by Kay Hooper
“I don’t think so.”
She smiled. “I think you’ve been so bored that you’re looking for any excuse to sharpen your lawyerly skills. But I’m not on the witness stand, counselor.”
“I never thought you were.”
“Funny. That’s what it sounded like to me.” Josie knew she sounded too defensive, but she couldn’t help herself. She had spent too many years feeling defensive about who she was to be able to let go of that. Not now, at least. Not yet.
“I’m just curious,” he told her in a neutral voice that was belied by his very sharp gaze. “The normal curiosity of a man who wants to get to know a lovely woman. Do you realize that all I know about your background is that you’re a teacher and that you lived and worked in D.C. before you moved out here?”
“There’s nothing else to know.”
He lifted an eyebrow, which made him look even more like a warlock.
Josie debated briefly, then shrugged. And when she spoke, it was calmly but rapidly, offering him no opportunity to ask questions. “All right. I was an only child, born to parents who’d given up on having children until I surprised them. My father died ten years ago. My mother left fifteen years ago. I may have a few cousins scattered about, but for all intents and purposes I have no family.
“I like music, the theater, and movies—particularly old ones, and if most of my books weren’t in storage, I’m sure you’d be impressed by the size and variety of my library. I love cats, which you know, and am also fond of horses and dogs, in that order. Like you, I can cook and sew on a button, and I could even knit you a sweater if I felt so inclined. I can’t overhaul an engine, but I can change a tire and check the oil, which is all I’ve ever needed. My favorite color is blue, my politics are mostly liberal, and if it matters to you, I’m a Scorpio—so don’t mess with me if I’m in a bad mood.”
Marc was smiling.
Josie went on stolidly. “My first boyfriend gave me my first kiss around the age of nine, as I recall; he did it on a dare, and I was curious, but our teeth got in the way, so neither of us enjoyed the experience. Needless to say, the relationship didn’t last. Over the next few years I had several more boyfriends; at that stage, we mostly punched each other on the arm as gestures of affection. In junior high I reached the hand-holding-in-public stage with a boyfriend who knew how to kiss without getting our braces locked; we went steady for more than a year and pretty much fought like two cats tied up in a bag.”
When she paused, Marc murmured, “Don’t stop now. I’ve a feeling we’re just getting to the interesting part.”
She frowned at him. “Not really. I had the same boyfriend all through high school, but he ended up at Stanford while I went to Wellesley, and neither of us could commute—so that took care of that. I dated in college, but nothing serious. Since then, I’ve been working long hours, so there hasn’t been a lot of time for a social life. And that brings us up to the present.”
Marc nodded gravely and leaned over to place his cup on the coffee table. He seemed thoughtful, and when he leaned back and met her gaze, there was a heavy-lidded look to his eyes. It was unmistakably sensual. That was the only warning Josie had before he closed the distance between them, slid his unencumbered right hand under her loose hair to the nape of her neck, and pulled her slowly toward him.
“There’s something I have to know,” he murmured.
In the seconds granted to her, Josie knew she could stop this. She knew she could. All she had to do was stiffen, or pull away, or just say no. No, don’t do that. No, I don’t want to.
Except that she did want to.
She gazed into his heavy-lidded, tarnished-silver eyes until his lips touched hers, and then she closed her own eyes as an abrupt wave of dizzying pleasure washed over her. His mouth was warm, soft and hard at the same time, and incredibly erotic. She could feel the tension of wariness seeping out of her, feel her body soften and begin to tremble.
She wanted to reach out to him, touch him, but her mind was still too wary for that even if another part of her wasn’t. She couldn’t reach out. But she couldn’t pull back, either, or deny even to herself the pleasure she felt and the overwhelming response of her body to his touch.
She felt the tip of his tongue probing, sliding along the sensitive inner surface of her lip, and a hot shiver rippled through her. She had never felt anything like it before, and was astonished to realize that it was desire. She had believed she’d felt desire before, but now she knew better.
