Phantom Lover

by Rebecca York

  HE STOOD in the shadows of the bedroom, one hand slipped into his pocket, the casual pose belying the electric tension coursing through him.

  He’d chosen a spot with an excellent view of the sitting room, and his heart lurched when he saw the door to the hall open.

  She had come! Because he’d asked her here, he hoped.

  Still as a statue, he watched her lock the door behind her then drag over a chair and tip it under the doorknob.

  Probably her eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to the dark. But he had no such problem. Silently, he followed her progress as she crossed the rug and stepped into the bedroom.

  The moment she’d entered his territory, he’d sensed a kind of humming in the air, a physical vibration that he recognized as the charged energy he’d felt when she stepped into the grove of trees.

  Did she sense it, too? Was that why she suddenly hesitated, lifting her head and looking around like an animal smelling danger on the wind?

  He knew the exact moment when her questing gaze found him standing in the corner.

  Always before he’d stood behind her or come to her in the dark. This time was different. She could see him, and he felt her regard like a jolt of electricity.

  For a few charged moments there was only the humming in the air. Then he heard a small, throat-clearing noise from her. When she spoke, he knew she was trying to control her voice. Still, it came out high and quavery.

  “Troy! Your face…there’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then why—?” She stopped in midsentence and changed the question. “What are you doing standing there like a cat burglar—trying to take a couple of months off my life?”

  He liked the defiance in her voice, defiance that masked the undercurrent of anxiety.

  “I’m being cautious. The way you are.” He gestured toward the lamp. “But you didn’t bring one of my best pieces of crystal to attack me, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why don’t you put it down?”

  She shifted her gaze to the makeshift weapon in her hand, then shrugged and set it on the floor against the wall.

  “Thank you for coming up here. That was brave of you.”

  “Brave!” She snorted. “I’m not brave. I’m being prudent. Someone was in my room while I was taking a shower. Was it you?”

  He hesitated for a moment, considering a lie. Yet he had vowed to be honest with her—as honest as he could be. He gave a small shrug. “Yes. Too bad the shower curtain is only translucent,” he added as a small reassurance.

  He saw her cheeks redden, liking the effect. She was so vital. So alive. He’d been dead inside until she’d arrived at Ravencrest and worked her unconscious magic on him.

  “Living alone hasn’t done much for your manners. Don’t you know it’s not nice to sneak into a woman’s bathroom?”

  “I couldn’t resist you,” he said simply. “You draw me to you.”

  “And you wanted me to come up here—after you got a good look at me.”

  He chose to focus on the first part. “Yes. You felt me calling you?”

  She didn’t answer the question. “You could have helped me out with the computer password,” she said instead.

  He thought about that, trying not to let his frustration overtake him. Sometimes he felt strong, powerful. But it didn’t take much to knock that confidence out from under him. It was several seconds before he answered. “I don’t know the password.”

  “You forgot it?”

  “I don’t remember,” he growled.

  She might have pushed him on that. She’d pushed him before, demanding answers that he couldn’t or didn’t want to give. But he didn’t allow her a chance.

  He knew how to keep her from digging too deeply. He knew her vulnerabilities. And his own.

  Slowly he crossed the room, watching her, giving her a chance to back away from him because deep in his heart he knew that asking anything from her that she didn’t want to freely give was the worst kind of betrayal.

  But she stayed where she was, her hands at her sides, her chin turned upward.

  She was pretending calm, as he had when she’d first come in. But he heard the catch in her breath, saw the emotion simmering in her eyes.

  The mixture of fear and anticipation was as strong in him as it was in her. He wanted this so badly. But what if it all went wrong? He set the fear aside and reached for her.

  The first instant of contact branded him. He folded her close, wrapping himself in her wonderful scent, the heat of her body warming the hard shell of ice that had walled off his soul.

  She was his salvation. His lifeline. And so much more. When he brought his mouth down to hers, it was like a current of heat and energy flowing into him.

  With a low moan of need, he claimed her lips, angling his head to take her mouth in a wild, demanding kiss.

  He was staking his claim. But he was instantly lost in the taste of her, the feel of her mouth on his, the lithe weight of her body in his arms. She was like the wind blowing off the ocean—strong and sweet, with an energy that crackled through him.

  He’d watched her in the shower. Oh, yes, he’d watched her. Taken in her unconscious sensuality. Been mesmerized by the beautiful feminine curves of her. Seen the creamy skin of her breasts and the pink buds of her nipples. Followed droplets of water as they slid down her body, over her rounded buttocks or into the thatch of blond hair at the juncture of her legs.

  He’d known he shouldn’t be invading her privacy. But it had been impossible for him to turn away. And the sight of her had been like a flow of hot lava coursing through him.

  He’d known then that he must hold her. Kiss her. Give her what pleasure he could give.

  He felt her heart pounding in her chest, heard her shaky breathing as he moved his mouth over her lips, then pushed aside her silky hair and transferred his attentions to the tempting patch of skin below her ear.

