Kiss in the Dark (12 page)

“What’s the matter?” Dylan asked from behind her. “Scared of ghosts?”

She stopped abruptly, turned to face him. “The past can’t hurt me, Dylan. Not anymore.” It was the here and now that concerned her, the choices and challenges that still lay ahead.

A moment passed while she waited for him to fire back a cutting retort, to challenge her or goad her or insist upon tucking her in bed. But he did none of that, just stood there watching her, as still and unmoving as the night around them.

Discomfort pulsed through her. Stillness and Dylan St. Croix went together as well as meditation and one of those coyotes she heard howling in the distance.

“Good night,” she said, and turned away from him.

“Bethany.”

Hand on the knob, she stopped, smiling despite herself. Now this was more like it. This was Dylan. He always had to have the last word.

“I’m sorry.”

Those weren’t the words she was expecting. The huskiness of his voice wrapped around her, but she knew better than looking at him. Instead, she walked into the darkened room and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, an owl called to a mate who didn’t answer. A spotted owl, Dylan figured, glad that at least here on St. Croix land, they survived. He stood at the massive wall of windows, much as Bethany had earlier. But he didn’t touch, didn’t need to feel the cold sting of the glass.

What the hell had he done?

He didn’t know why he’d brought her here; they’d long
since crossed the point of no return. The cabin couldn’t change that.

Maybe he shouldn’t have
told her the truth. Maybe he
should have let the pretense continue,
let her give birth to a child she believed to be from an anonymous donor. Let her raise the child alone. Love the child.

But damn it, he couldn’t live a lie like that. He couldn’t stand in the background and watch Bethany raise his child. Watch her smile and laugh and love, and never step forward. And Christ, what if she went to prison for killing Lance? What then? The child would be taken from her, given to strangers.

Dylan couldn’t allow that. Not his child. Not his and Bethany’s. They’d already lost one. No way in hell could he let another child be taken from them.

* * *

Sleep hovered out of reach, seductive but illusive. Beth lay in the big guest bed for a long while, just listening to an owl screech into the night. In answer, a coyote howled.

Hours had passed. Two, she thought. Maybe three. The light slipping under her door had vanished some time back, and the sound of Dylan moving restlessly about the cabin ceased. She hoped he slept.

Careful to maintain silence, Beth eased from bed and dressed, grabbed her purse and slowly opened the door. As she’d expected, no light greeted her. No signs of wakefulness. She tiptoed down the hall, acutely aware of how the floorboards liked to creak.

Outside the master suite, she paused. She didn’t really want to look inside, didn’t want to see Dylan’s big body sprawled out in that bed, the sheets tangled at his hips, but she had to know.

Easing the door open, she peered in and instantly found the big sleigh bed. The big,
empty
sleigh bed. The room
looked totally undisturbed, showing no signs of man or life.

Sighing, Beth carefully closed the door and eased toward the great room. No sounds destroyed the silence, leaving two possibilities. Either Dylan slept, or he’d gone outside.

The second she saw the clothes strewn on the floor she had her answer. His faded jeans lay in a heap, his button-down strewn over them. Socks sprawled off to the side.

Thank God she didn’t see his boxers.

Heart pounding, she stepped deeper into the room. She didn’t want to get too close to him, knew the wisdom of letting a sleeping dog lie. But she had to know.

And then there he was. Glancing over the back of the sofa, she saw the tartan plaid blanket draped over the expanse of his body. Silently, she whispered a prayer of thanks for the cold. Otherwise, he would have slept with no covers, and instead of the blanket, moonlight would be glinting off a chest that went on forever, an enticing trail of dark hair leading down a flat stomach, powerful thighs she didn’t need to remember.

But she didn’t see any of that, just a soft old blanket covering a soundly sleeping man.

Whispering another prayer of thanks, Beth crossed to his clothes and picked up his jeans. They were soft, she thought, just a trace of body heat lingering. Slipping her hand in his pocket felt oddly intimate, but she knew of no other way to get his keys. Shaking them to the ground would surely wake him.

Her fingers closed around the cool metal, and she slowly withdrew them. Knowing better than opening the front door, she quietly moved through the kitchen to the alternate route outside. The cold slapped at her immediately, but determination provided all the buffer she needed.

From there, it was shockingly easy. She rounded the house on the porch, trusting the wood more than the gravel. Regret tugged at her when she climbed into the Bronco and slid the key into the ignition, but she squelched the ridiculous emotion.

She couldn’t worry about stranding Dylan here. There
was a phone. He would call someone. She could only think about her child, a child Dylan could easily try to take from
her. She couldn’t stay there with him, alone with nothing but a forest of pine and memory.

Her heart pounded as she turned the key. This was the
riskiest part. But the motor hummed softly, and Beth wasted no time putting the SUV into gear and driving away. Using the moon as her guide, she carefully navigated the twisting mountain roads. Adrenaline kept her alert.

The darkly amused voice from the back seat shocked her senseless.

“Bethany, sweetheart, you missed the turn.”

Chapter 8

«
^
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”
A
nd here I thought you said you weren’t running away.”

