by Nora Roberts
He saw her eyes change, but it wasn't the fear he'd expected. It was fury. She lifted a hand, but before she could strike out, he was jerked away and tumbling to the floor. She watched Holt drag him up again by the collar then send him crashing into a Louis Quinze table.
She'd never seen murder in a man's eyes before, but she recognized it in Holt's as he pounded a fist into Baxter's face.
“Holt, don't –”
She started forward only to have her arm gripped with surprising strength. “Let him alone,” Colleen said, her mouth grim, her eyes bright.
He wanted to kill him, and might have, if the man had fought back. But Bax slumped in his hold, nose and mouth seeping blood. “You listen to me, you bastard.” Holt slammed him against the wall. “Put your hands on her again, and you're dead.”
Shaken, hurting, Bax fumbled for a handkerchief. “I can have you arrested for assault.” Holding the cloth to his nose, he looked around and saw his wife standing inside the terrace doors. “I have a witness. You assaulted me and threatened my life.” It was his first taste of humiliation, and he detested it. His glance veered toward Suzanna. “You'll regret this.”
“No, she won't,” Colleen put in before Holt could give in to the satisfaction of smashing his fist into the sneering mouth. “But you will, you miserable, quivering, spineless swine.” She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked toward him. “You'll regret it for what's left of your worthless life if you ever lay hands on any member of my family again. Whatever you think you can do to us, I can do only more viciously to you. If you're unclear about my abilities, my name is Colleen Theresa Calhoun, and I can buy and sell you twice over.”
She studied him, a pitiful man in a rumpled suit, bleeding into a silk handkerchief. “I wonder what the governor of your state – who happens to be my godchild – will have to say if I mention this scene to him.” She gave a slow, satisfied nod when she saw she was understood. “Now get your miserable hide out of my house. Young man –” she inclined her head to Holt “ – you'll be so kind as to show our guest to the door.”
“My pleasure.” Holt dragged him into the hall. The last thing Suzanna saw when she ran from the house was Yvette's fluttering hands.
“Where did she go?” Holt demanded when he found Colleen alone in the parlor.
“To lick her wounds, I suppose. Get me a brandy. Damn it, she'll keep a minute,” she muttered when he hesitated. Colleen eased herself into a chair and waited for her heart rate to settle. “I knew she'd had a difficult time, but I wasn't fully aware of the extent of it. I've had this Dumont looked into since the divorce.” She took the brandy and drank deeply. “Pitiful excuse for a man. I still wasn't aware he had abused her. I should have been, the first time I saw that look in her eyes. My mother had the same look.” She closed her own and leaned back. “Well, if he doesn't want to see his political ambitions go up in smoke, he'll leave her be.” Slowly she opened her eyes and gave Holt a steely look. “You did well for yourself – I admire a man who uses his fists. I only regret I didn't use my cane on him.”
“I think you did better. I just broke his nose, you scared the –”
“I certainly did.” She smiled and drank again. “Damn good feeling, too.” She noted that Holt was staring at the open terrace doors, his hands still fisted. Suzanna could do worse, she thought and swirled the remaining brandy. “My mother used to go to the cliffs. You might find Suzanna there. Tell her the children are having cookies and spoiling their dinner.”
She had gone to the cliffs. She didn't know why when she'd needed to run, that she had run there. Only for a moment, she promised herself. She would only need a moment alone.
She sat on a rock, covered her face and wept out the bitterness and shame.
He found her like that, alone and sobbing, the wind carrying off the sounds of her grief, the sea pounding restlessly below. He didn't know where to begin. His mother had always been a sturdy woman, and whatever tears she had shed, had been shed in private.
Worse, he could still see Suzanna pushed against the wall, Dumont's hand on her throat. She'd looked so fragile, and so brave.
He stepped closer, laid a hesitant hand on her hair. “Suzanna.”
