by Sophie Moss
“I told you.” Her nails bit into the counter. “I’m handling it.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “How?”
It was like walking into a whirlpool, there was no stopping her, no turning back. Her legs felt like lead but some force pushed her on, a force she could no sooner fight than a riptide dragging her out to sea. She touched him, just the smallest whisper of the tips of her fingers on his cheek.
His mouth captured hers. The air cracked, sizzled as she curled her arms around his neck, sinking her fingers into that rich dark hair.
She tasted of cloves, of honey, of sweet hot desire. He fisted his hands in her clothes, yanked her to him. And the scent of her—lavender, roses, seawater—had his lips parting hers, taking the kiss deeper.
He had her up against the counter, the wood pressing into her back. She should be afraid, she should be frozen. But she couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe.
She melted into him, pressing her body into his hard chest and asked for more, demanded more as she took the kiss deeper.
She was like fire, like sea smoke in his arms. He slanted his lips down her jaw, to her throat, scraping his teeth over her salty flesh.
And when her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him even closer, he caught her mouth in his again, parting those sweet lips until the earth began to spin.
She felt like she was falling, like there was a drug seeping into her veins, taking her over, controlling her.
“Wait,” she breathed.
“Tara,” Dominic’s voice was thick with need.
“Wait.” Helpless, she pressed a hand to his chest. “Stop.”
Dominic’s hand fell away, but his forehead stayed on hers, breathing in the scent of her, the desire for her.
Tara kept her hand on his chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she gazed up into those beautiful storm-gray eyes. She didn’t want to be helpless. She didn’t want to lose control.
She could feel his heartbeat, fast and hard through his thin shirt. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“Tara.”
She swallowed the passion, fought back the desire. “I’m sorry.”
When he laid his lips on her forehead, brushed a thumb gently over her cheek, the gesture was so sweet, so tender, Tara closed her eyes and let the scent of him, the feel of him wash through her. She wanted to slide her hands up his chest and press her lips back to his. But she opened her eyes and, shaking her head, slid out of his arms. “I can’t.”
Chapter 8
It was still dark when Tara slipped out of the cottage. A thick fog slid over the ground, dripping over the cliffs like fish spilling out of a net. The ocean surged and retreated, playing its quiet song far below. Closing the door with a soft click behind her, Tara’s heart ached as her fingers brushed the brass doorknob for the last time.
It was one thing to put her own life in danger. But she would not risk others getting wrapped up in her twisted past. She’d chosen this island to disappear off the radar. To take a short snatch of time to save up money and map out a six month plan. She hadn’t counted on strange legends of people descended from seals, of ghosts haunting the island, of roses forcing their way in through her windows at night.
She hadn’t counted on meeting a man like Dominic O’Sullivan. Or the desperate longing he would stir in her from one kiss.
She picked her way down the rocky path to the village, the mists curling up like snakes, coiling around her wrists. It would be best for all of them if she left. Best for Dominic. Best for Kelsey. Best for that strange woman who appeared to her on the beach with that terrible warning.
He is coming.
She shoved her clammy palms into her pockets, shuddering at the memory. If there was any truth to the legend at all, if what she had seen that night was anything more than a brief loss of sanity, then Philip was coming for her. He could be tracking her right now, to this very island.
Stealing through the sleepy streets of the village, she diverted her eyes from the pub, and the father and daughter sleeping just upstairs. Picking a place like this had been a mistake. It was exactly the kind of place Philip would choose for her. Because if he tracked her to this island, there’d be nowhere for her to run.
Jiggling the keys in her pocket—boat keys she had swiped off Donal Riley last night when he was too drunk to notice—she quickened her pace. What was she thinking fixing Caitlin’s hand? Easing Brennan’s arthritis? Curing Sarah Dooley’s cough? It was only a matter of time before people started to talk, before word spread of the black-haired, green-eyed American healer living on the island.
And now, with the islanders speculating that she was a witch? She trailed a finger over a jagged stone wall, dripping with moss. She could still smell the roses, even down here. Their scent clinging to the mist, saturating the wet, salty air. Where had they come from if no one on the island planted them? Why were they growing so tall and fast up the walls of her cottage? And why was she the only one immune to their curious side effects?
She took one last look over her shoulder, at the silvery cottage bathed in the moonlight, then she turned her back on it for good. It didn’t matter where the flowers came from. Or what would happen to them when she left. All that mattered was that she left, before anyone could ask where she was going, before anyone could try to stop her.
She spied the gently bobbing workboats, praying she remembered which one was Donal’s and, slipping the keys from her pocket, she froze as a child’s scream pierced the night.
***
Kelsey?
Tara spun around. Lights flicked on in the upstairs windows of the pub. She spotted the dark shape of Dominic moving behind the curtains. She could hear Kelsey crying, calling out for her dad and for…
Tara?
Had she just heard her own name?
She glanced back over her shoulder at the harbor and Donal’s boat. She took a few steps back, away from the village. She needed to leave now. Before anyone else got hurt.
