When Gabe came down the stairs, Cara was standing in the entryway. She normally dressed casually, in jeans and sweaters or long skirts, but today she had on a teal business suit that made her green eyes sparkle, and he realized she’d come here straight from her board meeting with the foundation.
She had a coffeemaker in one hand and a box of doughnuts in the other.
“My kind of woman.” Gabe grinned and reached for the doughnut box. “Too bad you’re my sister.”
She tightened her hold on the box. “I’ve said that countless times myself. Keep out of this box until the coffee’s made.”
His arms loaded with bags of groceries, Ian pushed the door open with his shoulder and stood beside his wife. At six-four, Ian stood a good eight inches taller than Cara. His hair was dark, hers blond. They looked good together, Gabe thought, though the first time he’d met Ian he’d wanted to punch the guy’s lights out for sleeping with his baby sister. Never mind she’d been twenty-six at the time and living on her own—she was still his baby sister. As far as he was concerned, she would always be his baby sister.
“She slapped my hand all the way from Philly,” Ian said sourly. “Wouldn’t even let me have a nibble.”
Cara looked at her husband. “We got the doughnuts in Bloomfield, not Philly.”
He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Who’s talking about doughnuts?”
“Men.” Cara rolled her eyes. “Food and sex. Is there nothing else?”
Ian and Gabe looked at each other blankly, then Gabe said, “The Cards are playing the Expos tonight. Reese has a pool going. You in?”
Ian nodded. “Ten bucks.”
Shaking her head, Cara shoved the coffeepot at Gabe. “Make yourself useful. Where’s Melanie and Kevin?”
“We’re right here.”
All three heads turned at the sound of Melanie’s voice. She stood in the dining room, with Kevin in her arms.
“Hey, big guy.” Cara smiled at Kevin. “I sure hope you like chocolate doughnuts with lots of colored sprinkles.”
Kevin’s eyes lit up.
“This is my husband, Ian.” Cara slipped a hand through his arm. “Ian, this is Melanie and Kevin.”
Melanie smiled stiffly.
She looked like she wanted to bolt, Gabe thought irritably. And since he’d overheard most of her phone call from the vent in the upstairs bathroom, he had a pretty good idea of where it was she was so damn anxious to get to.
She might not have a husband, but it certainly appeared that she had a boyfriend. One that she didn’t want anyone to know about. Gabe had heard bits and pieces of her conversation, especially the “I love you” and “I never thought they would find out” parts.
A married man, he thought grimly. That would explain her need for secrecy.
And for the hundredth time that morning alone, he reminded himself that it was none of his damn business. The woman could do whatever she damn well pleased. It was no skin off his nose. None at all.
Gabe moved toward Melanie, but kept his eyes on Kevin. “We don’t get doughnuts until the coffee is made. You wanna help?”
Kevin stuck his finger into his mouth, then his head bounced with a yes.
“Okay, partner.” With his free arm, Gabe scooped Kevin out of Melanie’s hold and carried him under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Kevin laughed and squirmed all the way to the kitchen.
“I’d better go save him.” Ian followed, giving Melanie a wink as he passed her. “And I don’t mean Kevin.”
Her head spinning, Melanie stared at the closed kitchen door. She had no idea what she and Kevin were going to do now, or where they would go. But hearing her son’s precious laughter from behind that closed door gave her a strength that surprised even her.
“Gabe called me this morning and told me about your car.” Cara set her purse and the pink doughnut box on the dining-room table. The delicious smell of fresh-baked doughnuts filled the room. “Has he replaced the battery yet?”
Melanie shook her head. “The repair shop said they’d deliver it sometime this morning. I tried to tell your brother that I would take care of it myself, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”
“When Gabe sets his mind to something,” Cara said with a grin, “you need a jackhammer to budge him. The only Sinclair more stubborn than Gabe is Lucian.”
“Lucian?”
“Believe it or not, there are four Sinclair males.” Cara slipped an arm through Melanie’s and led her into the living room. “Gabe, of course, he’s the oldest. Then Callan, who just got married three months ago, then Lucian, then Reese. You’ll meet them sooner or later. For your sake, hope it’s later. They can be a little overwhelming.”
After meeting Cara and Gabe, Melanie had no doubt that was true. But she wasn’t going to be here later, so she would never find out for herself.
