Intimate Strangers

by Rebecca York

  He nodded, wishing she’d said a little more about her husband. Apparently it wasn’t a subject she wanted to explore with one of her clients.

  Their first stop was a small house across the highway from the beach. The place was in good shape, had an excellent view of the old lighthouse and was well laid out, but he knew as soon as he saw it that he wasn’t going to live in it. The last time he’d been here was for a party given by one of the antique dealers. He and Veronica had been in the midst of a fight, and they’d avoided each other all evening.

  Since he couldn’t explain any of that to Molly, he let her show him around, then found reasons he didn’t like the interior.

  She didn’t press him to rent the place, only suggested that they move on to another property.

  Five miles down the highway, she turned in at an artificially weathered signboard announcing the community of Ocean Vista. The access road led to a development of three-story buildings, each with a sheltered balcony. The landscaping was lush, with a foundation of small shrubs and beds of carefully tended annuals.

  There hadn’t been any complexes like this when he’d lived in Perry’s Cove, but land must be getting scarce now, making group housing more attractive to both developers and buyers.

  “Is this place open for residency?” he asked, peering around at the almost empty parking lot and the new buildings.

  “Barely. Most of the units are still up for sale. This one was bought by a man who wants to rent it out for a few years before retiring down here.”

  She led him up an outside stairway to a rectangular landing, where the doors were painted in sun-drenched yellows and jungle greens.

  As he followed her inside, he was vaguely surprised that the rooms were already furnished, in casual wicker with sessile rugs on the tile floors. The kitchen was small but adequate for his needs. He’d never been a gourmet cook, and he hadn’t picked up any culinary skills working in the prison library.

  He noted that the appliances weren’t top of the line.

  Molly pointed out the virtues of the condo as she led him down the hall to the bedroom and then the bathroom, which followed the modern-luxury trend to large and bright, with a spa tub and a separate shower.

  He’d been keeping his mind on business, but as he eyed the room, he couldn’t cancel a sudden image of himself and Molly standing together in the shower, water cascading over their naked bodies.

  The picture was so vivid that he drew in a sharp breath and reached out and grabbed the doorjamb to steady himself.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he managed to say. “I guess the altitude is getting to me.”

  “The altitude? We’re at sea level.”

  He laughed. “Well, something’s getting to me. Maybe I’m allergic to the place.”

  “Then we should leave.”

  He followed her back through the condo, then waited while she locked the door.

  “Do you want to see some of the grounds?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered, not because he was interested in the scenery but because getting back into the car would mean getting close to her again, and he was pretty sure that was a bad idea.

  He was still feeling out of kilter as they started down a gravel pathway that led along the side of the building, his attention focused on the vinyl siding of the closest apartment.

  He stopped, his gaze drawn to a place where a rust stain was already starting to bleed from the balcony railing onto the wall. He was thinking that the builder had used shoddy materials, then decided that was none of his business since he wasn’t planning to take the apartment. Looking up, he noticed that Molly was ten yards ahead of him, marching purposefully along the path, her heels clicking against the gravel chips.

  She had almost reached a section of the walkway that was covered with a three-by-three piece of plywood. The wood wasn’t squarely over the sidewalk, but set at a slight angle as though someone had tossed it carelessly onto the ground.

  His eyes went from her to the plywood, and in the back of his mind he was thinking that walking around it would be a good idea—except that there was no place else to tread besides the recently planted landscaping.

  “Wait!” he called, quickening his pace. But she already had one foot poised above the flat surface. He heard a splintering sound as her foot came down on the wood.

  Chapter Four

  Even as Mark started running forward, he watched the plywood crack, watched Molly sway unsteadily on her feet. This time he was too far away to save her, and he saw her tumbling to the side.

  He pictured her leg going through the surface and her skin being torn by the jagged splinters.

  But she avoided the worst of the damage by grabbing hold of a small, ornamental tree that had been planted along the pathway.

  The poor, abused sapling swayed under the unaccustomed weight but stayed in the ground, while the plywood went shooting in the opposite direction, taking Molly’s shoe with it.

  Some tiny portion of his brain noted that the wood had been covering an underground service panel, now gaping open. The information barely registered because almost all of his attention was focused on Molly as she struggled to stay erect.

  He reached her and gathered her in his arms, detaching her from the tree trunk, so that she had something more secure to cling to—himself. She transferred her grip to his waist and shoulders, her hands clamping on to him with a kind of fierce desperation.

  He knew the emergency hardly matched the incident with the bucket of shingles. But perhaps they were both reacting to the repetition of events. Twice in one day someone had put Molly in danger, and once again he had charged forward to the rescue.

  And once again, as he clasped her in his embrace, he was swamped by sensations. The feel of her slender body. The brush of her soft hair against his cheek. The sweet woman scent that had driven him crazy in the car. Perhaps that scent was what drew him most deeply—after all the deprivations of prison life, or perhaps it was the way Molly clung to him, as though he was her savior, although he hadn’t done much. He’d been too far away to be of any real help. This time she’d saved herself from injury by her quick reaction.

