by Rebecca York
“Why?”
“Because I want you too much, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
She couldn’t answer him. She knew he was right. He could hurt her badly. But there was no way she could pull back now.
She stood where she was, and when he gathered her closer, she forgot sanity and caution.
She had craved his distinctive flavor since their first kiss. Now she opened her mouth to savor him more completely. She tasted male hunger and dark, dangerous need.
His hands moved restlessly up and down her back, pressing her against the hard wall of his chest, so that she could feel the pounding of his heart. Or perhaps it was her own. She didn’t know anymore. She only knew that she wanted to be with this man more than she had wanted anything in a long, long time.
She might have fled Perry’s Cove after her life had been shattered three years ago. Now she was glad she’d stayed, because it meant she had met Mark Ramsey. She’d only known him a few days, yet, incredibly, it felt like a homecoming as his mouth sipped and nibbled at hers. It felt like a homecoming as his tongue played with the serrated line of her teeth before teasing more sensitive tissue beyond.
Her own tongue met his, stroking, teasing, inciting until they were both breathing in jagged gasps.
He angled her body away from his so that his hand could slip between them and cup one of her breasts. She murmured her approval, then made a low sound of pleasure as he found her hardened nipple and took it between his thumb and finger.
“Oh!”
“I’ve dreamed of touching you like this.”
“Yes.” Since she’d met him, he’d been on her mind, starred in her fantasies.
He leaned back against the wall, splaying his legs to equalize their height and bringing her center against his. She felt the hard shaft of his erection and moved against it.
He sucked in a sharp breath before his mouth came down on hers again. She mentally started making frantic plans to find a place where the two of them could get horizontal.
The thought brought her up short. What was she thinking?
She wrenched her mouth away from his, trying to get control of her breathing, of her emotions.
“We can’t do this,” she gasped out, taking a step back so that her body was no longer pressed tightly to his.
That was the right thing to do, she knew. But it felt wrong.
He made a sound of protest. “Molly.”
“No.”
His features contorted painfully, but he stayed where he was. His gaze was dark as he said, his voice more raspy than usual. “You want me as much as I want you.”
She sucked in a breath and let it out before answering. “I think that’s pretty obvious. But despite what I might have led you to believe, I’m not the kind of woman who deliberately gets involved with a man when there’s no future in the relationship. You’re going to leave Perry’s Cove, and I’ll still be here.”
“You don’t have to stay. You could come with me.”
“What?” She tried to wrap her mind around what he’d just said. “You’re asking me to pick up and leave with you?”
He looked embarrassed, as though he hadn’t meant to blurt out the suggestion. But he didn’t try to take it back. “It’s an option.”
“I…can’t.”
“What’s holding you here?”
She had no real answer to that question. Sometimes she hated this place. Sometimes she thought that she stayed here out of habit. Or fear of the unknown. But her ties to Perry’s Cove weren’t the only issue. “I can’t go off with a man I hardly know.”
He gave a tight nod, then started to speak in a low, halting voice. “Suppose I told you that I’d been here before. That I’d seen you and that I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”
She stared at him, openmouthed. “You’re not making that up?”
“I’m not making it up,” he said. The words did have the ring of truth.
“Where did you see me?”
“The antique gallery. You and your husband had the section on the middle left. I watched you for a long time.”
“I don’t remember you.”
“You were busy.”
She nodded, then said, “You thought I was married, yet you came back to see me.”
“Not just for you. But you were part of it. I’m sorry Phil…died. I know that was hard on you. But I’d be lying if I said I was sorry you’re free.”
She digested that, taking in all the implications, then asked, “I’m one of the reasons you came back. What are the others?”
The stone wall dropped back into place. “I still can’t talk about that.”
“Oh, right. Pardon me for asking.” Because she didn’t know what else to do, she whipped away from him and fished in her pocket for the key. Inserting it into the lock, she finally got it to turn and pushed the door open.
She had been in a lot of empty houses, and this one smelled wrong. As though someone had been here recently.
Cautiously, she stepped into the living room, then stopped short, her eyes widening in surprise.
Chapter Eight
Mark came in the door right behind her. The blinds were drawn, making the light low. Under the windows, out of view, the wall was lined with wooden crates about three feet long and two feet wide.
“This place is supposed to be empty,” she said.
“Yeah. Those look like shipping crates. I’d say somebody’s using this house for a storage depot.” He stepped around her and headed for the boxes.
With a kind of desperate speed, she lashed out a hand and grabbed his arm, her fingers digging through his sleeve and into his flesh. “No!”
“I want to find out what’s in there.”
Her answer was quick and sharp. “And I want to get the heck out of here before Bill Bauder comes over the hill and starts questioning us again.”
“You think that’s going to happen?”
