For Her Eyes Only

by Cait London

  At eight-thirty in the evening, Robyn had settled into her room to watch television. She’d been unnerved by Janice’s suicide attempt, the chopping of her hair. “I don’t know how she got anything to drink. I hope you won’t fire me over this. I’m really trying.”

  “I know. This isn’t your fault, and I appreciate your help. Now that’s she’s settled, I’ll just go talk with her for a minute.” Owen understood Robyn’s desperation. A middle-aged woman with leg problems, she was unable to work a full nursing shift and had few other skills. Her tolerance for young children was low, and she needed periodic rest when possible. She also needed the income. Her savings had been depleted when she’d been scammed in an investment scheme. A widow, she enjoyed cooking and housekeeping, and had been exactly what the Shaws had needed. And more importantly, Janice had seemed to connect with Robyn immediately.

  Alone with Janice, Owen gave her the Timeless Vintage box with the “Freedom” tote inside. At first, she was delighted; but once the tote was in her hands, she began to tremble. She clutched it to her chest. “Where did you get this?”

  “A shop in town. Do you like it?”

  “It has the feel of a spirit touch, a woman. Two women…no, three spirit women, a third close to them. All good spirits…. I like it. Thank you.”

  After Janice had snuggled down in bed, still clutching the tote to her, her statement haunted Owen. Janice had simply held a bag and knew that three women were involved. Leona had said she had two creative sisters….

  And all of that probably meant nothing. With a resigned sigh, Owen took out the business card from Timeless Vintage and prepared to make his excuses. He left a message on the shop’s machine, then settled into the living room to watch the violent storm light up the windows. It shook the old two-story house and rattled windows that needed replacing.

  The lights flickered, and Owen thought of all the wiring that also needed replacement. The small farm was all he could afford; the move to Kentucky had been a financial gamble. He’d have to work hard and fast, but Owen had just enough of a bankroll to keep them housed and fed for now. And Janice safe.

  He opened a book and retrieved a scrap of printer paper he’d found last fall, after Janice’s computer had been suspiciously wiped clean. “Go to the lake. I’m waiting for you,” it read. And then Janice had tried to drown herself. Owen tensed as he remembered that night and how she’d fought his rescue.

  “He’s waiting for me,” she’d said then. With medication and a change of scenery, and no computer time she’d improved slightly…until tonight. She’d been drawn to the pond, ready to walk into it. And she’d spoken of “spirit voices,” just as she had when she’d become obsessed with her computer.

  “Spirit voices?” Owen crushed the note in his fist. “More likely someone is having a really good laugh. Probably the same joker who sent that note.”

  Furious with whoever was playing with Janice’s mind, Owen had once demanded she tell him who it was.

  After that, whenever Janice spoke of the voices in her mind, the answer was always the same, “He.”

  Since last fall, Owen had been hunting for He. And when he found whoever was playing with Janice, he would end his sister’s tormentor, one way or another. Even if it meant entering the spirit world himself.

  Owen rubbed his jaw. The thought was reckless and traced back to his early childhood. He was a man now, coping with an ill sister. Their move to Kentucky should have helped, but now it was starting all over again.

  Lightning lit up the night, followed by rolling thunder. Three spirit women, Janice had said. Owen turned her words over in his mind. “Three spirit women” could mean anything: spirits from the dead, or in the living; it could mean something unusual in the psyche.

  Owen had sensed something unusual about Leona the moment he’d walked into Timeless. But then his body’s hunger had taken over, and he had thought only of her as a woman. What was it about Leona that was unusual, other than the sensuality she expressed in the way she looked and moved, that uniquely arousing scent?

  The red-haired woman interested Owen on two levels: a definite physical attraction, and one invisible, caught by Janice’s unsteady senses.

  Prone to be restless in storms, Janice was certain to awake tonight. With a sigh, Owen settled into working on his investments, and braced himself for the terrified scream that was certain to come.

  His desire for Leona Chablis would have to wait.

