet with a decided click.
Once the genie was let out of the bottle, though, it was determined to stay. The image of Simon rushing into the clearing, obviously searching for her, burst into her memory. He was so tall and fierce, his body serving as a makeshift rain guard as he’d hustled her across the lawn. As used to doing everything on her own as she’d become, she didn’t truly know how to act in the face of such outright caretaking behavior.
She could get used to it though.
Grimacing ruefully, Caroline stripped off her clothes and threw them in the sink, and a second later she stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain around her. Then she was ensconced in a rush of hot spray.
All at once, sanity returned, and Caroline’s eyes flew open despite the pounding water. Was she seriously going to wander around Pinnacle House all but naked except for a bathrobe for the next few hours? A crack of thunder loud enough to make her jump rocked through the sky as if in answer to her words, and once again she kicked herself for not thinking more before she’d imagined she could spend a few cozy hours riding out a storm in the woods. Though she’d texted Cindy Marx from her shelter beneath the large oak that she would be staying on the island for awhile, the bodyguard would no doubt be worried about her, as would Marguerite and Prudence. This was by far the strongest gale they’d weathered in South Carolina. She frowned. Was her phone in her purse? Had to be—though the purse itself might be ruined.
Her purse…
She’d left it on the rug at the front door—along with her phone. Which now might be soaked too.
That…would be bad.
Turning off the shower and stepping out of the tub—nearly falling—Caroline grabbed the towels from the counter and rubbed one thoroughly over her skin. She grabbed the second and whipped it around her hair, turban style, then yanked the robe from its hanger and struggled into it. It was an expensive spa robe, but she didn’t have time to enjoy it, instead belting it furiously before she opened the door to the bedroom and rushed out.
Then she froze.
Simon, his hair slicked back from his forehead, still wearing his rain-soaked clothing, stood in the doorway to her room, a pile of soft blue cloth in his arms. He had her purse slung over one shoulder, and as she watched he crossed to a hearth she hadn’t noticed before and flipped a switch on the wall. Instantly a cheery fire arose in the grate behind a glass panel, and she followed him over—accepting the purse and pulling out her phone. It was beaded with water, and she rubbed it on her robe, gratified beyond measure that it still appeared to be working. So far, there were no return texts from Cindy beyond a short acknowledgement. She laid the device near the hearth, then turned to the purse.
Simon’s voice rumbled beside her. “Not sure what else you have inside there, but you can spread everything out here to dry. The gas fireplace puts off a lot of heat.”
“Thank you,” she said faintly as he rose, her gaze traveling up the length of his body. She couldn’t help notice how his shirt clung to his body, his jeans molding tight to his legs. She also couldn’t help but realize how naked she herself was under her borrowed towel and robe.
He gestured with the clothes. “I think these will fit,” he said roughly as she stood. “I’ll—I’ll go get cleaned up.”
But he didn’t move.
Simon had wanted nothing more than to shuck his clammy clothes the instant he’d deposited Caroline in guest bedroom #1, but when he’d emerged from the room, he’d remembered the mess of water they’d left on the foyer floor. How long had it been since they’d sealed that area? He couldn’t remember, but it certainly had been some years. Better to clean it up first.
He’d pulled more towels out of the second guest room, then hustled downstairs, mopping up the floor well enough then scooping up Caroline’s bag. He should get that back to her—and clothes—to spare her any more embarrassment than what he was sure she’d be feeling once she got out of the shower. It’d been a long time since Pinnacle House had a guest under its roof, but not so long that he couldn’t remember how to be hospitable.
Yeah. Hospitable. That’s exactly how he was feeling now. Despite the cold, wet clothes hanging on him like lead, he’d still managed to react physically the moment the shower had blasted on in Caroline’s room. He hadn’t recovered by the time he’d found his grandmother’s spare gardening clothes and swept back into the bedroom—just as Caroline had burst from the steam-filled bathroom, her hair swept up in a towel and her flushed skin damp against the crisp cotton of her robe.
He’d thought when he’d seen her in the small clearing, her eyes wide and so imploring that her gaze had struck him like a physical blow, that she couldn’t possibly become more attractive. Not true.
Worse, now she was standing in front of him in a Pinnacle House robe and towel as he held out spare clothes, and he couldn’t for the life of himself remember what he’d just told her.