“Cara,” Melanie said awkwardly. “I’m sorry I’m still here. Your brother already started working on the house this morning, and I’m sure that Kevin and I are in the way.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you aren’t in the way.” Her arm still in Melanie’s, Cara pulled her over to the sofa. “I was hoping you and Kevin hadn’t left. Here, sit down while I talk to you.”
Melanie sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, smoothed her hands nervously over her denim-clad knees. “Talk to me about what?”
“Listen, I know you’re anxious to be back on the road, but just hear me out. I have a proposition for you.”
“A proposition?”
“I want you to work for the foundation, here at the house. The salary isn’t much, but it includes room and board until the house is sold.”
Melanie blinked, then furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”
Cara’s gaze swept the living room. “This is a big house. Six bedrooms, basement, attic. And it appears that Mildred Witherspoon was a collector. According to Gabe, most of the rooms he looked at last night were jam-packed. And while we’re assuming that most of the contents are junk, we still need everything cataloged so we can decide what to do with it all.”
“And you want me to do that?” Melanie asked incredulously.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin, and wouldn’t have time if I did.” Cara leaned forward, lowered her voice. “You told me last night that you and Mildred had become long-distance friends through the antique store you worked for. I promised you that I wouldn’t tell anyone that, and I’ll keep that promise. But you’re perfect for this job, Melanie. It could take me days or weeks to find someone else with your qualifications.”
Melanie glanced around the large living room. It was hard to tell with just a glance if the antique furniture in the room was valuable or the paintings on the wall were worth more than the price of the frame. It was certainly possible, though. Lots of old country houses contained unknown treasures that had been hidden away, like gold coins buried by a pirate in a secret cove.
She felt her pulse quicken. Even though she’d left the antiques world behind her, it was still in her blood. And every antique dealer dreamed of this kind of an opportunity.
“There would be hundreds of items to sort through and catalog.” Melanie shook her head. “Without a computer and Internet link to check items and value, it could take weeks.”
“I’ll have a computer here tomorrow,” Cara said, “and a phone line hooked up immediately. Just say yes.”
She wanted to. So badly she could taste it. But it would mean staying in one place, and the thought frightened her.
“I—I can’t,” Melanie said after a long moment. “It might not be…safe.”
Cara put her hand on Melanie’s. “Bloomfield County is a small town. No one knows you. You and Kevin will be safe here.”
Melanie looked down at Cara’s hand on hers. “You don’t even know me,” Melanie said softly. “How do you know you can trust me?”
“You could have taken anything you wanted last night and left. We’d never have known anything was missing.”
“My car broke down,” Melanie said wryly. “It’s hard to make a getaway on foot with a four-year-old.”
Cara shook her head and smiled. “I trust you, Melanie. I also want to help. So does Gabe.”
Melanie looked up sharply at the mention of Gabe’s name.
“I didn’t tell him anything about you,” Cara said. “It’s up to you to decide what you want him to know. But it’s pretty obvious you have a big problem. Though he resists it, it’s Gabe’s nature to want to take care of everyone. He can be stubborn and difficult, and I’ve personally wanted to shoot him several times for butting into my business. But he got the family through some rough times after our parents died. If Gabe decides to go to bat for someone, anyone standing in his way had better look out.” Cara squeezed Melanie’s hand. “You can trust him.”
Cara was wrong there, Melanie thought. She couldn’t trust anyone. She didn’t dare.
But maybe Cara was right about her staying in Bloomfield. No one knew her here. Maybe, just maybe, for a few days, she could work here, give herself a little time to regroup, and come up with a plan. She didn’t think Vincent could find her that quickly.
She heard her son laugh again from the kitchen. The past few weeks had been hard on him. He’d like it here, with all this space to run, the same bed to sleep in at night. She’d like that, too.
At Kevin’s sudden and loud shriek from the kitchen, Melanie’s heart jumped into her throat, but Cara grabbed her arm before she could move. The swinging door from the kitchen into the living room flew open, and Gabe tore through the living room shoving a doughnut into his mouth. Ian was right behind, yelling at him for taking the last maple bar.
Laughing, Kevin ran behind, his face covered with chocolate. They all ran out the front door and pounded down the front steps.
Cara shook her head and frowned. “I knew I shouldn’t have let those doughnuts out of my sight. There’s going to be blood if they haven’t left any for us.”
