At the Midnight Hour (14 page)

Richard, on the other hand...

“I think I’m going to move up and ride with Greg and Parris,” she informed Blaine casually. “I haven’t really spoken to them much yet. Why don’t you ride with Jillian?”

Blaine gave her a sideways glance. “Leaving me so soon?”

She gave him a careless shrug, then winked with mischievous spirit, herself. “Well, you know, why ride with one good-looking man when I can ride with two?”

He laughed at that, a light golden sound that drifted through the group. He leaned forward slightly in his saddle, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I hate to tell you,” he said softly, “but don’t fall too hard for Parris, as handsome as he is.”

Actually, Liz hadn’t paid much attention, one way or the other, to how Parris looked, but she nodded. “Why?” she whispered back.

“Well, he’s impotent, you know.”

Liz’s eyes opened so wide with shock, Blaine promptly began laughing again.

“You really are something else,” he told her, grinning hugely until she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

“You’re making that up,” she accused.

Blaine simply shrugged. “You never know.”

Shaking her head, Liz urged her horse forward until she caught up with Greg and Parris. Sure enough, after a moment or two, Jillian’s horse picked up the pace to come alongside Blaine’s. That ought to keep them both occupied, Liz thought wryly.

Liz chattered briefly with Greg and Parris, but her eyes had a way of wandering. Even as she nodded or smiled at their casual banter, her eyes kept falling on the man not far ahead of her now. He sat back, comfortable and easy in his saddle, looking at home on his large black mount.

Strange that he’d told her he wasn’t good with horses, Liz thought, because he certainly seemed at home on one. Indeed, with his worn jeans and fine boots, he blended in perfectly.

Who was this man who could look so professional and restrained in a lab, yet so comfortable on an outdoor horseback ride? she wondered. And why did just looking at him make her cheeks flush?

She shifted slightly in the saddle, realizing that the nervousness and restlessness was back. Suddenly, walking along placidly wasn’t enough. She wanted to run, she wanted to ride hard and fast and feel the brisk fall wind burn her cheeks. She wanted to see the landscape fly by, the rolling hills, the flame-colored trees. She wanted to feel free.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she found herself saying, “I actually think I’ll ride ahead for a bit. Is that okay?”

Greg and Parris exchanged startled glances.

“I guess,” Greg said finally. “We’ve been on these trails before and they’re tame enough. You should be fine.”

She nodded, thanking them. Then, before she could question the impulse that was guiding her, she nudged her horse into a brisk trot.

She didn’t look at Richard as her horse trotted past him, though she could feel his gaze slide over her. Instead, she focused her attention on the rhythm of the horse beneath her, relaxing into the trot with rusty muscles. But it still wasn’t what she wanted, she realized. After all these days, she needed to run.

With a small touch of her foot, she moved the horse to canter, and then to run.

And it was great, she thought with exhilaration, feeling the horse bunch beneath her, then leap forward. The brisk wind rasped against her rosy cheeks, the green hills rushed by. Around the gentle corners, and over the small bumps, through the sloping valley—

Vaguely, she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. But rather than slow her down, they urged her forward. Faster, she urged her horse, faster.

But the sound of the hoofbeats grew.

She could feel the rhythm in her pulse, feel the excitement of the chase. Now she was the wind and wild and free and she wasn’t ready to stop yet. Months’ worth of tension and strain was in her blood. She wanted to exorcise it all, feel it pound out with each crashing thud of her own horse’s hooves. She leaned forward, and urged her horse even faster.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she could see the other horse gaining on her, a black blur approaching on her left. Not giving it another thought, she veered her mount off the trail altogether, racing across the short crisp grass.

But still the black horse gained.

Of course, Goliath.

In earnest now, Liz leaned forward, whispering notes of clicking encouragement to Honeysuckle. If Richard wanted to chase her, she’d give him a race.

All of a sudden, she was fifteen again, racing away from her brothers in childish glee. Except her brothers had never ridden powerful mounts named Goliath.

She could feel Honeysuckle laboring, the horse’s breath coming out in heaving gasps. There wasn’t much run left in her. Still, there was one last fleeting moment of the thrill, the wind racing through her hair, the sunlight on her face.

