by Cara Summers
When he spread his palm against her back, she resisted the pressure. “You had those glasses on, so I couldn’t see your eyes. The first time I did, they fascinated me. I never knew it was possible to get lost in another person’s eyes.” And it was happening again. “Jillian…”
The ragged tone of his voice triggered a surge of power. “Shh.” She touched her mouth to his again, pressing and then releasing. “When you followed me into the village that first day, the instant you stepped out of your car, desire hit me like a punch. For a moment, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think. All I could do was want.”
Easing back just enough, she began to open the buttons of his shirt. “And you didn’t even look at me.”
“I couldn’t. If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from going to you.”
“Good to know.” She whispered the words in his ear, then brushed her lips over his neck, his throat, lingering only long enough to hear his breath catch before easing back again. She met his eyes as she pulled the shirt free, pushed it down his arms and ran her hands slowly down his chest. There was so much pleasure here in the hard planes and the roughness beneath her palms. Shouldn’t she have known that making a man shudder could bring such a thrill? He moaned, and her mind filled with the sound until she heard nothing else.
When another shudder moved through him, power came in a rush.
He gripped her arms. “You make me lose control.”
“I know.” Pressing her palms against his chest, she urged him to lie down on the floor. “But not yet. I want to take my time with you.” Then she began to use her hands to explore him, all of him.
Ian’s arms were weighted now, his mind blurring, his muscles weakening. He’d fantasized about having her touch him, but the reality went far beyond where his imagination had taken him. Her fingers traced lightly down his chest as if in wonder and left a trail of fire and ice in their path.
He began to float in a river of sensations as her hands became more confident. They were so strong, her mouth so warm as it retraced the journey her fingers had taken. And each time her lips returned to his, her taste became more potent, more alluring. More necessary.
“Lie still,” she warned as she straddled him and began to work on his belt. “I want more.”
He did as she asked. Because he wanted more, too. With mouth and hands, she continued her slow exploration of his skin as she eased his jeans, inch by inch, down his legs. There’d been intensity before between them, but never this quiet radiation of pleasure from the scrape of her teeth down his thigh, the flick of her tongue at the back of his knee, the featherlike movement of those lips down his calf, the quick nip at his ankle.
He thought his heart might just burst through his chest when she took care of the condom, sheathing him with those clever fingers. When he tried to sit, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed him flat. She murmured something to him, but he no longer understood the words.
No woman had aroused him or weakened him this much. Helplessness skittered through him. His breath backed up in his lungs. His skin grew hot, damp, sensitized as desire for her seared through his muscles and fogged his brain.
When he finally reached for her and rolled her beneath him, he no longer thought of finesse or of control. Ranged above her, staring into those eyes, all he thought of was having her. They rolled across the floor, knocking something out of their path. He tugged at her clothes, tearing at the barriers that separated them until the last one disappeared.
Then with his eyes still on hers, he plunged into her. For a moment he reached for control and held her there as time spun out. He moved once, twice, his eyes locked on hers as he sent her over the first peak. When she was still breathless, still weak, he sent her up again.
His control began to slip then, even before he felt the strength pour into her.
“Come with me this time,” she said as she rolled him onto his back.
He had no choice. When she began to move, he met her thrust for thrust. Still she was the one who set the pace and drew him with her. As she rode him faster and faster, he felt her pull him higher than he’d ever gone before. Then she tightened around him and showed him that they could both go further. When release came, he cried out her name. But it was his name that he heard fill the room.
IT WAS THE FIRST TIME she’d awakened in his arms. The sky was still gray in the predawn light, and they were wrapped tightly around each other, lying side by side on one of the couches in the tower room. She felt the warmth of having him there, gave herself a moment to treasure the closeness even before she fully opened her eyes.
Ian was awake and watching her. Beyond him, she could see the shadows in the tower room lightening. But for now, the room was quiet, the sea only a distant whisper. The hotel had yet to awaken.
But dawn was gathering strength. The narrow world where only the two of them existed would rapidly widen. Ian’s hair was mussed, from the cushions of the couch, from her hands, and the shadow of a beard darkened his cheeks and chin. His eyes were already dark with desire. There was still time, she thought. They could so easily slip back into the world they’d created for each other during the night. If either of them moved…
But when she lifted her head to do just that, the first ray of the sun shot through the window, struck the beveled mirror and shimmered.
That’s when she caught a glimpse of it and struggled up to get a better look.
“What?” Ian twisted and got to his feet. Then he saw it, too. The hatbox lay on its side at the base of the mirror. Its cover had fallen off and the parchments lay scattered across the floor. But it wasn’t the parchments that Jillian was staring at. It was the leather-bound notebook that protruded out of the now-open base of the hatbox. Ian located his jeans and pulled them on as she gathered her sweats and got into them.
“I was right,” she said as they knelt down for a closer look. “Hattie was hiding something besides the fantasies.” Her hands trembled as she lifted the book and opened it. Tears gathered at the backs of her eyes when she saw the photos on the first page. One captured a handsome-looking man reading to his son.
