Eternally Yours (12 page)

“Okay, but don’t let go of me.” She clutched at his sides. “I’ll bend down with you.”

“That doesn’t sound easy to do.”

A glint of lightning streaked through the opening to the studio. He glimpsed her face, completely white in the thin, cold light. The flash extinguished with a clap of thunder. He couldn’t see her anymore, but her expression of fright stayed sharp in his mind.

“That wasn’t as close as the last one,” he said with more certainty than he felt. “Take my hand so I can reach the floor.”

Holding him around the waist with one arm, she used the other hand to feel her way down his shoulder and arm. When she slipped her fingers into his, they felt slim and cool. She clutched his hand tightly as if to make sure he couldn’t get away. Only then did she let go of his waist.

As she moved apart from him, cool air fanned his chest. With the dark concealing her, he felt hyper-aware of the rift between them. Grasping her hand, he asked, “Can you take the letter from me? I don’t want to crush it by stuffing it into a pocket.”

Her body went still. After a pause she said, “Just throw it back on the floor.”

“I’d really like to look at it again.”

“Then put it in your pocket. I don’t want to take it.”

He couldn’t really blame her for her uneasiness. The note had been disturbing, and the way the storm had surged as he’d finished reading added drama to the words. With lightning crashing around them and that nasty cold draft, who wouldn’t have been freaked out?

Refolding the paper as carefully as possible with one hand, he slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. He squatted and fumbled around the dusty floor boards. His hand struck something warm and soft--alive!

“Oh!” Lara yanked her bare foot out from under his hold.

“Oops.” A short laugh slipped out of him. If she weren’t so frightened, the scene really would have been comical.

Another bolt of lightning gave him a glimpse of the flashlight. As darkness flooded the floor again, he lunged for the grip, inadvertently pulling on her arm.

“Ow!” Regardless of her apparent pain, she kept a firm hold on his fingers.

His free hand landed on the flashlight. “I’ve got it. Sorry about that.”

“Never mind. Just turn on the light.”

He flicked on the switch and pointed the beam toward the couch stuffed into the exit. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. You go first.”

“Okay, but whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand.” She clambered over the side of the couch, somewhat awkwardly with only one arm free to support herself. Kneeling on the cushions, she waited for him to join her, unable to move farther without letting go.

With her clutching his one hand and the flashlight in his other, he wasn’t sure he could make it out of the room at all. After studying the problem for a moment he sat on the arm of the couch, swinging one leg over, then the other.

A crack of thunder made Lara jump and yank on him unexpectedly. He lost his balance and slid down the back cushions, flailing to try to grab the bookcase. The flashlight fell out of his hand and he dropped on top of her.

Luckily the light landed beside them on the couch, still on.

“Are you all right?” he asked. They had settled into a surprisingly cozy position, side by side along the length of the cushions. Her body felt warm and slender against his. He felt an urge to pull her into his arms--ridiculous, when she was so wrong for him. He’d been stupid enough to kiss her tonight; he wouldn’t repeat the mistake.

“Yeah.” Only inches away from him, she looked into his eyes. “Sorry for jumping like that. The lightning scared me.”

Their nearness felt inescapably intimate. He glanced at her lips, longing to taste them again, but he resisted. Lara and he could never make a relationship work. Their outlooks clashed on too many important issues.

He forced himself to look into her eyes. “That’s understandable.”

His words sounded formal and detached to his own ears. She watched him, as if she expected something more. He felt sure she could tell he wanted her, the same way he knew she returned the feeling. But to give into temptation would only make it more difficult to part later--something they’d inevitably have to do.

Cutting off their shared stare, he clenched his jaw and reached for the flashlight. He never should have kissed her. The kiss had already complicated things between them. At the moment he’d succumbed to the craving hoping to get it out of his system--but having a taste of her mouth had only made him want her more.

“Ouch. There’s a spring digging into my hip.” She shifted slightly and her pelvis pressed into him. His groin tightened in an instant.