  She moaned, and he knew that he had her under his spell.

  Then, heartbeats later, he felt her pushing against him, pushing him away.

  “Troy.” She gasped.

  “I’m here.”

  “Lord, yes. You’re here. But don’t do this! You know you can swamp my senses when what we really need to do is talk.”

  He sighed. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted. Not yet.

  “Talk about what?” he asked, hearing the thickness of his own voice. There were so many subjects she could pick. He waited, the tension coursing through him.

  “Helen.”

  “I don’t want to talk about my sister.” Or anything else, he silently added.

  “We have to! It all goes back to Helen. She asked me to come here and find out what was wrong. She told me that you invited the Sterlings to Ravencrest. That you were—” She stopped and dragged in a breath. “Okay. I don’t know how else to say this. She told me that you weren’t yourself after Grace’s death. You weren’t paying enough attention to…your life. And you let the Sterlings take advantage of you.”

  Her words were an accusation, stabbing at him like a thin-bladed knife. After Grace had died, he had been drifting through his life in a fog. “That was true for a while,” he muttered, then considered the other part of what she’d said. “But I didn’t invite them. It was Helen. She wrote me and said they had nowhere else to go.”

  Bree stared at him as though he wasn’t making sense. “I don’t understand. She was the one who begged me to come and check things out because she said you’d asked the Sterlings here. And she was afraid they’d taken control of the estate.”

  He felt the words pound him like stones as he fitted this new information with one of their previous conversations. He’d remembered their idyllic summer together. And he’d remembered she was Helen’s friend from school. But the two facts hadn’t connected in his mind, even when she’d claimed Helen had sent her here. The implications of what that meant had finally filtered into his muzzy brain. Now his voice tu
rned sharp, as pieces of a puzzle came together in a new way. “Wait a minute. How could she ask you here? I tried to get your address from her and she said she’d lost contact with you years ago.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “What?” Bree gasped, her fingers digging into Troy’s shoulders.

  He stared down at her. “Lord, I wanted to see you again, so much. After I was free. But I couldn’t find anyone named Bonnie Brennan who turned out to be you. And Helen said she couldn’t help me. That was one of the reasons I was so depressed.”

  “I changed my name,” she said.

  “I know that now. You’re Bree. It fits you better now that you’re grown up.”

  She stared up at him, totally thrown off balance. Helen had never said that Troy had wanted to get together with her.

  Confusion swirled in her brain. Confusion about Helen. About Troy. About her reason for being here.

  “So did she make up the story about the Sterlings to get us back together?” she asked. “She always could come up with such complicated schemes. Remember that summer she wrote complaint letters to companies, pretending she was you? She watched you get all that mail. Some of the companies threatened to sue you and some sent you cases of products to make up for the deficiencies that you’d claimed you’d found. Only it wasn’t you. And when you discovered it was Helen who’d caused all the uproar, you were so mad.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “Yeah, I remember that summer. She was twelve and I was fifteen.”

  “So couldn’t this be one of her elaborate schemes?” she asked, hoping against hope that he’d agree.

  “If she wanted to get us back together, she certainly took a roundabout route. All she had to do was give me your address and phone number.”

  “Yes. She and I never lost touch.” Bree let the implications sink in. “So are you saying she made the whole thing up about the Sterlings?” she asked slowly. “Why would she do that?”

  She saw him consider the questions.

  He ignored the motivation part. “She didn’t make up the whole thing,” he said after long moments. “I think they did something bad.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Hit you over the head and gave you partial amnesia, like in that scene you showed me. Only now your memory is coming back.”

  “Yes,” he murmured, but it was obvious his thoughts had turned inward. “Maybe it wasn’t them,” he said slowly.

  “Tell me everything you remember,” she pleaded.

  “Bree, I’ve told you what I remember. And we’ve already wasted so much time. I don’t want to waste any more talking about the Sterlings. Not when I’ve longed for you to come back to me,” he said thickly, smothering her attempt at a protest by covering her lips with his.

  The kiss was hot and thorough, and it took her breath away. She was feeling light-headed as he slid his lips away from hers to the sensitive line of her jaw and then the tender place at the top of her neck.

  The part of her mind that still functioned told her to pull away again. They weren’t finished with the conversation. And the conversation was important. If she kept asking questions, maybe he would remember more.

  But coherence was rapidly deserting her. He had said he didn’t want to waste any more time, and she understood that so well. Time with him had become precious.

  Later. They could talk later.

  She made a small whimpering sound in her throat, her hands finding the hem of his shirt and slipping underneath. As her palms slid against his skin, she heard him gasp.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  The feelings were so elemental. The intimacy staggering.

  She had been here such a short time, but the passion between them had been building from the first night in her bed.

  He had teased her, tantalized her.

  “I want you naked,” he whispered. “The way you were in the shower.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  His hands went to the front of her shirt. At first he fumbled as he slid the buttons open, but his touch became more sure as he continued the task. Then he was slipping the garment off her shoulders.