“It’s in the library,” Jillian murmured. “Not the one in Belle Bay. It’s the library right here in Haworth House.”
“So the colonel was right. He has been to this house,” Ian murmured.
Jillian lifted the photo and saw that the first page was dated July 5, 1954. Beneath it in very neat script was an entry:
Yesterday I went to the annual Fourth of July fund-raiser at the Belle Bay library. I’ve been here on the island for nearly a year now, and I thought I might put in an appearance. I’d almost forgotten that fate operates in strange ways. And if you knew what little trick she was going to play next you might be able to arm yourself against her.
Alas, I was totally unprepared as usual. Just as I didn’t foresee what happened to me in Hollywood, I didn’t see this coming, either.
Yesterday was the day I met and fell in love with Samuel Jenkins.
“It looks as if Miss Emmy Lou and you were right, after all,” Ian said as he turned the page. “Samuel Jenkins and Hattie Haworth did meet and fall in love.”
And it didn’t end happily. When Ian turned to the next page, Jillian had to blink back tears so that she could see the writing. He took her hand and they read the book together.
15
AN HOUR LATER, IAN CLOSED the book and set it on the floor next to the mirror where they’d found it. They now knew a lot more than they had before they’d read it. But they weren’t any closer to figuring out who was behind the incidents at Haworth House. Hattie had written her last entry in the journal on the day of Samuel Jenkins’s death. But there was no mention of it. No hint about whether his death had been suicide or murder.
He’d been hoping for more. They desperately needed it. From the moment he’d awakened lying next to Jillian on the couch, he’d had a feeling that their time was running out. Whoever it was who’d thrown that fire bomb down t
he stairs of the library had been a step ahead of them right from the beginning. And Ian was afraid that their next attempt might just succeed.
“It’s such a sad story.” Jillian drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “They had so little time together. From July Fourth to early the next spring. Not even a full year.”
Ian put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see their images reflected in the mirror. “From reading the journal, I’d say they found something together that few people ever do. And they weren’t going to walk away from it.” He wasn’t going to, either. But it wasn’t the time to tell her, not with the clock ticking.
“Then you don’t believe Samuel committed suicide.”
“No. Of course, we only have her side of the story. But she doesn’t come across in this journal as a woman who was into self-delusion. She wasn’t happy when she first discovered she was in love with him. And she’d been fooled before by a man. It seems to me that she’d take some care not to misread this one. Especially when there were so many obstacles between them.”
Jillian nodded. “He had a wife and child. And he clearly felt responsibility for Margie because she wasn’t well.”
That was the one thing that Hattie’s journal had shone some light on, Ian thought. Margie Brenner suffered from depression and perhaps an even more serious mental illness. In a later time, she might have been diagnosed and treated. But according to what Hattie had described, Margie spent most of every day in bed, and Samuel was the primary caregiver for their son.
“He was leaving her his property and the store, all his worldly goods,” Jillian pointed out.
“But he was taking his son,” Ian said.
“Margie wasn’t able to take care of him properly.”
Shifting slightly, Ian took her hands in his and met her eyes. “Nate would say that there’s still a chance that at the last minute Samuel couldn’t go through with their plan, that he saw it as an impossible choice and he ended his life.”
Jillian frowned at him. “But you don’t believe that.”
“Mainly because that theory doesn’t get us any closer to what’s going on now.” Impatience and frustration rippled through him. “Someone is hell-bent on getting rid of you and me. And the fact that Hattie and Samuel had made plans to be together gives someone a motive for murder.”
“Which brings us back to the wife, the mentally ill Margie Brenner who was pretty much bedridden at the time and who died twenty years ago,” Jillian said. “We can’t question her.”
“So we’re no further ahead than we were last night.” He squeezed her hands. “Jillian, I want to take you away from here.”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “No. I’m not about to let whoever it is drive me away. This is a place my sisters and I have made into our home.”
When Ian’s phone rang, he checked the ID. “Nate?” He held the phone so that Jillian could hear.
“I talked with my father,” Nate said. “He remembers the Jenkins case because it was the first big one he worked on. He was twenty—fresh out of the criminal justice program at a community college. The case appeared to be open-and-shut. Samuel Jenkins had been trapped into a marriage with a sickly wife, and he couldn’t take it any longer. But my father was determined to dot his i’s and cross his t’s, so he didn’t close the file until he’d interviewed both Hattie Haworth and Margie Brenner. Hattie claimed she had no idea why Samuel had been walking along the cliffs on her property. And Margie Brenner had an alibi. Her younger sister was staying with her that night. At Samuel’s request she’d started to spend time at the house so that Margie wouldn’t be alone.”
“She had a sister with her? Do you have a name?” Ian asked.
“Just a second…I have my father’s notebook. He interviewed a Mary Brenner who was fourteen,” Nate said.
“We have news on this end, too,” Ian said. “Hattie and Samuel were definitely having an affair. They had plans to go away together and take little Sam with them.” He told Nate about the contents of the journal.
