Though she knew he had a point, Rosalind hadn't given up on playing devil's advocate. “All right. Let's agree the word of your follow-up today did get around. The Whole Story was televised only a couple of hours before we arrived in town. Who actually knows you're in Galena, not to mention your being here at Lang House with me? My grandfather...my aunt...and now Jarvis Wiggs...none of whom could possibly have tampered with the brakes."
She disliked whatever it was about Skelly's gaze that made her feel he thought her naive. Warmth stole up her neck. Surely he couldn't really believe either of the people she loved so dearly was capable of hurting her. So Grandfather had sounded a bit defensive...and Aunt Hilary had seemed a little nervous. Bringing up old hurts couldn't be easy for them. They'd gone through hell with Lily once, and that when they were younger and in good health.
"Can you be so sure either Noah or Hilary didn't spill the beans to someone?" Skelly asked. “They've known we were coming since last night, right?"
"Yes, but they wouldn't tell anyone what we were up to. Not even good friends. The situation is too sensitive."
Skelly finished his drink and leaned forward to set the glass on a decorative table, his hip and thigh brushing her leg provocatively. For a moment, as another measure of warmth stole through her – this one not brandy-induced – Rosalind lost track of the conversation. But if Skelly had any like awareness, she couldn't tell.
"Are you forgetting the stop we made in town?" he continued. “Anyone could have seen us on Main Street and could recognize me from The Whole Story." He twisted around and she knew he was staring at the portrait. “And if you aren't the spitting image of Lily..."
He could have something there. She had noticed a few people staring both in the drug store and on Main Street, though she hadn't given them another thought until this moment. She often received more attention than was comfortable.
"So we can assume your presence is no secret," she agreed. “That someone who wanted to stop you knew where to find you through me."
"The same someone who messed with your brakes."
Rosalind took an uneasy breath. So what now?
The next step was clear enough, but only with a great deal of reluctance did she say “I guess it's time to bring in the authorities."
Skelly gave her another of those don't be so naive looks. “How wise would that be when we can't even prove the brakes were tampered with?"
"Jarvis thought they were."
"Though he wouldn't commit himself," he reminded her.
"Maybe if he were pressed to give an opinion..."
"Which would open a whole can of worms. The authorities will want to know who could possibly have it in for you. You'll have to explain the reason we're here. And then we'll probably be told to cease and desist any private investigation, even though the official inquiry will probably go no further than their dusting the car for prints and talking to the neighbors for witnesses. In the meantime, someone will be bound to leak the information to the press."
"And the tabloid reporters will be down on us like the vultures they are."
Skelly's expression blanked and Rosalind realized he'd taken the criticism personally. A pang of regret at being so loose-mouthed washed through her. There was no denying she had thought him less than ethical at first...but her getting to know him personally confused the issue.
As did her attraction.
When Skelly had held her in his arms after their narrow escape, she'd melted inside. He'd been so tender. So comforting.
So unlike the image he'd projected while doing his story on her grandmother.
Avoiding his eyes, she said, “I wasn't generalizing. Not everyone associated with tabloid news fills that description. I'm willing to judge a person on his actions." The best she could do for an apology considering she still had some doubts about him. She waited in vain for a response. “Well. I guess we ought to sleep on whether or not we involve the authorities." She took the last sip of brandy and set her glass next to his on the table. “Maybe we'll have a whole new perspective in the morning."
"Yeah, maybe," he said, not sounding convinced. “But first let's see to your injury. You've been iced long enough, at least for now." He unwound the dishtowel and removed the ice bag. “So how's the foot?"
She carefully tested. “Numb."
"Then I'd better give you a hand." He stood and did just that.
Rosalind's fingers engulfed by his, she carefully rose. The room danced a bit, an aftereffect of the brandy. And when she took a step, her shoulder barely brushing against Skelly set off warning signals. She wished she could blame the liquor for that, as well.
Proceeding into the foyer without so much as a twinge, she headed for the staircase. “It's feeling pretty good." And kept going, up several steps.
"It's looking pretty good, too."
Unable to ignore the smooth tone that told her Skelly was appreciating something other than her foot, Rosalind glanced back at him while continuing to climb. Her mistake. The foyer whirled around her and she suddenly found herself clutching the railing.
He rushed to her side, his arm hooking around her middle. “I had no idea you were such a cheap date."
She blinked him into precise focus. “Excuse me?"
"You know. A woman who can only handle one drink is considered a cheap date."
"You poured me a double."
"And you're definitely flying."
Irritated at his teasing, especially with him breathing down her neck, she said, “I am not flying," with as much dignity as she could muster. “My feet are firmly planted on the ground – rather the stairs – thank you very much."
"Not for long."
Before Rosalind knew what he was about, Skelly slid his other arm under her legs and, with a grunt, hoisted her like a sack of potatoes.
"I can walk!" she protested.
"Not up two flights, not in your condition," he argued, breathlessly conquering one step, then another. “If you lose your balance again, you might hurt that foot. Or worse. You'd have to see a doctor and would probably end up on crutches or confined to bed. Then who would help me conduct this investigation?"