Melanie stared after the male tornado that had just passed through. She’d never seen anything like it in her life. She’d never had brothers and Phillip, well Phillip had always been so reserved, so…stuffy.
“So what do you say?” Cara asked. “Will you stay?”
Eyes still wide, Melanie turned back to Cara. She hadn’t even blinked at the brigade that had just stormed through the house.
Would she stay?
“Why do I get the feeling that Gabe and Lucian don’t have an exclusive on stubborn?” Melanie asked.
Cara grinned. “So you’ll stay then?”
“Yes.” Melanie smiled back at Cara. “I’ll stay.”
The thick clouds rolled in sometime in the late afternoon. Dark and swollen, they promised rain by nightfall. A chill crept under the doors and through the windowsills into the big house and scurried over the hardwood floors.
Gabe knelt in front of the massive living-room fireplace, dumped the armload of firewood onto the heavy metal grate, then reached up to open the flue. He struck a match, lit the kindling under the wood and blew lightly on it. The flame popped, then flared to life and caught hold.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw someone do that.”
Startled by Melanie’s soft voice, Gabe turned, saw her standing several feet away, her arms folded.
Though he’d spent time playing with Kevin when Cara and Ian had come over, Gabe had stayed upstairs all afternoon and avoided Melanie. Since he’d overheard the phone call she’d made, he’d felt on edge. It annoyed the hell out of him that he was attracted to her, and the fact that she’d gotten under his skin so quickly annoyed him all the more. He needed to keep his distance from her, needed to find his balance again. His control.
Especially now that he’d heard she’d be staying for a while.
He rose slowly, brushed his hands on his jeans. “Since you’ve seen someone do what?”
“Light a fire like that, without natural gas.” She moved closer, in a circular motion, like a wounded animal might approach.
He couldn’t figure this woman out. One minute she had that chin of hers stuck up in the air, all bravado, daring anyone to come close, the next minute she was soft and vulnerable. It made him crazy.
“Yeah, well, I’m just full of talent,” he said more harshly than he intended, turned to toss another log onto the fire.
He knew he was being a jerk, he just didn’t care. Wasn’t about to care. He kept his back to her, wondered if she’d left, but then she said, “Kevin’s still sleeping. I think you and Ian wore him out this afternoon.”
Why was she making small talk like this? he wondered. She’d made it clear that she wanted to be left alone. Obviously she wanted something and couldn’t bring herself to just come out and ask. She had to do this little dance. His annoyance had been on simmer all afternoon, now it turned to a full boil.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Melanie turn her head toward the sound and frown.
“Why don’t you just say whatever’s on your mind?” he said tersely. He felt like a complete heel when she stiffened and looked back at him.
“I’m sure Cara told you that Kevin and I will be staying here for a few days,” she said coolly.
He nodded. “She told me.”
She gazed at the fire, and he saw the flames dancing in her eyes. “We didn’t get off on the right foot, but I was hoping that…that we could be friends.”
He had no idea why her offer irritated him, or why his mood was as foul as the weather outside. He wasn’t being reasonable at all, which only escalated his bad mood.
“Ray might not like it if we were friends,” he said dryly.
She glanced up sharply, pressed her lips tightly together. “You listened to my conversation?”
“Not by choice. Next time you call your boyfriend, maybe you should go outside, instead of the laundry room. The vent in there hooks up directly to the upstairs bathroom.”
She said nothing, just stared at him, and damn if that chin of hers didn’t slide up an inch.
Damn if he didn’t want to kiss her.
“So what’s the deal, Melanie?” he asked, took a step toward her. “Is he married? Did his wife find out about you, and she’s after you with an ax?”
Where the hell was this coming from? Gabe wondered, shocked at himself and the sarcasm that dripped from his words. And why couldn’t he stop it?
Her eyes turned to gray ice, narrowed. “Cara brought enough groceries to feed ten people for a month,” she said without a hint of emotion in her voice. “I’m making chicken tonight if you’d care to join us. It should be ready in about an hour. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go wake my son up.”
She turned smoothly and walked toward the stairs. He wanted to yell at her that they weren’t finished talking yet, and she should get her butt right back here.
Thunder rumbled again, closer this time, shaking the windows. He watched her hesitate at the foot of the stairs, saw her hand tighten on the railing, then she glided up the steps with all the grace and poise of a queen.
