by Susan Hughes
“Why not?”
“I’m just not ready.” Tears threatened at once, and she swallowed them back, frustration sweeping through her. She’d wanted to be ready; she didn’t want the exquisite pleasure of his kisses and caresses to stop, but the fear that took hold of her could not be pushed aside.
As Jason raised his head to meet her gaze, heat glowed in the depths of his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly. I just need more time. I’m sorry.”
He released a slow breath, his muscles relaxing as he eased his hold on her. “It’s all right. I don’t want to rush you.”
As he settled back against the cushion, Abby laid her head on his chest, where she could hear the quick, heavy rhythm of his heart. She sighed miserably, wanting badly to explain what was wrong, but unwilling to reveal the truths she couldn’t bear him knowing.
“I haven’t been with anyone since Colin,” she said, hoping it was enough to account for her apprehension. “Actually, Colin was the only lover I ever had.” Though she hated to think of her late husband now, his stern features floated unbidden through her mind’s eye. Colin had never held her as tenderly as Jason did, and his touch had never sparked the intoxicating excitement she felt when Jason’s hands roamed her body. Yet it still hurt deeply to remember the aversion in her husband’s eyes when he flung the sheets aside after lovemaking, muttering criticisms of her performance, and her appearance.
In the year since Colin’s death, Abby had told herself a thousand times that it no longer mattered what he thought of her. But it did matter what Jason thought. She knew Jason desired her, but desire was only half the story. When at last he had her, naked and willing, would he look at her with dissatisfaction, and would his efforts end in frustration and disillusionment?
“I see,” Jason said mildly. She could tell he didn’t like to think about her and Colin together, especially at a moment like this.
“I didn’t think I’d get a chance like this, to be with someone else,” Abby added, desperate for his understanding. “Someone like you. It’s a bit overwhelming.”
Pressing a warm kiss to her forehead, Jason smoothed his hand soothingly down her back. “I understand. I didn’t think—” His words cut off abruptly.
“What?” Abby tilted her head to look up into his face.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.” She sat up, facing him.
Averting his eyes, Jason opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, pausing to rake a hand through his hair. Abby waited for him to collect his thoughts, and after drawing a long breath, he at last met her gaze, speaking in a measured tone.
“After what happened with Bree, I didn’t think I’d want to fall in love again. Ever. But it turns out I have much less control over my heart than I thought.” His hand drifted up to stroke Abby’s cheek, his thumb lightly tracing her lower lip. “It’s a little scary for me, too.”
Absorbing his words, Abby felt her heart pound heavily against her ribcage. Grasping his hand in both of hers, she turned her face to kiss his palm. It would be easy to tell him she loved him now, but she hesitated, gathering her courage.
Before she could speak, Jason drew her to him, his mouth claiming hers in a lingering kiss that left her breathless once they parted.
“How about some chocolate mousse?” He offered a slow smile, his gaze warm on hers. “We can relax a while, then I’ll drive you home.”
* * *
“You’ll have to be up early so the guests don’t see you sleeping down here.” Abby tossed a pillow and blanket onto the sofa. “I hope it’s comfortable enough.”
Jason gazed down at the floral-print French-Provincial sofa, a lovely antique but lacking much of the original soft padding in its cushions. The lounge itself was a small, cozy room, the fireplace surrounded by several chairs and a bookcase overflowing with paperbacks and magazines for guests to curl up with.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “I slept like a baby in much more Spartan conditions when I backpacked across Europe.”
“You were younger then.” Abby glanced away, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she busied herself spreading the blanket across the sofa cushions. Well aware of her insecurity in being almost a decade older than him, Jason recognized the self-conscious look that flittered across her features whenever the subject of age came up. Their age gap rarely crossed his mind, and he wished she wouldn’t let it bother her.
“Why don’t we have a drink before bed?” He snaked an arm around her waist.
Abby offered a soft smile as she straightened, but shook her head. “It’s pretty late, Jason. I’m exhausted.”