He was exaggerating, of course, but she couldn't help herself. Choosing to accept his logic despite her good sense, to stay right where she was for a little while – as close to Skelly as she dared – she slid her arms around his neck and settled against his chest. Eyelids drifting half-closed, she allowed her head to gravitate toward his until their foreheads touched. He sucked in his breath but didn't say anything.
Something was happening to her, Rosalind thought hazily, something she neither understood nor wanted. Skelly's appeal for her was growing, making her forget about being cautious. Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, she was content to remain in his embrace. Reality receded, including their reason for being there. The only thing she could think of was the man cradling her against him. She was vaguely aware of their moving past the landing and onto the darkened staircase that led to the only bedroom not on the second floor.
Lily's attic sanctuary.
When visiting, even as a girl, Rosalind had always made the turreted bedroom her own.
They reached the upper level, and she expected Skelly to set her down. Instead, he opened the door and carried her into the spacious hide-away, dark but for the moonlight that shone through myriad windows. He kept on going until he reached the edge of the bed, and though he released her legs, he continued to hold fast to her waist.
Feet connecting with the floor, Rosalind made no move to unwind her arms from around his neck. She merely turned within his shelter, better to see him. The friction of her body moving against his provoked a disturbing throb that quickly spread. Her breath caught in her throat and remained trapped there when they came face-to-face.
Moonshine silvered Skelly's mysterious expression. His eyes were half-closed, focused on her through taut slits and thick lashes. From what she could see, they appeared to be filled with a blend of confusion and yearning t
hat mirrored her own mixed feelings.
Seconds multiplied and still he didn't put her from him. Only his labored breathing broke the silence between them. Was he winded from the climb? Or from anticipation?
Seconds spilled into moments. Her pulse raced faster and faster. She recognized its insistent throb throughout her body, all the way to her fingers and toes. Senses heightened, she imagined his heart beat in rhythm with her own.
All thoughts not having to do with Skelly receded until she was surrounded by him, filled with him.
His strength. His heat. His scent.
"Roz," he whispered.
His husky voice sending a thrill through her. “Mm." She pressed closer, sliding a hand along the nape of his neck, threading her fingers through his thick hair.
"I should leave. Now."
"Not yet. Stay a moment." Long enough to kiss her. What would it hurt to compare reality with fantasy? “Just a tiny moment."
"You don't know what you're doing."
"I always know."
"But you're tipsy."
"Not really."
As she raised her chin, offering him her mouth, her head swam, though not from the brandy. He hesitated only a moment, then with a groan, accepted. His lips parted hers, his tongue thrusting, a sensual invader. Welcome. Exciting. Making her yearn for more.
The reality won over the imagining by a mile.
Swamped by sensation, limbs turned to mush, Rosalind hung onto Skelly for all she was worth. Breasts crushed into his chest, hips against hips, she felt more alive than she could remember. She fisted his hair and nipped the inside of his lip, then trembled when he deepened the kiss. His hands crept downward, cupping her derriere and pulling her more tightly into him. Excitement escalated.
Halfway to nirvana, she recognized his need and realized he was as electrified as she.
A little voice inside her head told her to cool down. To stop before she let things go too far. She'd only wanted a kiss, and that to satisfy her curiosity. Or so she'd thought.
Now it seemed she didn't know what she wanted.
Wondering how to harness enough energy to be sensible, she was surprised when Skelly settled the issue, a groan tearing from his throat as he grabbed her arms and pushed her a safe distance away from him.
For a moment, they stood frozen, panting, gazes locked.
Reality check!
Rosalind was more than a little shocked at her own outlandish actions. What had come over her? Was still over her? She'd never, ever played the seductress. Even now, she yearned for the feel of Skelly's arms anchoring her to him...was tempted to continue enticing him.
Until he said, “I'd better let you get to bed." His voice was tight. Distant. “That whole episode with the car was more emotionally draining than you probably realize...and we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
He sounded so damn rational that she took a big step back and not only physically. “Of course." She tried to sound as casual as he did, as if the kiss hadn't shaken her up good. “And we need to get an early start."
"The earlier the better. Good night."
She watched him go, watched the dark swallow him, heard rather than saw the door close. If only she could leave her churning thoughts behind as easily as he'd left her...impossible.
For heaven's sake, she'd thrown herself at a man and couldn't even blame the brandy, because she really had been sober if a little too relaxed. And yet she'd acted totally out of character. No wonder Skelly had assumed she was in an emotional state over their nightmare ride. Perhaps he had a point. Perhaps mortal danger made her bold enough – or vulnerable enough – to succumb to ridiculous fantasies.
She turned on a night stand lamp, willing its soft golden glow to open her eyes and bring her back to her senses. Skelly might be attracted to her, Rosalind conceded, but all he really cared about was getting the story behind the murder.
As did she, of course.
Moving to the turret, she stared out the windows overlooking the river valley and began unbuttoning her shirt. The night view was glorious. A moonstruck sky sparkling with a million stars above. Warmly lit houses perched on every hill. A glowing aura running the length of Main Street below. And a tentative fog lazily rising from the river to caress its banks.
