True Bliss (13 page)

"I beg your pardon?"

"She . . . Oh, nothing. I guess I didn't close it properly when I got home."

Either there was something she wasn't telling him, something that had frightened her badly, or she needed psychiatric help. This wasn't the Chilly Winters of old.

Sebastian passed her and turned on the first light-switch he located. Lights glowed in amber-colored sconces on the log walls of a big room decorated in comfortably worn mountain-rustic.

He looked back at Bliss.

She hovered on the threshold, her chin thrust forward, and she peered into the room as if she expected something large and unpleasant to leap at her.

"Okay, that's enough pussy-footing around here." With his help, she entered the room more quickly than she might have chosen. When she bumped into him and rested her free hand on his chest, Sebastian applied a foot to the door and slammed it shut. "Spill it. What happened after you got in here? I drove around for, oh, no more than fifteen minutes before I knew I had to come back and make you talk to me."

"You didn't have to," she muttered, her eyes still roving rapidly over her surroundings. "I don't scare easily. I'm fine."

"So fine you leap out at innocent people and bloody their noses with sticks."

She looked at him fully then. The way her mouth fell slowly open brought him a measure of grim satisfaction. "Sebastian! Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, dear, you're bleeding."

"I already said I was."

"Come with me." She hauled him behind her up a flight of

stairs and into a long room that evidently served as her living quarters. Some sort of study, became a sitting area in the middle of the room, then, finally, a bedroom. Bliss marched him past the bed and into a bathroom with the same log walls as the rest of the building. "Sit on the toilet. No, sit on the edge of the bath. No, the toilet. It's safer."

"Safer?"

"You must be light-headed. I don't want you to fall in the tub."

"I'm not light-headed." But he sat on the toilet gratefully enough. "What did you hit me with?"

She held up a wooden-backed hair brush.

Sebastian squinted. "No. You hit me with something bigger than that."

"It was the best thing I could find." She sounded aggrieved.

Hzfelt aggrieved. "Thank God you didn't get your hands on a poker. Or a knife."

She took a washcloth from a drawer in a wicker chest and soaked it with cold water. "I heard something in the garden so I went out to check."

"You went out from where? The kitchen door's locked."

She dabbed at his nose. Sebastian winced and drew a hissing breath through his teeth.

"I was up here."

"Up here? And you picked up a hairbrush and ran outside and down to the garden. You didn't keep the doors shut and make a telephone call for some help?"

"No." Her hand hovered in midair. She leaned to look into the bedroom, then popped back into the bathroom again. "The lamp was already back on," she said vaguely, and slapped the cloth back on his nose.

"Ow!"

"Oh, Sebastian. You poor thing." Her touch grew gentle once more.

"You just said the lamp was on again."

"Forget it."

"You've suggested that already. I'm not forgetting a thing here tonight."

Bliss lifted his right hand and arranged his fingers on top of the washcloth. "Just keep it there. The bleeding's stopped. Cold is what it needs to keep the swelling down. Now I'm going to try to explain why I'm behaving like a madwoman."

"That would be a relief."

"And when I've finished, you'll be sure I am a madwoman."

He smiled slightly. "No wonder," he said.

She looked at him closely.

Her eyes were unforgettable. They also didn't do a great job in the practical applications department. "You aren't wearing your glasses. No wonder you're wandering around bashing people you mistake for murdering fiends on the rampage."

"Can you make it into the other room?" Her expression showed no amusement.

Sebastian got up. He didn't make an attempt to stop her from threading an arm around his waist and helping him to a comfortable chair near the middle of three French doors. He considered, and discarded the idea of tipping her onto his lap when he sat down.

She dropped to the floor and sat close to his feet.

He held the cloth over his nose, sank back, and closed his eyes. When she didn't attempt to say anything, he lifted his eyelids a fraction and looked down on her bowed head. "Ready to talk about it?"

"I don't know how to begin."

"Maybe the point when you suddenly ran away from me without any warning would be good."

"I was going to call and apologize for that."

"Great. Now you don't have to call. You can tell me in person."