And then, like lightning, Goliath appeared on her left. Having been caught, Liz wordlessly reined her mount to a trot, and then to a walk. Richard did the same.

“What the hell where you doing?” he demanded the minute the horses had slowed.

“Running,” she said simply. “And God, was it beautiful.”

Her face was flushed, her cheeks rosy in the morning sun, while her eyes glowed a beautiful exhilarating blue that pierced him deep in his chest. Damn it, he hadn’t known what was going on when she’d suddenly raced away like that. He’d followed, thinking that perhaps her horse was out of control. But then he’d seen her lean over, seen how gracefully she moved with the horse as they’d raced away from him like a streaking arrow.

The challenge had been too much, and he’d sent Goliath in hot pursuit. Damn, she hadn’t been easy to catch. And now, having caught her, he wasn’t so sure what to do.

Just looking at her, glowing and exhilarated, he felt the ache hammer its intensity all over again.

He stopped his mount, abruptly, instinctively. She stopped hers as well, but in confusion. Instinct and the restless need pounding through his blood guided his arm, reaching across the distance. And anger, too, he understood vaguely. Anger at her for making him want her, anger at how she and Blaine had ridden together, laughing like a pair of lovers while he’d ridden ahead, all alone.

He grabbed her arms and pulled her onto his mount.

He saw her eyes grow wide with shock. If she’d cried out then, he might have come to his senses. But instead, her gaze fell helplessly to his lips, and he saw the midnight depths grow even darker.

He didn’t need any other sign.

He wasn’t gentle when he took her lips with his own. He wasn’t a man asking, nor a man coaxing. He was a man possessed by hundreds of sleepless nights, a man driven by raging demons seeking reprieve.

He plundered her lips, his tongue plunging into the moist recesses of her mouth, relishing the softness of her lips against his own. She opened her mouth to him willingly, arching against him as his hands wrapped around her ponytail, pulling her closer. She tasted of October sun and wild exhilaration. He could feel the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest, smell the beguiling scent of flowers, and horses, and heat. Beneath them, Goliath shifted impatiently, but Richard simply tightened his legs for control.

He’d dreamed of this moment too long, damn it, to have it end abruptly.

Liz sighed beneath him, her hands tangling up through his thick dark hair. They wandered around, stroking through the wonderful rasp of his morning whiskers as she slanted her mouth across his. She could feel the heat on all sides, from his mouth, from his firmly muscled body, and from the powerful mount beneath them. She could smell sweat and leather and horseflesh, and it made her press against him harder. Her breasts were swollen against his chest, his cheeks rough against her fingers. His tongue, wrapped around her own, exciting her unbearably.

Goliath shifted again. With a groan, Richard pulled back, steadying both of them on the horse.

His eyes were dark, and for once he didn’t try to hide the expression on his face.

“I want you,” he said thickly, the passion still thundering through his veins. He’d never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted her right now. And by God, he would have her. Only then would the hunger leave him, he was sure. He would take her, take her with fire and fury. Then the restlessness would finally be gone.

And he would be able at last to return to his lab and his work. Back to the isolation.

Back to the loneliness.

She shivered against him, her eyes falling helplessly on his lips. Never had she felt her pulse race so fast, until her heart practically pounded in her ears. Her face was fiery with heat and desire. She wanted him, too. It was at once that simple, and that complicated.

She stiffened in his arms.

He bit off a low growl of frustration as he felt the change come over her. His body was on fire, and once more she was withdrawing from him. He wanted to curse her to hell and back. He wanted to pull her closer and kiss all that reluctance away.

Instead, his eyes glittering with frustration, he simply let her go. He’d been called a bastard in his time, he’d been called the devil’s own spawn. But he’d never pushed a woman, and he wouldn’t now.

The muscle in his jaw clenched, but he forced his hands to relax. Pure physical desire, he reminded himself. Lust was a simple hunger. Sooner or later, she would realize that, too.

Liz slid down from the horse, knowing from the sudden looseness of his grip he would let her go. She staggered away from the horse, embracing the early-fall chill against her flaming cheeks as she collected her composure. She wrapped her arms around her middle, and once more that gesture struck him as surely as a physical blow.

She was protecting herself from him. Again.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I didn’t mean for things to get that far.”