This was desire, swift, hot, and urgent, and everything in her recognized the enormity of it.
Josie didn’t know what she might have done if he hadn’t drawn slowly away just then, because with that devastating desire had come a confused jumble of emotions she very badly needed to sort through and understand.
“Our teeth didn’t get in the way,” Marc murmured huskily as he drew back, “and there are no braces to lock, but I have to know how I stack up against your previous boyfriends. It’s a macho thing, I’m afraid. The battle of conquest, and all that. So tell me—how do I compare?”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“As a kisser.” He appeared perfectly serious.
Josie had a vague objection. “But you aren’t my boyfriend.”
“We’re a little old for the terminology,” he agreed. “How does lover strike you?”
After a brief moment of uncertainty, Josie got hold of herself. “I don’t want a lover, thank you very much,” she told him politely.
“No?”
“No.” She wished somewhat desperately that she sounded more certain of that. Before Marc could pounce on her hesitancy, she drew away from the fingers lightly stroking her cheek and got up off the couch. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had a long day and I think I’ll go home. Thank you for dinner, it was lovely.”
He followed her into the kitchen as she headed for the back door and her path across the garden. “I’ll walk you to the house,” he offered.
“That isn’t necessary,” she told him as she opened the door. She had the unnerving feeling that he knew very well she was more or less bolting in panic.
“I insist,” he said, following her out onto the porch.
“No, Marc, I’ll be fine.” She went down the steps, relieved when he didn’t follow.
Sounding amused, he said, “Well, all right. But you didn’t answer my first question.”
Josie paused before taking the narrow path that would lead her home, and looked back at him. It was too dark to see him, especially with the light from the kitchen behind him, and his silhouette was so starkly masculine that her throat tightened up in response.
What had he asked? Oh, yes, of course—how he compared to her “previous boyfriends” as a kisser.
She wanted to lie about it, but although she could evade the truth when necessary, an outright lie was beyond her. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “A-plus. Dammit.”
He had a nice laugh. But it didn’t do much for her peace of mind to have it echo after her as she bolted home.
Pendragon had apparently found a way into the house, because he was waiting for her inside. Josie didn’t know how he’d managed it, but made a mental note to herself to find out in the morning. At the moment she was tired and upset, and the idea of a nice long bath and an early night sounded terrific.
She made sure everything was locked up downstairs, then went up to the bathroom across the hall from her bedroom and began running water into the wonderfully deep claw-footed tub. The cat perched on the rim and watched the scented water rising, intent, and she wondered vaguely if he was the kind of cat who actually liked water.
That idle thought followed her back into her bedroom. She went to the dresser to find a fresh nightgown, and frowned when she saw the key lying there. Marc must have gotten her more rattled than she thought, she decided, because she could have sworn she’d left the key hanging on a hook in the kitchen, well out of Pendragon’s reach.
Carrying her nightgown,
she started to leave the bedroom—and stopped dead in the doorway. The upstairs hall was fairly dim with only the light from the bathroom and her nightstand lamp illuminating it, but she saw him clearly as he stood at the head of the stairs.
For an instant she thought it was Marc, but then she realized that this man’s face was harsher, his eyes lighter. He had the same raven hair, widow’s peak, and flying brows, though, and the same tall, powerful build.
And he was looking at her.
Josie couldn’t move. She wanted to cry out, but couldn’t make a sound. All she could do was stand there, frozen, and wonder wildly how he’d managed to get into the house.
Then she felt a cold, cold finger glide up her spine, when the man held out a hand to her as if pleading for something…and Josie realized that he wasn’t really there. He couldn’t be, because the hand he held out was insubstantial and she could almost see through it.
“Yahhh?”
She jumped almost out of her skin, her eyes skittering from the visitor to where Pendragon stood in the doorway of the bathroom. The big cat wasn’t looking at her, he was gazing at the head of the stairs, obviously greeting someone because he was a friendly, responsive cat.
