by Nina Lane
“The Maria Wood book.” My voice trembles.
“Your uncle gave it to me as a parting gift before he left Castille. It was special to him, unlike any of the other books.” She picks up the scotch and takes a sip. “I want you to have it now.”
Fresh shock ripples through me. “I can’t—”
“Oh, stop it.” She waves a hand impatiently. “Of course you can. It’s been sitting in a drawer for the past fourteen years, so heaven knows it could use some light and air. I would love for you to show it to the world and give this Maria Wood the credit she deserves. I imagine she was quite the woman to be reckoned with. And according to Max, you’d do well to look into your own ancestry to find out who she really was.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “Did he know?”
“I believe he had an inkling, but never found out for sure. That’s one reason the book was so important to him. And why it legitimately belongs to you.”
“I… I don’t know what to say.” Could it be possible I’m somehow related to Maria Wood?
“Say you’ll take the book and do something worthwhile with it,” Allegra replies. “Examine, analyze, connect it to social norms and culture, all that sort of thing you historians do. Give Max yet another reason to be proud of you.”
“Thank you. I promise I will.”
She nods, her expression softening. “What has he told you about me?”
“That…” I run my hand over the book’s leather surface. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that one of the few things I truly own is the truth. “That you were the love of his life.”
She sighs, a mixture of regret and pleasure.
“I was twenty years old.” She twists the gold chain at her neck. “I walked into that classroom expecting to see a doddering old professor. Instead there was Max, big and blond… handsome as a Greek god. All the girls were just enraptured with him. And then the fairy tales… well, he was just a romantic fantasy come to life.”
I smile. “He once told me he’d come up with excuses to stop by your desk just so he could be close to you.”
“And I came up with excuses just to go to his office hours. It’s astonishing how often I forgot the assignment or needed him to check my thesis statement.” She chuckles and takes another sip of scotch. “I don’t mind telling you I never stopped loving him. If that makes me disloyal to my husband, so be it. Life isn’t always quite so black and white, is it?”
“No. Max never stopped loving you either.”
Warmth brightens her eyes. “We didn’t speak much over the years. Once when he asked me to rent the lighthouse to Flynn, then again when he left to take the job in San Francisco. Avoiding temptation, I suppose. We were never lovers, rather to my regret.” She sets her glass down, still toying with her necklace. “How is he, Eve?”
I blink, startled. How is he?
“You don’t know?” I ask.
She skids her gaze to mine. A heartbeat passes, thickening with tension and wariness.
“Max…” I swallow hard. Old grief shifts in my chest. “Allegra, Max died over a year ago. He had cancer.”
All the color drains from her face, the light in her eyes dimming.
How could she not have known? The logical part of me knows the answer. There was no reason she could or should have known. She and Max were long estranged, and she didn’t know his friends or family. There was no one to tell her.
Still, it’s shocking to discover that Max’s lifelong love hadn’t known of his death.
I lean forward, putting my hand over hers. Her skin is cold.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. “He battled as hard as he could. And he had so many friends, colleagues, students. He was happy in life, Allegra. I promise.”
“I can’t believe it.” Her eyes fill with tears. She takes a tissue out of her handbag. “A world without Max is a much darker place.”
“Yes, it is.”
She dabs at her eyes, lost for a minute in private grief. Her gaze shifts to me again. A spark of realization dawns through her sorrow. I release her hand and sit back.
“I need to go.” She looks at her gold watch and loops her bag over her arm. “I apologize for rushing out, but as I said I don’t have much time.”
I rise to get her coat. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“No, no.” She waves me away and slips into her coat. “I have enough fussing at home.”
“All right. Thank you for coming to see me and for the book. It means a great deal.”
“I know.” She buttons her coat and opens the door. Just before she steps out, she takes hold of my arm. Her fingers tighten. “He was a good man, Eve. The best.”
My throat closes over. “I know.”
She nods, her eyes misting again. She opens the umbrella and hurries toward the parking lot, her coat billowing behind her like a witch’s cape.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
He’s back! At the end of Sparrow Lane, the headlights of Flynn’s truck glow through the evening darkness. My heart does a happy cartwheel.
I hurry from the front window to the porch, mindful of Ghost creeping around the house. His ears flatten back as he watches Flynn park the truck and descend from the driver’s side.
He looks wonderful. He’s travel-rumpled, but strikingly gorgeous in a navy suit and tie beneath his black coat. Smiling, he holds out his arms.
I hurry across the driveway, leaping right up against him with the certain knowledge that he’ll catch me. And he does, closing his arms tightly around me. Our lips meet in a warm kiss of promise and homecoming.
Oh, what would it be like to feel this all the time? Butterflies, flowers blooming, stars sparkling in your blood.
For the first time ever, I find a degree of understanding in all the darkness through which I was forced to walk. If I hadn’t experienced the bleakest despair, I wouldn’t know now that happiness is such an extraordinary gift.
“Welcome back.” I ease away to look into his warm gray eyes and tug at the knot of his tie. “Pretty fancy duds, Lighthouse Guy.”
“I clean up pretty good, huh?”
“You also get dirty pretty good.”
