by Radclyffe
Adrian leaned forward eagerly. “She lives at the cemetery? I know it was common in the past for caretakers to have a house on the grounds, but that’s got to be unusual today.”
He shook his head. “Not around here. There’s been a Tyler living at Stillwater since Ford’s Crossing was founded.”
Adrian quickly made a note to find the County Historical Society office and gather the names of the prominent local families. Ideas rushed through her head, and she flipped a page and scribbled a to-do list. “And Rooke does all the carvings?”
“She does all the stonework, period. Markers, crypts, big fu…frickin’ statues. If it’s stone, Rooke does it.”
Adrian put the pad aside. “By herself?”
“The carving and fancy work. Yeah. What she does—hand carving—not many people do that anymore. Most of it’s done with stencils and power tools.” Dominic shrugged. “The families who can afford Stillwater want one-of-a-kind. She’s the only one who can do that.”
“How did she learn?” Adrian put her pen aside, fascinated to contemplate what it must have been like for a young girl learning such an ancient trade. She remembered the strange vision she’d had of Rooke, or who she thought of as Rooke, guarding the gates of an ancient fortress. Rooke building monuments of stone made perfect sense.
“From her grandfather, I guess. That’s how it goes around here, pretty much.”
“If I wanted to look around, that would be all right?”
Dominic’s eyes lit up. “Hey. Any time you want a guided tour, just let me know. It’s a big place—over a hundred acres.”
“Thanks,” Adrian said, instantly regretting mentioning her desire to visit. He was a nice enough guy, but she didn’t want any misunderstandings. And if she wanted a tour guide, it would be Rooke. “I’d kind of like to just wander. But I think I’ll wait until the weather’s a little better.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“I will. Thanks.” Adrian grabbed the coffeepot and refilled his cup. Then she picked up Rooke’s. “I think I’ll see how she’s doing. You sit here and relax.”
*
Adrian slipped through the partially opened French doors leading into the parlor and paused, taking in the scene. Rooke stretched out on her back on the broad stone hearth, her head and shoulders inside the fireplace. From her vantage point, Adrian scanned the length of her body from the toes of her work boots, up her long muscular legs to her abdomen and the flare of her chest, before her body disappeared from sight. Clad in denim jeans and a work shirt, Rooke looked tantalizingly inviting, an alluring temptation that had Adrian’s skin misting with sweet anticipation. She caught her breath, imagining for just an instant the press of that hard body against hers, a strongly muscled thigh caught between her own, the soft swell of breasts teasing over hers.
“Dom?” Rooke’s voice echoed from inside the huge stone chamber.
“No,” Adrian replied hoarsely. “It’s me. Adrian.”
Rooke jerked, and then her head and shoulders appeared. She sat up quickly, a flashlight in one hand and a black smudge down one cheek. “The lower third looks solid. Quite a bit of damage above that, but the worst of it is up near the top.”
“I see.” Adrian struggled to gather her wits. She wasn’t prone to random sexual fantasies, at least she never had been before. Rooke seemed to have changed all that. “That’s good, right?”
“We won’t have to dig out the foundation.” Rooke stood and brushed soot from the shoulders of her dark blue workshirt. “Your grandmother hasn’t had a fire in there this winter. Good thing.”
Laughing, forgetting her earlier unease, Adrian held out a coffee cup. “Here. You can probably use this after lying on those cold stones.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ve got a little soot…” Adrian brushed her thumb over the smear on Rooke’s cheek. Rooke went completely still and Adrian’s vision wavered, as if she’d stood up too quickly after lying in the hot sun on a summer’s day. Hands glided over her, outlining the contours of her breasts, the arch of her hip, the sweep of her thigh. Her flesh scorched, as if she stood in the blast from an open furnace, and her body undulated, yielding to the insistent touch. Her blood rushed and the roar of a train filled her head.