  “Serves me right. I’ve been stood up. Eight-thirty is a long way from ‘pick you up at six-thirty,’” Leona muttered as she glanced at the clock in her office. Worse, Owen’s message offered no excuse.

  At nine-thirty, the storm abruptly stopped, allowing Leona to finally leave Timeless. She’d stayed to finish the orders she’d begun while the storm had raged earlier. The weather station had canceled a tornado warning when the storm had swept unexpectedly out of the region. Still, she’d decided to wait rather than battle the fierce wind and likely hail, or risk damage to her brand new car, which was safely tucked beneath an overhang in the back of the shop.

  Nettled that she could have been home and settled by now—if she hadn’t waited for Owen Shaw—Leona hitched her tote up on her shoulder and stepped out onto the back porch of Timeless. With only the door’s overhead light cutting into the night, the back alley’s shadows almost concealed her white Lincoln. The storm and wind had left raindrops glittering on her car and puddles on the alley’s old cobblestones.

  With a sigh that said she was tired and disgusted, and doomed for a frozen dinner from her freezer, Leona turned to punch in the store’s security code.

  When she turned back, a man stood beside her car, his face shadowed. Fear tightened Leona’s throat. This could be the psychic vampire or Borg-descendant who wanted to kill her. It was only logical that she would be next, now that he had failed with her sisters.

  Borg’s icy curse circled Leona as she glanced around the darkened alley. Had her time come to be attacked? Was she really the weakest link in the triplets now?

  The rest of the shopkeepers’ cars were gone. Leona was alone, but for the stray cat that crept across the overstuffed Dumpster. She reached inside her tote and found her cell phone. Her finger poised over the 911 button as she asked the man, “Who are you?”

  As he moved into the pool of light spilling from her back porch light, Owen’s harsh features appeared. “You weren’t answering your phone. I left another message, so I wouldn’t frighten you when I arrived. When I saw a car back here, I hoped you might still be here.”

  Leona gripped the handrail and didn’t move. Panic leaped, her pulse pounding hard and fast. His long-sleeve black sweater and jeans had blended too well into the shadows. Her senses had definitely kicked up when he’d entered the shop earlier today, which meant he could be psychic—it would take a psychic to rattle her defenses. This man could be the one stalking her family. “You would have had to walk down the side alley to do that.”

  “Yes. I parked out front.”

  He was a hunter then, set on finding her. Her senses rippled uneasily with potential danger. “I have my finger on the 911 button on my cell phone,” she warned.

  “Oh? Are they bringing our dinner?”

  That light, teasing comment set her off. Few people had seen Leona’s dark side; she preferred to keep cool, impervious, and calm. But being stood up had caused her temper to simmer.

  “After my date didn’t show, I gave up having dinner.” Leona moved down the steps, determined to finish her bad idea, that of a date with a man she didn’t really know. After a long day, and a disappointment because she’d been excited about the dinner date, she just wanted to get home. “Look, I’m tired and I’m going home. You’re not invited.”

  “Too bad. We could still have dinner.”

  “I have nothing more to say to you.” Leona walked to her car. She unlocked it, then decided that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do…not with a man she barely knew standing nearby.


  Owen moved aside, but not before she saw his face. He looked as if he’d been through hell, lines cut deep into his forehead and beside his lips. He seemed as if he’d aged in the hours since she’d met him.

  “I’m not good at this,” he began. “I’m sorry I’m late. My sister, Janice, had a problem. I had to stay with her until she settled down. She was better when the storm quieted. Her caretaker is looking after her now.”

  Leona withdrew her key and opened the door, preparing to get in. “You could have said so in your message. I have a family. I understand emergencies and priorities.”

  “I hurried to you. I came as soon as I could.”

  I hurried to you, words a lover would use. Perfect words, ones Leona had wanted to hear, the ache unknown until just now.

  She tossed her tote into the car and turned to look up at Owen. Uncertain now if she had been too quick to judge him, she said, “I don’t usually accept dates from men I don’t know.”

  “And I don’t usually ask women I don’t know.” Owen braced both hands on the car behind her, framing her body with his. “I guess that makes us even.”

