by Nina Bruhns
Dinner was a bit tense.
Elizabeth was glad for Mrs. Butterfield’s steady monologue of village gossip, spiced with suggestions as to how her guests might spend tomorrow, recipes for the dishes she was serving and descriptions of her favorite TV programs airing tonight.
Elizabeth barely tasted her food, and Sully barely looked at her.
Why, oh, why had she challenged him earlier? None of that was any of her business. Not his amnesia, not the mysterious fires, not the gold coins.
The fact that he kept kissing her had scrambled her brains but good.
After they brought their empty dinner dishes into the kitchen, Mrs. Butterfield invited them to join her in front of the television in the parlor. Elizabeth put on a smile and looked at Sully. “I’ve promised to help Chief Sullivan set up his laptop this evening. Would you like to do that now?”
“Why not,” he said, his gaze meeting hers for the first time that night. It seemed…cool, and more distant than it had been before.
Damn. Had she blown it so badly?
She deliberately took his arm on the way to the stairs. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “It’s really none of my affair, any of that.”
He grunted noncommittally.
“I won’t tell anyone about the gold.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s mine.”
“Then you’ve started to remember?” she asked optimistically.
“Some things you never forget.”
His words, spoken oddly like a censure, hung ominously between them as they climbed the stairs, giving her pause. What was that all about?
His jaw was clamped tight, his teeth gritted in pain by the time they reached his room. It was the third time he’d climbed the stairs that day and his leg was obviously bothering him. She helped him to the bed and took his cane as he sat.
“Can I get you anything? Do you have pain medication?”
“Non. Don’t believe in opiates,” he growled, rubbing the muscles. “I’ve seen what they can do to a man.”
She smiled at his quaint term, but it quickly faded. Caleb hated drugs, too. Said they made him feel like he was wrapped in cotton batting. Unfortunately he had no choice. “Water, then?”
“I’m fine.” It wasn’t quite a growl this time, but he still didn’t sound happy. Then he turned his attention fully on her, and said, “Elizabeth, you’ve been hiding something from me. I want to know what it is.”
Her mouth dropped open at his harsh, pointed command. She’d been planning to tell him about Caleb, to ask him about being tested, as soon as the laptop was set up. But now she was almost afraid to broach the subject. His current mood did not appear exactly conducive to generous sacrifice on behalf of a stranger.
“Um…”
“The truth, Elizabeth. All of it.”
Why did he look so suspicious?
“All right, fine,” she said, sitting gingerly on the bed next to him. She put her hands in her lap and studied them. “The truth is, I came to South Carolina, to Magnolia Cove, specifically to find you.”
He frowned. “Me? Why?”
“On behalf of my brother, Caleb. He has leukemia and needs a bone marrow transplant.”
His suspicion turned to confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t know…I don’t remember what that is.” His uncertainty seemed genuine, mostly because the self-deprecating confession appeared to annoy him so much.
Swallowing a spurt of guilt, she briefly explained about the awful cancer and how it can sometimes be defeated with an infusion of healthy bone marrow, harvested from a compatible donor. The more she spoke, the more sympathetic his expression turned. Her hope soared.
“But why me?” he asked when she’d finished. He still seemed puzzled.
“Relatives are thirty percent more likely to be a match,” she explained. “And you are very distantly related to my family. It’s a long shot,” she admitted. “But I’ll do anything to help my brother. Even come all this way on a wild-goose chase.”
He regarded her with a look she couldn’t quite decipher.
“I know this is rotten timing,” she hurried to say. “What with your accident and all. And I know your doctor will have the final say, so please don’t answer me now. Just, if you would, talk to him…soon…and let me know what you decide. Either way, I’ll be grateful if you would just consider it.”
He continued to stare at her for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Of course.”
She couldn’t help herself, she threw her arms around him and hugged him close. “Thank you. Oh, thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.”
He went suddenly stiff. “Dieu. Is that why you haven’t wanted to kiss me? Because there is a family relationship between us? Are we cousins?”
She pulled back, shaking her head at his dismay. “Heavens, no! The relationship is generations distant. Besides, Caleb is not my biological brother. I was adopted.”
“You were…adopted.”
“There’s no blood between us. I swear, not a drop.”
The relief in Sully’s expression was so obvious, her heart sang. Did his attraction to her run deeper than his reputation might suggest?
And yet, he made no move to return her hug. Or to kiss her.
Her cheeks warmed with a blush. “Sully, I was afraid to get close to you, physically,” she said, looking down, “because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to influence your decision by using, um…”
“Your body?”
She swallowed and nodded, her face scalding. “Exactly.”
“That’s it?” he murmured. “That’s all you were hiding? No more secrets?”
“No secrets,” she said. Unlike you. “Just a sick brother.”
His lips whispered across her temple. His fingers grazed her waist. Caressed her gently, back and forth. She closed her eyes. Moments ticked by.
“What if,” he said at last, his voice low, like the crunch of gravel, “what if I asked you for your body?”
Her breath sucked in. In shock.
She didn’t move. Her hands still clutched his forearms, her thigh pressed snug up against his. His bare arms below his T-shirt sleeves were strong, corded; his jeans-clad thighs were hard with muscles. The masculine power of his body made her weaken with want.
