by Jean Barrett
Unbearable. The tension between them was suddenly unbearable. Shoving her own book away from her, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, got to her feet and crossed swiftly to the hearth, where she nervously fed chunks of turf to the fire. In no hurry about it, Leo unfolded his length from the chair, stood and ambled across the room where he inserted himself between her and the hearth.
“What are you afraid of, Jenny?” he challenged her.
She asked herself the same question. Why did she keep resisting Leo when she so clearly wanted him?
“Is it because you think I’m not over Kimberly?” he said, referring to his ex-wife. “You’re wrong, if you think so. Kimberly isn’t even a bad memory anymore. You took care of that.”
“Did I?”
“Oh, yeah.”
There was a promise in his voice when he reached for her, sliding his arms around her, drawing her against his hard body. A promise that he wouldn’t hurt her, that she could trust him. And she did, suddenly and totally.
His mouth found hers in a kiss that was slow, breath-robbing and thoroughly intoxicating. Overcoming any lingering reservation, Jennifer responded by parting her mouth in an eager invitation as she pressed against him tightly. Her surprising abandon must have pleased Leo, if his tongue very busy with hers was any indication.
As the kiss deepened, his breath mingling with hers, she savored the flavor of him, his masculine scent, his clean taste. Pleasurable though they were, they weren’t enough. She wanted more, expressing her longing by clutching at his back where his muscles bunched under her hands, by squirming against his body.
That must have also pleased him, because she felt a ridge of flesh thrusting against her groin. Then, answering her impatient demand, he broke their kiss long enough to scoop her up into his arms and carry her to the bed.
When they were stretched out side by side, he resumed his attentions, placing a series of kisses in all her most sensitive areas. The hollow of her throat, her eyelids, the tender places just below her ears.
How he seemed to know exactly where she was vulnerable was amazing. And so seductive she would have lost all control if she hadn’t seized an opportunity to preserve her reason. Momentarily anyway, though it cost her a considerable effort.
“Where—” Struggling to free her arm pinned between their bodies, she raised a hand to touch the scar that had fascinated her ever since she had noticed it high on his cheek. “—did this come from?”
“Hockey puck.”
She was dimly conscious of him lifting her sweater, dragging it over her head. When it was out of the way, she continued with her interrogation.
“When you were a kid?”
“Nope, just a few years ago. Hold still.”
He began to work on the buttons of her blouse.
“You were a hockey player?”
“Yeah, a forward.”
His skillful fingers managed to free her of the blouse. She found it more difficult to breathe when those fingers moved on to the clasp of her bra.
“Um, are we—” Hard to get it out with her speech so ragged now. “—talking about professional hockey?”
“Amateur. A city team. Strictly for fun.”
“Aren’t players supposed to wear protective masks?”
“That’s a goalie.”
“Oh.”
He succeeded in removing the bra. She felt the cool air on her breasts, then the warmth of his mouth. She gasped, losing all interest in the mystery of the scar. For the next few moments she cared about nothing but the marvelous sensation of his tongue on her rigid nipples.
When he lifted his head from her breasts, it was to ask her gruffly, “Are we through with the hockey quiz?”
“Definitely.”
“Then let’s concentrate on something more important,” he said, tugging on her slacks.
She had no memory of what followed, only the result when their clothes had been shed. Her naked body next to his own naked body. His stormy eyes gazing into hers. Their hands exploring each other.
He was all hardness and heat. And much more than that as he began to kiss her again. Blistering kisses that left her raw with need. She wanted him inside her, pleaded for their joining.
But Leo was in no hurry. He caressed her breasts, crooned endearments into her ear. His hand finally slid between her thighs, his fingers gently invading her moist petals. Finding her nub, he teased it until she was lost in a mindless, rapturous haze.
“Enough,” she whispered. “Please, no more waiting.”
Only then did he answer his own urgency, seized by a longing for her he could no longer resist. Lifting himself over her, he eased his swollen length deep inside her, resting when their melding was so complete that it felt as if they were one being.
Even then it wasn’t enough. She wondered if it could ever be enough. But Leo was prepared to achieve the ultimate satisfaction for both of them. When she stirred under him impatiently, he began to rock slowly, building the tempo of his long strokes until she was beyond control, her own rhythms wild and wanton.
The rapture they shared in the moments that followed was indescribable, as awesome as it was wonderful. An age-old force that had them climbing the pinnacle together. With cries of fulfillment, they reached the peak almost simultaneously before sliding over the edge into a blinding oblivion.
Afterwards, cradled in his arms, Jennifer remembered something she had told herself yesterday when they had returned to their rooms after Leo had kissed her in the alcove. How she had acknowledged she was in lust with him. But not in love. Love required so much more. All the things that they didn’t share.
She realized now how wrong she had been. Because, although those things were certainly important, in the end they didn’t matter. Only one thing really counted. Trust. And she knew now that she could, and did, trust him.
