Once upon a Dream (18 page)

An adventurous soul had taken a sailboat out on the turbulent bay, and it bounced across the whitecaps like a cork.

Shaking her head at the sailor's stupidity, Annie decided to explore the upstairs. Mrs. Carrington had said the guest room was on the second floor. After retrieving her duffel from the foyer, she climbed the curving marble stairs.

At the top of the stairs was a portrait of a handsome young man, a beautiful young woman, and two boys, one blond, one dark-haired. The brothers, miniatures of their father, were dressed in suits and ties.

Annie stood a moment, enjoying the play of light and shadow across the faces of the boys. They stood on either side of their pretty mother, who was seated in a chair. Behind them, looking proud and protective, was their father.

The older, dark-haired boy was staring straight ahead with a look of concentration. A serious child, Annie thought.

The younger, fair-haired brother stared adoringly at his mother, as though trying to catch her eye. A born flirt, Annie decided with a grin. Plying his charms on the first woman in his life.

She tore herself away from the Carrington family to poke through the various bedrooms until she located the guest room. It was actually a suite of rooms. A lovely sitting room with peach silk moiré walls and a white marble fireplace flowed into a bedroom that overlooked the ocean. Annie removed the dust cover from the bed to reveal a fabulous peach satin duvet.

The walk-in closet was bigger than Annie's bedroom in her little rental in Tranquility. The bathroom was done in peach and white marble, with a sunken tub, a shower big enough for a soccer team, and a lovely dressing area that separated the closet from the bath. Though everything
was dusty and more than a little faded, it was still elegant.

While Annie unpacked, she took the time to admire the scented drawers, the padded, scented hangers. Even after years of disuse, the hint of fine perfume lingered, like faded rose petals.

She wondered how many famous people had been in this suite. Rumor had it that White Pines had been the scene of fabulous society parties since the time of Prohibition.

After unpacking and stowing her duffel, she glanced at the window and caught a glimpse of lightning, followed by the distant rumble of thunder. She shivered and snatched up a sweater before hurrying down the stairs.

She was glad now that she'd brought along groceries. It wasn't a night she'd care to go out hunting for a restaurant, especially when she wasn't familiar with the area. The last town she'd driven through had been nearly twenty miles back.

She picked up the sack and headed toward the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the room was oversized yet warm. It boasted a wall of cabinets in ash with beveled-glass fronts and marble countertops. The hardwood floor was softened with area rugs in deep burgundy and teal in a rich floral design.

Annie located a heavy skillet and coated it with oil. Then she broke several eggs into a bowl and began to whisk them with a little milk. While she chopped an onion and green pepper, she could see in her mind's eye the way this place must have looked when the family was in residence. Children swimming, boating, playing tennis. A maid serving lunch on the terrace. Or possibly cocktails served by a white-gloved butler.

She hoped she could show it to potential buyers while it was still furnished. Mrs. Carrington's designers had done a wonderful job of making it both homey and elegant. The antiques she'd seen so far were truly impressive. No wonder Mrs. Carrington wanted them shipped to her home in Palm Springs.

When the ingredients were ready, she turned her attention to the loaf of hard-crusted French bread she'd brought from the bakery in Tranquility.

She was rummaging through the drawer in search of a slicing knife when the door to the kitchen was yanked open. Annie's head came up sharply. She spun around, dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter.

At first she thought it had been caused by the wind. But then she caught sight of a man standing in the doorway. His white pants and navy windbreaker were soaked clean through. His dark hair was wind-tossed, his cheeks ruddy from the cold. On his face was a scowl of such anger that fear skittered along her spine.

“What are you”—Annie bent and retrieved the knife, holding it in front of her like a weapon as she straightened and faced him—“doing here?”

“Coming in from the cold.” He glanced at the knife, then up at her face. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I work here.” With false bravado she raised her chin. “And you'd better step back. I don't think Mrs. Carrington would be happy to find stains on her precious rugs.”

He glanced down at the puddles of water forming around his deck shoes. Then he looked back at her with a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

“You must be joking.” His voice, when he regained it, was low with repressed fury. “Who the hell are you?”

She lifted the knife in a threatening gesture. “I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind. Now I think you'd better leave before—”

In one smooth motion he grabbed her arm and twisted it until she was forced to release her hold on the knife. It dropped to the floor between them.

“How did you get in here?” His voice deepened, though whether from anger or exertion, she wasn't certain.