But not like this. Not as part of a bargain.
And yet…if it was her only choice, for Caleb…
“That would depend,” she whispered hoarsely, “on why you asked.”
“If I promised to be tested, for this bone marrow thing, in exchange.”
She swallowed again. Deeply, chokingly. “I would say yes.”
His fingers found her chin and lifted, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Donc,” he said, looking fierce, “and if I asked as a man who simply wanted you? To make love to you and give you pleasure?”
For some inexplicable reason, she felt the sting of tears, pressing to come out. She forced them back. She wanted to say yes. She’d never wanted anything more in her life. But it felt…wrong. He’d mentioned pleasure, but she needed more than empty pleasure. When she let a man make love to her, she wanted it to mean something.
“I’d say no,” she whispered.
For now, she wanted to add in haste, leaving open the possibility of the future, but she didn’t. Not aloud. Because things were too complicated, and Andre Sullivan wasn’t the kind of man to build a future around.
To her surprise, he gave her a crooked, sardonic smile. “Quel dommage, that I’m not a man to extort favors from desperate women, no matter how desirable.”
She reached up and touched her fingers to his cheek. Understanding, to her relief, what he was saying. “Too bad I’m not a woman to give herself to every desirable man she meets, no matter how much she’d occasionally like to.”
His eyebrow flicked. “It appears,” he said, not without a hint of humor, “we’ve hit an impasse. I won’t force you, and you won’t surrender willingly.”
She wouldn’t put money on the latter
, and was very glad he didn’t push. She didn’t know how long she could hold out against him. Already her blood felt like liquid lead in her veins, and she had a reckless urge to lean up and kiss him.
As though he could read her mind, his expression subtly changed. Then he leaned down and put his lips to hers. Barely touching, he halted, suspended, for an endless moment.
A low, needy sound floated through the silent room. With a start, she realized it had come from her own throat. Lord, did she want him that badly? She knew the answer without thinking.
Perhaps…perhaps she could allow herself just a kiss? Surely a kiss couldn’t hurt, or be construed as undue influence. Was that what he was saying with his gentle invitation?
Sensing he would not move on his own, she threaded her fingers through his hair, drew him closer.
“Just a kiss,” she whispered into his mouth. “Nothing further.”
“Would you tease me?” he asked.
She could feel the barely leashed restraint in the muscles of his arms, of his thigh. She could see the blatant want growing large between his legs.
She was playing with fire. And this man was chief of the fire department.
“I’ll stop if you want me to.”
“Dieu, non. Jamais.” Never.
So she opened her mouth, and slowly seduced him into the kiss with her tongue and her lips. Courting his response. Enflaming his need. It was the most quiveringly sensual thing she’d ever done.
She loved the taste of him, loved the feel of his firm flesh beneath her hands. Melted at the dusky, masculine smell of his skin and his hair and his desire for her.
She was in deep trouble, and she knew it.
She should stop this, stop their kiss. But she couldn’t make herself. Not yet. Just a little more…
“Ma chère,” he whispered. “Ma douce.”
She shivered at his low-spoken love words, sensing a depth in them that defied a twenty-four-hour acquaintance. Thoughts of the old legend flitted through her mind, of the pirate and his lady. “Sully,” she moaned softly. Sullivan Fouquet?
He gave an answering groan, and eased her back onto the mattress, canting over her, slipping his leg over hers. Not exactly trapping her, but…suggestively claiming her.
She tried to remember all the reasons why she shouldn’t let him. But his lips, his mouth, were all too drugging. And then his hand lifted to join in the persuasion. He reached for the buttons of her blouse.
She covered his fingers with her own. “Just a kiss, remember?” she reminded him, her breath coming fast and shallow, her heart thumping hard.
“But you never said where,” he pointed out.
“Lips. Mouth,” she murmured, meeting his again.
“Breasts?” The stiff tip of his tongue met hers, teasing, enticing. In imitation of what he suggested.
Her nipples spiraled tightly and it was her turn to groan.
But her hapless sound of surrender was drowned in the sudden, sharp ring of the phone on the nightstand. They froze, their lips halting in midkiss. A siren wailed in the distance. And the foghorn-blast of a fire engine sounded.
The phone rang again.
Sully swore.
She frowned. “Would they call you?” she asked. “To a fire? On your first day out of the hospital?”
He swore again, rolled to his back and covered his eyes with the hand that had so recently targeted her buttons.
He still did not answer the persistent ringing. So she did. Prepared to inform them the chief was not fit enough to go back to work yet and they could just fight their fires without him for a while longer.
But when she started to say that, the man on the other end interrupted. “This is Jake Santee. Tell Chief Sullivan the fire’s in an old historic building. Tell him it’s the work of an arsonist. Tell him I thi nk it’s Wesley Peel.”
Chapter 5
M erde.
This was the call Sully had been dreading, ever since learning of Andre Sullivan’s occupation. He hated fire. Really hated it.
He could control the fear for small, contained blazes such as a lantern or fireplace. But when Elizabeth repeated what Jake Santee had told her, Sully knew he must face his worst fear sooner rather than later. A large, uncontrolled blaze.