Josie followed his gaze, afraid to see the man there, and more afraid not to.
He was gone.
It took her several minutes to get up the courage, but she finally went through the house from room to room, turning on lights and checking closets, her gun in hand.
Every door she had locked earlier was still firmly latched, dead bolts fastened. All the windows were secure. There was no sign whatsoever that anyone was—or had been—in the house with her and the cat.
No one living, that is.
THREE
JOSIE DIDN’T EXPECT to get very much sleep that night after the unnerving encounter, but her body had other ideas. Though she was wary enough to lock her bedroom door and leave the lamp on her nightstand on, and had her automatic underneath her pillow—for all the protection any of that would provide against a ghost—she slept soundly from eleven that night until seven the next morning.
In the bright light of a sunny morning, what had happened the night before seemed even more incredible, and she couldn’t help wondering if she’d imagined the whole thing. A ghost? Surely not. Though she hadn’t been adamant about it, she had never really believed in the supernatural, and she felt a bit silly now when she considered the possibility.
Certainly too silly to mention what she must have imagined to Marc. Besides, he had specifically said this house wasn’t haunted, and he should know after spending so much time here.
With that reassurance in her mind, she was able to shrug off what had probably not even happened the night before. After dressing in her usual casual jeans and a sweater, she went downstairs, and was surprised to find Pendragon sitting on one of the kitchen stools waiting for her. He didn’t want out, he wanted breakfast. Josie fed him another can of tuna—her last one—and made a mental note to go to the store for cat food.
Then, while her coffee perked, she searched the house methodically until she found what she was looking for. The cat had been getting in and out on his own since yesterday, so he’d obviously found an open window or some other doorway; Josie didn’t much like the idea of that.
But when she found it, relief replaced misgivings. Pendragon had discovered an actual pet door, one that seemed to have been created before such things had become readily available in pet stores. It was in one of the smaller side rooms, maybe a parlor or sitting room originally and one that Josie hadn’t explored. A set of multipaned French doors opened out onto the porch, and at the bottom of one of the doors a pane of glass had been reset within a narrow frame and hinged to provide a virtually invisible access door for small pets. The glass was tinted a very faint rose color, presumably so that pets wouldn’t forget there was a barrier. There was a tiny but sturdy sliding bolt that locked the door from the inside; it was so small, it would be easily overlooked, she thought, and it was no wonder she’d missed seeing it.
With the rueful hope that no raccoon or other small forest creature would come exploring, Josie left the pet door unlatched and returned to the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee and, sipping it, idly opened the back door. The morning air was cool rather than cold, but she hardly noticed that because of what she saw through the screen door.
Marc had returned the thermos she’d forgotten the night before; he had probably brought it over before beginning his morning walk. It was sitting on the porch railing beside the steps, with a bright purple ribbon wrapped around it and tied in a jaunty bow; the ribbon rather clashed with the black, red, and yellow plaid in which the thermos was done, but the result was colorful and charming.
Josie stepped out onto the porch and retrieved the thermos. She took it back into the kitchen and, smiling, untied the purple ribbon. A nice touch, she decided. She was about to find a place in one of the cabinets for the thermos, but hesitated.
The previous night’s possible ghostly encounter had occupied her thoughts and kept her from thinking very much about Marc and how he’d made her feel. But now there was nothing to distract her, and the memory of his touch was suddenly so vivid that she felt heat sweep up her throat to color her cheeks. Her heart seemed to be beating harder, and she could have sworn that her lips were actually throbbing.
“Good Lord,” she muttered. What on earth was wrong with her? She couldn’t recall ever having reacted this strongly even to the actual touch of another man—and certainly not to the mere memory of his touch.