  Undoubtedly she could stand on her own now, but still she held on to him. For long moments, her gaze was directed downward as if she was debating what to do next.

  He held his breath, waiting. Slowly, slowly she raised her face, meeting his questioning gaze.

  There was only a brief moment of eye contact, but it was enough for important messages to be exchanged.

  He silently asked if she wanted him to turn her loose. She told him she wanted to stay where she was.

  And with that unspoken agreement, it was the most natural thing in the world for him to lower his lips to hers.

  Images of kissing her, touching her had saved his sanity when he’d been locked away from the world. And now here she was in his arms, telling him she wanted the same thing he did.

  The meeting of their lips was like lightning striking dry tinder in some dark, primeval forest. There was nothing slow and deliberate about the contact. The moment his mouth settled on hers, the kiss flared white-hot, swamping his senses. She tasted better than fine wine, better than freedom, better than all the things he had thought he could never have again.

  He drank from her like a man deprived of all sustenance and finally bidden to partake of a feast.

  She seemed just as greedy as her mouth opened, worked against his, sending searing signals to all of his nerve endings.

  He was instantly hard as granite, instantly ready to make love with her. His only thought was to satisfy his own desperate need for intimate contact. One hand slid down to her hips, pulling her against his erection, while the other hand pressed against her back, bringing her breasts against his chest.

  His mind spun out of control. He needed Molly, needed to be deep inside her. His hand stroked her hips, over the rounded curve of her bottom. He broke the kiss and lifted his head, his
eyes barely focused as he searched for a place where the two of them could make love.

  Her indrawn breath brought his gaze back to her face, and the dazed yet alarmed look in her eyes was like a dash of cold water.

  He blinked. What was he doing—planning to ravage her out here in the shrubbery?

  He’d known that years of deprivation had made him needy, but he hadn’t realized he would turn into a raving maniac when he took Molly Dumont into his arms.

  His heart was slamming against the wall of his chest, his breath uneven and jagged.

  He forced himself to loosen his hold on her and take a step back, although he kept one hand on her arm, because he couldn’t bear to break the contact completely.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed to say, his voice thick, as he stared into her flushed face. “I think I came on a little too strong.”

  Lord, she looked so beautiful with her skin rosy and her lips reddened from the kiss. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, but he ordered himself to keep his free hand against his side.

  She answered his apology with a tight nod, and he knew he had to come up with a lot more than sorry if he ever wanted her in his arms again.

  The sudden sense of loss stole his breath away. He dragged shaky fingers through his hair as he fumbled for the right words. “I…I haven’t been with a woman since my wife died,” he heard himself explaining.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I mean about your wife.”

  She took several moments before asking, “How long?”

  “Too long.” He didn’t want to lie. Not to Molly. And he didn’t want to get specific—not when the time frame would put him back at the scene of the crime. Instead he brought the conversation back to her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she answered, and he felt as if the response had been automatic.

  “Did you hurt your foot?”

  She looked down at her shoeless toes, visible through her stocking, and he was sure she’d forgotten all about the piece of plywood. Then her eyes darted to the section of path that had been covered up. When she saw the hole in the ground where the service panel should have been, she made a sharp, surprised sound.

  “You could have gotten badly hurt,” he muttered. “You did some quick thinking.”

  “I felt the wood give and I pulled back. It was just instinct.”

  He started to continue the discussion, then stopped abruptly. He wanted to know if she’d been specifically targeted both now and at the Calico Duck. But they were in the middle of the condo complex, and he couldn’t be sure that they wouldn’t be overheard. Of course, he hadn’t considered their lack of privacy when he’d been about to throw her into a flower bed and plunge himself into her, he thought with a grimace.

  “What?” she asked as she caught his facial expression.

  “Maybe we should cool off with a walk on the beach.”

  Seconds passed as she mulled that idea over, and he thought she was going to refuse before she said, “Okay.”

  He let out the breath he’d been holding. Then he walked around the hole in the path, being careful not to crush the new plantings. When he reached the piece of plywood, he squatted and worked the heel of her shoe out of the wood. Holding it up for inspection, he saw there was a long gash in the leather.

  “Can you get it fixed?” he asked as he handed the shoe over.

  “Maybe.”

  As Molly slipped the shoe back on, he picked up the plywood and looked at the place where her heel had broken through. “Whoever put this here is an idiot. The wood is too damn thin to cover a hole in the path.”

  He started along the side of the building, this time taking the lead as he kept his eyes trained on the ground. There appeared to be no more booby traps.

  They rounded the corner of a condo and emerged onto a natural area where sea oats waved in the wind blowing off the ocean. He sat down on one of the new benches that had been placed at intervals along the edge of the complex and took off his shoes and socks.

