Imogen was glorious when she gloated. Glorious and irritating.
Tommy couldn’t look away from the girl-turned-woman. Not only had fate delivered him from death, but it had also landed him on the doorstep of a girl who still haunted his sleep. Uncanny.
Her face was largely the same. A pointed, stubborn chin, high cheekbones, and expressive eyebrows. And those eyes. Jesus, those green, luminous eyes that beckoned to him like a promising new book. They’d only grown more resplendent with time. He wanted to stare into them; read the pages of her life.
Unfortunately, said pages would probably contain a manifesto against him.
It didn’t matter how much joy they’d shared as children. He’d ruined everything by daring to act on their changing feelings. But he didn’t have time to dredge up the past. If he didn’t return to Seattle before his mark realized the book was missing, every bookseller within a hundred-mile radius would be on the alert.
Equally—perhaps more—important, he needed to escape Imogen’s presence while he still had the wherewithal to protect himself. The few new facts he’d gleaned about her were damaging enough. He could have gone without knowing that her sense of humor had grown edgier, or that her fondness for extravagant decor had evolved into a more refined eccentricity.
That she smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, like a cookie begging to be nibbled.
Restlessly, he angled his body to peer out the window. Thick, blue-gray clouds crosshatched the afternoon sky, and an ominous wind whistled through the nearby trees. A storm was brewing—would he make it to the next town before it broke?
“Those are high stakes,” he said. “Throw in a sleigh and we’ll shake on it.”
“Haven’t got one.”
He turned his head. “How the devil did you get here? With all that?” He gestured vaguely to the mountain of photography equipment and feminine clothing that had once been hidden behind the staging screen.
“My Aunt Judith.”
“Is she staying here, too?”
“No.”
He waited, but she just blinked at him. “That’s it? No further details?”
“Not until you agree to my terms.”
He had to admire her tenacity, as maddening as it was. “All right. Deal.” He waited for her cheeks to glow with triumph before adding, “But no backing out if you don’t like my answer.”
“All I want is the truth.”
A simple, yet wholly impossible demand.
Slowly pushing away from the windowsill, he faced her fully. He levied a smile of practiced charm on her and, without breaking eye contact, lied through his teeth. “It’s just paperwork. Some boring bookshop financials I was asked to deliver.”
“Then why did you hide it?”
“Didn’t want it to get damaged.” He chuckled and spread his hands wide. “You have to admit that is a possibility, considering you put a hole in the roof only moments ago.”
She chewed her bottom lip while she thought over his answer, and he maintained his blithe, innocent smile.
“This—” She gestured from his head to his toes with a drawn-out sigh. “This show might work on some people, but not me. I’m the one who helped you learn that pose, you blithering donkey.”
His smile faded. Damnation, he’d forgotten about that.
“I should have known you’d break your word. Again.”
“For God’s sake. Are you back to the letters?”
“I wish that’s all there was to discuss.” She stalked forward until she was a handbreadth in front of him. His shoulders tensed at her sudden nearness, but there was nowhere for him to escape. “I’m referring to your promise to wait for me. To be with me once we grew up. But instead of welcoming me home after two lonely, miserable years, you told me to take my silver spoon back to Capitol Hill where I belonged.”
“I did that for you!”
“What a pile of festering manure.”
Blood roared in his ears. She had no idea how long he’d suffered over that decision. But it was an impossible situation, and someone had to be the realist. Even if Imogen’s father changed his mind, Tommy had known he would only drag her down. He’d cut her from his life for both their sakes.
And talking about it didn’t help anyone.
“Where are the clothes you promised me?” He stepped around her and stalked to a pile of clothing in the corner of the cabin. He tossed piece after piece into the air even though it pained him to make such a mess. He grunted when an elbow as sharp as his grandmother’s tongue smacked into his side.
“Here.”
Without a word, he took the trousers she dug out of the pile and drew them over his still-damp union suit. The waist sagged and the cuffs were a good six inches too short. An off-white shirt missing a button went on next, followed by a black suede vest with a ripped shoulder hem. He glowered at the puffy sleeves. “I am trying to avoid attention, not look like a goddamned pirate in the middle of the mountains.”
“These are castoffs from over the years,” she protested. “Costumes for my staging! Would you rather wear my mother’s skirt? Or this lace corset cover?”
“Point. Taken.” He found a long, double-breasted coat that looked like it once belonged to a train conductor and pulled it on. It was three sizes too large, but it would cover the monstrosity beneath and keep him from freezing. He started to refold the remaining clothing, but forced himself to stop. He stomped across the room to his boots.
“I’m angry, too.” Imogen followed him. “You break into my home, demand my help, and yet I don’t hear a word of thanks.”
The waver in her voice was a treacherous lure. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t—he looked up, and the air punched out of him. Her lips were pressed into a firm line, her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, and unshed tears glistened in her eyes. She had always cried when she was angry. Ten years ago, it had been amusing. Now it was devastating. It made him want to hug her tight and rub soothing circles on her back. Kiss the tears from her eyelashes. Beg for forgiveness.
He had to get out of there. Now.
“Thank you,” he forced out, stuffing his feet into his boots without bothering to lace them. He stumbled toward the door, his hand reaching for the doorknob.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
The oilskin.
He spun around. Imogen smirked at him from farther away, one hand planted on her hip, the other casually holding the oilskin aloft.
“Give it back.”
Her chin rose higher. “Not until I have a look inside.”
Tommy lunged forward just as she dove under the table. He dropped to his knees to follow, but she merely popped out the other side, her clever fingers already undoing the outer flap. He bided his time until her gaze strayed to the complicated knots, then he sidestepped the table and encircled her slender torso in a vice-like grip. The victory was short-lived. He winced when sharp nails raked across the back of his hand.
“Play fair,” he grunted.
“Never!”
She wiggled in his arms like a creature with its paw caught in a trap. He grunted as her sweet bottom rubbed over his crotch. Gritted his teeth when his cock leapt to attention. Now was not the time. But his cock—the traitorous bastard—only hardened further when she twisted against him. He released Imogen and stumbled backward, his breath heavy and erratic. A moment later, the flap was open and the book was in her hands.
“Be careful,” he ground out.
She flipped to the title page, and her gloating smile twisted into a sneer. “A first edition of Moby Dick is far from boring paperwork. Why did you lie to me?”
He scrambled for a plausible excuse, but she knew him too well.
“Let’s see.” She tapped her chin, and her voice dripped with sarcasm. “You’re in a hurry to return to Seattle and you’re carrying a costly book you didn’t want me to see. Looks like your thieving days are far from over, and you didn’t learn a thing. Tell me I’m wrong.”
There were so many things he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. It was too complicated, too messy. Perhaps she’d understand—she always had before—but it would gut him if she didn’t. He was going to have a hard enough time forgetting this ill-fated meeting without adding a heart-to-heart talk that left his own in tatters.
In a few quick movements, he swiped the book from her hands, slipped it back into the oilskin, and tucked it inside his coat pocket.
“Goodbye, then,” he said curtly. He didn’t wait for a reply, but hurried to the cabin door and wrenched it open.
And cursed fate anew.
The darkening sky had shifted from a dull gray to an unsettling, ashen blue. The towering evergreens groaned in the wind, which bit and gnashed like a malevolent spirit. Snow fell with increasing intensity, filling in the nearby footprints and casting a forbidding haze in the background. A metallic tang laced the air, the taste of an impending storm come home to roost.
Imogen’s shoulder bumped his as she made space beside him. They stood in silence, watching the storm unfold. When she spoke, her words rang like a death-knell.
“Looks like we’re stuck together. And you’re sleeping on the floor.”