There was something else she knew. She was in love with Leo McKenzie. And that scared her, because she longed for him to love her in return. But if he didn’t, if what they had just experienced…
No. Her concern about that subject would have to wait. Leo had drifted off to sleep. With his arms still cherishing her, Jennifer also slept.
SHE AWAKENED to an unfamiliar light. For a moment, head lifted from the pillow and squinting against the brilliance, she was puzzled. Then she understood. Early morning sunlight was streaming through the window. Was it possible that the storm had ended?
Managing to free herself from Leo’s arms without waking him, she eased herself off the bed, recovered her panties and sweater from where he had cast them on the floor and quickly donned them. Too anxious to bother with her other clothes, she padded on bare feet to the window.
It was true. The storm had ended in the night. She could see the long sweep of the moors under a clear, blue sky. Moors that, though heavily clad in snow, were silent and still, an indication that the wind had died. There was something else. The room didn’t feel as cold as it should feel, dressed as she was only in panties and a sweater and with the fire nothing more than cold embers. That had to mean the temperature was on the rise.
“What’s happening?”
Turning away from the glass, she found Leo sitting up in bed. The blanket she had drawn over them last night before falling asleep was down around his waist, leaving his chest and biceps with the sexy salamander tattoo exposed. A tempting sight, but under the circumstances…
“No more blizzard,” she reported.
He frowned. “That’s not going to help our investigation. Without the snow to hold them here, we could lose our suspects as soon as the roads are clear.”
“They’ll have to make themselves available to the police, won’t they?”
“Yeah, with a murder in the castle, the police will want to question everyone.”
“Then they can’t leave until the police get here. And, anyway,” she said, moving toward the bed, “even if we don’t know who killed Brother Anthony or why, now that the Madonna has turned up we do know that
whoever stole it from Guy had to have murdered him.”
Leo didn’t say anything.
“Don’t we?” She reached the bed and stood there looking down at him, waiting for his answer, feeling suddenly uneasy.
His hesitation was too long, the expression on his face too revealing. Jennifer felt sick at heart, her trust of last night shattered by his silence.
“I guess I have my answer,” she said in the slow, measured voice that expressed her anger and deep disappointment. “I guess, even after everything that’s happened, you’re not completely certain I’m not guilty. You still wonder if I could have killed your brother.”
There was something else his silence answered for her. He didn’t love her. Not if he questioned her innocence. It was a terrible blow to her.
“Jenny, no.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, came to his feet with the blanket wrapped around him. “All I was doing was wondering whether we had enough to clear you. Not giving you an answer straight off didn’t mean anything.”
“Oh, I think it meant everything.” She began to collect the rest of her discarded clothing. “For instance, that little silence of yours told me what last night meant to you and, more importantly, what it didn’t mean.”
“Okay, I’m not denying it,” he admitted, plowing a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, “but if you’ll just listen to me, maybe you’ll understand—”
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to change.” With the articles of clothing heaped in her arms, she started for the con necting door. “In my room,” she added, “and I’d appreciate being left alone while I dress.”
To his credit, he didn’t try to follow her. When she closed the door behind her, she felt as if she was doing more than just shutting the door between them. She felt as if she was shutting him out of her life.
All right, maybe that was an exaggeration. But hadn’t he betrayed their bonding with his silence? Gone to bed with her last night, made love to her with a shadow of doubt still lingering in his mind? How could he have deceived and hurt her like that?
Jennifer was still aching when, after rapidly dressing in a fresh change of clothing, she remembered the books. She had left them behind in the other room.
Leo had dragged on a pair of jeans and was just slipping into a shirt when she went back into his room and began to purposefully gather up the books she had borrowed from the monastery’s library.
“What are you doing?” he challenged her.
“I’m going to return these, and then I’m going to dig some more in the library. I want to see if one of the other books there will have what none of these gave me.”
“Can’t that wait until after breakfast?”
“I don’t want any breakfast. The question of the Madonna’s authenticity is still gnawing at me. Maybe it’s not important, but it’s all I can think to try at this point.”
She needed to occupy herself, not just to seek answers but in an effort to ease her anguish. Hopefully, burying herself in research would put Leo out of her mind, at least for a couple of hours.
“All right, give me a minute to finish dressing.”
“You’re not going with me.”
“The hell I’m not.”
“I don’t need you playing bodyguard anymore. I can take care of myself.”
She had the books, but where did she leave her purse? Right, back in her room. This time he followed her through the connecting door.
“Jenny, you can’t go out there on your own. It’s not safe.”
Before she could argue with him about it, there was a rap on her door. She answered it to find one of the young monks standing there bearing a basket of peat turf.
“Are you down on your supply?” he asked. “I’ve some fresh fuel for your fire if you are.”
He looked a bit embarrassed to see a half-dressed Leo behind her. This was a monastery, after all.
“I think we have enough, Brother—”
“Luke,” he supplied.