He jerked away and pulled himself up on his knees, hoping he’d moved before she had time to notice his arousal. Holding

onto the back of the couch so only the lower half of their legs touched, he said, “Let’s move into the studio.”

“I thought
I
was the timid one,” she muttered. She untangled her legs from his and pulled away. Snatching the flashlight from him, she climbed over the far end of the couch. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere. I’ll go look for them.”

She vanished around the bookcase, taking the light with her.

Left alone in the dark, he dropped back down on the cushions. If her views weren’t so different from his, he knew he would have fallen for her hard and fast. What was wrong with him that he always seemed to want the exact woman he shouldn’t? His attraction to Lara was the strongest he’d felt in as long as he could remember. Even the awareness of lying on her couch made him want to linger there.

He spread his arm out over the spot she’d vacated. The cushions still felt warm from her body. As he rolled onto her side, a flash of lightning gave him a glimpse into the secret room. From his position he could see only half of the fireplace, but the flickering conjured up images of how the hearth would have looked lit up with flames.

The glare died, but in his mind he pictured the room as it once may have been--cozy, intimate, the perfect spot for trysting lovers. He wondered if “M” and “G” had used it for that purpose. Maybe that was why “M” had chosen to leave the letter there.

The letter. He patted his back pocket and felt the edge of the paper sticking out. Funny...he’d almost expected it to have disappeared, the whole experience to have been imagined.

“Mark?” Lara’s voice sounded shaky and far away.

As he looked back into the studio, a flickering light appeared in the library.

“Just a second.” He scrambled to turn around and climb over the arm of the couch. When he stepped past the bookcase, he saw her bending over the end table, lighting the last of three fat candles that sat on the scratched surface. “What is it?”

“I was wondering what happened to you.” Waving out her match, she straightened up and looked at him. “What were you doing back there?”

The candlelight restored the natural warmth of her face. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes glittered. Golden flecks lit up her hair and changing shadows played on her lips, detailing their fullness. Her mouth had felt lush against his when he’d kissed her...without considering the consequences.

He cleared his throat. “I remembered the letter and was checking to make sure I still had it in my pocket.”

“Well, I’d rather you leave it there for now.” She picked up one of the candles and stepped forward. “Why don’t we go into the parlor? I want to put some distance between the secret room and us.”

“I really should get home.”

“Now?”

The stunned look on her face pierced him with guilt, but he’d already done one thing he regretted tonight and didn’t want to give himself the chance to make things worse. Listening to the pattering on the windows, he said, “The storm seems to be dying down.”

“Don’t go yet.” She tilted her head to one side. “Please, Mark. I don’t want to be here alone.”

“Really? I got the impression you usually guard your independence pretty closely.” He knew that under the circumstances his statement was absurd--more evidence of how idiotic he could be around her.

“Not after an experience like that.” She looked away from him, gazing into the candle she held.

Watching her, he couldn’t seem to look away. The candlelight drew long shadows out from her lashes. Even with such dramatic shading, her nose looked perky and perfect. He could have spent the whole night just staring at her--or better yet, making love to her on the big red couch.

“I don’t know if I can stand being alone right now.” She twisted her mouth. The rain beat out a tranquil rhythm in the stillness. “‘Solitude may be a tranquil state, But eventually ‘tis one’s eternal fate...’“

The words brought goose bumps to his skin. “What is that?”

“Oh.” She blinked and looked up to meet his gaze. “Something your ancestor wrote.”

“Old Geoff wrote that?” The information astonished him. “I didn’t know he ever reflected on serious subjects. In the poems I’ve read, he’s usually trying to talk some poor woman into sleeping with him.”

Two dimples crinkled her cheeks. “He was in this case, too.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “It figures.”

She leaned over the table and picked up a second candle. Carrying one in each hand, she started toward the front of the house. “Your ancestor may have had a penchant for seduction, but there are a lot of deeper sentiments woven into his poetry, too.”

“Hmm.” Mark suspected she had read too much into the old boy’s verses, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. He grabbed the last candle and followed her to the parlor. “I’ll have to reread some of his poems. Maybe you can recommend a few of the better ones.”