“Then just what did you mean?” he asked curtly, feeling an abrupt sense of desolation fill him. His face turned to granite, and he retreated behind the stone wall of his incredible self-control.

“I...I don’t know.” Liz said weakly. He was looking at her with his cold blue eyes, as if, now the kiss had ended, he had no use for her anymore. Again, she realized just how dangerous such a man was for her. He knew how to kiss, how to touch, how to arouse without ever losing anything of himself. She only knew how to love, how to give her entire heart, trust and soul. She didn’t want to go through that kind of pain again. The memory, as always, came unbidden and sharp.

Kneeling on a sidewalk, trying to hold on to her love as he died in her arms—

She turned away, pushing the memory back and staring at the bright, blue sky.

“We should return to the others,” she said finally.

Richard nodded, not saying anything, his wintery eyes once more impenetrable.

He wheeled his horse around.

After a small moment, she mounted her own horse and followed.

L
iz and Richard were careful to remain apart for the rest of the day. They rode to the stables only to find the rest of the party had already returned. In silence, they walked back to the house, each lost in their own thoughts.

Liz, for one, was very confused by her reactions to this dark and volatile man. Her whole life she’d loved only Nick. He had been her friend, her husband and her lover. She had thought it would always be so.

But now those warm childhood days seemed so far away. Maddensfield loomed in her mind almost like a fairy-tale kingdom where all had been magical. Except for one Sunday afternoon of course, when the fair prince had died in her arms and the fairy tale had ended.

Now she was Liz the woman, living in a dark and gloomy house, trying to help a dark and gloomy child. And there was Richard the man, no fair prince, to be sure. Yet she was drawn to him in a way she had never been drawn to anyone. It was not the easy, simple love of her childhood. It was something more complex, something that tied her stomach in knots and left her breathless in his mere presence.

She liked his kisses. Very much.

But who was this dark man that drew her in? This house had too many secrets, and even as Maddensfield slipped away in her mind, Liz missed those golden days. In this new environment of morbid statistics and midnight vigils, she didn’t know her way around. A woman had died here. Liz slept in Alycia’s room, rode the horse named by her, cared for her child. But what had happened to Alycia? Who had pushed her from the tower?

Was it Richard?

She wanted to ignore such a thought. She wanted to push all doubt from her mind. Because she had liked his kiss, because she would sell her soul for another. But Richard seemed so distant at times, and his blue eyes were so often cold. He had secrets, too, secrets known only to him as he swirled his glass before the midnight flames.

In the dark of the night, she still didn’t know what went on behind those pale blue eyes of his. Nor how much it could cost her.

The doubt tore at her. She was accustomed to people who talked, people who shared. She’d fallen in love with a man who’d returned her passion as purely as she’d given it, until she’d seen his love in his eyes, his smile, the casual touch of his hand.

Attraction was a physical thing, entirely different from love. It wouldn’t last, especially with a man like Richard. He was too good at control. It would be easy for him to rouse her into flames while keeping his own heart untouched. And when he was done, when the passion at last was slaked, he would simply walk away.

But she would remain behind, and she would feel the pain. She only knew one way to love: absolutely, wholeheartedly and for forever.

She didn’t want the pain of parting again.

She went straight to her room when they entered the house, Richard disappearing without a word toward his tower. Halfway down the hall, however, she paused.

Her bedroom door was closed. Odd, she thought she had left it open. Puzzled, she turned the knob slowly. And maybe it was the mood of the house, or the strain of the past few days, but she opened the door with great care.

Cautiously, she peered around the doorframe. Nothing. She probed deeper into the shadows. Still nothing.

Then she turned, and found the note on the bed.

She picked it up carefully, noting the delicate feel of the feminine paper. She relaxed, catching the faint hint of dried wildflowers, and admired the lavender trim. Already beginning to tug at her sweater, she unfolded the paper.

What’s mine is mine.

Go away, little nanny.

Alycia

The paper dropped to her bed from suddenly nerveless fingers, and once more her eyes darted around the freshly renovated room. But nothing in the room stirred, not even a light breeze.

She stared back down at the beautiful stationery with its cold words. It was a long time before she stopped shaking.

* * *

When the grandfather clock began to ring its eleven o’clock chimes, she found herself opening her bedroom door, her stomach still tied in knots. Her feet directed her down the stairs, moving silent and cautious over the hardwood floor. She needed to take her mind off things, she thought vaguely. She needed to think about anything other than that note.