The hell with this, Gabe thought and tossed another log on the fire. Sparks flew and the flames leaped. He didn’t need this aggravation. There was a bar stool at Reese’s tavern with his name on it and a mug of beer that fit his hand perfectly. What better way to spend a stormy night than shooting the bull with his brothers and watching a ball game?
No better way, he decided and headed for the back door. No better way at all.
Melanie white-knuckled the blanket and pulled it up to her chin as a clap of thunder shook the bedroom windows. She’d never experienced a “real” thunderstorm before. They were rare in Southern California, and the few that did occur were relatively mild and practically over before they began. Unless there was an earthquake, houses didn’t shake and windows didn’t rattle with the ferocity of the storm that appeared to have settled directly over Mildred Witherspoon’s roof.
Lightning lit the dark upstairs bedroom with the power of a two thousand-watt strobe lamp. Biting back a sob, Melanie buried her head under her pillow as the house vibrated from the ensuing thunder.
Beside her, Kevin slept like a rock.
Even as a baby, her son had always been a heavy sleeper, and at this moment, she was especially grateful for that. She would hate for him to see his mother shaking like a mouse under a cat’s paw.
Even small, California thunderstorms had always terrified her. And here, in this big, old, pitch-black Victorian farmhouse in Pennsylvania, they absolutely paralyzed her.
Rain pounded the roof; a tree branch too close to the house scratched against the upstairs window. The wind howled.
She wanted to howl, too. Like a baby.
It was only a little past ten. She might as well get up, make some tea, try to read until the storm passed. Anything but lie here, tossing and turning, worrying about the storm one minute, thinking about Gabe the next.
He thought she was having an affair with a married man, which was as ridiculous as it was infuriating. She thought back on her conversation with Raina and realized that it might have sounded that way, but what right did he have to jump to conclusions about her? Who was he to pass judgment on something he knew nothing about?
Teeth clenched, she sat and reached for her navy-blue chenille bathrobe. And besides, why should he care one way or the other what she did?
And why should she care one way or the other what Gabe thought of her?
With a sigh, she sat and pulled her robe on. But she did care. She cared a lot.
Knowing that Gabe thought so little of her hurt. Even after she’d found out that Phillip had been cheating on her with Susan, another stockbroker from his firm, she hadn’t considered having an affair, though she had kicked Phillip out of their house for a few days. If she had been stronger, she never would have let him back in.
But Kevin had been only six weeks old at the time. Her delivery had been difficult, and her recovery took longer than expected. She had no parents to help, and Phillip had driven away the few casual friendships she’d had. She’d had nowhere to go, no money of her own. With Kevin as her priority, she’d stayed.
And she’d been faithful. She’d believed in the sanctity of marriage, even though her husband hadn’t. She might have forgiven him one affair, but then came Stephanie. Melanie hadn’t even asked Phillip where he’d met her, she’d simply packed her and eight-month-old Kevin’s things and moved out with what little money she’d been hoarding.
Phillip had been furious she’d left him—how dare she treat him that way after everything he’d given her? he’d yelled at her. That was the first time he’d struck her, and she had vowed she’d never give him another chance.
Until Louise showed up. Tears streaming down her perfectly made-up face, every strand of silver hair perfectly in place, her mother-in-law had pleaded with Melanie to come back to her son. She’d already arranged for therapy. She’d promised things would be better. A boy needs his father, Louise had said. Phillip was behaving so badly because he was grieving the recent loss of his own father. Families stayed together always, Louise had said, no matter what.
So Melanie had given in and gone back, hopeful that the therapy would make a difference. And for the next year, it had seemed to.
Then she found the notes from Kathy and confronted him. This time when he’d hit her, she knew she would never go back. She and Kevin would make it on their own. She’d filed for divorce, but Phillip refused to sign any papers. He’d hired his high-price Beverly Hills lawyers to fight her, but she’d hung in. Ten days before their divorce would have been final, Phillip was killed in a boating accident.
Melanie knew that Louise still blamed her for Phillip’s death. She’d pretended to be sweet and loving, had even persuaded her and Kevin to move in with her for a while, then doted on both of them, when all along what she’d really wanted was to take Kevin away, to punish her daughter-in-law and claim her grandson to replace the son she’d lost.
The nightmare should have ended with Phillip’s death, but in fact, it had only begun.
Let Gabe Sinclair think whatever he wanted, she thought, hugging herself tightly. Kevin was all that mattered to her. All that could matter to her.