  Molly turned away from him and fumbled with her skirt. When he saw that she was taking off her torn panty hose, he averted his eyes. Not out of chivalry, exactly. He knew that if he watched her, he was going to want her again.

  Hell, just thinking about her peeling the clinging nylon down her legs was making him hard. He was in a bad way.

  With a grimace, he stood up and stepped onto the sand, lifting his face to the wind from the ocean, hoping to cool his overheated skin.

  He’d taken only five or six steps before his foot came down on a buried piece of two-by-four.

  “Damn!”

  “What?”

  He bent and dug up the piece of wood. “Another booby trap. Whoever built this place needs to clean up their beach.”

  “I’ll send in complaints.”

  They both watched where they were walking now as they crossed the sand toward the waves ebbing and flowing along the shoreline.

  The noise of the ocean covered their conversation as he asked, “So who knew you were coming here?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  She considered her answer. “Well, I guess somebody could have checked my log. I keep a record of where I’m taking clients. Just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “In case I get into trouble, if you really want to know. Real estate isn’t the safest job in the world. You’re going into vacant properties with men you barely know.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said quickly.

  “I’m not so sure.”

  The accusation stung. “Now wait a minute.”

  “I don’t mean you’d assault me physically,” she clarified. “I mean, are you planning to stay in Perry’s Cove?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, then, when you leave, I could get hurt.”

  She was being up front with him. He swallowed, thinking he didn’t have that option. From her point of view, they barely knew each other, yet he’d kissed her as though he were a prisoner of war finally coming home to his beloved.

  The analogy was too close for comfort. And dangerous, as well. He wanted Molly sexually, but making an emotional commitment would be pretty rash.

  “Let’s go back to the accident. I mean the one involving the plywood,” he said. “That’s two in one day.”

  “Are you trying to say somebody is going after me?”

  He shrugged.

  “I say it’s a terrible coincidence!” She shifted her gaze away from him, facing the waves rolling and crashing on the sand.

  The tide was coming in, and the low edge of foam swept toward them. Neither one of them moved, and the water swirled around their feet, bringing a burst of deep, stinging cold.

  Ignoring Molly’s denial, he continued with his line of questioning. “Have you gotten into a fight with anyone, angered anyone?”

  “Not that I know of,” she answered, but he picked up a note of uncertainty in her voice.

  “Okay.”

  “You sound like you don’t believe me.”

  He shrugged. “Something’s happening here.”

  “Well, if someone was out to get me, they would have had to go into the office after I left, then rush out to this property before we arrived and set up that piece of plywood.”

  “You had this place listed second in your log?”

  “Yes,” she answered reluctantly, “but so what? If someone wanted to hurt me, they wouldn’t know that we were going to take that path through the complex. It wasn’t like what happened this morning, where I was in a much more confined area.”

  He nodded, hoping she was right.

  “How did your husband die?” he suddenly asked.

  He saw her face go pale. “That’s none of your business.”

  “What if someone came after him and now they’re coming after you?”

  “He shot himself. Nobody came after him.”

  He was stunned by the information—and instantly contrite. Now it was his t
urn to say, “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sorry about the way it happened.” He hesitated a moment before asking, “Why did he do it?”

  She moistened her lips. “Like I told you, we used to have an antique business. As far as I could tell, we were doing okay. But he was the one who took care of the finances. I was the one who artistically arranged the merchandise and interacted with the customers.”

  He nodded, thinking that her description of the division of duties was what he remembered.

  “I assumed we were solvent. It turned out all the money had evaporated.” She stopped and made a small huffing sound before going on. “I keep wondering now if he had some secret life that I never knew about. Like maybe he was a compulsive gambler and managed to hide that fault from me.”

  “That sounds…frustrating.”

  “It was.” She waited a beat before asking, “What about your wife?”

  “I’m not ready to talk about her.”

  “Oh.”

  He scuffed his bare foot against the sand, thinking that he’d trapped himself. He’d wanted to know about Phil, but he couldn’t talk about Veronica. Not yet, certainly. And he didn’t want to make up a lie. “Maybe when I know you better,” he offered.

  “We should go on to the next place,” she said, her voice a little remote. He was pretty sure she was hurt by his refusal to share the same kind of information she’d given him.

  He nodded, turning quickly back toward the condo complex. Movement in the shadows drew his eye. Someone was watching them, someone who ducked around the corner when he saw he’d been spotted.

  Another coincidence? Someone just curious about the couple on the beach? Maybe, but Mark didn’t think so. He was damn well going to find out who was interested in Molly and himself. He took off across the stretch of beach, running as fast as he could in the dry, shifting sand. He almost made it to the landscaping along the edge of the complex when another hidden hazard tripped him up. Pain shot through his bare toes where they’d connected with something hard, and he had to work to keep his balance.