Her face shot up. "I don't have to apologize. What I decide to do at any given time is my own business."

"Hey." He signaled for peace. "You were the one who said she wanted to say sorry. But forget it. Sorry isn't high on my list of necessities."

"I was spooked," she said. "I suddenly realized that what you were suggesting was out of the question. And I was embarrassed that I'd responded to you the way I did. Okay?"

"Only responded? As I remember, right before you led the retreat, you were leading the band."

Her eyes blazed. So did her face. "I've explained why I decided to stop what was happening."

"Fair enough." Not fair enough, but he'd return to the point after he'd got her to explain the rest of her behavior. "I've already told you I came back here because I couldn't let you go like that—not without trying to find out why. And you know why I went to the back of the lodge. Now it's your turn, Chill."

"No one calls me that anymore."

If he couldn't find a way to not only warm her up, but keep her warm, the nickname was going to become all too appropriate. "Why don't you tell me why you turned into a hairbrush-wielding dervish?"

"Either someone tried to scare me badly tonight, or there was a ghost hanging around in this room when I got home."

As casually as possible, Sebastian removed the cloth from his face. "I assume you're joking about the ghost. Do you mean someone was in the house waiting for you?"

She focused on him again, rose to her knees, and took his left hand in both of hers. "Your knuckles. Oh, my. Oh, darn it. I hit your knuckles, too, didn't I?"

He sighed and settled a brave expression on his battered face. "Don't give it another thought. It hardly hurts at all anymore."

"Good."

So much for masculine bravery bringing out the protective urges in women. "I'd better check this place out."

Bliss shook her head. "No need."

"You're probably right. But I ought to make sure."

"There's no one here anymore."

Sebastian considered her serious face before saying, "How can you be sure of that?"

"I just am. I'm used to being here on my own. If there was anyone here, I'd feel it."

"And you felt someone here earlier?"

"Yes. We don't have to talk about it anymore, do we?"

"Not if you don't want to."

She laced her hands in her lap. "I don't."

"This is an interesting room."

"My aunt died here."

He dropped the washcloth.

Bliss picked it up, folded it again, and replaced it on his nose. "Some years ago. My father's sister. She was a lot older than him and a bit strange, but we liked each other."

Sebastian glanced at the simple brass bed with its white chenille spread. "That's not the bed?"

Bliss looked at it, too, and frowned. "Oh, no. No, Auntie Blanche didn't die in that bed. I bought that one. Her bed used to be there." She pointed at the location of Sebastian's chair.

He overcame the urge to get up.

"When this was three bedrooms she slept in the middle one. Do you believe in ghosts?"

Sebastian smiled slightly. This girl—this woman of his had gone off on conversational tangents from the day they'd met. "No, my love, I don't believe in ghosts."

"Auntie Blanche used to ring the bell when she wanted something."

"Really?" Sebastian said. In this light, her hair was more red than brown. Her eyes were navy blue, and distant.

Bliss grinned, and was once again the seventeen-year-old he'd fallen in love with. "She was over eighty when she died," she said. "A demon, really. She liked being up here and making everyone come over and run around after her. I was the one who loved to come. It was better here than at home."

He met her eyes and she looked away. "When we were kids you made me want"—he leaned forward and offered her his hand—"you made me want to be the best I could be."

"I know."

They'd never needed to fill in all the blanks. So often they hadn't had to say a word to be understood. "Come on," he said, wiggling his fingers. "Hold my hand."

Bliss looked at it. "You did that in the cafeteria."

"That first day. Yes, I know. And you finally put your hand in mine."

She put her hand in his now and he closed his fingers around her slight palm and wrist.

"Think there's anyone watching?" He pulled her a little nearer. "To make sure I earn my bet?"

Bliss held her bottom lip in her teeth.

"Maybe Auntie Blanche?"

She tried, unsuccessfully, to pull her hand away. "You are dreadful, Sebastian. Always were. Always will be."

"Can't argue with that. At least, I was dreadful, but I'm not anymore. You live here alone?"

"Yes."

"I thought maybe the two blondes and the little boy shared the place with you."