  She helped him then, reaching around to snap the catch on her bra, lifting it away and sending it to join the shirt.

  He bent to kiss her shoulders, the tops of her breasts; she arched against him, silently begging for more.

  His hands were busy again, pulling off her slacks and panties, skimming them down her legs. She stepped out of the unwanted clothing and kicked it away, so that she stood naked in his arms—aroused but just a little uncertain.

  She was totally exposed. He was still fully dressed. She wanted him naked, too, but when she tried to speak, her voice caught in her throat as his hands stroked her flanks, cupped her bottom, pulling her against his taut length, his body swaying with hers in an erotic rhythm that swamped her senses.

  “You are so lovely,” he whispered. “And so generous. You were always so generous. That was one of the things that attracted me to you. And that was how I lost you. Your mother got sick and you put her welfare before anything you wanted.”

  She couldn’t speak. She could only nod, because that was the truth. Walking away from him back then had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Yet she’d put duty before her own happiness.

  “Let me love you. Let me love you now.”

  “Yes!” she cried. She had wanted him for so long, and now he was giving himself to her.

  He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. With one hand, he pulled aside the covers, laying her on the crisp white sheet. Then he followed her down.

  Her hands plucked at his shirt. “Troy, please, take your clothes off.”

  He rolled away long enough to rid himself of the shirt. Then he gathered her to him again, pressing her against his body. She reached up, winnowing her fingers through his thick hair, pulling his mouth to hers in a kiss that was sweeter than any they had exchanged before. The underlying passion sent heat shimmering through her.

  As she kissed him, she tried to show him the depths of her feelings. She had given up any hope of getting together with him when she’d learned about his marriage. But she had never forgotten him, never stopped wondering what might have been between them.

  Deep down she knew that was the real reason she had come to Ravencrest so eagerly, so recklessly. She was stronger than she’d been when she first knew him, more sure of what she wanted—no matter the risks. That was why she’d come back to this room that she’d been forbidden to enter. Helen had given her a chance to find Troy again, and she had seized the opportunity—and damn the consequences.

  She was incapable of considering any consequences now. She had been unsure of him, afraid of him, even. But none of that mattered at this moment. She could only kiss him and stroke his strong back and shoulders, and lose herself in the building ecstasy of making love with him.

  Finally. Finally it was their time.

  When he dipped his head and took one of her pebble-hard nipples into his mouth, she moaned her pleasure and clasped him to her.

  He brought her up, up to heights she had hardly imagined. His fingers stroked down her body, playing with the thatch of blond hair below her abdomen before slipping lower and parting her hot, slick feminine flesh.

  “Oh, Troy,” she rasped, clinging to him, almost overcome by the pleasure he was giving her.

  Yet she needed to know he was sharing that pleasure as fully as she.

  She reached for him, starting to slide her hand down the front of his body to the fly of his jeans. But he caught her fingers, stopped her downward progress.

  “Troy, I want you with me,” she breathed.

  “I am with you. I’m right here. All the way.” As he spoke he grasped her small hands in one of his large ones, pulling them up and over her head, trapping her so that he could work his will.

  “Hold on to the headboard,” he murmured.

  She did as he asked, her hands clenching and unclenchi
ng on the brass bars.

  He kissed her then as he began to stroke her once more, drinking in her little cries.

  She was swept along on the tide of sensuality he had created. Unconsciously her hips rocked against his clever fingers as she sought maximum contact, maximum sensation.

  Her reward was a surge of ecstasy that could only be sustained for a measured space of time—physical pleasure that built and built to an incredible peak of tension.

  “Let go, sweetheart. Show me how good it feels.” Two of his fingers slipped inside her, triggering a burst of erotic intensity that sent her spinning out of control into a wild, shattering climax.

  She called out his name, her hands clenching tightly on the bars of the headboard, even as small aftershocks rippled through her inner muscles.

  “Troy, please, I want to give you that pleasure, too.” She lowered her arms and reached for him.

  He bent, stopping her words with a long, deep kiss that seemed to say he was ready to allow her to return the joy he had given her. Then, just as she relaxed into the kiss, he pulled away from her.

  She cried out at the sudden loss, even as she reached for him again, trying to bring him back. But she knew in the next moment that she was alone on the bed, alone in the room.

  Totally alone.

  She lay there breathing hard, trying to come back to herself, knowing there was no use calling out to the man who had just given her so much physical pleasure—and then left her. The way he always left her. Now that she thought back over what had happened between them, she could see he had planned what he wanted to do. Carry her away in ecstasy, then disappear.

  Moments ago she’d been flying as high as the stars. Now she fought the tears gathering in the backs of her eyes.

  Damn him!

  He had made her believe that he wanted her to come back to him. Was that a lie? Was he playing with her? Or worse, was he using her for his own purposes?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make that idea go away. She desperately wanted to ask him what was going on. Why he had chosen that way to make love to her, and why he had left so suddenly. But she didn’t even know if she could believe his answer.