She came to the library.

He was already there, his broad back to her as he sat before the low-burning fire. He was still wearing his worn jeans and the pale woolen sweater, the familiar brandy glass in his hands. He looked right in front of the fire, a part of a cozy winter scene. Outside, the fall wind probably blew, but in here, the heat flickered still.

She stepped into the room.

He turned at her approach, his pale eyes taking in her lithe figure as she neared the sofa. Her steps faltered, the nervousness compounding in her stomach under his scrutiny. She took another deep breath and sat down on the sofa as if doing so was the most natural thing in the world.

As if she didn’t spend her mornings kissing a dark and foreboding man, and her afternoons receiving notes from a dead woman.

“I didn’t think you’d come here tonight,” Richard said gruffly, his eyes back on the fire. His fingers resumed their methodical twirling of the crystal glass. He still wasn’t sure why he’d come. Logic dictated that he work in his lab, not stare at the fire like a fool.

“I—I needed a break,” she said at last.

He turned enough to arch his eyebrow. A break? It was her day off. He would have thought she’d go out someplace and celebrate her freedom. But then he noticed for the first time how pale her face was, how luminous her midnight eyes suddenly appeared.

“Everything all right?” he asked, his eyes abruptly penetrating as they swept over her features. His fingers stopped their turning of the glass as all his attention focused upon her.

Once more, she hesitated, then her chin shot up. “Should anything be wrong?” she asked carefully.

He frowned, not liking the game they were playing at all. First she kissed him, then she pushed him away and now she was suddenly probing him for something. He was beginning to remember why he spent so much time in his lab.

“You tell me,” he retorted at last, turning away from her completely.

For no reason at all, that movement hurt her. Once more he was the dark and remote man. And right now, with all the doubts haunting her mind, she needed him to be something more. She needed to be able to trust him.

On its own, her hand reached up, as if to touch his shoulder. But at the last moment, she looked at his chiseled features, and her hand fell back. She stared at the flames bleakly, feeling the knots tie her stomach ever tighter.

She should tell him about the note. But for all she knew, it was just some childish prank. Maybe Andy had decided the statistics weren’t working well enough. Someone had scared away the third nanny when she’d started to make progress. Liz didn’t want to be the fourth to desert. Then again, she didn’t know what to think anymore, what to feel.

What was this man capable of? Why, after all these weeks, didn’t she know?

Richard turned abruptly, not being able to stand the intense feel of her eyes on his face anymore. He caught the look of need in her eyes, the look of doubt, and he swore low and dark. He didn’t need an interpreter to know her thoughts. The fact that she, of all people, could still wonder if he’d murdered his own wife filled him with rage.

“Ask it,” he demanded harshly.

Her eyes flew open with genuine shock. “Ask what?”

“Stop it!” he growled. “Stop pretending. Just say the words, Liz. Say the words burning on the tip of your tongue. Did I kill Alycia? That’s what you want to know, right? What you’re still struggling to figure out?”

She tried to shake her head but the movement was ineffectual.

He threw his brandy glass into the flames, the sound of shattering crystal making her jump. The flames flared with the impact of the alcohol, but they didn’t begin to compare to the power of the man rising before them. He looked down at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes hooded. Then abruptly, he reached down and dragged her up out of the chair.

She came crashing against his chest, but there was no time to even gasp before his lips captured hers. They were bruising, fierce and demanding. He did not wait, but thrust his tongue between her lips, delving into the moist recesses of her mouth.

He jerked away just as fast.

“Is that how a killer kisses?” he asked with glittering eyes. “Or maybe it’s more like this.”

His lips came down once more, but whereas last time they had crushed hers, this time they were barely a caress. He teased her mouth with light exploration, reveling in the fullness of her lips, nipping in at the corners. It was gentle and tender, and all the more horrible because she knew he felt none of it. His tongue eased between her lips, seeking and gaining access like a long-lost lover. She felt the first of the tears prick her eyes as her arms wound around his neck.