With an effort, Josie shook off the sensations. And the ridiculous thoughts. After all, it made perfect sense if she considered the matter logically. In her present state of mind—unusually intense, highly conscious of her feelings of aloneness, and more than a little anxious—she was bound to react strongly to most any new element in her life. And as for the stunningly powerful response to Marc, after long weeks of convalescence, he had doubtless stored up so much sexual energy, it was practically radiating from his body.
No wonder her first impression of him had been so positive. With the combination of pent-up sexual intensity and extraordinary good looks, he could probably seduce a marble statue.
Josie found herself smiling again, and shook her head ruefully. Enough of this. She was being absurd, and that was all there was to it. Marc was her landlord and her neighbor; last night’s kiss had been in the nature of an experiment—he had, after all, said as much—and that was as far as it would go. All she had to do was be distantly friendly and make it clear she had come out here for solitude.
Simple enough.
Again, she started to put the thermos up in one of the cabinets, and again she stopped and gazed at it, this time thoughtfully. Well…distant but neighborly. Surely there was nothing wrong in being a good neighbor.
“Should I?” she asked Pendragon, who was sitting on a stool washing paws and face after his breakfast.
“Yaahh,” he replied promptly and definitely, holding one paw suspended as he looked at her.
She couldn’t help laughing, but Josie found herself filling the thermos once again with hot, fragrant coffee. Ruefully aware that she might well be setting a dangerous precedent but shrugging off the possibility with a peculiar sense of defiance, she stuck a note to the thermos that said she had to make a trip to the store for groceries this afternoon, and if Marc needed anything, he should let her know.
As she had the day before, she took the coffee across the garden to the cottage and left it hanging on his doorknob, then returned to the house. She made her own shopping list while she ate toast with apple butter for breakfast and listened absently to the radio.
Finished with her meal and the list, she straightened the kitchen and put the list into her shoulder bag, which she left on the breakfast bar.
She was just about to go into the front parlor and begin the mammoth task of organizing the jumble of files and papers into something approaching a system when
her gaze fell on something she hadn’t noticed before: a simple little cup hook just to the left of the cellar door.
Pendragon’s key was hanging there.
For a moment Josie felt oddly suspended as she stared at it. That key had been lying on her dresser last night…though she wasn’t at all sure how it had gotten there. She had noticed it this morning while brushing her hair, and had left it there in the bedroom. She was positive she had left it there. So how on earth had it gotten down here? The hook was at her eye level, which meant the cat could not have hung the key there even if he’d wanted to.
She went over and lifted the key from its hook, and studied it as it lay in the palm of her hand. Small, old-fashioned key of tarnished brass, faded ribbon. Yes, definitely Pendragon’s key. She half turned and regarded the cat, who was still sitting on his stool. He had finished his morning ablutions and returned her gaze with his usual serenity.
“I don’t suppose you hung this here?”
The cat tilted his head a bit in a very unfeline gesture, then made a throaty little cooing sound.
Josie wished she spoke cat, because she had the unsettling idea that Pendragon had just told her something important. Pushing that ridiculous thought out of her mind, she opened the cellar door and reached to flick the switch so the bare bulb at the foot of the stairs glowed to light. Then she paused and looked back at the cat.
“You do realize I’m only doing this because I’m not ready to face all that stuff in the front parlor, don’t you?”
“Yaah,” he responded very softly.
Josie didn’t really believe the cat had been placing the key where she couldn’t help but see it; in fact, she would have preferred thinking a ghost had done it. But even if she herself had subconsciously moved the thing—which was, naturally, the only thing that could have happened—it was probably a good idea to find out where it had come from and put it back.
That was all, of course.
Since the light in the cellar wasn’t all that good, she got her flashlight and carried it down with her, tucking the brass key into her back pocket. For a moment she just stood looking around. The place seemed a little eerie, but she told herself that was only because it was so dark and so crammed with boxes and odd-shaped piles of things. There was certainly nothing unusual or supernatural down here, just the forgotten possessions of a family.