Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (31 page)

His mouth hardened into a tight line. Was he insane? No woman deserved such thoughts, especially not one who bore the blood of the woman who had betrayed him, no matter how many generations removed she might be.

He stepped back, his eyes like empty pools in his stony face.

"You are not welcome here, Kathryn."

"Don't be silly. This is my house."

"If you are wise, you will go back where you belong."

Kathryn's head lifted. "Don't threaten me, Matthew."

"I offer good advice. I urge you to take it."

What was the use in wasting sympathy on him? He was as arrogant, as impossible, as ever. Kathryn's eyes, so filled with compassion moments before, turned cool.

"I'll leave Charon's Crossing when I'm good and ready, and not a moment sooner."

Matthew glared at her and Kathryn glared back. She knew how he reacted when his authority was challenged.

A cloud, as dark and stormy as the look on his face, swept across the moon, plunging the sea and the land into darkness.

Kathryn held her ground.

Was he going to turn into a spinning whirlpool of silver light and try to scare her silly again? Well, it wasn't going to work. She'd seen his gaudy Las Vegas act one time too many to be impressed.

But when the moon broke free of its clouded cage, Kathryn found herself alone on the beach.

Matthew was gone.

Chapter 13

Matthew paced the length of the attic. Then he turned and paced the width.

He knew the damned room's dimensions by heart. It was still twenty feet wide by forty feet long... and he was still angry as hell.

Why didn't Kathryn leave Charon's Crossing?

He had told her to go and she should have done it by now.

She didn't belong here. The mansion was his by default... his, and the Dark Presence that was Waring were the only creatures suited to this purgatory.

Surely, she knew that.

"Damn," he said, slamming his fist against the wall without breaking stride.

Sweet Jesus, he hated this house, hated it almost as much as he hated himself.

What in hell was wrong with him? He hadn't been a man given to self-pity nor to regret and he'd be damned if he wanted to change that, now that he was a ghost, but self-pity and regret were what he seemed to be wallowing in lately.

And in weak-kneed, nonsensical shilly-shallying. Look at what he'd done last night, for God's sake.

First, he'd spilled his guts to Kathryn like some lily-livered jackass. Then he'd barked out a villainous warning to her about leaving Charon's Crossing and done one of the disappearing acts that surely would have raised the hair on the nape of his neck if he'd been the mortal and not the ghost.

And then he'd stood around on the beach in the dark, to make sure she got up that damned cliff in one piece. Not that she'd needed his help. She was as capable of handling herself as any man and besides, the moon had made things bright as day.

And why had he done it? What was Kathryn to him?

Nothing but a damned reminder of everything he had lost.

Before she had invaded this place, he had been alone in the darkness with only his bitterness and his pain as companions. There'd been no past, no present, no future, no hope.

Now, because of her unwanted intrusion, he'd begun to remember things, not just the treacherous perfidy of a woman he'd thought he'd loved, of innocent lives sacrificed for his own stinking ego, but things that brought just as much pain and even more anguish.

He remembered what life and the sound of laughter could be outside this place. He remembered the feel of a ship's deck creaking beneath his feet and the sweetness of the wind in his face as he looked out over a limitless sea from the masthead of a sailing ship. He remembered the crisp bite of snow and the uneasy stench of the Boston docks.

But God, most of all he remembered what it meant to want a woman with such fierce need that a fire seemed to burn in his belly each time he was near her.

No. Not just a woman. It was Kathryn he wanted, Kathryn he burned for.

"Damn," he snarled again, and he kicked out, hard at the rocker.

Muttering under his breath, he slammed down the trunk lid and sat down on top of it, his hands fisted on his thighs, his mouth grim with self-contempt.

Of course, he wanted her, he thought cruelly. She had breasts and the proper equipment between her legs. What more did she need to satisfy him? He wasn't going to be particular, not after almost two centimes of celibacy.

The realization steadied his nerves, but not for long.

"Hell," he said, and shot to his feet.

Something was making an incredible racket outside. Glowering, he threw open the shutters and peered out.

Now what?

One of those ridiculous horseless carriages was coming up the drive, leaving noise and black smoke in its wake. The thing shuddered to a halt and the rear door swung open. A man stepped out, carrying a small valise. He was tall and dark-haired. Though he was lean, there was a look of softness about him.

Matthew's frown deepened.

Who was this?

The stranger handed some notes to the driver. The carriage pulled away and, as it did, the man turned and looked up at the house.

Matthew heard the front door slap open. Kathryn came flying down the steps. The man put down his valise, held out his arms, and she flung herself into them.

The muscle in Matthew's jaw contracted. First pirates, then this fop. Kathryn did not seem to be a woman of discriminating taste when it came to men.

The embrace seemed to go on for a long time. Kathryn did nothing to shorten it, nor to prevent the stranger's passionate kiss. God, but it was disgraceful to watch, especially since she was dressed in one of her usual immodest outfits. Surely, the man who held her would feel each soft, curving inch of her body.