She was up like a shot, choking back tears, wiping them from her damp face. ”I have to get back in. The children –”
“Are in the kitchen stuffing themselves with cookies. Sit down.” “No, I –”
“Please.” He sat, easing her down beside him. “I haven't been here in a long time. My grandfather used to bring me. He used to sit right here and look out to sea. Once he told me a story about a princess in the castle up on the ridge. He must have been talking about Bianca, but later, when I remembered it, I always thought of you.”
“Holt, I'm so sorry.”
“If you apologize, you're only going to make me mad.”
She swallowed another hot ball of tears. “I can't stand that you saw, that anyone saw.”
“What I saw was you standing up to a bully.” He turned her face to his. When he saw the fading red marks on her throat, he had to force back an oath. “He's never going to hurt you again.”
“It was his reputation. The children must have talked about Kevin.” “Are you going to tell me?”
She did, as clearly as she was able. “When Sloan told me,” she finished, “I knew it was important that the children understand they had a brother. What Bax doesn't realize is that I never thought about him, never cared. It was the children who mattered, all of them. The family.”
“No, he wouldn't understand that. Or you.” He brought her hand to his lips to kiss it gently. The stunned look on her face had him scowling out to sea. “I haven't been Mr. Sensitivity myself.”
“You've been wonderful.”
“If I had you wouldn't look like I hit you with a rock when I kiss your hand.”
“It just isn't your style.”
“No.” He shrugged and dug out a cigarette. “I guess it's not.” Then he changed his mind and slipped an arm around her shoulders instead. “Nice view.”
“It's wonderful. I've always come here, to this spot. Sometimes...” “Go ahead.”
“You'll just laugh at me, but sometimes it's as if I can almost see her. Bianca. I can feel her, and I know she's here, waiting.” She rested her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes. “Like right now. It's so warm and real. Up in the tower, her tower, it's bittersweet, more of a longing. But here, it's anticipation. Hope. I know you think I'm crazy.”
“No.” When she started to shift, he pulled her closer so that her head nestled back on his shoulder. “No, I can't. Not when I feel it, too.”
From the west tower, the man who called himself Marshall watched them through field glasses. He didn't worry about being disturbed. The family no longer came above the second floor in the west wing, and the crew had knocked off thirty minutes before. He'd hoped to take advantage of the time that Sloan O'Riley was away with his new bride on his honeymoon to move more freely around the house. The Calhouns were so accustomed to seeing men in tool belts that they rarely gave him a second glance.
And he was interested, very interested in Holt Bradford, finding it fascinating that he was being drawn into this generation of Calhouns. It pleased him that he could continue his work right under the nose of an excop. Such irony added to his vanity.
He would continue to keep tabs, he thought, while the cop completed his search. And he would be there to take what was his the moment the treasure was found. Whoever was in the way would simply be eliminated.
Suzanna spent all evening with her children, soothing ruffled feathers and trying to turn their unhappy experience into a silly misadventure. By the time she got them tucked into bed, Jenny was no longer clinging and Alex had rebounded like a rubber ball.
“We had to ride in the car for hours and hours.” He bounced on his sister's bed while Suzanna smoothed Jenny's sheets. “And they had dumb music on the radio the whole time. People were singing like this.” He opened
his mouth wide and let out what he thought passed for an operatic aria. “And you couldn't understand a word.”
“Not like that, like this.” Jenny let out a screech that could have shattered crystal. “And we had to be quiet and appreciate.”
Suzanna held her temper and tweaked her daughter's nose. “Well, you appreciated that it was awful, didn't you?”
That made Jenny giggle and reach up for another kiss. “Yvette said we could play a word game, but he said it gave him a headache, so she went to sleep.”
“And that's what you should do, right now.”
“I liked the hotel,” Alex continued, hoping to postpone the inevitable. “We got to jump on the beds when nobody was looking.”
“You mean like you do in your room?”
He grinned. “They had little bars of soap in the bathroom, and they put candy on your pillow at night.”