He grins and lowers me to my feet. A low growl sounds from nearby. We part and turn to find Ghost near the front of the truck, body tense and teeth bared in warning.
“I got this.” Flynn reaches into his truck and emerges with a thick beef bone.
Ghost’s growl lessens in volume. Flynn crouches and extends the bone. I ease forward to intervene in the event Ghost attacks. He stares at Flynn, eyes narrowed. Flynn doesn’t say anything. Ghost takes a few tentative steps forward, then lunges to grab the bone.
He trots back to the porch and settles down to gnaw at the peace offering. Flynn and I pass him without incident to enter the house.
It’s a start.
Less than three minutes later, we’re in the bedroom, tugging at each other’s clothes and seeking out the naked skin beneath. Pent-up lust fires between us. I’m already ready for him, wet and aching, and he buries his cock inside me with one swift thrust.
Everything about him, about us, is already so familiar—his grip on my hips as he pulls halfway out of me before plunging back in, his breath hot against my neck, his low rumbling grunts. The flex and pull of his muscles, the response of my own body, quivering and tense.
We’re both so eager that neither of us is willing to prolong the moment, driving each other quickly toward the breaking point. He comes first, a deep heavy thrust that sparks my own shattering release.
“Christ, I missed you.” He plants his hands on either side of my head and presses kisses over my face—my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, the tip of my nose. “It’s insane. I’ve lived alone for years, and then you show up and…”
His voice breaks off abruptly. He rolls off me and onto his back, his breathing still hard and chest damp.
I lift to one elbow to look at him. “And what?”
“Nothing.” He
drags a hand down his face. “Just strange how fast I got used to having you around.”
“Really?” I nudge my knee against his thigh. “That’s what I say about the dog. I’ve gotten used to having him around.”
“Okay, sorry.” He slides one hand around my neck, his eyes creasing with amusement. “I have an extremely intense, heartwarming crush on you, Eve Perrin, and if your uncle knew all the raunchy things I want to do to you, he’d kick my ass.”
“Not true. Uncle Max wanted me to be happy.” I lower my head and kiss him, sliding my hand over his chest. “And even with all your bad-tempered glowering and door slamming, you make me happy.”
Tenderness softens his expression. “Likewise.”
“And now that my physical urges are satisfied,” I remark, “how was your trip?”
He gives me a summary of the meetings with his editor and agent.
“They’re planning a big publicity push for Fiamma.” He twists a few locks of my hair around his fingers. “The return of Riley Flynn, that kind of thing.”
Pride fills me. “As well they should. Do your editor and agent know your real identity?”
“Yeah.” His eyes cloud over. “For payments and stuff. Lawyers too. They’ve never much cared. With the first Mirror Mirror book, my publisher tried to get me to go on a tour, do interviews. They stopped asking after I threatened to go to another publisher. Now they all figure I’m just a strange eccentric living up here by myself.”
“You are,” I remind him.
“Yeah.” He narrows his gaze. “Good thing you have a fetish for strange eccentrics.”
“I have a fetish for you.” I kiss his shoulder. “And apparently I can’t hide it either because Allegra King knows we’re together.”
“Allegra?”
“She came to visit me.” I curl against his side. “We drank your Glenlivet, and she gave me the Maria Wood book I’d been looking for. She didn’t know Max had died. I still can’t believe that.”
“How would she have known?”
“I guess she couldn’t have. Her husband hadn’t told her, maybe because he didn’t know how close they’d once been or didn’t want to know. I just thought it was sad. They loved each other, and she hadn’t known he died.”
Jeremy hadn’t told Allegra either… but did he know? Had I told him?
“Did you tell her about the collection?” Flynn asks.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “And break the contract? Heavens no.”
He grins. My heart lights up. The sight of his smile never fails to spark me with pleasure and warmth.
“I think we can officially declare the contract null and void. Except for the clause about you being required to wear apple-lavender body lotion.”
“Done.”
I press my lips to his again, revived passion swirling through me. Then my stomach growls, effectively putting a halt to thoughts of a second sex romp.
Since my pantry only contains canned soup and tea, I suggest going downtown for dinner. We shower and dress before walking back to Flynn’s truck. Ghost, still working diligently on the beef bone, doesn’t look up when we pass.
“People will notice we’re together.” Flynn glances at me as we pull on our seat belts.
I shrug. “So? They’ll know when we show up at the city council meeting next week. We might as well forewarn them, so to speak. Besides, I’m proud to be with you.”
Disbelief flashes in his eyes for just an instant. He starts the truck. His shoulders are still tense as he drives to Lantern Street. It’s close to six, and most of the retail shops have closed for the night. Light flurries of snow fall.
We decide on a diner that has finished with the dinner crowd and sit at the counter to eat club sandwiches and fries. If anyone glances at us sideways or wonders about us being together, I neither notice nor care.
It’s a strangely freeing sensation, not caring. Knowing that people might gossip about me or think badly of me, but that there’s nothing I can do about people. All I can do is tell the truth that I know is real and live the way my heart desires.
And my heart desires Flynn Alverton.
