Since they had left the meadow, he had been a relaxed, charming companion. She had even felt comfortable kidding with him over lunch. But she had moments when it was difficult for her to reconcile this charming, playful man with the one who had hurt her so badly. And more than likely the fact that he was the same man made her feel guilt when she did respond to him.
He held out his hand to her. “Come on, Sharon. You don’t want me to call you a chicken, do you?”
“Let me get this straight. You, Conall Jacob Deverell, whom some call brilliant, the CEO of Deverell Industries, want to climb out on a very high roof like you did when you were eight years old, and you want me to go with you?”
“That about sums it up. Are you coming?”
“Yes. Just tell me what to do.”
She discovered with surprise that SwanSea’s roof was a series of valleys and peaks, part shingle, part ridged copper. Pathways and steps had been laid out between the different sections to make it easier to work on. She lost count of the chimneys. She also lost her sense of direction until he led her onto a fairly flat section that overlooked the back gardens.
“Here we are,” he said, dropping to sit on the sun-warmed copper, aged to a lovely green patina, and tugging her down beside him.
Below them, box hedges marched in lines that had been drawn long ago, enclosing hundreds of types of plants and flowers. In the center of the garden, myriad streams of water gracefully arced into the air, then fell into the basin of a huge marble fountain.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “You can see forever up here.”
He lifted his hand and pointed toward a distant rise on the horizon. "That’s where we were this morning.”
She nodded. “I don’t see many people. There’s a couple in the garden, another over there by the trees. I imagined SwanSea would be booked to capacity most of the time.”
“It is. It’s just that this time of year, during the day, most of the guests pile in their cars and take drives to see the fall leaves. Tonight, I’m sure the dining room will be filled.” He glanced at her. “Would you like to take a drive tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” she murmured. Tomorrow seemed so far away. “Conall, do you ever see Mark Bretton anymore?” The question had popped into her head, and she was as astonished as he to hear it.
He stiffened. “No.”
“Why not? You used to be such good friends.”
“The minute I found out he’d been seeing you behind my back, he ceased to be my friend.”
“He wasn’t seeing me. We never once went out. He tried, but I wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Eventually he gave up and turned his efforts to poisoning you against me.” She paused. “I never figured out if he really wanted me, or if he was jealous of you because you appeared to have it all and he wanted desperately to be able to take something you valued away from you.”
Conall was silent for a moment. “I nearly killed him.”
“What?”
“You told me what you did that night after you ran out of my apartment. Now I'll tell you what I did. I went to him, called him every name in the book, then proceeded to beat the living hell out of him. If someone hadn’t pulled me off him, I would have killed him.”
“What became of him?”
“Last I heard, he was living in Europe.”
Conall had been very wrong to think that she would go to bed with his friend, she reflected, but nevertheless she saw now that he’d been deeply hurt. A person had to bear an enormous amount of pain in the course of his life. To hurt for the wrong reason and without real cause seemed to her a special kind of tragedy.
“All of a sudden I’m very tired,” she murmured.
“Lie back and take a nap.”
“Here?”
“Sure, why not?” The corner of his mouth curved slightly upward. “I won’t let you fall.”
The bed in her room was a long way away, and the idea of resting here strongly tempted her. She lay back and shut her eyes. Gradually the sun began to warm her bones, relax her muscles, clear her mind. Sometime later she felt Conall lean over her and press a soft, gentle kiss on her mouth. The kiss seemed to hold an incredible sweetness, an incredible regret. What were they to do, she wondered as she felt him lie down beside her. What were they to do. . . .
When she next opened her eyes, the sun was much lower in the sky, and Conall was standing at the edge of the roof, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet planted wide apart, staring off into the distance.
She sat up and grimaced when her muscles rebelled with pain. “Conall?”
He walked back to her, happier now that she was awake. He’d felt a peculiar kind of restlessness and aloneness while she slept. “More rested now?"
“Yes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to nap so long.”
“Don’t worry about it. I slept too.” He extended his hand. “Grab hold and I’ll help you up."
She let out a groan as he pulled her to her feet. “Oh, Lord, I was afraid of this. I was still too long, and that horse ride this morning has caught up with my body.”
“Well go back in, and you can take a good long soak in the tub. I guarantee it will help.”
“How do you know?”
He smiled. “I know from experience. I don’t get a chance to ride unless I’m here, and I don’t get here very often. I plan a soak myself.”
She returned his smile, and suddenly he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. Her eyes seemed a deep, endless aqua. It would have been so easy, so natural for him to invite her into his tub. Just the thought made his muscles tighten. Heaven help him, he did want her.
His eyes lowered to the softness of her mouth. It was curved with amusement, as if she didn’t quite believe that he was also sore. For some crazy reason he found her expression irresistible, and without further thought he angled his head down and kissed hei; lightly, a mere brushing of lips against lips. He hadn’t meant to prolong the kiss, but once he had started he couldn’t seem to stop. He tried to keep the kiss easy, but an unexpected heat flooded him, hitting his system with force. Then her arms crept around his waist, and her mouth opened. He couldn’t refuse the invitation. With a rough sound he thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth and tasted his own pleasure, his own passion.