She seemed equally thunderstruck, her mouth opening without any sound coming out, then shutting decisively with a snap. She managed a smile, then spoke. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” she said, her words so quiet he had to lean forward to make them out. Yeah, that’s why he was edging closer to her, as her gaze dropped to his shirt, skimmed down his stomach, causing his abs to knot up. “It’s warm, with the fire. And you’re already here.”
He lifted a brow. “I don’t have any spare clothes.”
“Oh—take this,” she said, pulling the towel from her own hair. “It’s not that wet.”
He grinned as he accepted the towel, which was in fact quite damp. “You going to lend me your robe too?”
A blush spread up her face, ending in twin flags of embarrassment on her cheeks, but she gamely tilted up her chin. “You think it would fit?” she asked, her voice laden with what seemed like the same curious mix of nerves and need that he could feel pounding along inside him.
“Maybe we should see.” Tucking the edge of his towel in the front pocket of his jeans, Simon quickly reached for the hem of his polo shirt and pulled it up, freeing his head and arms in a smooth movement. Then he reached for his jeans. He expected Caroline to stop him—to make a noise, a gesture, at least a murmur of complaint, but she didn’t move a muscle.
Okay…
Steeling himself, he flicked the button of his jeans free, then dropped the zipper.
“Here,” she suddenly said. She stepped forward and pulled the towel free again holding it taut and a little in front of her, making an effective shield, as long as she didn’t look down.
“I really can go back to my room and do this,” Simon murmured, but his eyes were on her lips, which had parted slightly, her breath coming in fitful gasps.
“Do you want to?”
“Not at all.” Before he could talk himself into a saner course of action, he slid his jeans down past his thighs.
Caroline looked down.
Whether it was the force of her gaze or simply his own body reacting to being stripped in front of a beautiful woman, everything south of Simon’s waist went rigid, leaving absolutely no doubt as to his level of interest. He pushed his jeans the rest of the way, stepping out of them as Caroline’s gaze snapped upright again to meet his gaze, and she held the towel out with a rueful smile. “Ah, sorry,” she mumbled.
“You don’t hear me complaining.”
When he didn’t make any move for the towel, she took another step forward, and he allowed her to sling the cloth around him completely, knotting it at the waist. Of course, that brought her to within a bare inch of him. As she finished cinching the towel and made to step away, however, his arms moved forward, locking her in place. She glanced up at him, blinking quickly, but she didn’t try to escape his grasp.
“Are you warmer now?” she whispered.
His lips quirked into a smile. “I am, now that you mention it. Though I have to tell you, I
don’t normally let a woman I barely know see me naked.”
“Good to know,” she said, her brow furrowing for a moment. The look she sent him next held another blast of nervous desire that nearly sent him over the edge. “Then what will it take for us to get to know each other better, so I could see that again?”
“Long walks on the beach would work,” Simon mused as another crack of thunder sounded above him. “Then again, it’s raining.”
“Probably not the best for walking,” Caroline agreed.
“Dinners on the back porch as the sun goes down…”
At that moment, another band of rain pounded furiously against the house, battering the shutters. Caroline jumped, her gaze darting to the far window.
“No sun,” she murmured with a soft frown.
Simon nodded. “No sun. That does present a problem.”
He leaned down, arching her back slightly. “Then there’s only one thing left that I can think of right now,” he murmured. “You’ll have to let me kiss you, Caroline Saleri.”
Chapter Eleven
Nearly dizzy with the sudden intensity of Simon’s words, Caroline tried to remind herself of why she’d come to Pinnacle House. She was almost certain it wasn’t to seduce its unreasonably attractive caretaker, and yet…
“I think under the circumstances, that’s the best option,” she murmured, barely daring to breathe. Her face was no more than an inch from his lips, her body was pressed up against his. There was no question of his physical interest, but what sent Caroline’s head spinning wasn’t the feel of his arms around her, the heat of his body or the knowledge that she’d done this to him, she’d made his every muscle clench and shiver, desperate for release. It was the effect that she had on his eyes.
Since the moment he’d first seen her, Dr. Simon Blake had peered at her, stared at her and summarily dismissed her with that cold, casually arrogant glance of his. But he wasn’t dismissing her now. Now he stared at her with an emotion she couldn’t quite process. It was something more than interest, though, something more than desire.
Charmed: Gowns & Crowns, Book 6 Page 9