The waitress sets slices of apple pie in front of us with a cheery, “Here you go.”
As we indulge in the dessert, I muster the courage to tell Flynn about the job interview offer from Santa Clara University.
“That’s great, but no surprise to me.” He shoots me a quick, approving smile. “You’re damn good at what you do. It’s about time people remember that. When’s the interview?”
“We don’t have a date settled yet. Middle of December.” I hesitate and brush my fingers over his sleeve. “Maybe you can come with me. I’d like for you to meet Graham and his wife.”
A shield comes down over his expression. He shakes his head. “Aside from the rare trip to New York, I don’t go places.”
“Ever?”
“I’m not one for traveling.”
I pull my hand back. “You mean you haven’t gone anywhere in the past fifteen years?”
His lack of response is enough of an answer. I shouldn’t be surprised—the most people know about Flynn is that he’s lived in the lighthouse all these years—but it hadn’t occurred to me he’s never left the boundaries of Castille.
“Told you my life is boring.” He reaches for his wallet and takes out a few bills. “I did a lot of traveling once. Well, more like I wandered aimlessly before landing in Castille.”
“And you’ve never left?”
“No reason to.”
“What about your family?”
“I don’t talk about my family.” His voice is flat.
Not even to me?
I manage to swallow the question. Unease rippling through me, I climb off the stool. Most of us have an unpleasant family story to tell—wicked queen mothers, troubled siblings, abusive fathers—but I don’t imagine many people lock themselves away in a lighthouse in an effort to… escape? Hide? Run away?
He follows me out to the sidewalk, shrugging into his coat. Tension threads the air between us. His eyes darken to charcoal with sorrow and regret.
“Eve, I’m sorry. This is who I am. I can’t change. Not even…”
For you.
He doesn’t have to say it. An ache pushes at my chest. I don’t get it. He has so much talent, so much to offer, so much to give. I know all too well that men can and do use their power for evil. So why doesn’t Flynn use his power for good?
“Flynn, I—”
Excuse me.” A woman’s inquisitive voice breaks off my words. “Eve Perrin?”
I turn to find a tall, blond woman approaching, her heels clicking purposefully on the concrete, her sharp gaze pinned on me. A bulky man follows her, carrying a large object concealed by the shadows.
Unease roils through me. Flynn steps forward, putting his body between me and the woman.
“I’m sorry.” She stops and smiles. Not a friendly smile. More of a baring-one’s-teeth smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You are Eve Perrin, correct?”
“Who wants to know?” Flynn straightens his shoulders, his muscles tensing.
“My name is Rebecca Forester.” The woman’s gaze slips to him before sliding back to me. “I’m a reporter with KCBN news. I’ve been following the recent accusations against UCLA professor David Landry and would like to ask for your comment.”
Before I can break through my shock, a microphone is shoved in front of me. The unblinking bright light of a camera blasts onto my face.
Panic floods me. I stumble back. Flynn closes his hand on my arm.
“Get away from her!” he snaps at the reporter.
“Ms. Perrin.” Rebecca Forester, still smiling, steps into my line of vision. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the sexual harassment allegations against Professor Landry, and the most recent charge by an undergraduate student of alleged rape—”
The world tips, a black pit opening beneath me. The only thing keeping me from falling is Flynn’s grip, the harsh sound
of his voice. He pushes me behind him, blocking me from the camera’s eye. I catch sight of his truck half a block away and start toward it. My heart races.
“Ms. Perrin, if you’d care to comment on your own involvement with Professor Landry?” Rebecca Forester’s tone grows shrill, her heels clicking faster.
She’s running to catch me. I’m being chased.
“Is it true that you stalked him and sent him naked pictures of yourself? You claimed to have had an affair with him, but according to him, you…”
“Shut the fuck up!” Flynn’s bellow is like a thunderstorm crashing over the sky. He yanks open the passenger side door of his truck and shoves me inside.
The reporter and cameraman skid to a halt, still shouting questions, still filming through the smudged windshield. His face a mask of rage, Flynn slams a hand over the camera lens. A small crowd has gathered outside the diner, peering toward the commotion.
“Back off, man.” The cameraman snarls and forces his way toward the truck.
Flynn blocks him. They struggle for two seconds. Flynn shoves hard. The cameraman hits the ground. His camera crashes to the sidewalk.
Spitting another curse, Flynn climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. He rams the truck into drive. The tires squeal. He swerves into a U-turn and guides the truck on the road out of town.
I’m shaking so hard my teeth rattle. Wrapping my arms around myself, I huddle against the truck door and try to contain the panic. Flynn yanks the car to a sudden stop. He reaches across the seat and hauls me into his lap, locking his arms around me. My breath clogs my throat, sticky and hot.
“Breathe.” He presses my head to his chest. His heart hammers. “They’re gone. You’re safe now.”
I struggle to drag air into my lungs. Leafy shadows flicker over the windshield. He’s stopped somewhere in the forest.
Anger tenses his whole body, but his voice is calm and measured as he murmurs words of comfort. His arms are protective steel bands around me. I squeeze my eyes shut. His deep voice slides into me, echoing through my blood, my heart.