He deepened the kiss, and even as she knew he was mocking her, she tilted her head in acquiescence. Suddenly his hands were burying themselves in her hair, gliding through the long, luxurious strands until she wanted to purr like a cat. One large palm smoothed up her back, arching her against his chest. Then it slid back down to cup her buttocks and pull her closer. She complied, and the feel of his rigid length against her sent new sparks of awareness through her.

Maybe he wasn’t in as much control as he thought.

Her hands became demanding on his neck, kneading the corded muscles as she opened herself fuller to him. She rubbed her breasts against his chest, and was rewarded by the sudden raggedness of his breath. Her tongue dueled with his, no longer the passive recipient but suddenly an aggressor. Her senses were already beginning to reel as his palm slid abruptly under her sweater to capture her breast.

She moaned at the first touch, feeling the heat of his fingers through the thin lace of her bra. He brushed a callused thumb over her nipple, and she sighed with the wicked voluptuousness of the sensation. Her left leg came up, and rubbed against his hip. She wanted his hands on her body—the texture, the heat of him full against her. She wanted to feel soft and desirable. She wanted anything but the dark doubt hovering at the corners of her mind.

He unfastened the back of her bra, his breathing no longer steady as he trailed kisses down her jaw to her ear. He caught her earlobe with his teeth as he rolled her nipple with his fingers. She shivered, and he groaned his encouragement in her ear.

She was soft and sweet and so, so passionate. He tore off her sweater, and dipped his head to her breast, capturing one of her nipples. He suckled delicately, and she buried her hands in his hair, arching her back and whimpering her need.

He didn’t care anymore that she didn’t trust him. He didn’t care about the past, the future. He was a man consumed by the moment, and the passion raging like a fire in his blood. He needed her. He wanted her. He would have her. Now.

He pulled her down to the floor.

At the first contact of the Oriental rug against her bare skin, Liz stiffened. But his lips were back on hers, swallowing any protest she could have made. His hands were gliding down her hips, moving closer and closer to where she wanted, needed him to touch. She kissed him harder and tugged on his own sweater.

It drifted to the floor without protest, leaving his chest bare to her gaze and her touch. He had a mat of springy black hair that thinned to a small line disappearing into his jeans. She followed that line with her forefinger, and was rewarded by the sharp contraction of his stomach muscles. Momentarily, she became fascinated by the washboard ripples. Apparently, he was putting those weights in his lab to good use. Her finger drifted back up, and she found herself captured by the burning intensity of his gaze.

For just one moment she hesitated, her finger stilled on his chest, her midnight eyes caught by his own wintry fire.

She’d never done anything like this, rolled on the floor with a man she barely knew. Would she really be able to give just her body, or would she give him her heart, too? And how badly would it hurt when he finally turned away?

“Why?” she whispered. “Why do you want me so much?”

And the minute she saw the tightening of his jaw, she knew.

“That should be clear,” he said harshly. “It’s obvious how much we desire each other.”

She nodded, not refuting that statement, but inside, she felt a tiny spark die. Maybe she’d been hoping, after all, hoping beyond hope that he would talk of something other than desire, like caring. Suddenly she felt cold and exposed.

She reached for her sweater wordlessly. Watching, he cursed once more.

“How many times,” he said tightly, “are we going to go through this scenario before you finally admit to the passion between us? You look at me, and your eyes fall to my lips. I look at you, and all I can think of is the way you taste, the way you feel beneath me. We are attracted to each other, Liz. It’s the most basic, natural, elemental force there is. And sooner or later, you won’t be able to pull away.”

“It’s not enough,” she said at last, pulling her sweater over her head. She couldn’t meet his gaze; instead, her gaze fell almost wistfully upon the flames. “Desire is easy to come by. I want more.”

He stiffened beside her, and abruptly reached for his own sweater. “I won’t put a ring on your finger,” he said bluntly. “I won’t fall for that again.”

She shook her head, impatient now with his suspicions. “I’m not talking about marriage,” she told him seriously, risking a glance at his granite face. “I’m talking about love, compassion, caring. I’m talking about knowing someone so well, loving them so much, that when they touch you it reaches your soul.”

He looked at her with iron eyes. “You really are naive,” he said dispassionately. “Love is hardly necessary for passion, that’s merely a fairy tale to keep little girls protected. Passion is a basic biological function, and sex is as much a need as anything else. When you’re hungry, don’t you eat? Well, let me tell you, I am hungry.”