She removed the shirt. The silk swishing over her skin made her breasts ache and her belly tighten. She was still aroused. That single kiss persisted in tormenting her in a dozen ways. No big deal, Rosalind told herself. It didn't mean anything, not in the context of male-female relationships. She'd merely been celibate too long.
More than two years too long.
The blouse puddled to the floor, followed by her single shoe and sock, then her belt and trousers, leaving her in a lacy satin camisole and tap pants...and with memories she'd rather not consider.
Shortly before graduating with her MBA, she'd ruined her relationship with Timothy Hayes, the only man she'd ever loved. The man she'd thought she might marry. Tim had asked her. Rather than accepting right off, however, she'd begged for time, saying that she wanted to be sure she was ready. He'd been wonderfully understanding.
But the marriage thing had unglued her. She'd lain awake nights in a sweaty panic. She'd seen Tim differently, her view of him enveloped in a haze of fright.
To feel better, she'd begun making demands of Tim – their purpose, to convince her of his devotion. He'd taken her unusual behavior in stride for a while until those demands became unrealistic, impossible for him to meet and still remain the person he was. He hadn't stayed the distance, hadn't called her bluff. Instead, he'd retreated.
No big surprise.
No secret that life was easier and safer without romantic entanglements.
To hear him tell it, Grandfather and his darling Lily had loved each other madly, yet they'd managed to break each other's hearts. She'd always seen beyond his smile to his sadness. Aunt Hilary had once admitted to being in love with a man for many years, and yet she'd never married him, though she hadn't said why. And her parents had lived separate lives ever since she could remember, while pretending to be devoted in public for the sake of his business and her charities. Now there was a fine example of what a marriage should not become.
Rosalind wondered if all the women in her family were doomed to inherit some cursed gene that denied them life-long, loving relationships.
Not that any of her genes had a thing to do with Skelly McKenna. He was merely a catalyst, she assured herself. A sexy man who'd nudged her slumbering libido awake. Since Tim had walked out on her, she'd been so careful about choosing escorts who were safe that she'd become complacent when it came to recognizing a potential problem.
She'd underestimated Skelly.
She hadn't seen him coming.
Pulling pins from her hair, Rosalind shook the mass free so that it cascaded around her shoulders. Absently, she finger-combed knots out of the long tresses.
And made a vow that she wouldn't mistakenly confuse physical hunger with anything even faintly serious.
THE GOLDEN GLOW FLITTING through the tower room that threw Rosalind into silhouette had clarified her every move as she'd stripped to her undergarments before the windows. Now she was fussing with her cloud of long blond hair.
Just as Lily had that fateful night.
Rosalind...Lily. Lily...Rosalind. They might be interchangeable.
Like seeing a vision from the past.
So what did one do with a nosy, flesh-and-blood spirit if she refused to be scared off?
A haunting question.
Chapter Six
AFTER STRAIGHTENING UP THE MESS they'd left in the parlor, Skelly set Roz's shoe and sock at the bottom of the staircase. Now what? Too revved up to sleep any time soon, he was thinking of calling Keelin. But involving his cousin in another dangerous situation when she had imminent nuptials on her mind didn't quite sit right.
He struck his hands in his pockets and wandered into the shadowy front parlor where his thoughts roamed back to th
e attic room and Roz. Though he'd realized she'd been warming up to him, he'd been unprepared for her capitulation.
Skelly paced to work off his subsequent frustration.
He could hardly believe Roz had seduced him into kissing her. He could still feel the imprint of her lush body against his, could still taste the sweetness of her mouth. And his imagination wouldn't give him any peace about what might have happened if he hadn't abruptly stopped them both.
So why had he?
Skelly couldn't put a name to what he felt for Roz. That he wanted her was clear enough. But he wouldn't take advantage of any woman not in her right mind. Roz had claimed she wasn't drunk, but he was certain she'd been high on the adrenaline of a near-death experience.
Seeking a distraction, Skelly noted the old brass telescope mounted on a wooden tripod. Drawn to the instrument that was set before a window, he hunched over to see through its single eye. Shards of light exploded through the magnifying lenses. He focused, then shifted to check on the source – a security light attached to someone's home a few blocks away.
Who would ever guess a town this size needed security lights?
Then, again, who would ever guess someone would try to hurt him and Roz, if not worse, just because he'd publicly run off at the mouth about investigating the past? Lily Lang was looking pretty innocent to him at the moment, Skelly conceded, at least of Frank Sullivan's murder.
Before he could resume his pacing, a furtive movement from across the street caught his attention. Someone seemed to be lurking amongst the trees and bushes. Dwellings on that side were a ways downhill, so it was highly unlikely that the person was doing anything but keeping watch on Lang House. The shadowy figure was too distant and the night too dark for him to make out any details.
Skelly quickly tilted the telescope in the new direction, but by the time he refocused, there was nothing to see. And he began to wonder if the person had been any more threatening than a neighbor walking his dog, waiting for the animal to catch up with him.
Shaking his head in disgust, Skelly hoped he wouldn't be seeing potential murderers in every shadow. Thinking about someone plotting against him and Roz would keep him up all night unless he talked to someone with a calming influence. It didn't take long to decide to call Keelin, after all, if only to hear a friendly voice.
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