At the flash of lightning, Melanie jumped, then pulled her robe tightly over her white boxer pajamas and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the thunder to stop shaking the house. When it finally passed, she glanced at Kevin again. He hadn’t even budged. Shaking her head, she smiled at her son, reached to brush a strand of hair off his forehead.
And froze at the sound of a door closing downstairs.
She reached for the lamp beside the bed and pulled the chain. Nothing happened. It had worked only fifteen minutes ago, when she’d turned it off. She moved quickly to the other side of the bed and tried the other lamp. It didn’t work, either.
The power was out.
Her heart pounded furiously as she rushed to the bedroom door and opened it a few inches, listening, waiting. She heard nothing other than the storm now.
It had to be her imagination. Her frightened mind playing tricks on her. But she couldn’t stay up here, wondering if someone was downstairs. She had to know, had to see that everything was all right.
She closed the bedroom door behind her, then quietly inched her way down the hall and the stairs. The darkness engulfed her, and the sound of the rain pummeling the porch roof echoed in the living room.
She went still at another sound, a muffled squeak coming from the kitchen.
A loose shutter, she told herself. Maybe a mouse or a rat. She shuddered at the thought, but prayed that’s all it was. It had to be. Vincent couldn’t have found her here. It couldn’t be him.
Please don’t let it be him.
The hardwood floor was cold on her bare feet, and her hands shook as she moved slowly toward the kitchen. The air felt colder to her when she stepped inside, but she could see that the back door was closed. Thank God, she released the breath she’d been holding, then froze as she stepped in a puddle of cold water.
Even in the darkness, she could see the gleam of water trailing from the back door, across the kitchen floor and leading to…the open basement door.
The fuse boxes were down there. And so was whoever had trailed water across the floor.
They’d also have to come out again, she realized.
Drawing in a long, shaky breath, she reached for the cast-iron frying pan she’d washed this morning and set back on the stove. Her knees felt like warm rubber as she crept across the kitchen and waited. Her heart hammered in her chest.
She heard the sound of footsteps moving up the stairs, saw a faint beam of light. She lifted the frying pan with both hands.
The footsteps were heavy, almost to the top of the stairs. When the beam of light hit the floor in front of her, she swung the frying pan like a baseball bat, made solid contact with a hard, muscular body. She heard his grunt of pain, the earthy swearword.
Lightning flashed as she raised her arms to swing again.
Gabe!
His face was twisted in pain, and he teetered at the top of the basement stairs, his hands clutching the doorjamb. The frying pan clattered to the floor as she reached out and grabbed him before he fell backward.
“Ohmigod, Gabe, I’m so sorry!”
He slumped into her arms, gasping for breath, and she bore the brunt of his weight as she led him into the living room. His clothes and hair were wet, and she felt the dampness seep through her robe. She held him tightly against her, guided him to the sofa in front of the fireplace, and he collapsed onto the cushions with a soft moan.
Oh, dear Lord, what had she done!
The fire he’d built earlier had died, but the embers still glowed a warm orange and cast a soft light into the room. She pushed the fire screen aside and threw two more logs inside, then replaced the screen and hurried back to Gabe. He lay with his head back and his eyes closed, and she thought maybe he’d passed out. Thank God he was breathing!
“Gabe, can you hear me? Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer, and she ran her hands over his dark hair and felt the wetness, but it appeared to be water, not blood. She touched his face, felt the light stubble of an evening beard, then opened his denim jacket. It was soaked, so she tugged it off, no thanks to him, and laid her palms on his broad chest. She felt the heavy beating of his heart, felt the warmth of his body through the soft flannel shirt he wore.
The fire crackled to life behind her, lighting up the room.
“Gabe.” She brought her face close to his. “Wake up. Please wake up.”
He opened his eyes slowly.
Relief poured through her. Thank God, he hadn’t passed out. “Talk to me,” she said softly. “Where did I hit you?”
He covered her hands with his.
“Your chest? I hit you in the chest?”
He nodded.
She brushed his hands away and unbuttoned his shirt, gasped at the bright welt she saw through the sprinkling of dark, coarse hair. Tenderly she touched her fingertips to his chest. His skin was hot, his muscles like steel. She stared, tried to remind herself that she’d injured the man, and she certainly shouldn’t be ogling him. Heat crept up through her fingers, her arms, then pooled low in her belly.