"No. They use the bungalow that belonged to my grandparents. It's closer to the water."

"But you have tenants or something here."

"Not in the lodge. There are ten cabins on the property."

"Big place."

"Uh-huh. Unfortunately we're short of tenants at the moment, but we'll fill up again come fall. We always lose people in the summer."

"Has there been anyone special for you since? ..." He looked at the ceiling. "Sorry. One more thing I shouldn't have said."

"Do you care?"

Sebastian couldn't meet her eyes. "Yeah. I care a lot. I know I've got no right, but logic and feelings don't always have much to do with each other."

"They never have anything to do with each other."

He did look at her then, and at their joined hands. "We could

try starting from right now. This minute. Pretend we met for the first time tonight."

"No, we couldn't."

"No." But he felt a flicker of hope. "We can't because we've already shared so much. I'm glad we have. Not the bad stuff, but the best parts."

"Sometimes they were all I had."

Her words were a blow, and a caress. "I prayed I hadn't made it too hard on you, but I did, didn't I?" Sebastian asked.

Bliss scooted nearer. She settled her free hand on his knee and rested her cheek on top. "Not hard the way you mean. Sure it wasn't easy dealing with what some people said. But the hardest part was the way you . . . You just disappeared. One minute I was so happy I could hardly bear it. The next minute I was so broken up I thought I would die. And there was no one to ask. No one to ask what had happened. There were all the rumors, but nothing definite. I never met your folks, so I couldn't try to ask them. I didn't even know exactly where you lived and there wasn't anything in the phone book."

"My father didn't believe in listed telephone numbers. If someone ought to be able to reach you, they'd know your number because you gave it to them." He stroked her hair. Each time he raised his hand, soft strands clung to his skin—threads of red silk. "I want you, Bliss. I've never stopped wanting you."

"I'm not the girl you left behind."

Very carefully, he bent to kiss the back of her neck.

She buried her face against his thigh, rubbed the long line of muscle from his knee to his groin and back.

Sebastian was instantly hard. He held still.

"Why can't I resist you?" she asked.

"Because I'm a lucky bastard."

"Don't!" She raised her face to glare at him. "Why must you?—"

"Tell the truth?" He chuckled at her horrified expression. "See? I haven't really changed. I still can't help saying things just to shock you. Bliss, can I stay with you tonight?"

Her face grew even paler than usual, her eyes even bigger and darker.

"Just to make sure you're safe," he added hurriedly. "You go to bed. I'll sit here and keep watch."

An instant wash of pink covered her cheeks. "You mean you don't want to sleep with me?"

For a second Sebastian's mind went blank.

"Oh, darn," she said. "Why do I always make such a fool of myself? I'm fine, really I am. Thanks for being concerned, but I don't need you to stay."

"I want to sleep with you."

"Oh." The tip of her tongue curled upward over her top lip. A small but visible shudder shook her. "Oh, I see."

Geez, how had he managed to botch this so badly?

"You mean go to bed with me, right?"

"Well, yes. Yes, I want to go to bed with you." First prize in the romance stakes, Plato.

Bliss got awkwardly to her feet and stood in front of him. "I'm not really good at this."

Somewhere between asking to stay with her for the night—as if he wanted to borrow a quarter for a phone call—and pointing out, oh, so subtly, that, yes, he wanted to go to bed with her, this had not gone well.

She was frowning as if with deep concentration. "I'm not a complete novice. It's just that I've been pretty much tied up with making a go of this place in recent years. There hasn't been any time for—well, for the other."

"The other?"

The black dress might be loose, but the soft fabric settled intimately over her breasts. "You know. Men." Her bare feet were elegant, and her ankles.

"Men. Yes, of course." The fewer of those she'd had time for, the better. Not, of course, that he believed in double standards. "You've been busy, hm?" He braced an elbow on the arm of the chair.

"Very. I'm trying to make a go of it here without having to

ask my parents to release my trust fund. Daddy tied it up until I'm thirty-five. My parents still think I'm going through some sort of adolescent rebellion."