“But I do have a favor to ask. Are you going anywhere near the library on your rounds?”
“Happens I am.”
“Great. Then maybe you’ll let me go with you, and if along the way I could stop for a minute in the loo to brush my teeth…”
“’Course.”
“Will there be any other brothers in the library, do you think?”
“Brother James is sure to be there. He’s a great scholar.”
Jennifer turned her head, sending Leo a look to tell him Brother Luke’s assurances should satisfy him she would be adequately protected and that he needn’t worry about her. She didn’t wait to see if he agreed or not. Snatching up her purse, she sailed out into the corridor with the young monk hurrying to catch up with her.
“JERK.”
There were a lot of other names Leo was prepared to call himself. Except none of them would be sufficient to describe the fool he had been, though for good measure he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.
How could he have been so stupid to hurt her like that after what they had shared last night? It had been pretty special all right. She was special. And he had gone and blown it with that significant silence.
He was tempted to go after her and the monk, but it would only make everything worse. She was in no mood to listen. Anyway, what could he tell her? The truth was that, for a moment there, he had suffered a lapse of faith in her innocence, and Jennifer had immediately sensed it.
The best thing he could do now was to let her cool down. She’d be safe enough in the company of the monks. He would check on her in a couple of hours, and maybe by then he could make her understand how wrong he had been. And how sorry. Hell, he’d crawl to her on hands and knees if that’s what it took to earn her forgiveness.
And in the meantime…
Yeah, what he needed to do for her was to prove that she was innocent of Guy’s murder. Because the truth was, however completely ready he was now to believe in her, he knew that the London police would still consider her a strong suspect. Unless he could give them the real killer.
You’re supposed to be a P.I., aren’t you? Fine, so put your skills back to work.
How? he wondered. But that was obvious. As Jennifer had said, one of the guests here in the castle had to be Guy’s killer, as well as Brother Anthony’s. Okay, he would question them again one by one. Question them in depth, whether they liked it or not, until he had squeezed out of them every secret they were hiding.
It was time to get tough.
Chapter Thirteen
It took Jennifer almost two hours to find what she was looking for, but in the end…
Yes, here it was tucked away in an obscure little book with a chapter that described the crucifixion in detail. A passage explaining that the Romans of that period fashioned the crosses they used out of cypress.
This was what was wrong about the Warley Madonna. What had bothered her when she had handled it yesterday in the abbot’s office. Not its style or craftsmanship but its material.
Although familiar with the oak and elm of English country pieces, Jennifer was no expert on wood. But she did know enough to realize that the Madonna was much too heavy to be cypress. Had Guy suspected there might be a problem in that direction? Was that why he had wanted her to examine it, trusting in that gift of hers to sense when something wasn’t right?
The Madonna would have to undergo tests, of course, to determine its material with any certainty, but it looked like it couldn’t have been made out of any part of the true cross.
Jennifer thought about going to Father Stephen and telling him what she had learned, but she didn’t have the heart to do that. Not just yet, though he would have to know eventually.
The abbot would be deeply disappointed by her discovery. He’d been counting on the enormous value of the Madonna to save his monastery. On the other hand, true cross or not, it was an early relic whatever its material. She was confident it would bring a considerable sum when it was sold, probably
more than enough to cover the costs of repair to the castle.
Jennifer had her own disappointment to contend with. Her discovery had brought her no closer to an explanation for the two murders or the identity of the killer. All of it was still a mystery, including the theft of the Madonna and its baffling return to Warley.
She’d been so absorbed in the little book that she had paid no attention to her surroundings. But now, aware of a flurry of activity in the library, she looked up from its pages. She was perplexed to see several monks unwrapping sheets of plastic, which they proceeded to drape over the shelves at one end of the room.
“What’s happening?” she asked one of the brothers, who was on his way past the table where she sat.
He stopped to explain it to her. “We’re protecting the books. The snow is melting on the roofs, and we get leaks on that side of the library.”
The snow melting? Was it already that warm? It seemed hard to believe after the length and severity of the storm, but then English weather was famous for shifting from one extreme to the other.
Feeling in the way, she replaced the book on the shelf where she had found it and left the library. In the gallery outside she encountered a team of monks equipped with brooms and snow shovels. Brother Luke was among them.
“We’re on our way to clear the bailey,” he told her cheerfully.
She watched them march off, thinking that more than just the weather had changed. It was as if the castle had suddenly come to life after a long, dark sleep. A life that threatened her efforts to prove her innocence.
Anxious about the conditions outside, and how they could bring an abrupt end to her investigation, Jennifer felt a need to check on them herself. There would be no danger to her if she stayed in the area of the bailey where the brothers would be working.
Except she had neither her coat nor her boots with her. And no matter how mild the temperature might be now, the air would still be too cool to venture outside without them. Leo would tell her she was risking herself to go back to her room on her own to fetch them, but Leo wasn’t here.