She pulled her hands away, but he took them and put them back. “That feels good,” he murmured roughly.
It certainly did, she thought. Too damn good. And not the kind of good she’d intended. Her skin suddenly felt tight and hot, her breasts achy. And still she couldn’t remove her hands from his skin. He had the smell of the storm on him, and his own masculine scent that stirred her insides.
“What were you doing down in the basement?” she whispered, trying desperately to hold onto reality.
“Turning…power…back on.”
The storm raged outside, and a roll of thunder made her press closer to him, hold tighter. “Why did you come back?”
“To apologize…for being a jackass.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
She had no idea when her robe had come undone, and it hardly seemed to matter at the moment. Her body was flush with his, her breasts pressed against his solid chest, one long curvy leg lined up with his. She was practically lying on top of him.
God help her, still she couldn’t move.
It felt like slow motion, like a dream. Her limbs were heavy, her body drugged. She supposed it was an aftereffect of all the adrenaline she’d had pumping through her only minutes before, but it hardly mattered. Only the warm, safe feel of Gabe’s body under hers mattered.
It had been so long since she’d felt safe, even longer since she’d felt desire.
“Melanie,” he said raggedly, “God, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” she repeated dimly. “For earlier?”
“No. For now.”
His mouth swooped up and caught hers. Consumed her. She didn’t know when she’d ever felt such intense passion from someone else, or from herself. But she clung to him, her emotions raw and wild and out of control. His arms came around her, dragged her against him, while his lips devoured her hungrily. She answered, as greedy as him, raked her hands over his chest, his face, his scalp.
He moaned deep in his throat, slid his hands under her pajama top, covered her breasts with his large, rough hands. She sucked in a breath at his touch, wanted those hands on her, everywhere, at the same time.
The lightning struck again, only this time, with the thunder came reality. What was she thinking? How could she be doing this? Making love with a stranger!
Gasping, she pulled away, tugged her robe tightly around her and eased away from Gabe. His eyes were glazed and confused as he looked at her. He sighed heavily and dropped his head back against the sofa.
The fire crackled behind them.
“I—I’m sorry. That was my fault.” She rose from the sofa on wobbly knees. “But it was a mistake. It can’t happen again.”
“Melanie—”
He started to reach for her, but she backed away. “It can’t, Gabe. I’m only going to be here for a few days. In spite of what you think of me, this really isn’t something that I do.”
“Dammit, Melanie,” Gabe ground out. “I know that. I was angry earlier, frustrated because you won’t let me help you.”
“You can’t help,” she whispered. “No one can.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said tightly.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. I’m not going to lie and tell you that I didn’t enjoy what just happened between us, because I did. But you have to promise that it won’t happen again. If it does, I’ll have to leave.”
He opened his mouth, but she shook her head. “Promise me.”
Eyes narrowed, he pressed his lips tightly together. “Fine.”
She relaxed then, drew in a deep breath. “I’ve got to get back to Kevin. Good night.”
She had already started for the stairs when she stopped suddenly, then slowly turned back around.
“Rae is a friend of mine, Gabe,” she said softly. “A woman friend, as in Raina.”
She turned again, but not before she saw his eyes close, not before she heard him sigh.
“Melanie.”
She hesitated at the base of the stairs and looked over her shoulder.
“I lied.” He stared at her, the light of the fire dancing in his dark eyes. “I’m not sorry about kissing you.”
Her hand tightened on the banister. She could go back to him, forget her brave little speech about how it could never happen again and for just one night let herself feel.
And hate herself in the morning. She drew in a slow breath to give herself strength, wished to God that she could have met this man under different circumstances.
But she hadn’t, and nothing in the world could change that.
“I’m going to be here a few more days,” she said evenly. “It will be easier for both of us to just forget about this.”
His eyes narrowed. “Can you?”
“Yes,” she lied.
The fire played on the hard angles of his face as he watched her. “I’ll let myself out in a little while, when the storm eases up.”
She nodded, then turned and hurried back upstairs before she changed her mind.
“It’s been six weeks, Vincent.”
Louise Van Camp lifted her cold, imperious gaze from the fluffy white poodle on her lap and looked sharply at Vincent. Her long, sleek sheath was Christian Dior, stark white, a sharp contrast against the royal-blue velvet sofa where she sat as straight and stiff as one of the polished silver candlesticks on the living-room mantel.
