The House on Blackberry Hill: Jewell Cove #1 (Jewel Cove) (14 page)

“It’s so embarrassing,” Abby said, sighing.

“Embarrassing to be driving home with me?”

Her head snapped up. “Oh, no, of course not! You’re the catch of the town!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shit.”

He chuckled, uncomfortable with the words but enjoying how she seemed to lack the ability to self-edit after a few glasses of wine. It leveled the field somehow. “The catch of the town, huh? Says who?”

“Only everyone.” He could feel her gaze on him as he kept his on the road where it belonged. Who on earth was everyone, anyway?

“All I hear is Tom this and Tom that. If people find out you drove me home,” she continued, “I’ll be the envy of every woman in Jewell Cove. So that makes me wonder. Why
are
you still single, Tom?”

He swallowed. The wine had definitely loosened her reserve, hadn’t it? “Guess I’m picky who I spend my time with. And here we are.” Thank God.

He put the truck in park but Abby didn’t move. Was she waiting for him to open her door? He was about to say something when he saw the color of her cheeks. They had paled and her eyes looked enormous. She hadn’t seemed that drunk but you never could tell. “You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, I didn’t have
that
much. I just … I forgot to turn a light on. The house is so dark.”

He stared at the hulking figure of the house, felt that stomach-rippling sense of unease he’d felt in the basement kitchens the day they’d gone exploring. It had kind of freaked him out, actually, and for just a moment he’d wondered if the old stories about the house being haunted held a kernel of truth.

It was all nonsense, of course, and he hadn’t always felt it the past week when he’d been working around. But there were times when he’d felt … well, watched. And then he’d turn around and there’d be nothing.

The house really was intimidating, especially in the dark. It had to be odd, staying all alone in such a place. Everything echoed in the high ceilings and oversized rooms. “You want me to walk you to the door?”

Relief flooded her face. “Would you? I know it sounds silly…”

“Of course I will. Taxi service includes getting you to the door safe and sound.”

He shut off the engine and the sound of their doors slamming echoed through the stillness. Somewhere nearby peepers sent up a quiet song. In the silence their footsteps seemed overly loud as they crunched on the gravel of the driveway. They paused on the newly repaired veranda while Abby struggled to find the key to the front door in the dark. Finally she got it in the lock and the heavy door swung open.

The unsettling feeling struck Tom again, so he stepped inside and flicked on the light switch.

“That’s better,” he said.

“Much better,” she breathed, but he noticed she shivered a little.

Abby stepped forward and hung her purse on an ancient coat rack she had unearthed from somewhere. Tom couldn’t help but think that he should turn around and go right now. Instead he stood still, in the doorway of the great house, wondering what the hell he was doing.

“Can I ask you something?” She turned around and tilted her head as she asked the question.

“Sure.”

“Do you think there’s anything to the stories that this place is haunted?”

He shut the door as insects were starting to slip inside, lured by the glowing halo of the hall light. Interesting that she would ask just when he was thinking the same thing. “Do you?”

She smiled a little. “You answered my question with a question. Maybe you don’t want to reveal that you believe in ghosties? Probably not very manly.”

“Ghosties?” He shook his head. Maybe Abby was drunker than he thought.

“I heard stories when I first got here, that’s all.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No.”

“Well, then.” He rocked back on his heels. Truth was, when it came to things like that he didn’t know what to believe. He’d never seen an actual ghost, but there were times …

He clenched his teeth as he remembered. The day Erin had died he’d had the worst feeling. A pain in his chest he couldn’t explain that had gone as suddenly as it had come. Hours later Jess had come to tell him the news while Sarah and Meggie had gone to be with Josh in Hartford. Tom had been full of grief but not surprised. Somehow he’d known. How was that possible?

And that was way too much to spill to Abby Foster tonight.

“Whatever … whoever it is, it’s not angry at me. That’s just it, Tom.” She hugged her arms around herself. “Something was left unfinished here. I know it and it makes me uneasy sometimes.”