Suzanna cocked her head. “You can forget that idea, toadface.”
After Jenny was settled with her nightlight and army of stuffed animals, Suzanna carried Alex to his room. He didn't let her pick him up and cuddle often anymore, but tonight, he seemed to need it as much as she did.
“You've been eating bricks again,” she murmured, and nuzzled his neck.
“I had five bricks for lunch.” He flew out of her arms and onto the bed. She wrestled with him until he was breathless. He flopped back, laughing, then leaped out of bed again.
“Alex –” “I forgot.”
“You've already stretched it tonight, kid. In the bed or I'll have you cooked over a slow fire.”
He pulled something out of the jeans he'd been wearing when he'd come home. “I saved it for you.”
Suzanna took the flattened, broken chocolate wrapped in gold paper. It was more than a little melted, certainly inedible and more precious than diamonds.
“Oh, Alex.”
“Jenny had one, too, but she lost it.”
“That's all right.” She brought him close for a fierce hug. “Thanks. I love you, you little worm.”
“I love you, too.” It didn't embarrass him to say it as it sometimes did, and he cuddled against her a moment longer. When his mother tucked him into bed, he didn't complain when she stroked his hair. “Night,” he said, ready to sleep.
“Good night.” She left him alone, weeping a little over the smashed mint. In her room, she opened the little case that had once held her diamonds, and tucked her son's gift inside.
She undressed then slipped into a thin white nightgown. There was paperwork waiting on her desk in the corner, but she knew her mind and nerves were still too rattled. To soothe herself, she opened the terrace doors and, taking her brush, walked outside to feel the night.
There was an owl hooting, crickets singing, the quiet whoosh of the sea. Tonight the moon was gilded and its light clear as glass. Smiling to herself, she lifted her face to it and skimmed the brush lazily through her hair.
Holt had never seen anything more beautiful than Suzanna brushing her hair in the moonlight. He knew he made a poor Romeo and was deathly afraid he'd make a fool of himself trying, but he had to give her something, to somehow show her what it meant to have her in his life.
He came out of the garden and started up the stone steps. He moved quietly, and she was dreaming. She didn't know he was there until he said her name.
“Suzanna.”
She opened her eyes and saw him standing only a foot away, his hair ruffled by the breeze, his eyes dark in the shimmering light. “I was thinking about you. What are you doing here?”
“I went home, but...I came back.” He wanted her to go on brushing her hair, but was certain the request would sound ridiculous. “Are you all right?”
“I'm fine, really.” “The kids?”
“They're fine, too. Sleeping. I didn't even thank you before. Maybe it's petty, but now that I've had a chance to settle, I can admit I really enjoyed seeing Bax's nose bleed.”
“Anytime,” Holt said, and meant it.
“I don't think it'll be necessary again, but I appreciate it.” She reached out to touch his hand, and pricked her finger on a thorn. “Ow.”
“That's a hell of a start,” he mumbled, and thrust the rose at her. “I brought you this.”
“You did?” Absurdly touched, she brushed the petals to her cheek.
“I stole it out of your garden.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and wished for a cigarette. “I don't guess it counts.”
“It certainly does.” She had had two gifts that night, she thought, from the two men she loved. “Thank you.”
He shrugged and wondered what to do next. “You look nice.”
She smiled and glanced down at the simple white gown. “Well, it's not lacy.”
“I watched you brushing your hair.” His hand came out of his pocket of its own volition to touch. “I just stood there, down at the edge of the garden and watched you. I could hardly breathe. You're so beautiful, Suzanna.”
Now it was she who couldn't breathe. He'd never looked at her just this way. His voice had never sounded so quiet. There was a reverence in it, as in the hand that stroked over her hair.
“Don't look at me like that.” His fingers tightened in her hair and he had to force them to relax again. “I know I've been rough with you.”
“No, you haven't.”
“Damn it, I have.” He fought against a welling impatience as she only stared at him. “I've pushed you around and grabbed on. I ripped your blouse.”