  “You’re standing too close.”

  He eased back slightly. “Better?”

  She hadn’t been prepared for the male onslaught on her senses or that slight wave of claustrophobia. On another level, something feminine and buried deep be-reath Leona’s businesswoman facade quivered. She liked that bit of masculine posturing, like how Owen had moved in to make his point: that he found her desirable. She hadn’t been desirable for a very long time. But then, maybe she hadn’t been receptive to men taking the initiative in the flirtation phase. “I guess so. I’m still mad, of course.”

  “You have that right.” Owen nodded and leaned down to nuzzle her cheek with his. The rain-scented air seemed to heat, to pulse with his scent and his need. He looked down her body and slid a long leg closer to hers. His voice was deep, husky and intimate, the sound coaxing that little feminine quiver into the bloom of sensuality. “Still want that dinner?”

  Leona hadn’t had intimate for a very long time, and she wanted more. His deep, rumbling tone caused her to imagine how he’d sound lying next to her and talking—after they were both sated and resting. “I’d better tell you up front that I’m not a fried chicken and collard greens sort of girl. I like the better things of life.”

  “Pizza, then.”

  Leona recognized the easy tease and smiled briefly. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Owen’s lips brushed her cheek, his face warm against hers, and her need to be held as a desirable woman trembled through her. “The name is Owen. Say it, Leona.”

  On his lips, her name sounded like a song, an ache that needed filling. In that heartbeat, Leona remembered the lovers’ game, the taunting, the playful seduction. She gave herself to it, her senses racing and excited. “Maybe after dinner.”

  Desire flared in his eyes, and his lips were hard and warm as they brushed hers.

  Leona parted her lips just a bit, allowing the tip of his tongue to slip inside. That contact surprised her, and the kiss ignited. Hunger raced through her for the touch of a man’s skin, the scents, the hard muscles moving beneath her hands.

  Owen pressed her back against her car, his long leg between hers. The heat of his face against her throat caused warmth to ripple through her. The cool dampness of the car created an erotic contrast to his body heat, and Leona opened for him. She let him kiss her lightly at first, then hungrily, as if he needed to feed upon her.

  Instinctively, she knew that Owen needed her. He needed a woman’s comfort, a woman’s completion to escape the darkness driving him now. He’d come to the right woman. Because tonight, Leona needed a man’s arms to ease the restless tension within her. She needed one night without the nightmares and the loneliness….

  She held his hard-boned face between her hands and eased Owen away for a moment. He smiled then, a man who knew he almost had what he wanted by Leona’s response to him. “I knew you’d be like this. Cool as a mountain meadow on the outside and fire and storm beneath.”

  Leona needed her hands on his skin, to feel the blood and heat coursing through him. She needed more than the dreams of a faceless lover. In contrast to her body’s needs, her mind cautioned that she should walk away from Owen and the night with him and what it could be.

  His finger strolled down Leona’s cheek to the V in her sweater and hooked in to tug lightly. “I haven’t had dinner with a woman—one that interests me—for a long time. I should have left a better message. Just now I came at you too fast. I’m sorry.”

  Owen’s raw, primitive hunger had been shielded for a moment, and Leona wanted it back. She didn’t want a civilized dinner, small talk, then another long night with her nightmares. Tonight, with Owen, she could exorcise her hunger and her nightmares briefly, at least for a few hours.

  Obviously tied up with his sister’s care, he wouldn’t want an involvement; Leona could dance away free afterward. She debated that enticing tidbit while she ached for his hand to cup her breast, just as it had those beads in her shop today.

  Leona placed her hands on Owen’s chest, gently pushing him away until she stood free. Owen stepped back, his head tilted down as he waited for her next move. That was a good test, and he’d passed by allowing her boundaries. He’d moved easily to her touch and had stopped when she wanted.

  She slid inside her car, closed the door, and started the engine. Owen crossed his arms as if he were settling in to deal with a difficult woman. She planned to meet his expectations. Leona rolled down her window, and said, “I’m going home. Coming?”