Beth’s heart rate exploded into a staccato rhythm, and
her breath froze. Her hands started to shake. She glanced sharply into the rearview mirror, where she found Dylan maneuvering that big body of his from the cargo section into the back seat. He wore all black, making him appear more shadow than man. He moved with incredible grace for his size, wide shoulders dominating the small opening. And then came his legs. So big. So powerful. She remembered those thighs—

“Keep your eyes on the road,” he said with all the nonchalance of a walk in the park. “These turns can be treacherous.”

“What in God’s name are you doing?” she demanded.

The whites of his eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Funny, I was going to ask you the same question.”

“I—”

“Watch out!” he shouted, vaulting between the seats and grabbing the steering wheel. The Bronco swung
wildly, skidding across the road and bouncing along the gravel-covered shoulder.

There was no guardrail.

Beth slammed the brake against the floor, sending the Bronco into a rocky slide. Tires squealed. Headlights
slashed wildly through the darkness. Time slowed to a
punishing crawl as Dylan fought momentum and gravity. She heard him curse, the scream that ripped from her own
throat, the insidious echo of the past.

The Bronco stopped abruptly, violently, the seat belt
cutting into her chest and abdomen.

She sat there, stunned. Adrenaline surged and crashed, right along with the knowledge of how close they’d come to plummeting over the edge.

”
What am I doing?”
Dylan growled. He crammed the
gear into park and crawled next to her in the driver’s seat.
“
Looks
to me like I’m saving your life so you can find a
way to kill me without hurting yourself in the process.”

The ironic edge to his voice cut deep, but she refused to give him the reaction he obviously wanted. She didn’t look at him either. Couldn’t. Didn’t need use of her eyes when he sat so close her other senses hummed and screamed in protest. Thigh to thigh. Shoulder to shoulder. The heat of his body made the cool mountain night feel warm.

Staring straight ahead, Beth focused on the headlights
cutting garishly through the darkness. Towering pines obscured the light of the moon and the stars, but through the shadows, a sheer drop-off yawned not five feet away.

The truth rose up from that darkness, and deep inside, she started to shake. If Dylan hadn’t grabbed the wheel, they would have gone straight over the edge.

”
Bethany?”
Warmth. Of flesh. Against her cheek.
“
Are you okay?”

Breathe in, she told herself. Breathe out. Deep. Slow. Focus, she reminded, ignoring the heat streaking from his
fingertips down to her toes. She had to focus. Protect. Defend.

”
Do you have to make a joke out of everything?”
she asked, still stung by his earlier taunt.

“Who’s joking?”

Now she did look at him.
“You can’t take credit for preventing an accident you almost caused.”

His gaze bored into her, the fingers of one hand against the side of her face. With his other hand, he reached across and unfastened her seat belt.
“
You’re pale, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re okay?”

”
You deliberately tricked me,”
she said, refusing to let
him off the hook.

The soft blue lights of the dashboard revealed an unsettling glow in his eyes.
“
Tricked you how, Bethany? Be clear. What are we talking about here?”

”
You made it look like you were sleeping on the sofa, when you were hiding in the back all along.”

“You’re a survivor, Bethany Rae. I knew you’d try something—you’re not a woman to let life steamroll you.” The hard lines of his face softened. “I always admired you for that.”

She curled her fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand from her face. “I don’t want your admiration.”

“What
do
you want?”

The question was thick, dark, unbearable. She looked at him sitting inches away, all big and strong, at the hard line of his jaw and the dark whiskers just begging to be touched. At the shoulders she’d once leaned on.

Then, he’d promised to do anything, be anyone, give everything.

Words, she now knew, meant nothing without actions to support them.

”
Nothing, Dylan. I just want to be left alone.”

He frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Bethany. I can’t just let you walk out of my life.”

The words, the ferocity behind them, did cruel, cruel
things to her heart. Every woman longed for a man to
speak to her so possessively. So protectively. Every woman longed to believe there was a man who’d walk across hot coals for her.

But Dylan St. Croix didn’t mean the words romantically. He meant them as a dare, a threat, a warning, reminding her that where Dylan St. Croix walked, wreckage always lay strewn behind. Not even fantasies or fairy tales survived the fallout.

“We could have died,”
she said softly, but with damning precision.
“
Because you had to prove a point.”

Something hard flashed through his eyes. She refused to label it pain.
“
You’re carrying my child,”
he said quietly.
“That means something to me. I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you.”

Instinctively, her hand slid to her stomach.
Her
child. The stab was sharp, the outflow of joy overwhelming.
His
child. The thought still jarred her, didn’t seem real.
Their child.

God in Heaven, she would never be free of Dylan St. Croix, not so long as their son or daughter lived and breathed. There would be birthdays and holidays, first days of school and graduations. A wedding.

They would share grandchildren.

“You sure you’re okay?”
His hand still lingered against
the side of her face.

“Damn you,” she whispered.

A dark grin tugged at his lips. “You can try,” he said, “but I can tell you right now it won’t work. I seem to be one of the few St. Croixs immune to the curse.”