At last, she placed her palms flat against the man's chest and leaned back in his arms, her lovely face bright with laughter as the man spoke to her.

She had never laughed that way for him, Matthew thought, his fists clenching.

Kathryn said something in return and the man grinned. He picked up his valise and she looped her arm through his and drew him up the steps and into the house.

Matthew turned his back to the window and folded his arms. From the looks of things, the visitor intended to stay for a while. Good. If Kathryn were kept busy, she'd have no time to get underfoot as she had done all this past week.

"Fine," Matthew said.

He upended the rocker and sat down.

He tapped his fingers against the rocker's arms.

He counted to ten.

Then he mouthed an oath that he'd given up using once he'd left the fo'c'sle and moved aft. He shot to his feet and marched to the attic door.

* * *

The slam of the attic door echoed like gunfire through the old house.

"What was that?" Jason said, as Kathryn tugged him into the foyer.

Kathryn smiled brightly. "You know how these old houses are," she said, mentally crossing her fingers. "Things slam and bump around all the time."

"Yeah," Jason said, looking doubtful.

Kathryn closed the front door behind them. "What a wonderful surprise," she said happily. Jason put down his overnight bag and she took both his hands in hers. "I didn't expect you until tomorrow."

He grinned. "I know."

"Why didn't you call? I'd have met you at the airport."

"It wouldn't have been a surprise then, would it?" His hands tightened on hers. "Are you really glad to see me?"

Was she glad to see him? Kathryn laughed. Was she glad to be reminded of reality and of a place where the most frightening thing you could bump into in your apartment was a cockroach searching for dinner in the kitchen?

She sighed and went into Jason's arms again. It seemed a million years and another lifetime since she'd talked with him on the phone and been less than pleased when he'd said he'd fly down for the weekend.

"You'll never know how glad," she said.

"That's great."

Jason shut his eyes with relief and hugged Kathryn to him. All the way to Elizabeth Island, he'd worried about the kind of greeting she'd give him. It had taken endless juggling to rearrange his schedule and change his ticket at the last minute, and the flight to the island itself had almost paralyzed him with terror, but now he knew it had been worth it Smiling, he clasped her shoulders, held her at arm's length and looked at her.

"What?" she said, with a little laugh.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart."

That was an understatement. Her creamy skin had turned the color of the palest toast, her dark hair was loose the way he liked it but the way she hardly ever wore it, and her outfit—a pair of frayed denim shorts topped with a Museum of Modern Art T-shirt-—made his body hunger for hers.

"Hell," he said gruffly, "I'd almost forgotten how beautiful you are."

She colored prettily. "I'm a mess. If I'd known you were coming..."

"Kathryn." Jason drew her into his arms again. "I missed you terribly."

"I missed you, too," she said automatically, ignoring the twinge of guilt she felt at the words. The truth was that she hadn't missed him at all. She'd hardly thought of him during the past few days.

But now that he was here, she was glad. Jason was steadfast and real. A couple of days with him would go a long way towards bringing her back to reality, despite the best efforts of a ghost with a surly attitude.

Should she tell Jason about Matthew? Heaven knew she wanted to. The question was how to do it without sounding like a candidate for the funny farm.

"Jason?"

"Mmm?" he said, nuzzling the place where her throat joined her shoulder.

"Jason, there's something you should know about Charon's Crossing."

"Tell me later," he murmured, gathering her closer.

Kathryn put her hands against his chest in gentle resistance.

"No," she said. "No, I really need to tell you now. You probably won't believe me at first, but—"

"You're right, Kathryn. He won't believe you, so why waste your breath?"

Kathryn almost jumped out of her skin. Matthew was standing less than ten feet behind Jason, leaning back against the banister of the staircase, arms folded and feet crossed casually at the ankles.

"Are you crazy?" she hissed. "Get out of here!"

Jason drew back in bewilderment. "But you just said you were glad to see me."

Kathryn's gaze shot to his. "I am," she said quickly. "Very glad."

"Then, why did you say—"

"I wasn't talking to you!"

"You weren't?"

"No. Of course not. I was talking to—"

"He can't see me, remember?" Matthew said lazily.

Kathryn ignored him. "I wanted to break the news slowly, Jason, so that it wouldn't come as a shock..."

"Are you going to tell him about me?"

"...so that it wouldn't come as a shock," she said hurriedly, "but—"

"How generous," Matthew said pleasantly. He leaned away from the banister and strolled to where Kathryn and Jason stood, frowning as he peered into Jason's face. "Though I suppose it is wise to be solicitous of a man who looks like a lump of dough. You wouldn't want to put too much of a strain on his heart."

"Shut up," Kathryn said furiously.

Jason's eyebrows rose. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh, not you, Jason."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said, but I wasn't talking to you."

"Kathryn," Matthew said in the reasonable tone he might have used with a child or a puppy, "I think you really should reconsider. He's only going to think you're insane if you tell him about me. His sort will never understand things like me."

"You wish!"