“So your plan is to just go to bed and see if anything spooky happens in your room during the night?”
“Do you have a better suggestion?” She slanted him a sharp look, not appreciating his teasing tone. It was obvious the mysterious occurrences at the inn had been preying on her mind, frustrating her, and she wouldn’t be able to relax until she knew what was going on. Jason was also curious, but he wasn’t sure whether he’d come here to satisfy that curiosity or merely to spend the night with Abby—even if it meant sleeping a floor below her.
“Not really,” he said. “I’ll be covering the ground floor, I suppose.”
“Be sure to wake me up if you notice anything,” she instructed.
“Yes, ma’am.” She’d made it clear they would stick to separate sleeping quarters tonight, and a visit to her bed in the wee hours also seemed to be off the table. He didn’t intend to pressure her; as badly as he wanted her, it wouldn’t feel right if she wasn’t truly comfortable with it.
“I can make you some tea, if you’d like some,” she offered.
“I’ll take care of myself, thanks.”
“You don’t sleep naked, do you?” Abby’s eyes widened as the possibility occurred to her.
“Not unless you want me to.”
She slapped his chest lightly with her palm. “Definitely not. You need to be fully covered, just in case one of the guests wanders down during the night.”
“No problem. I brought pajamas.” Jason indicated the overnight bag he’d left by the sofa, and her expression eased.
“Goodnight, then.” Resting her hands on his shoulders, Abby rose onto her toes and pressed her mouth firmly to his. The kiss was brief but thorough, and for that moment the supple curves of her body molded to his, flooding his veins with a pulse of liquid heat.
Drawing away, she regarded him with a smile that reached her striking amber eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. It makes me feel a whole lot better knowing you’re downstairs.”
“I didn’t think you were afraid,” Jason said, making a fruitless effort to stifle the thrum of arousal still electrifying his nerves.
“I’m not. But anyone can get spooked when they’re alone in the dark.”
He stopped himself from suggesting she didn’t need to be alone. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
* * *
Alone in the room above the pub, Abby slipped into her nightgown. Despite the summer heat, she’d brought the most modest night attire she owned, just in case something strange did happen. If she and Jason ended up meeting one another in a dark hallway, it wouldn’t do to be wearing a slinky baby-doll nightie.
Also, she decided, it wasn’t a good idea to spend any time imagining that particular scenario.
The room that was free happened to be the one in which Abby had seen the mysterious figure at the window the night of the book launch. She couldn’t quite decide whether this was fortunate or not; drawing the curtains across the window before she changed, she’d felt an odd, disconcerting chill that made her shudder. It was only nerves, of course, brought on by the memory of what she’d seen—or thought she saw—in that very spot.
It was an ordinary room, after all, well lit and small but neatly kept with a double bed, end tables and a TV set perched on the dresser. It was, in fact, as snug and inviting a room as a guest could ask for.
&nbs
p; After brushing her teeth in the ensuite bathroom, Abby settled on top of the bed’s burgundy brocade comforter, opening the copy of Jane Eyre that she’d brought from home. Drawing a deep breath, she attempted to relax, realizing only now how tense her muscles were. Even as she tried to engross herself in the romantic story, she found herself reading the same paragraph repeatedly, unable to absorb it. Each time the noise of a car or the voice of a passer-by filtered in from the street, she glanced over at the window, her pulse surging a little.
Finally she snapped the book closed, giving up. She peered at the bare pillow beside her, for a moment picturing Jason’s sleeping form there. Was he asleep already? she wondered. Probably not, on that lumpy old sofa. Part of her—a rather substantial part, in fact—had been tempted to invite him to join her in her room. But she knew it was best to leave that for another night. She was here for only one purpose, and couldn’t afford distractions.