He sat up, regretting the call even more for its untimely interruption. He gathered Elizabeth close. “If Jake thinks Peel has returned, I should go.”
“Surely your doctor hasn’t given you the go-ahead to suit up yet?”
“Don’t worry. I have no intention of doing more than observing.” And that was for damned sure. He’d stay as far away from the fire as possible.
He lifted her chin and kissed her. Wanting nothing more than to tumble her to the mattress again and persuade her out of her clothes.
“Shall I drive you?” she asked.
He nodded. Maybe if he didn’t let her out of his sight, they could pick up later where they’d left off.
“Tomorrow, I’ll ask my doctor about the test for your brother,” he said, rising from the bed. Then he caught her hand and added, “Regardless of what happens tonight.”
She smiled, squeezing his fingers. “Thank you.”
As it turned out, when they went out the front gate of the Pirate’s Rest Inn they could already see smoke and flames shooting into the black sky from just a few blocks away. He talked her into walking with him instead of adding to the chaos of clogged curiosity-seeking traffic on the narrow village streets.
Hurrying down Fouquet Street, it didn’t take Sully long to recognize which historic building was burning.
It was his old town house. The one he and Elizabeth had visited only hours before.
“Mon Dieu,” he muttered, along with a choice swearword. A coincidence? Or had Peel been watching them the whole time?
“My God,” Elizabeth said, her voice wavering. “Was he targeting Sullivan Fouquet’s house, or was it a warning…for you?”
A question he’d dearly like to know the answer to.
He put an arm around her, glancing into the dark recesses of the alleyways and blank windows of closed businesses as they approached the jumble of police cars, fire trucks and ambulances that marked the perimeter of the fire scene. He concentrated on spotting Peel among the shifting shadows and the gaggle of onlookers. So he wouldn’t fixate on the fire raging just a few hundred feet away.
But it was no use.
Like dancing devils, the flames leaped and licked at the row of ancient timber houses, consuming the structure with an ungodly roar and the acid stench of smoke and burning. Clouds of putrid steam rose as plumes of water from the hoses arced onto the blazing roof. Scorching heat rolled off the whole mess, blistering everything in its path.
Gooseflesh swept over Sully’s skin and his stomach roiled. Boyhood memories of being caught in the bowels of a ship unable to get out, choking, screaming, roasting alive, assailed him. He turned his back to the flames and doubled over, gasping for a clean breath, battling the panic.
“Sully!” Elizabeth’s worried call cut through the din of the fire and the men fighting it.
“Are you all right, Chief?” Jake Santee’s voice joined hers.
“Fine,” Sully said, straightening. Clenching his jaw. Turning back to face his terror. He’d survived it as a boy. And more recently the flames had brought him back to mortal life. Both miraculous. He should not be afraid.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “Just…”
Santee nodded, his eyes knowing. The eyes of a man who had been through it himself. “Take your time,” he said. “And keep Miss Hamilton back here behind the line.”
Sully nodded, sticking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans to keep them from shaking. Grateful to the other man for giving him a way to keep face and not look weak in front of his men. No matter that it was for the wrong reason.
“You think this is Peel’s work?” Sully asked of him.
“Pretty sure of it,” Jake said. “Fits his MO, and his obsession with that
pirate treasure. I hear Sullivan Fouquet lived in this block in the late 1700s. But the place is empty now, so Peel couldn’t have been looking for diaries or paintings like he did before. That’s new.”
“Not necessarily,” Elizabeth said.
Jake turned to her in surprise. “How so?”
“Sully and I were here earlier. Inside the town house. There was a secret hidey-hole in one of the bedrooms. Maybe Peel knew about it and thought there was still something hidden there.”
Jake frowned, looking from her to Sully. “You were inside?”
“I have a key,” Sully explained, wishing Elizabeth hadn’t brought it up. “A friend of mine owns the building. Since it’s slated to be demolished—” he gave a shrug “—he wanted me to go through and make sure everything had been removed.”
“A friend. Who?” Jake asked, his brow beetling.
“James Tyler. He’s abroad on his honeymoon.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed consideringly. “Tyler? The antiques dealer? The man whose wife you rescued?”
“He’s the one.”
Tyree had told him a bit about Jake Santee, because he was a good friend of Andre Sullivan’s. Jake had been racked with guilt over Sully’s massive injuries—as well as Clara and Tyree’s—blaming himself because Jake had known ahead of time Peel might be setting that fire. But he’d always been just a little suspicious of Tyree’s—James Tyler’s—real interest in the arson cases.
“Hmm.”
“Don’t even think it, Jake,” Sully said. “Tyler had nothing to do with the fire tonight. Or any of the others.”
Jake held up his hands. “I know, I know. Tyler getting shot was evidence enough. Not to mention him being a thousand miles away by now. But I still feel like something hinky’s going on with him. There’s a connection I’m not seeing.”
He had no idea.
“I guess this means the case is reopened?” Sully asked.
“Absolutely.”
Suddenly there was a commotion and shouts as a half-dozen men came scrambling out of the burning building. “Everyone get back! It’s coming down!”