“Adrian,” Rooke said urgently, grasping Adrian’s forearms as she swayed. Her eyes were unfocused, her face washed clean of all color. Afraid she would fall, Rooke circled an arm around her waist. Adrian’s arms came around her shoulders, and Rooke found herself holding her. Automatically, she tightened her grip and slid one hand into the thick blond hair at the nape of Adrian’s neck. Her skin was on fire. Shock, then panic quickly gave way to a fierce driving need to shield her, protect her. Casting wildly around the room, she spied a blue brocade sofa on the far side of the room and instinctively swept Adrian into her arms. She crossed to it in three long strides.
“I’m sorry,” Adrian murmured, her cheek against Rooke’s shoulder. As the dizziness abated and her head cleared, she became aware of the rapid pounding of Rooke’s heart and the cool, gentle fingers cradling her neck. She trembled for an entirely different reason as she registered Rooke’s solid abdomen and chest supporting her. Despite her embarrassment and confusion, she reveled in the pleasure of Rooke’s embrace.
“Adrian,” Rooke whispered, kneeling by the sofa and carefully placing Adrian down. She lightly caressed her cheek. “What should I do? Should I call—”
“No,” Adrian said, grasping Rooke’s hand. As soon as Rooke’s strong fingers closed around hers, she felt better. And instantly humiliated. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry. I have no idea what happened.”
“I think you have a fever.” Rooke released Adrian’s hand and pressed her palm to Adrian’s forehead. “Your skin is so hot.”
Adrian laughed shakily. She could hardly say that if Rooke kept touching her she was likely to feel even warmer very quickly. She couldn’t seem to get her wayward body under control. “I just feel warm because you’ve been in this cold room.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Really, I’m all right now.” Adrian sat up and pushed her hair back with both hands. Her face did feel hot and she imagined she was flushed, and she hoped Rooke wouldn’t realize why. Her heart raced and her breasts felt tense and tingly. God, she wanted to be touched and Rooke was leaning so close, her eyes filled with concern and something else. Something a little wild and fierce, as if she were preparing for a battle. That look did nothing to calm Adrian’s rioting libido.
“Water. Should I get some water?” Rooke asked.
“No,” Adrian said gently, brushing her fingers along the edge of Rooke’s tense jaw. “You did exactly right. I’m fine now.”
Rooke’s eyes closed slowly and she leaned ever so slightly into Adrian’s touch, and Adrian fought not to rub her thumb over Rooke’s mouth. Her gaze drifted lower, down Rooke’s throat to where the open collar of her shirt framed the delicate points of her collarbone and the hollow between. She saw herself leaning forward, lips parted to press a kiss to the pale skin between Rooke’s breasts. Rooke tasted sharp and clean, like crystalline water from a natural spring, vital and pure. Adrian gasped and jerked her hand away. Rooke’s eyes flew open, the dark pupils widening.
“I’m sorry,” Rooke murmured.
“No.” Adrian rose, willing her shaky legs to carry her toward the door. She hadn’t touched her, but God, it had been so real she could still taste her. “You needn’t apologize. I seem to be the one creating a scene. I’ll let you finish your work.”
*
“She all right in there?” Dom asked when Adrian returned to the kitchen.
“Yes, she seems to be.”
Adrian busied herself at the sink, rinsing dishes and emptying coffee grounds. A few moments later she heard footsteps behind her and turned, willing her expression to be neutral, as if nothing had happened. Rooke stood in the doorway, her dark gaze on Adrian.
“All done?” Adrian asked.
> “We’ll get an estimate to you tomorrow, probably.”
“Yes, all right. That will be great. Thank you.” Lord, she sounded like an idiot, Adrian thought.
Dominic stood and stretched. “If the wind picks up the way they predict, we ought to check that tarp tomorrow, Rooke.”
“I secured it, but the chimney should be boarded up to stop the draft.” Rooke looked questioningly at Adrian. “What are you going to do about fixing the chimney?”
“Can’t someone just…put the stones back?” Adrian asked.
“Rooke can,” Dominic said. “No one else around here can restore it, unless you just want to put up a chase with a stone façade.”