The St. Croix curse. She hadn’t heard the term in years, not since Lance had jokingly talked about his family’s doomed fate. Both his and Dylan’s parents—brothers and their wives—had met early deaths through a boating accident. Dylan called it the price of living a privileged life, but Lance laughed it off.

Now Lance was dead, just like so many St. Croixs be
fore
him,
passing away
before
hairlines receded and wrinkles set in.

”
Scoot over, honey, and let me get us out of here.”

She looked from the door to her left to his big body next to hers. The only way to scoot would be to crawl across his lap.

“I can drive,”
she said, meeting his gaze.

Gentleness burned in his eyes. “I know you can, but it’s a long drop. If we’re going to take the plunge, you don’t need another murder suspicion hanging over your memory.”

A protest rose to her throat, an automatic refusal to yield to this man. But then came common sense and the knowledge that he spoke the truth. The night was dark, the narrow ledge dropping off into nothingness. Dylan knew these roads. She did not. Dylan knew his Bronco. She did not.

Dylan thrived in chaos.

She did not.

Wrenching open the door, she stepped into the chill of the night.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Dylan said.

“Why not?”

“There’s no shoulder on the other side.”

Keeping a hand on the hood, she walked to the front of the SUV and saw the truth of his words. The front right tire sat inches from a sheer drop-off.

The sight, the reality, chilled her to the bone.

”
Come on,”
Dylan said from behind her. He took her
hand and led her to the front seat.
“
Climb in.”

She did as he instructed, refusing to dwell on the fact that he’d spared her the discomfort of crawling over him.

“The next time you slide over my body,”
he said as he
eased into the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind him,
“
it will be because you want to, not because you
don’t have a choice.”

* * *

Ponderosa pines stretched toward the night sky, where pinpricks of light glimmered like an enchanted kingdom.

Beth groggily blinked, trying to bring the world into focus. Adrenaline and emotion still sloshed around inside her, but somehow she’d managed to nod
off.

The
glow
of
the dashboard clock said she’d slept
for
close to an hour.

She shifted restlessly, realizing she’d gravitated away from the chill of the window and toward the warmth of the man.

 
“This isn’t the way to the cabin,” she realized aloud.

Dylan accelerated out of a hairpin curve. “No, it’s not.”

Up in the distance, the road opened to a parking area. Just beyond sprawled a gorgeous rustic lodge. Lights glowed in the windows, promising warmth. But Dylan kept driving.

And her heart started to pound. Hard. She recognized the road now, the lodge, the destination. She remembered the profusion of elk from her last visit, right in the heart of mating season, when their bugled mating calls echoed on crisp mountain air. She saw no elk now, just shadows.

Turn around. Go back. Now.

The words vaulted to her throat, but made it no further. They would be futile, she knew. Dylan St. Croix would not listen to her. And deep inside, she knew she didn’t want him to.

Nine years had passed since she’d traveled this road. Nine years since she’d seen the impressive renovated lodge, the elk grazing and playing, the studs keeping a close, possessive watch on their herds. Nine years since she’d seen the otherworldly Crater Lake. Oregon’s only state park, the remnants of an extinct volcano fed Beth’s soul like no other place. The unspoiled beauty, she figured. The serenity.

She pushed open the door the second he stopped the car, and practically ran to the crater’s edge. Cool night air whipped around her, but she didn’t care. The lake. All she could think was the lake.

At the edge of the steep crater, she stopped. And stared. Her breath caught. The lake, over one thousand feet below, glistened a vivid shade of blue during the day, pure and deep. Dylan had once compared the color to her eyes.

But when the night sky took over, the blue faded, leaving only the mercurial light of the moon and the stars reflected on the ominously still, ominously dark surface.

Once, she and Dylan had picked out constellations without ever lifting their eyes to the sky.

”
Cold?”
Dylan asked from behind her, and only then did she realize she’d wrapped her arms around her waist.

She smiled into the darkness. “No. Just drinking it all in.”

“I thought you might.”
He moved beside her and spread something over the ground.
“
Come sit for a few minutes.”

She looked at the thick blanket spread beside her, and knew a smart woman would turn and walk back to the Bronco, crawl into the warmth of the front seat and demand Dylan take her back to the cabin. A smart woman would resist the lure of lowering herself to the ground and absorbing the night around her, the sound of an owl hooting in the distance, the wind rustling through the pines. A smart woman would not gaze down at the pristine lake of her youth and see the past she’d worked hard to forget. But never had.

“Just for a few,”
Beth said, and took Dylan’s hand as he helped her down. The warmth was immediate, the strength. The security. She let go as she sat and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. The night was remarkably quiet, remarkably dark. Unmistakably pure. Up here in the mountains, away from the glare of city lights and the blare of traffic, she could breathe a little deeper. Dream a little fuller.

Her thoughts had a way of clearing here, much like the water of the lake. Her grandfather had said you could submerge a book six feet into the cold, cold water and still read the words plain as day.

She’d never taken him up on his offer to demonstrate. The books of her youth, the fairy tales of her heart, had been too precious to sacrifice to a dare.