Tara.
She paused when she heard it again. Why was Kelsey calling out for her? Did she need her?
No. Tara forced herself to turn, and walk the path down to the harbor. She had Dominic. She didn’t need Tara, too.
A horse raised its head from behind a stone wall. It puffed out a breath, staring at her with liquid brown eyes. But what would happen when the sun rose and she realized Tara had left? Without even saying goodbye? What kind of lesson was that for a child?
She heard it again—the faintest call riding over the winds—and she turned, shoving Dona’s key back into her pocket.
Kelsey needed her. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, abandon a child in need.
She raced back up the hill to the pub. Fumbling with the knob, she pushed the heavy door open and strode into the dark barroom. She could hear Kelsey cries getting louder, could hear Dominic’s deep voice trying to calm her.
She took the steps, two at a time, dropping her pack when she saw tears streaming down the child’s pale cheeks. “Kelsey?” Tara rushed over to the bed, dropping to her knees. “What happened? What’s the matter?”
“Tara?” Dominic’s face registered shock at the woman kneeling beside the bed. “What are you doing here?” His gaze fell to the pack lying in the doorway and his arms tightened around his daughter.
But Kelsey twisted out of his grip, reaching her hands out for Tara.
“It’s okay,” Tara soothed, gathering Kelsey up in her arms. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”
Dominic stared at his daughter clinging to a woman she’d known less than a week. Fighting the instinct to pry her out of Tara’s arms, he rested a calming hand on her back instead. “We’re both right here, Kelsey. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
Kelsey twisted her hands into Tara’s sweater, buried her face in the fabric.
“Was it a bad dream?” Tara asked softly, smoothing a hand over Kelsey’s tangled curls.
Kelsey nodded.
“Do you want to talk abo
ut it?”
When those big blue eyes lifted, Tara felt a painful protectiveness rip through her. She cupped the child’s face in her hands. “What happened?”
“I saw you,” Kelsey whispered.
“Me?” Tara shook her head, confused. “Where?”
“In my dream.” Kelsey’s fingers bit into her shoulders. “You were just lying there.”
“Where Kelsey? Where did you see me?”
“On the beach.”
Dominic’s hand stilled on his daughter’s back. He remembered the vision, the terrible image of Tara washed up on the beach. The black bruises staining her neck.
“You were just lying there,” Kelsey whispered, tears streaking down her pale cheeks. “I went down to the water, to wake you up. But you wouldn’t move. Your lips were blue. And there were marks on your neck. Black marks.”
Tara wiped a tear from Kelsey’s cheek. “It’s okay. Go on.”
“The waves were so high. They were crashing over you. And I kept shouting for you to get up. To get out of the water. But when I touched you, you wouldn’t move. Your eyes were open. But you wouldn’t look at me.” Her voice broke. “You just laid there.”
“It was a dream,” Tara soothed, folding the child up into her arms. “It was only a dream. I’m here. I’m fine.”
“I saw you,” Kelsey whispered. “You were dead.”
“I’m not dead. It was only a dream.” Tara lifted her eyes to Dominic’s and slowly unwound Kelsey’s arms from around her neck. “All you need is something to get your mind off what you saw and it’ll go away. I promise.” She waited for Kelsey to curl into her father’s lap, and then turned, searching for something to get the child’s mind off her nightmare. Pulling the first book off the shelf, she held it up for Kelsey to see.
“Sleeping Beauty?”
Tara nodded. “It will help you forget.”
“But that’s a little kid book.”
“You’re never too old for Sleeping Beauty.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Kelsey scrunched up her face but she settled further into Dominic’s embrace, resting her head on his chest.
Tara opened to the first page, lifted her gaze when Kelsey’s pale fingers suddenly dug into her arm.
“You won’t go anywhere, will you? If I fall asleep?”
“No.” Tara forced a smile. “Of course not.”
***
When Kelsey finally fell back asleep, Dominic snagged the strap of Tara’s small backpack and led her quietly down the stairs and out into the street so as not to wake his daughter. Shutting the door behind them, Dominic leaned back against it, watching her. “Where were you going, Tara?”
Tara gazed out at the sea. The night was peeling away, the sunrise painting a pink line along the horizon. “The mainland.”
“How were you planning on getting there?”
She reached into her pocket, pulled out the keys.
“Whose…?”
“Donal Riley’s.” She handed them to him.
He slipped them into his own pocket, watching her, still holding her pack. “You thought you could just slip away before anyone woke up?”
“I thought it would be best that way.”
“For who?”
“For everyone,” she answered, but as she looked at him, his pale face awash in the moonlight, his hair such a dark shade of black it looked almost blue, and those searching gray eyes holding hers, she was lost.
“I don’t know what to think anymore, Tara,” he confessed. “I’m confused.”
“So am I,” she whispered.
“I don’t know if I should be angry with you for leaving, or relieved. I don’t know if I should be upset that my daughter reached for you instead of me tonight, or thankful that you showed up when you did. And I don’t know if what I’m feeling for you is real, or just a side effect of those damn roses.”