A smile touched her lips. “When I sewed the buttons back on I remembered that night, and what it felt like to be needed that way.” More than a little baffled, she shook her head. “I'm not fragile, Holt.”
Couldn't she see how wrong she was? Didn't she know how she looked right now, her hair smooth and shining in the moonlight, the thin white gown flowing down?
“I want to be with you tonight.” He slid his hand down to touch her cheek. “Let me love you tonight.”
She couldn't have denied him anything. When he lifted her to carry her in, she pressed her lips to his throat. But his mouth didn't turn hot and ready to hers. He laid her down carefully, took the brush and rose from her to set it on the nightstand. Then he turned the lights low.
When his mouth came to hers at last, it was soft as a whisper. His hands didn't race to excite, but moved with exquisite patience to seduce.
He felt her confusion, heard it in the unsteady murmur of his name, but he only rubbed his lips over hers, tracing the shape with his tongue. His strong hands moved with an artist's grace over the tensed slope of her shoulders.
“Trust me.” He took his mouth on a slow, quiet journey over her face. “Let go and trust me, Suzanna. There's more than one way.” Over her jaw, down the line of her throat, back to her trembling lips his mouth whispered. “I should have showed you before.”
“I can't...” Then his kiss had her sinking, deep, deeper still into some thick velvet haze. She couldn't right herself. Didn't want to. Surely this endless, echoing tunnel was paradise.
He touched, hardly touching at all, and left her weak. His mouth, gliding like a cool breeze over her flesh was rapture. She could hear him murmur to her, incredible promises, soft, lovely words. There was passion in them, in the fingertips that seemed designed only to bring her pleasure, yet this was a passion to give she had never expected.
He stroked her through the thin cotton, delighting in the liquid movements of her body beneath his hands. He could watch her face in the lamplight, feed on that alone, knowing she was steeped in him, in what he offered her. There was no need to strap down greed, desire was no less, but it had taken a different hue.
When she sighed, he brought his lips back to hers to swallow the flavor of his name.
He undressed her slowly, bringing the gown down inch by inch, wallowing in the delight of wanning newly bared skin. Fascinated with each tremor he brought her, he lingered. Then took her gently over the first crest.
Unbearably sweet. Each movement, ea
ch sigh. Exquisitely tender. Every touch, every murmur. He had imprisoned her in a world of silk, gently bringing dozens of pulses to a throbbing ache that was like music. Never had she been more aware of her body than now as he explored it so thoroughly, so patiently.
At last she felt his flesh against hers, the warm, hard body she had come to crave. Opening heavy eyes, she looked. Lifting weighted limbs, she touched.
He hadn't known a need could be so strong yet so quiet. She enfolded him. He slipped into her. For both, it was like coming home.
I could not have foreseen that the day would be my last with her. Would I have looked more closely, held more tightly? The love could have been no greater, but could it have been treasured more completely?
There is no answer.
We found the little dog, cowering and half – starved in the rocks by our cliffs. Bianca found such pleasure in him. It was foolish, I suppose, but I think we both felt this was something we could share, since we had found him together.
We called him Fred, and I must admit I was sad to see him go when it was time for her to return to The Towers. Of course it was right that she take the orphaned pup to her children so that they could make him a family. I went home alone, to think of her, to try to work.
When she came to me, I was stunned that she should have taken such a risk. Only once before had she been to the cottage, and we had not dared chance that again. She was frantic and overwrought. Under her cloak, she carried the puppy. Because she was pale as a ghost, I made her sit and poured her brandy.
She told me, as I sat, hardly daring to speak, of the events that had taken place since we'd parted.
The children had fallen in love with the dog. There had been laughter and light hearts until Fergus had returned. He refused to have the dog, a stray mutt, in his home. Perhaps I could have forgiven him for that, thought of him only as a rigid fool. Bianca told me that he had ordered the dog destroyed, holding firm even on the tears and pleas of his children.