Figuring a bit of TV might help her relax, Abby snatched up the remote from the bedside table. Pointing it at the TV set, she pressed the power button several times, but nothing happened. Annoyed, she tossed it onto the bedspread. Dead batteries, no doubt. Well, she knew just where to find fresh ones in the supply closet down the hall.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she crossed the room and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. An object on the floor caught her eye as she was inches from crushing it with her bare foot. She stopped short and stared down at it, perplexed.
Abby scanned the hall and then down the stairs, seeing no one, and hearing nothing but the steady tick of the clock by the front desk. Then her gaze returned to the perfect, single long-stemmed rose that lay on the carpet at her feet.
She bent to pick up the flower, touching one smooth red petal as she straightened. It felt cool in her hand, its fragrance subtle and sweet.
Only one person could have left it there, and although her first instinct was to appreciate the romantic gesture, it took only a moment for resentment to set in. She had thought Jason respected her wish to sleep separately tonight, but clearly he was bent on seduction. What was next, strawberries and champagne?
“Jason!” she yelled out in irritation, then quickly clapped her hand over her mouth as she realized her outburst might wake up the guests in the other rooms.
In a moment she heard shuffling footfalls downstairs. Then Jason appeared, slowly ascending the steps, his dark hair mussed and his eyes bleary. Abby stood frozen, letting her gaze wander over the tartan pajama bottoms and up to the T-shirt top that defined his sculpted chest and shoulders—an appealing display that momentarily suspended her annoyance with him.
“Did something happen?” Stepping onto the landing, he squinted against the light in the hallway.
Abby thrust out the rose in her hand, frowning at him. “What’s this about?”
“Where’d you get that?”
“Don’t pretend this wasn’t from you,” she said sharply, crossing her arms over her chest. His denial puzzled her; if it wasn’t an attempt at seduction, he was either trying to trick her into thinking the flower had appeared by some supernatural means, or making fun of her—she wasn’t sure which possibility annoyed her more. “It isn’t funny.”
Jason stared at her, his own irritation apparent in his furrowed brow. “What are you talking about?”
“You left this rose outside my door.” Abby waved the flower in front of his face, his persistent play-acting stoking her anger. But as she glared at him, she saw that his eyes were only beginning to focus in the bright light from the wall lamp behind her, and it occurred to her that she really had woken him out of a deep sleep. The rose had felt cool when she picked it up—as though it had come from refrigeration only moments before.
“I did not,” he insisted. “You must have another admirer lurking about.”
“Do you—” Suddenly aware of the noise their argument was making in the hallway, Abby grabbed his arm and pulled him into her bedroom. “Do you swear it wasn’t you?” she demanded, closing the door behind them.
More awake now, Jason released a breath and shook his head slowly, his dark gaze settling warmly on her. “I swear. If I were to give you roses, I’d give you a dozen, and I’d make sure you knew who they were from.”
The change of tone in his voice was subtle, but Abby felt it, a blend of tenderness and insinuation. Awareness sparkled through her limbs and she wrapped her arms around herself, determined to maintain her focus.
“Then someone is playing a trick on me,” she said. “Who would do that?”
“Maybe Oscar?”
“He went home a while ago.”
“Well—”
Before Jason could finish his sentence, the two lit lamps in the room went dark simultaneously, leaving him and Abby in sudden blackness.
Chapter Seven
“That was spooky,” he said mutedly.
“The bulbs burned out, that’s all.” Abby tossed the rose in the direction of the bed as she turned to feel for the door behind her. The heavy curtains blocked out almost all the light from outside, leaving her nearly blind as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Both at once?”
Abby was about to suggest a blackout, but a sliver of light under the door told her the lights in the hallway weren’t affected. “Stranger things have happened,” she said calmly, ignoring the shiver of alarm that scooted down her spine. “I’ll go get some fresh bulbs.”
Finding the doorknob, she wrenched the door open, welcoming the reassuring flood of light from the hallway. Leaving Jason in the room, she hurried down the hall to the supply closet, where she quickly located a box of bulbs on one of the shelves. Good. Once they had light again they could get back to figuring out who left the rose outside her room, and why.