  Not smart at all, Leona thought a few moments later as she drove over Lexington’s wet streets. They were designed to circle the city in the shape of a wagon wheel, the spokes of the streets leading out of the city. She took New Circle Road, the inner main thoroughfare, then swung south on a side street to enter Man O’ War Boulevard. Owen’s big farm pickup followed her through another side street. Raindrops beaded her windshield, glittering under the streetlights as they passed through a residential area and then arrived at her own cul-de-sac. The pickup’s headlights swung into her driveway after she’d parked in her garage.

  Leona entered her home and circled to the front door, where she found Owen waiting, a grocery sack in hand. Smoky eyes pinned Leona, as if nothing meant anything to him but this time with her. His expression was purely male, like that of a man who knew he could hold his own in a highly sexual battle to a final, exhausting pleasure-filled climax. He looked like a man who knew exactly how to please a woman and tonight, Leona didn’t intend to hold back; she intended to take what she wanted, skin on skin.

  She forced herself to breathe, and when her voice finally came, it sounded like an invitation to her bed. “Come in.”

  Owen entered slowly, glanced at the sleek contemporary living room, and nodded. He glanced at the scarf Leona had hung over the hallway mirror, and said, “Janice liked the purse.”

  “I thought she would. And it’s a bag, a handbag…actually it’s a tote,” Leona automatically corrected as she closed the door. She quickly drew the scarf away from the mirror; Owen had been too quick to notice what might be called a quirk. But this morning, riding on the edge of her nightmares and the sensual dream, Leona had wanted to block her resemblance to Aisling.

  Slightly uneasy now, Leona hurried to get on with her plan. She’d come this far; she couldn’t back out now. She needed everything Owen Shaw had to offer and more. “I’ll make sandwiches. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Owen lifted the sack. “I brought dinner. I’ll cook it.”

  “So we weren’t going out, after all?”

  His slow smile seemed a little sheepish. “I hurried, but had to gas up. While there, I picked up a few groceries for the house. We might as well use them. You look like you could use a real meal.”

  “Are you saying that I do not look well?” Leona asked tightly. Her nerves were stretched after a
sleepless night. And standing too near her was a man she’d brought home for the night, a man she’d just met. Her reactions to Owen were very atypical for her, a cautious woman.

  “You look tired.”

  “Yes, well, I usually eat a lot earlier—”

  His hand was on her hair, toying with the strands as he watched. “Silk…dark red, but layered with fire.”

  Owen’s soft statement sounded like a caress and held her spellbound. While Leona tried to remember what she had been saying, he searched her eyes for a long moment, then leaned down to brush his lips across hers. She braced herself for the jolt of heat ricocheting down her body. But she didn’t touch Owen; she feared she would rip that sweater from him if she did. She knew instantly what his sleek, damp hair would feel like as it feathered sensually against her skin when Owen moved down her body…

  He’d caught her reaction, those gray eyes narrowing instantly as his body seemed to tense and heat near hers. Trailing a fingertip down her cheek to the brooch resting on her chest, he said. “The design is Celtic. So you’re Irish?”

  “It’s just a little something I picked up.” Keep it impersonal…. Leona didn’t want to share too much of her life, just her body. The heat of him, along with the scent of male soap and aftershave, mixed with scents of the storm, had her hungry and anxious for more. She placed her hand along his cheek, learning the shape and texture, sensing the underlying male hunger. She let the latter seep into her blood, warming it even more.

  Owen reacted as if to an impact; he inhaled abruptly as his hands slid lightly over her breasts and down to grip her waist. Sensual tension throbbed and stretched taut as they studied each other, each aware of what could or could not happen in the next heartbeat. Then he nodded, and eased away, as if pacing himself. “I’ll get dinner started. I guess the kitchen is over there?”

  As he walked toward the doorway leading to the kitchen, Leona tried to find her voice. She’d always kept her home very private. Now a man she barely knew was preparing a late dinner and would probably share her bed—where she’d made love to her husband.