“What was left unfinished?”

“I don’t know. I think it has something to do with Edith, though. When I look up the stairs, it feels so heavy, so … I don’t know how to explain it. It’s going to sound crazy…”

He stepped forward, a bit relieved. It was no secret that Edith Foster had died after taking a fall down those stairs. “You do know Edith fell, right? I bet it’s just knowing how she died that makes them seem kind of…”

Her wide eyes met his, utterly earnest. “Sinister?”

He swallowed.

“What if she didn’t fall? What if she was pushed?”

“Oh, Abby…”

And yet there was that dark, heavy feeling again. God, she was putting ideas in
his
head now. This was what came from being brought up around a family of superstitious fishermen. He could tell himself it was utter nonsense until the cows came home. And there would still be a part of him that would believe.

“I felt it before I ever knew the story. That very first afternoon before you showed up. I got the oddest sensation when I stood at the bottom and looked up. Besides…”

She stopped, shook her head. “Never mind.”

He frowned. This was really bothering her. “No, what? Besides what?”

She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I’ve seen her, Tom. That day we were in the basement. I know it was her because she looked just like her picture in the dining room.”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he said gently, trying to put her off, freaked out a little bit because he actually believed her. He’d been just as glad to get out of the basement as she’d been; there’d been a cold, odd feeling to it that he couldn’t explain. “And you have an overactive imagination.”

“Maybe.” She put her hands together. “I thought maybe it’s because … because I’m lonely and this place is so empty. That I don’t have any family so I’m coming up with stuff in my head to make connections that aren’t there.”

Tom was on good terms with loneliness. He knew how to be a recluse with the best of them, but it didn’t usually involve conjuring up dead relatives. It was good Abby went to Jess’s tonight no matter what the outcome. “You just need to get out more,” he suggested.

Her gaze dropped. “I’m not really good at that. I’m sort of … introverted. I’m okay once I get somewhere but nervous about going in the first place. I fake it and smile a lot, but I don’t tend to open up easily.”

“You seem to be doing okay tonight,” he observed.

“That might be the wine talking.” Her smile was sideways, and he couldn’t help but smile back. She was probably right.

“So that’s what you got into.”

“Jess had a pinot noir that was really good. It was such a fun evening…” She laughed a little. “Next time I go to a class I’ll make sure I have the number for the cab before I leave.”

He nearly said not to worry, he could always come to get her, but bit his tongue. He really should go rather than stand here like an idiot. “You going to be okay now?”

She nodded. “I think so. It’s just the dark. The worst part is going up the stairs, knowing they’re dark at the top.”

“I can put in a three-way switch so you can turn the hall light on from the bottom and vice versa.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll get what I need from the hardware store and put it in right away. It won’t take long to do.” Not like there wasn’t already lots of work, but it was a small job. He could bump it up the priority list.

Silence fell between them, while something else seemed to fill the space that their words had occupied. Tom put his hands in his jeans pockets. “I should go…” And yet he made no move to leave.

She shook her head, making a wave of hair slide across her shoulder. “Yes, you have an early start tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” The word came out strangely husky, and his gaze fixated on the way a solitary curl kissed the hollow of her neck.

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

She ran her tongue over her lips. “You really have to stop looking at me like that now.”

“Like what?” How had she gotten so close to him? All he’d have to do is reach out and his hand would be on the soft curve of her waist. His gaze dropped to her lips, her lipstick long gone, but the natural color didn’t need it. They looked soft and pink and as he stared at them she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

She was nervous.

She was artless.

He took one step closer, so close he was enveloped in that citrusy-floral scent again, close enough he felt the silky whisper of her blouse against his fingers. When had he reached for her? When had she tilted her face up to his, her chest rising and falling as her breath quickened? Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time began to burn inside him. Not just curiosity. Not just desire. But satisfaction. A longing for it, a taste of it, as her pupils widened and the air around them stilled, waiting.