Tara swallowed. “What are you… feeling for me?”
He pushed off the door, closed the distance between them. “Remember that promise you made to me?” He tipped her chin up. “When you said you wouldn’t hurt me or anyone I cared about? You leave today, you break that promise.”
“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this.”
“I think I’m starting to believe that.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek, his eyes like pale water. “What would happen if you stayed?”
“I can’t stay.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t know.” She answered, honestly. “Belfast. Dublin, maybe.”
“And then what?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
His voice was soft, gentle, like sea glass sliding over the waves. “I don’t want you to go.”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, but when he threaded his fingers into her hair, she let the heady scent of him pull her in.
His breath was a whisper on her skin. “Don’t go.”
She searched frantically for a wall, for a defense when his fingers brushed the back of her neck, but when he touched his lips to hers, the need for him whipped through her, had her fitting her body to his.
And as the red sun rose, bleeding into the sky, Tara knew that it was him she’d been searching for, him she’d been running to all this time. He was the missing puzzle piece she’d been looking for. That last impossible-to-find piece that could make her whole.
The ocean crashed, surged against the cliff wall.
Sensing her urgency, her need, Dominic slid his hands up her back, curled into that silky curtain of hair. And let the scent of her, the taste of her shoot into him like a drug.
A small sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. Her lips parted, drinking in the taste of him. Sugared almonds. Spiced rum. She raked her palms up the hard muscles of his chest, gripped those wide shoulders when her knees went weak. Her mind grew dizzy. And she clung to him, angling the kiss, taking it deeper, desperate for more.
He fisted his hands in the back of her shirt, fighting to maintain control. “Tara,” he breathed.
When her lashes fluttered open, and her eyes lifted, they were heavy and full of longing. “Dominic. I...”
He started to release her. Her pack was on the ground. All she had to do was grab it and run. Disappear. Like smoke.
But she didn’t pull away. She didn’t move. And, gazing up into eyes the color of liquid silver, she let out a long breath.
“There are things I can’t tell you. I won’t tell you.”
Dominic’s hand felt heavy and foreign when he lifted it to smooth her hair back from her face. “I can wait.”
“I need time to think. About this. About us. About everything.”
“I’ve time.”
And when he stood there, his strong arms holding her, gazing down at her with those quiet, patient eyes, she knew she wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t leaving the island. She wasn’t leaving Kelsey. And she wasn’t leaving him.
Whatever was coming for her, she was going to face it. And when the first rays of sun shot over the island—ribbons of orange fire into the street—she hoped she was strong enough. And that she wasn’t making a terrible, terrible mistake.
Chapter 9
The soothing notes of Chopin floated out of the speakers in Philip’s office in St. Joseph’s Hospital in Houston. He was due for surgery in a matter of minutes and, although the nurses would have the same music playing in the operating room, at his request, he enjoyed these stolen moments to himself. It gave him time to think about his wife. And what he was going to do if it took Sam much longer to find her.
When the phone rang, shrill through the tranquil atmosphere in the room, Philip snatched it up. “Carter.”
“Dr. Carter. It’s Sam.”
“I was starting to wonder if I was going to hear from you.” Philip said, tightly, rising from the chair to close and lock the door to the hallway. “It’s been three weeks since I first called you and exp
lained my… situation.”
“These things take time.”
“I expected more from someone with your reputation. An update. A phone call to fill me in on your progress. I tried calling this number—”
“Don’t.”
Philips hand closed around the phone. “Where are you?”
“Prague.”
“Prague? You’re supposed to be—”
“Following your wife. I know. That’s what I’m doing.”
Philip walked slowly back around his desk, lowering himself into the chair. “You think she’s in Europe?”
“I’m tracking a lead. I don’t know anything for sure. My instincts are telling me she’s somewhere in Europe.”
“Do you think she’s in Prague?” Philip demanded, already reaching for his laptop and typing in the web address for an airline.
“She may have been here. I think she was here. For a time. But if she was, it was several weeks ago. And she didn’t stay long.”
Philip pushed away from the computer, disgusted. “Then where the hell is she?”
“I’m working on that. Have you seen the Houston Post this morning?”
“No,” Philip rummaged around the papers and files on his desk. One of the nurses usually brought one into his office each morning. Apparently they’d forgotten today. He’d have a talk with them later to remind them of their additional duties and responsibilities. “I was tied up in surgery all morning. I haven’t seen the headlines.”
“I’ve been following the headlines of the city papers throughout Texas and I found an interesting story this morning in the Post. A man was arrested in a suburb outside Houston last night for allegedly running a forgery operation out of his basement.”
“What does that have to do with Sydney?” Philip demanded.
“The man specializes in fake identities. But not for underage teens trying to buy beer and get into the bars. He creates and distributes licenses, passports, and birth certificates for women. Only for women.”
Rage coiled Philip’s stomach. “You think Sydney went to this man?”