“With our luck, yes.”
Her logic wasn’t perfect, yet he could identify with the sentiment, since they were probably experiencing the same tingling feelings at the back of their necks. They’d been caught once. He didn’t want another confrontation. And he certainly didn’t want her involved again. Maybe the best compromise would be to clear out now, then come back on his own after dark.
“Okay. Give me a minute.”
“For what?”
“At least let me look for shipping labels.”
She nodded, but he could feel the tension radiating off of her as he walked to the nearest boxes, took a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his hand before turning the crate. As far as he could see, there was nothing to identify the sender or the receiver or the contents.
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“Maybe this is where the church auxiliary stores the Christmas decorations.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Please, I want to leave.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
“For not being a bullheaded macho male?”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll do you one better,” he answered, using the handkerchief to wipe the edge of the door where she’d touched it.
“Isn’t that kind of extreme?”
“As long as we’re being safe, why not go all the way? I don’t want to leave any evidence that we were here.” After she relocked the door, he wiped the doorknob and the outside edge as well.
They got back in the car, and Mark started down the lane. They had reached the highway and turned onto the blacktop, when a police cruiser came speeding in the other direction and took the turnoff at a rapid clip.
Both of them saw who was behind the wheel. Dean Hammer.
Mark swore under his breath. If Molly hadn’t insisted that they leave the place, they’d be standing there flat-footed right now.
“You have excellent instincts,” he said.
“I didn’t know how excellent.”
“This property was listed
for rent?” he asked.
“Well…”
“Well, what?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be available yet. But the key was in the office.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He countered with another question, watching her carefully. “What do you think is going on?” If she’d been involved in some shady business in Perry’s Cove, she would never have taken him to that house. Would she?
She sighed and answered his spoken question. “I wish I knew.”
He nodded, thinking that either the sheriff was involved or he was hot on the trail of the bad guys.
“Do you want to look at any more property?” she asked, her voice not quite steady.
“I think I’ve had enough excitement for today.”
She nodded, and he headed back to the real estate office. But when she got out to start her car, the engine wouldn’t turn over.
He climbed out of his own vehicle and walked to hers.
“Your car was fine when you left it?” he asked.
“As far as I know. I’m not great with internal combustion engines.”
“Do you want me to have a look under the hood?”
“I’d be grateful.” She reached down and popped the latch, and he opened the hood and propped it up.
Through the window, he saw someone watching them. But he couldn’t tell who it was, and he lost interest in the office interior when a police car rolled into the parking lot. Dean Hammer was inside. Apparently he’d left the house with the boxes almost immediately, maybe because he’d found nobody there. He pulled up beside them and rolled down his window.
“You folks having some problems?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mark answered as he and the sheriff eyed each other.
Hammer opened his door and slowly climbed out of the cruiser. As he ambled over toward Mark, he said, “Were you looking at more rental property?”
“Yes.”
“You visit the Thompson house?”
“Yes,” Mark answered before Molly could say anything. “Unfortunately, the key we had didn’t fit the door.”
Hammer stared at them as if he expected a confession that they’d been using the house to store illegal goods.
When neither of them accommodated him, the sheriff got back into his cruiser. Mark held his breath, silently wishing that the man would drive away. Instead, he pulled into a parking space, then went into the real estate office.
“What’s he doing here?” Molly whispered.
“Hell if I know. But I’d like to leave before he comes back out.”
“I’m with you. I can have a mechanic take a look at my car later.”
Mark closed the hood of Molly’s car. She got out and came over to his vehicle, then looked back toward the office.
“Would you give me a ride home?” she asked.
“Sure,” he answered, keeping his voice neutral. He understood why she’d decided not to go inside. He hadn’t liked meeting up with Hammer, either, although the encounter had been a bit more pleasant than his run-in with Daniels. Still, Molly’s engine trouble and the sheriff had given him an opportunity he’d been wishing for. He’d wanted to see her home, but he hadn’t thought it appropriate to invite himself over.
She directed him back toward Perry’s Cove. He remembered that she and Phil had lived in one of the nicer sections of town, but apparently she’d moved to a cheaper area.
They pulled up in front of a small house that wasn’t exactly falling apart, but he saw that the exterior needed a fresh coat of paint.
He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, and they sat for a moment.
“I’d like to invite you in for lunch,” she finally said.
“I’d like that.”
“If we can avoid getting into another clinch.”
“That’s pretty direct.”
“I think I have to be, after what happened a while ago.”
“All right.”
“You’re agreeing to the ground rules?” she asked.
“Yeah. At least I know you trust me to come inside.”
She gave him a tight nod and exited the car, and he knew he was treading on thin ice. She might trust him, but he didn’t know if he could trust himself. Still, instead of saying he’d changed his mind, he followed her to the side door because he was hungry for information about her.