Abby Foster turned him on in a way he hadn’t been turned on in months. He didn’t want to dissect how long exactly. He wanted to be in the moment too badly, to stop thinking about everything that had gone wrong and simply feel what it was like to hold a woman again. A woman who had no knowledge of Erin or his past. Someone who took him at face value, rather than the way the women of Jewell Cove saw him. Pathetic and tragic, hung up on a dead woman …

He shoved the thought out of his brain as Abby’s top teeth released her lip, making the soft flesh slide into fullness once more. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he closed the gap between them, until their breath mingled and her lips were only a fraction of an inch away from his.

“Tom,” she whispered. He heard the tremor in it. It was as much a plea as a protest. He moved the final half-inch and touched his lips to hers.

Her mouth was slightly parted, soft and warm, with the tart bite of the wine still on her lips. He spread his hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer until their bodies brushed.

But it wasn’t until she sighed and melted against him that he realized he’d made a big miscalculation.

Abigail Foster was far more than he’d bargained for.

C
HAPTER
10

Abby’s body trembled as Tom stepped closer. She watched, fascinated, as his gaze dropped to her lips. Like a man who was about to kiss her. And God help her, every nerve ending in her body was electrified, watching his black eyes settle on her mouth with delicious intent.

“Tom,” she whispered, longing to taste him, terrified at the same time. The wine was making everything fuzzy, it had to be. But even Abby was aware of the wistful sound of his name as it brushed the quiet air in the hall.

And Tom answered by closing the final distance.

He touched her mouth with his—gently, softly, lightly exploring as his arm came around her and pulled her closer to his body. But then his mouth opened more, deepening the kiss, and she caught the flavor of him as their tongues touched. Nothing had ever felt this good. Tom was a world away from the pain of her past, a brand-new page and she could write upon it whatever she wanted.

And what she wanted was a sweet, hot, magnificent kiss. And she wanted it from Tom Arseneault.

So she slid her hand behind his head, into the soft, dark strands of his hair, and pulled him down to meet the kiss equally while her body pressed against the hard planes of his.

Every square inch where their bodies touched came alive and the kiss took on a life of its own, a hot, demanding energy that felt glorious. A moan of pleasure sounded in the back of her throat and Tom’s hands tightened in response. With pressure on her arms, he turned them around and she found herself against the wall, pinned between it and his gorgeous body. Willingly trapped as his hips pressed persuasively against her pelvis.

Any time now common sense would kick in, wouldn’t it? He was getting too close, too … She couldn’t think straight. As his jeans brushed against hers, all she could feel was need. Want.

His fingers ran up her arm, twisting in the broad strap of her blouse, shifting it off her shoulder to reveal the skin beneath. She should stop him. Stop this before it went too far, but it felt too good, was too unexpected to say good-bye to it yet. But it wasn’t until that same hand grazed her ribs and slid up over the hard, pebbled tip of her breast that she caught her breath and felt the electric tingle of desire dart to her core, like a thread pulled tight.

“Oh, Tom,” she whispered, tilting her head back in surrender as he kissed her neck. “Please don’t stop.”

He hesitated, his hand stilling on the side of her breast, and the thread of passion cooled, shifting into awkwardness.

She should have kept her mouth shut. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She should never have let herself get carried away. Never said his name. His fingers pushed the straps of her blouse back up over her shoulders and she no longer felt his lips on her skin. She closed her eyes, embarrassed by how quickly she’d lost control. She must have sounded so needy, sighing his name like that. Probably because she was.

“I should go,” he said, taking a step back, his voice definitively cooler. “I should never have done that. I work for you.”

It was a dumb excuse without an ounce of truth in it. She wasn’t really his boss, after all. Her common sense hadn’t intruded, but his clearly had.

The alcohol-fueled fuzziness in her brain was long gone. She couldn’t blame this on the wine or anything else. What she could do, though, was try to salvage a little of her pride.

“I shouldn’t have, either,” she murmured, straightening her blouse and trying desperately to school her features. She’d never had much of a poker face. “I guess the pinot was better than I thought.”