“No. No. I want it rebuilt. I’m sure that’s what my grandmother will want.”
Rooke dug her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. “I’ll take care of it, then.”
Adrian smiled, completely reassured by that simple statement. She didn’t question why she could accept help so easily from Rooke, not while Rooke’s voice flowed over her like a caress. “That’s settled, then.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll walk you out.” Just as she started forward the phone rang. “Ah, I should get this. It might be my grandmother.”
Rooke nodded and Dominic waved, and they were gone.
Annoyed, Adrian snatched up the phone. “Winchester residence. May I help you?…Hello?”
“Adrian?”
“Melinda?”
“Well, what a very pleasant surprise,” Melinda murmured.
“Yes,” Adrian replied, although she wasn’t really surprised at all. She had been waiting for Melinda to return.
“Tell me,” Melinda said. “Who is Elizabeth Winchester?”
“My grandmother.”
Melinda laughed. The low, sultry purr coursed through Adrian like vintage wine, making her languid and warm. She leaned against the counter, aware of a teasing pressure building between her thighs.
“Why are you looking for my grandmother?” Adrian asked, hoping she sounded casual. She was still aroused from the strange interlude with Rooke, still far too sensitive to everything, and Melinda had a powerful effect on her. She steadied her trembling legs.
“Obviously, our meeting yesterday wasn’t a coincidence,” Melinda said.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“You do believe in fate, don’t you?” Melinda sounded playful, but there was an undercurrent of challenge in her voice.
Adrian would have denied it out of hand if she hadn’t thought of Rooke and remembered the way it felt to touch her. As if she had always been meant to touch her. She thought of the many instances in her life when a casual touch flooded her consciousness with sensations, images, half-remembrances of experiences not her own. The explanations had ranged from “hyper-reactive autonomic nervous system” to “sixth sense,” depending upon the prejudices of the expert rendering the opinion. Eventually she’d just accepted the occurrences as part of her life. “I know there are things in the universe none of us can explain. So who am I to say what is possible and what isn’t?”
“I’m not interested in what you think,” Melinda said, the timbre of her voice making Adrian’s skin tingle as if a dozen hands caressed her at once. “Only in what you feel. What do you feel, Adrian?”
Adrian wanted to surrender. She wanted those hands to caress the fevered reaches of her body, to take her soaring, diving, crashing, burning. She stifled a whimper as her inner muscles fluttered a warning.
“Adrian, tell me what you feel.”
“I…” Adrian took a shuddering breath and blinked away the mist that clouded her vision. She laughed shakily, wondering if she could be hypnotized by the sound of a voice. “I think you enjoy playing games.”
“Guilty.” Melinda murmured. “Don’t you?”
“Not when I don’t know the rules.”
“Oh, but that’s what makes this game so exciting,” Melinda countered. “Without rules anything can happen.”
“I’m not that daring,” Adrian said, and the name of Melinda’s gallery came to mind. Osare. Daring. An invitation.
“Of course you are. I’ve been reading some of your articles. You’re quite the adventurer. And a wonderful writer.”
Adrian flushed at the compliment. Her breath quickened and her body stirred again. Melinda’s subtle seductivity was potent, heady and addictive, but Adrian would not be led where she didn’t want to go of her own volition. “So are you going to tell me why you’re calling?”
“I was hoping your grandmother could help me track down my mysterious artist. Hers was one of the names I was given as someone who might know where the statue I’m interested in came from.”
“Really? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard her mention anything about local artists, although she does support more foundations than I can count.”
“Well, that would certainly be a place to start. Do you know the Meriwethers? They are the owners of the piece in question.”
“Bea Meriwether was a good friend of my grandmother’s. She’s been gone several years now. Is the estate sale at Fox Run Manor?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Now I understand.”
“So can I interest you in a little investigating?” Melinda asked. “The sale has been postponed and I am at loose ends. I’d love to have dinner with you. We can do some digging into the local history before that.”