“I’d be happy to.” In the large, sparsely furnished room her voice sounded hollow. Stooping next to the fireplace, she set one candle on each side of the hearth. As she knelt to arrange a pile of logs already stacked on the irons, she asked without looking up, “Does this mean you’ll stay a little longer?”

He wanted to. The more time he spent with her, the more his curiosity about her grew. She was such a paradox: a woman who refused to acknowledge any concerns for her house that didn’t fit in with her plans, yet could also give life to a piece of canvas with a paintbrush--and lend meaning to nonsensical poetry with the earnestness of her tone. He had to know more about her, to find out who she really was.

“I guess I don’t have to leave right away. Let me make sure you get a good fire going.”

“Thank you.” She glanced up at him with a somber expression. Grabbing a section of newspaper from a holder near the hearth, she began crumpling up pages and stuffing them under the wood. “While I’m doing this, would you mind bringing in some cushions from the couch in the studio? We’ll need something to sit on.”

“No problem.” He took his candle to the other room and set it back down on the end table.

The couch held six oversized cushions. When he returned with two of them, Lara was still working on lighting the fire. Since he had time to spare, he went back to the studio and got the rest.

Spread out on the floor and bathed in firelight, the makeshift seating looked like something out of a love den. With the idea of making love to her on the couch still fresh in his mind, he wondered if subconscious desires had led him to bring in all those pillows. In any case, he couldn’t very well take some of them back now. He sat on the edge of one, trying to look casual but feeling totally awkward.

When the fire began to catch, Lara moved back onto the cushions and sat cross-legged. She didn’t give the seating arrangements or him a second glance. Staring into the flames, she asked, “So...do you think that secret room is haunted?”

The question surprised him--so far separated from his own train of thought. Though the storm and the darkness had unnerved him at the time, he didn’t believe in ghosts. “Of course not.”

“Not even with the cold drafts and the lightning and--” She stopped and shook her head, still not meeting his gaze.

“And what?” He wondered if she’d heard the whispery hiss that had sounded like a man’s voice. Of course, the noise could easily be attributed to the wind. Not wanting to put ideas in her head, he didn’t mention it.

“Never mind.” She got up and went to the table. Lifting the pitcher she kept there, she asked, “Do you want some water? I know something stronger would be better right now, but last night before I went to bed I drank the only wine I had in the house.”

“Water will be fine.” As she set out two plastic cups and poured he said, “You know, lightning and cold drafts aren’t restricted to this house. I’m sure everyone in the area experienced both during that storm.”

She raised an eyebrow and handed him one of the cups. Sitting down beside him, she took a sip of hers but didn’t respond.

Searching for another topic of conversation, he looked around the room. Though the space held no real furniture, the walls all displayed works of art. When he’d been inspecting the architecture, he hadn’t paid attention to them, but now he wondered if Lara had done the paintings herself.

A large canvas above the mantel caught his eye. The work, classic in style, depicted a bedroom scene. The decor of the room and the clothing lying around appeared to be Victorian. A woman lolled on a huge canopied bed, her nude body freed of the sheets down to her hips. Near the foot of the bed, a nude man stood facing her, his well-sculpted buttocks exposed to the onlooker. Both of them had an air of relaxed contentment. He got the sense they had just made love.

“Did you do that?” He gestured toward the painting, hoping the question wasn’t stupid.

“Yeah.” She sounded shy--unusual for her.

“Wow.” Knowing the artist personally made the work even more intriguing. “The scene is so...serene. The muted colors, the easy poses, the deep shadows in the folds of the bedclothes. You’ve created such an air of contentment and warmth that I wish I could walk into the painting.” Embarrassed by what his words seemed to imply, he tried to cover it up. “I didn’t realize you had any interest in the Victorian period.”

She gave him a small smile and picked up the poker, leaning forward to play with the fire. “Actually, that painting was inspired by a poem Geoffrey Vereker wrote.”