“Yes, ma’am.” Vincent’s impulse had been to tell the old biddy that he not only knew how to count days, but he could even tell the time, too. But, as always, he’d bit back his first impulse and taken the more diplomatic route. Louise paid him too much money for him to tell her what he really thought of her snobby airs and holier-than-thou attitude. The woman had never worked a day in her life. Her husband had been a stinkin’ rich, influential judge, and when the old geezer kicked the bucket, she’d become a stinkin’ rich widow who thought she was better than everybody else.
He hated the old bat, but he loved her money.
“And what, pray tell,” Louise said coolly, “besides buying new clothes and bothering my maids, have you been doing to earn the obscene amount of money I pay you?”
Vincent took in the huge diamonds sparkling on Louise’s wrinkled hands and earlobes, the solid gold ashtray on the coffee table that she refused to let anyone use, the ruby-and-diamond collar on that stupid mutt of hers. And she thought that what she paid him was obscene? He ground his back teeth together, careful to keep his expression calm and concerned, and once again went with the second, more sensible reply.
“I’ve been monitoring all of Melissa’s old contacts,” he said evenly. “Especially in the antique business. I also have a man watching that friend of hers, Raina Williams, now Raina Sarbanes. We’ll know immediately if she turns up there.”
It had taken a little digging to find the Sarbanes woman, but door-to-door inquiries of Melissa’s high school friends had all come back to the name Raina Williams. More digging had traced the woman to Greece, where she’d married and divorced, then to Italy, and now she was in Boston. It had been a long, intensive, as well as expensive search, but worth it. It appeared that Melissa and Raina had not seen each other in years, and though it was a long shot that they had reconnected, Vincent was leaving no stone unturned. If there was any chance that Melissa would show up at her old friend’s door, then they’d be waiting for her.
Louise pressed her thin lips together and stroked her dog’s head. “Six weeks and that’s all you’ve got? This Raina woman?”
Vincent carefully reminded himself to breathe slowly. There was too much at stake to blow the sweet deal he had going with the Van Camp broad. He’d take his anger out later on someone else. He thought of that cute little cocktail waitress at the Kitty Kat Lounge who’d been giving him the eye. Maybe it was time for the two of them to get…close.
That thought composed him enough to calmly continue. “I’m working on establishing a contact in the Boston phone company,” he said in his best reassuring tone. “If the women have made any calls to each other, then we should be able to track her down from the Sarbanes’s woman’s phone records.”
“I don’t like the sound of the word ‘should,’ Vincent. I’m not paying you for ‘should.’ I want results.” Louise narrowed her cold eyes. “I want my grandson.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped his gaze respectfully, but inside, his stomach twisted with fury.
For every “Yes, ma’am” that he was forced to placate Louise with, for every “I’m sorry, Mrs. Van Camp,” Vincent intended to make Melissa pay dearly.
His blood heated at the thought, his palms itched. His groin tightened and swelled.
This time when he found the bitch, and he would find her, he would teach her a lesson she would never forget. As long as Louise had her grandson back, Vincent doubted that the old woman would care what happened to her daughter-in-law.
He planned on a long, slow, let’s-get-to-know-each-other with Melissa when he brought her back. And if she fought, so much the better. He liked a woman who resisted. Tears and pleading made him feel strong and powerful. Virile.
Afraid that he would become visibly aroused, Vincent snapped his attention back to Louise. “I’ll find Melissa and your grandson, Mrs. Van Camp. I promise.”
“See that you do,” she said with a sniff. “And be quick about it. A new semester starts at the academy just after the first of the year. Every male Van Camp has attended that school for the past fifty years, and I intend for Kevin to be there as well.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You may go now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Vincent backed away, then turned, narrowing his eyes. The need to smash something overwhelmed him. Anger and frustration squeezed his chest like a vise.
Melissa had been smart this time. Very smart. But she’d trip up somewhere, make a mistake, and then he’d find her. He’d had a soft spot for her, he knew. Those big gray eyes of hers and that killer body had clouded his thinking. He’d been too gentle with her the last time he’d brought her back from Northern California, too forgiving. She obviously hadn’t taken him seriously when he’d told her she better behave.
She would this time, he thought with a slow smile. This time when he found her, he wouldn’t be gentle and he wouldn’t be forgiving.