They stepped into a small kitchen that was outdated but spotless. It adjoined a dining room furnished with only an old oak table and four chairs and a Japanese sideboard.
He stood there, shocked in some basic way that he could hardly articulate. One thing he’d remembered was the cozy, comfortable home she’d created. Not only had she moved out of her old house, but she’d apparently been forced to strip her surroundings to the bone.
He gestured toward the sideboard. “That’s nineteenth-century, right?”
“How do you know?”
“The quality of the lacquer. The inlay work.”
“You know antiques?”
“Some,” he allowed.
“How?”
“My parents were in the business.”
“So, are you a collector?”
“When I was a kid, I collected old marbles and baseball cards.”
Her face took on a wistful expression. “For me, it was Sandra Sue dolls. I liked them better than Barbie. Then I grew up and graduated to Queen Anne furniture.”
“Yeah, I always liked that period. I—”
He had started to say that he and Veronica had had a Queen Anne bedroom, then thought better of it. He’d been enjoying the talk, actually. It was a far cry from what passed for jail-yard conversation.
Molly had turned toward him as though she was waiting for him to say something more about himself. He ached to fill in the blanks, or to refer to one of the talks they’d had long ago in his previous life as Mike Randall. He remembered them all—the words and the emotions.
At one of the antique dealers’ parties, they’d discussed her ideas for remodeling her house. She’d wanted a bay window for plants, and he’d worked up an estimate for her. But then she’d told him Phil had put a hold on the project.
Another time, when he’d stopped by to see Veronica at the Treasure Hunt Pavillion, she’d been busy with a customer, and he and Molly had gone out to lunch. He’d felt like a teenager on a date.
Now the need to tell her that and everything else was like floodwater building up behind a dam. The impulse didn’t simply come from guilt. It came from a conviction that he and this woman had traveled over important common ground—and all he needed to do was reach for her hand and continue the journey.
It was so tempting that his insides ached. But he told himself the impulse to open up to her was a trap. He couldn’t allow himself that luxury. He had come to Perry’s Cove with an important mission and he couldn’t jeopardize it because Molly Dumont had suddenly become more important than revenge.
She stood there watching him, and he was glad that he’d learned to keep his expression calm even when his insides were churning.
The moment stretched, and when he didn’t speak, she filled the silence. “Before Phil died, I had a lot of good pieces. I had to sell most of them to pay off our debts. I managed to hang on to a few favorites. Unfortunately, I’ve had to stick things where they don’t really match.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re coping better than most people could.”
“Don’t make me out as brave or noble. I’ve just done what I had to do to survive.”
She walked into the kitchen, and he watched her open the refrigerator. Fate had dealt her a pretty raw hand, and she was playing it the best she could. He had no right to come into her life making demands. He should back right out the door, he thought, but he stayed rooted to the spot.
“Do you like Greek salad?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She searched around the refrigerator and the cupboards. “I like to add protein, but i
t looks like the only thing I have is canned salmon. Does that work for you?”
“Sure,” he answered. He’d never had Greek salad with salmon, but he was willing to try it. Hell, he was willing to try anything if it kept him close to her. Even if he’d promised not to start anything. “What can I help you do?” he asked, because he thought he’d be better off keeping busy.
“You cook?”
“When I have to.”
She handed him a red onion and a knife. “Slice this.”
His hands worked, but he was aware of her every movement as she quickly put together the simple meal. After a while, he realized she’d spoken to him.
“Would you like iced tea with lunch?”
“Fine.”
She brought the pitcher of tea from the refrigerator while he carried the cutlery to the table.
She was coming into the dining room with two bowls of salad as he turned back to the kitchen, and they brushed against each other. Both of them drew in a quick breath.
“Sorry,” they both said.
“You’re sure you want me here?” he asked.
“Sit down and eat your lunch.”
He sat and forked up some salad. It was good, better than he had expected.
For several minutes, they each concentrated on the food. The sound of his stirring sugar into his iced tea seemed to reverberate through the room.
It flashed through his mind to admit that he’d come to Perry’s Cove to investigate the Mike Randall case. But then what? She’d want more information, and all he could give her was half truths or outright lies.
He sighed. “I know you want to know all about me. But I can’t tell you. I also know that makes it difficult for the two of us to have a relationship.”
“Not difficult. Impossible.”
He had vowed not to press her, but he found himself saying, “When I hold you in my arms, doesn’t it feel right?”
“It feels like I’m betraying myself. I can’t have a relationship in a vacuum.”
“Some people can. They meet on a cruise ship and make love because that’s what they both want to do.”
He watched her tongue flick over her bottom lip. “We’re not on a cruise ship, we’re in the town where I live.”