Adrian suddenly felt energized and intrigued. She did want to do some research, and she felt foolish for letting her imagination run away with her. Melinda was simply an attractive woman who knew it, and who enjoyed a little playful sexual banter. There was nothing more to it. Besides, she wasn’t in the habit of backing down from a challenge.
“That sounds like a great idea.”
“Wonderful,” Melinda said. “You know where I’m staying. Two o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter Nine
Dominic dropped Rooke off by the front gates of Stillwater and she made her way on foot up the driveway. Her grandfather must have plowed earlier that morning, because only a few inches of new snow had accumulated. The snowbanks on either side of the wide gravel drive reached almost as high as her shoulders.
Ordinarily she loved to walk through the cemetery after a fresh snow. The air was always crisp and clean, the tree branches glistened under their coating of white, and the gray stones jutted from the unblemished landscape like faithful soldiers standing guard over the innocent. Today, she barely noticed her surroundings. She couldn’t think of anything except the way Adrian’s fingertips had skimmed over her cheek, freezing her in place at the same time as every muscle in her body vibrated with excitement so intense it was nearly painful. She’d never experienced anything like that before. Emma often touched her casually, a hand on her shoulder, a quick brush of fingers over her cheek. Sometimes when Rooke made love to her, Emma stroked her neck and back. Those caresses were warm and soothing, often blunting the tightness in her chest and easing some of the tension that seemed to simmer deep inside her all the time. But she’d never ached the way she had when Adrian touched her. Even now, her body thrummed with so much pent-up energy she felt like she might explode.
She unlocked the door to her shop, dropped the keys on the workbench, and quickly shed her sweatshirt. Pushing on into the back room, she didn’t bother to switch on the heater, but stripped off her denim shirt even though her breath clouded in the cold air. The muscles in her shoulders and arms bunched tightly as she set out her tools. Hammer and chisel in hand, she circled the monolith in the center of the floor until her blood rose in response to the call of the stone. Then she set to work, searching for the woman hidden within.
*
Adrian sent a thank-you to whatever powers might have been watching when the Jeep started on the second try. Rooke had been right about one thing—the Jeep had not been serviced in a while. The windshield was covered with grime and the left front tire was flat. Fo
rtunately, she found an air compressor and was able to fill the tire rather than change it. Of course, by the time she got the vehicle in working order she was filthy and had to go back to the house to shower and change. She’d left plenty of time, though, and after pulling on clean jeans, a navy cotton pullover sweater, her boots, and a black field jacket, she was ready for her afternoon of investigation.
Driving into town, she was surprised to find she had a case of nerves, as if she were on her way to a date. Strange, because she wasn’t looking for one, and she didn’t really think Melinda intended their meeting that way. Nevertheless, her insides swarmed with butterflies and her heart bounced around in her chest like a buoy on a stormy sea. She didn’t have time on the fifteen-minute trip to talk herself out of her irrational reaction, so when she parked in front of the hotel and started up the walk, she decided to approach her appointment with Melinda the way she would a difficult interview. She was well practiced at hiding her emotions in professional situations, and Melinda didn’t need to know the disconcerting effect she had on her. Just because she’d been behaving completely unlike herself recently didn’t mean she couldn’t handle a little mild flirtation. She’d certainly had enough practice saying no to quite a few of the men she met in her travels, and some of the women too.
The small lobby was empty save for the desk clerk when Adrian entered, so she walked through the bar to the parlor on the opposite side. Melinda stood by the fireplace, one arm stretched out along the mantel, a glass of deep red wine cradled in her other hand. She was taller than Adrian had appreciated in the dark train, appearing particularly svelte in tapered black slacks, black boots with three-inch heels, and a black cashmere cowlneck sweater that hugged her full breasts and slender waist. Her long blond hair shimmered with reflected firelight, and her patrician features seemed pensive as she watched the flames. She was very beautiful.
“Melinda,” Adrian said quietly.
“Hello.” Melinda smiled, her gaze drifting languidly over Adrian’s face.