“And Hattie makes no mention of Samuel’s death in the journal?” Nate asked.
“No,” Jillian said. “The story in the journal has a happy ending. It ends on the day they’re about to start a new life together. Maybe that’s the story she wanted to hold on to.”
“She told my father she had no idea why he might be walking along the cliffs.”
“She could have been in shock,” Jillian said.
“She could have simply been telling the truth,” Ian added. “There’s no indication in her journal that either of them were having second thoughts. If she believed he committed suicide, it must have shocked her terribly. And if she’d suspected foul play, who would have believed her? The fact that she’d been having an affair with Samuel and they were planning on running away might have been seen as further motivation for his suicide. And it wouldn’t have brought Samuel back.”
While he’d been talking, Jillian had slipped her hand into his.
“Nate—this Mary—do you know what happened to her?” Jillian asked.
“My Dad says she moved away from the island with Margie and little Sam after the estate was settled.”
“My friend Cody is due to arrive on the first ferry. I’ll have him look into the sister,” Nate said.
“And I’ll give Colonel Jenkins a call, see what he can tell me about his aunt,” Nate said. “Until we know more, I want the two of you to stick close to the hotel. In fact, stay in your rooms.”
After replacing his cell on his belt, Ian rose and pulled Jillian to her feet. “Nate’s right. We should remain in the hotel—at least until we know more. And I want you to stay here in the tower room.”
Jillian’s brows shot up. “While you go where?”
“To my room to shower and change clothes. Then I’ll pick up some clothes for you and bring them back. I’ll be gone twenty minutes tops. If I can’t convince you to let me take you away from here, I think this room is the safest place for you to be. Hattie will protect you as long as you’re here with her.”
“Twenty minutes?”
“Tops.”
“Okay.”
He left her then, taking the circular staircase down to the door that opened onto the first level of the tower.
He had only an instant to react when the pain surged through his body. Using all his energy, he threw himself backward so that his full weight pushed the paneled oak door shut as he slid to the floor. Just before the blackness closed in, he caught a glimpse of work boots.
JILLIAN’S MIND WAS STILL spinning with questions as she gathered up the scattered fantasy envelopes. The hatbox’s false bottom must have jarred loose when she and Ian had been making love. Or Hattie had opened it for them. After carefully setting her journal aside, she reassembled the box, piled in the envelopes and replaced the cover.
Then she rose and moved to the tower windows. She couldn’t get her mind off Hattie and Samuel’s tragic love story and how her own growing relationship with Ian seemed to mirror it. She and Ian had also experienced an instant and overwhelming attraction. They’d tried at first to ignore it, then decided to indulge in it. To the fullest.
That was how it must have been for Samuel and Hattie. They’d decided to have an affair. No strings, just pleasure. Who could it hurt? But then their feelings had deepened. And decisions had to be made.
Once again, their experiences coincided. And she was almost getting used to the bubble of panic that erupted every time she thought about it.
Samuel and Hattie had found the courage to follow their hearts. Jillian didn’t doubt for a minute that they would have built a happy life together if someone hadn’t stopped them. The question was who?
It had to be someone local. Someone who’d been on the island that long-ago night. Someone who’d had a stake in preventing Samuel and Hattie from leaving.
Whirling from the window, she paced back to the mirror. “Who?” she
asked. “Hattie, who was it who stopped you?”
There was no answer. Not even a flicker of light. Jillian felt a tightness squeeze her heart. Perhaps Hattie didn’t know the answer. “Surely you must have thought about it. You must have narrowed down the suspects. Someone had to have discovered your secret affair. Was it Margie? Or the younger sister?”
Was the discovery of their affair what had triggered their decision to run away?
The ringing of the room phone had her jumping. Moving to the desk, she picked it up. “Hello?”
“Ms. Brightman, this is Colonel Jenkins. I’m here in the hotel, and your manager was kind enough to put me through to you.”
Even if he hadn’t identified himself, Jillian would have recognized his voice.
“I know that I didn’t call ahead. But I was wondering if I could impose on you for a meeting?”
“If this is about your offer to buy Haworth—”
“No, it isn’t about that at all. In fact, I didn’t even tell my son I was coming. I flew up last night and took the first ferry over to the island. Ever since I left, I’ve been having what I’m sure are memories of Haworth House—of being there when I was a boy. If you have the time, I’d like another tour of the place. And you did offer to show me the tower room.”
“Could you hold on a minute, Colonel?”
“Yes, of course.”
Setting down the receiver of the hotel phone, Jillian located her cell and punched in Ian’s number. When he didn’t pick up, she remembered he was going to take a shower and she left a message on his voice mail. “Ian, when you get this, come to the tower room. Colonel Jenkins is here and he says he’s recalling more memories.” Then she dialed Avery. “Jillian?”
“I’m in the tower room. Ian went back to his room to take a shower. Could you bring Colonel Jenkins up to see me? He says he’s recovering memories. I’d like to hear what he has to say.”