She was aching, a warm, languid kind of ache that made her want to do things slowly, but at the same time there was an urgency inside her that made her want instant gratification. She slid her hands beneath the sweater to the smooth flesh of his back and pressed herself more firmly to him.
Her breasts had begun to swell, her nipples harden. What was happening to her? Had she slept away her inhibitions with her nap? Or, more likely, had their talk this morning, plus their playful banter during lunch, begun the melting of the things that had been making her hold herself away from him? She wasn’t sure. And somehow she felt It wasn’t really important that she know the answer right that minute.
He understood more now, Conall thought. And amazingly he desired her more, with an intense, hot pleasure that was unfamiliar to him. His head was swimming dizzyingly. A fever had begun to bum inside him, and he had never felt better in his life. She was springtime in his arms, burgeoning with life and passion.
But he couldn’t allow himself to pressure her, he wouldn’t. Last night she had left him. Today he was going to have to force himself to leave her, because if he didn't, he’d never forgive himself. She had to be ready to make love; she had to want him as much as he wanted her.
Unable to pull slowly away from her, he jerked his head up, then stepped back. She was left swaying unsteadily on her feet, her eyes heavy-lidded, an expression of bewilderment on her face. He almost drew her back into his arms, then he almost took her down to the rooftop with him.
"We’ll both feel better after a good hot soak,” he muttered huskily, and reached out for her hand to lead her back inside.
Six
A crystal, bell-like sound rang out as Conall and Sharon touched their wineglasses together.
“To a wonderful stay here at SwanSea,” he said. “May it fulfill each of our expectations.”
“Now, there’s a toast,” she commented. “How long did it take you to come up with it?”
He lifted his hind and snapped his fingers, demonstrating the amount of time it had taken, and three waiters came running. His expression turned rueful, and Sharon laughed.
“False alarm, gentlemen,” he said.
Sharon smiled and sipped her wine. The nap on the roof had left her rested, the kiss she and Conall had shared had left her a trifle off balance, yet feeling very much alive. She had no idea what would happen this evening. At this point she wasn’t even sure what it was she wanted to happen. She just knew that sharing the burden with the person she had held responsible for her pain all these years had helped in some incalculable way, and she no longer felt as emotionally fragile as she once had.
As she had soaked in the seashell-shaped tub, she’d even considered a radical idea: Perhaps going to bed with Conall to conceive a child had not been such a good idea. Perhaps she should return home in the morning and continue on with her life.
And as for this evening, she had decided to take it a minute at a time, and if that proved too arduous, she would try seconds.
“How are all your aches and pains?” he asked, studying her.
“Great. You were right. The hot water soaked them all away.”
“Good, then you’ll be up for a little more exercise tonight."
Instinctively, involuntarily, she tensed. Then she noticed the glint of amusement in his eyes. He was teasing her, deliberately being provocative. She relaxed and gave him a melting smile. “That all depends. What kind of exercise did you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.” He grinned, taking great enjoyment in the simple act of sitting across the table from her and watching the different expressions that chased across her face. She looked exquisite in the evening gown she wore. The bodice had been created out of tiny iridescent beads in colors of ice, purple, turquoise, and green. The long, flowing skirt was made of sheer layers of turquoise, green, and white chiffon. She looked very cool, very seductive. In many ways, very untouchable. He wanted desperately to touch her. “Your dress is lovely. Is it new?”
“No, I’ve had it for about two years.”
“Where have you worn it?”
She tilted her head, puzzled. “Various functions and parties. I can’t remember exactly. Why?”
“I just wondered.” His gaze dropped to the tantalizing shadow of her cleavage revealed by the low neckline of the dress, then returned to her face, where the ice-crystal earrings she wore were throwing light onto her skin. “Your social schedule must be quite full. Dates, I mean.”
She had dated often enough over the years, she reflected. Twice she had even tried very hard to become serious. Somehow, though, the relationships had never worked out. By choice, her dates had tapered off, until now, right at this moment, she would be hard pressed to recall when she last had been out with a man. However, she had no intention of telling him any of this. “Do you honestly think my life has stood still for the last ten years?” she asked, half amused, half censorious. "Yours hasn’t. Why should mine?”
“No particular reason.” He picked up his wineglass, looked at it, then set it back down without drinking anything.
“Are you aware of the odd glances you’re getting from the staff?” she asked.
His lips twisted with dry humor. “No, but if I am, it’s your fault.”
“They’ll forgive you anything. Trust me.” “Should I?”
His question was asked in a teasing tone, but her answer would have been a serious, no, not entirely. So she remained silent and soon their dinner arrived.
“Did you notice the different bowls of M&M’s in the suite?”
He nodded and smiled. “You’re really something.”