Halfway back, Abby stopped, a strong scent suddenly filling her nostrils. It smelled like perfume, with overtones of lavender. She turned around slowly, inhaling deeply in each direction in an attempt to determine the source of the fragrance. She was sure it hadn’t been there when she crossed from her room to the closet. Maybe some kind of perfumed cleaner had fallen and broken in the closet when she took out the bulbs … but no, she felt sure she hadn’t disturbed anything, and in the quiet she would have heard something fall. Besides, she was too far from the closet now for the odour to be emanating from there. It seemed to be everywhere around her, enveloping her, as though it were seeping from the walls.
Abby knew there was nothing supernatural or the least bit threatening about a perfume smell, but telling herself that didn’t slow the sudden battering of her heart, or the feeling of dread that swelled through her. She turned to face Rebecca’s portrait, hung on the wall nearby. Stepping closer, she gazed into the benign blue eyes, their colour still vivid after two centuries.
All at once the portrait leapt forward off its hook, falling and hitting the carpet with a soft thunk.
Abby gasped, her scream caught in her throat. She stood frozen for several seconds, gaping at the portrait lying innocently on the carpet. Her heart thundering, she backed up and then sprinted into the bedroom, clutching the box of bulbs to her chest. She practically knocked Jason over in her haste.
“What’s wrong?” Concern creased his brow.
“The portrait … it just jumped right off the wall,” she told him breathlessly. “Just before it happened there was a fragrance in the hallway, like lavender. Really strong.”
Leaving her in the room, Jason stepped out into the hallway, and returned to the room a moment later with the portrait in his hand. “Doesn’t look damaged. Maybe when you walked by you somehow shook it loose from the hook.”
“I did not. I wasn’t even moving at the time,” she said. “Did you smell the perfume?”
I don’t smell anything.”
“It was overpowering. How can you not smell it?” Incredulous, Abby hurried out into the hall again—but he was right, the fragrance was gone.
A sudden chill racking her body, Abby scurried b
ack to the room. She set down the box of bulbs on the dresser, too unsettled to deal with them at that moment. Jason followed her, still holding the portrait.
“Please just put it back,” she told him.
While he returned the portrait to its hook, Abby paced back and forth in the dark room, chewing her lip furiously.
“What’s going on here, Jason?” she demanded when he returned, her initial alarm turning to panic. “This is starting to freak me out.”
“Calm down, Abby. It’s just perfume. And pictures fall sometimes.”
“And the rose? And the lights going out like that?”
“All setting a romantic tone,” he remarked evenly. “It’s as though Rebecca’s trying to nudge us together.”
Abby frowned at him, irritation overlaying some of her anxiety. “I’m never sure if you’re joking.”
“I’m not sure I believe in ghosts,” Jason said. “But if that’s what she wants … who am I to thwart her plan?”
In one step he closed the space between them, so that Abby could feel the glow of his body heat.
“Jason, really, I don’t think—”
His mouth on hers extinguished her words, and she relented readily, melting against him as his arms slid around her waist to draw her close. Her fear drifted away, replaced by an exhilarating longing that blazed through her body.
As their lips parted, neither of them spoke for a long moment, the only sound in the room the mingled rasp of their ragged breathing.
“I’d better go now.” Jason eased away from her. “If you’re scared, I can hang out in the hallway for a while. Or would you prefer that I go back downstairs?”
Taking a step back, Abby grasped the doorknob and pushed the door gently closed, enveloping them once again in darkness.
“Neither. Stay here with me.”
“Are you really frightened?” she heard him ask.
“No. I just want you here.”
Grasping the loose fabric of her nightgown, Abby pulled the garment up over her head, dropping it to the floor. Though he could barely see her, Jason was aware of what she’d done, and she heard him draw a sharp breath. In a moment his hands found her, curving around her bare shoulders. Sliding downward, the backs of his fingers slowly skimmed her forearms, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. Reaching her elbows, his palms curled inward, cupping the supple swells of her breasts.