She felt a flutter in her heart and knew why. She was acutely aware of Conall and how darkly handsome and sophisticated he looked tonight. His coal-black hair gleamed with health and vitality. The contrast of his bronze skin against the white shirt was potently attractive. His hands especially fascinated her, with their strong wrists and long, lean fingers.
He handled the crystal wineglass with care. How would he handle a woman?
Her head came up with a snap. He was watch' ing her watch him. A blush rushed up her neck and her hand flew to cover the telltale color.
He eyed the color with interest. “How is your salmon?”
“Wonderful,” she said, grateful for the opportunity to change the direction of her thoughts. “In fact, everything about the dinner is perfect, including the ambience. If you were to discount the modem clothing worn by the guests here tonight, we could well be a hundred years back in time. The ladles dining here this evening would be wearing patterned silk or embroidered velvet gowns, with the skirts flared in back to form a short train. Or if this were the twenties, there would be flappers in short, beaded chemises, perhaps shocking the older women by smoking. ”
Her gaze traveled around the room. What kind of love stories had been played out between these walls, she wondered. What kind of stories would be played out in the future?
He pulled her back to the present by reaching across the table and taking her hand. “How did someone with your Imagination ever choose accounting as a career?"
“That’s easy. I could make sense out of numbers. You either add, subtract, multiply, or divide them, and they’re either black or red. There aren’t many things in life that are that simple.”
“No, I suppose not.” He wondered if she knew how telling her explanation was. She’d chosen a career she could control because there had been so much in her life she hadn’t been able to control.
He squeezed her hand. “Are you finished with dinner?”
It was the twinkle in his eye more than the question that gave her pause. “Yes, why?”
"For our after-dinner exercise.”
“Oh.”
Her doubtful tone made him laugh. “I have no idea what you’re thinking, but if for some odd reason you’re worrying, stop it. I have a surprise for you, and I can guarantee that you’re going to love it.”
He glanced at one of the waiters, and in moments the young man was there with her velvet evening cloak. She had brought it with her from Boston, but had left it hanging in her room.
“I sent someone for it,” Conall explained, rising and taking it from the waiter. He held out his hand to help her up, then wrapped the velvet around her shoulders and drew her back against him. “We’re not going far,” he murmured close to her ear.
A thrill rippled through her, and she twisted her head to look up at him.
He bent his head to press his lips to her cheek. “Let’s go.”
They left the house by a back door and walked out into a night glazed silver by the moon and spun with a special enchantment. The fountain was lit by colored lights and flowers scented the air.
They made their way along the winding garden paths, drawing farther and farther away from the house. But the music from the house wove in and out of the flowers, trees, and shrubs, following them.
“You’ve completely mystified me," she murmured, “but I’m enjoying the walk."
“I am too. It’s a beautiful night, and I have a beautiful companion.” He glanced at her. “I’m almost sorry we’re nearly there.”
“Nearly where?”
“You’ll see.”
“You said that before.”
Mid-stride, he pivoted and suddenly she was in his arms, and he was kissing her. She was taken unawares. He was molding her mouth with his, drawing from her a response that came from a place inside her she hadn’t known existed, a place filled with emotions that raged and yearnings that blazed. She was shocked at the hunger she felt, at the bone-deep need, at the sensual pain that had begun to throb low and hard in her stomach. Then the kiss ended as abruptly as it began.
He cradled the side of her f
ace with one hand, and stared enigmatically down at her. Her pulses raced furiously, but she remained quiet beneath his hand, not so much waiting, not so much trying to make sense of what had just happened, but, rather, regaining her strength. After a long moment he kissed her again, more softly this time. Heat flared from the still-burning embers of their first kiss, then died back down as he took her hand and drew her around a tall hedge. Obviously he had far greater control of himself than she had of herself.
“Here we are,” he said, waving a hand toward a long, narrow, one-story building with floor-to-ceiling arched windows spaced evenly down its side.
“What is it?” she whispered, still trying to deal with the effects of their kisses.
He drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. “It’s a tennis court my grandfather, Jake, had built sometime in the twenties after he inherited SwanSea.” He ushered her in with a hand at the small of her back.
The interior of the building lay in complete darkness except for the moonlight that slanted through each of the windows and sliced a short distance through the blackness.
“Stay here,” Conall said, “I'll be right back.”
She heard his footsteps as he walked away from her. For a moment she felt strangely bereft, but soon light flooded the interior—a subdued, pearl-ized kind of light—and she blinked as her mind slowly adjusted to what she was seeing.
A glass roof curved above them, artistically constructed of metal supports and pale yellow and cream stained glass.
Floor lamps stood around the perimeter of the court, the lamps each identical to the other. Each was crafted from copper and iridescent ivory glass in the shape of a tall, single-stemmed flower. On a lower leaf, a dragonfly rested.
Placed among the tall flower lamps were deep, wide, rattan couches, chairs, and chaise longues bearing cream-colored cushions. Glass-topped tables awaited cool drinks, and beside them the leaves of the potted palms stirred gently in the breeze that drifted in from both the doorway and several open windows. In the iridescent light the court resembled an enchanted garden.
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