With a burst of strength, she pushed free of his grasp and backed away. “With a key. Given to me by Mrs. Carrington.” She lifted her chin again. “I also set the silent alarm, which you activated when you opened that door.”
She could feel the heat stinging her cheeks at the bold lie. But she was desperate now. Her heart was racing like a runaway train. She was miles from civilization and at the mercy of this stranger who looked like the devil himself. “So if you know what's good for you, you'll be gone before you find yourself surrounded by armed guards.”

At that he looked at her for a moment, then threw back his head and began to laugh.

Laugh?

“Didn't you hear what I said? Unless you leave…”

“Yeah.” He was still grinning. “Armed guards. You forgot to mention the vicious attack dogs.”

She knew at once that she'd been caught in her lie. She looked around wildly, wondering where she could run to escape him.

Reading her intentions, he snagged her wrist. “Hold on, now. There's no need to be afraid.”

She pulled back, more terrified than ever. “Who are you, and what do you want here?”

“My name is Ben. Benedict Carrington.”

“Carrington?” Her jaw dropped. “But I…” She tried again. “Mrs. Carrington told me the house would be empty.”

“Sorry. I didn't bother to let my mother know my plans. When she told me she'd decided to sell the house, I came up here on a whim.” He bent and picked up the knife, then stepped closer, all the while studying her through narrowed eyes. “Why would she give you a key to White Pines?”

Though his tone wasn't nearly as haughty as Mrs. Carrington's, there was the same proprietary inflection. Though he was years older than the boy in the portrait, Annie realized he was the same person. The same dark, serious eyes. The same fierce concentration.

Her voice was breathy as she struggled to compose herself. “I run a real estate firm in Tranquility. Your mother hired me to handle the sale.” She gave him a long, steady look. “If you drove here, where's your car?”

“In the garage.” Up close, those eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her feel extremely uncomfortable. “Now it's my turn. Where did you meet my mother?”

“I didn't. She phoned yesterday and had a key and a list of instructions sent to my office.”

“That doesn't sound like Mother. She rarely hires anyone without knowing everything there is to know about them.”

“She said she knew my mother. They attended the conservatory together when they were girls.”

He nodded. “That sounds more like it. If my mother knew your mother, she wouldn't consider you a stranger. Here, you can have this back, as long as you promise not to plant it in my chest.” He handed her the knife, all the while watching her in a way that deepened the color in her cheeks.

She accepted it from his hand and ignored a curl of heat along her spine as their fingers touched.

He glanced at the food. “Planning a party?”

“Just me. But there's enough for you if you're hungry.” It was the least she could do to make amends for the way she'd behaved. Now that she'd had time to compose herself, she was feeling more than a little foolish at the way she'd reacted. She had allowed Shelly's suggestion to trigger her overactive imagination.

He nodded. “Thanks. I'll take you up on that. I'm starving. Crashing my sailboat onto a pile of rocks always gives me an appetite.”

Through the window Annie caught sight of the overturned sailboat, its torn sails flapping in the wind.

Her eyes widened. “You're the fool…” She caught herself and amended, “You're the sailor who was out in this storm?”

He was amused as her cheeks turned red—and unwilling to allow that little slip of her tongue to pass without comment. “Yeah. I'm the fool.” He was rewarded by a
deepening of the flush on her cheeks. He found it oddly appealing.

He picked up a handful of chopped green peppers and popped them into his mouth. “I'd better change into something dry. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

He turned and strode out of the room.

When he was gone, Annie took a long, deep breath. Then she tore off a handful of paper toweling and began mopping up the puddles on the floor. While she worked she called herself every kind of idiot.

Talk about first impressions.

She'd just confronted Ben Carrington with his own kitchen knife. Benedict Carrington, the son of the woman who had just handed her the deal of a lifetime. And she'd called him a fool. Right to his face.

Not the way to keep a client happy, she chided. She found herself wondering if she would still have Cordelia Sykes Carrington for a client after Benedict Carrington had a chance to speak with his mother.

“T
RACY
?
WERE YOU
able to book me a flight to New York in the morning?” Ben stood by the window, a towel draped loosely around his hips. Water from the shower glinted in his dark hair. He held a cell phone to his ear. “Great. What time?”

His eyes narrowed as static blurred the voice of his secretary. “Sorry. Can you repeat that?”

Again he heard the static, and then nothing. He decided to resort to his laptop. Crossing to the desk, he dashed off an E-mail, then impatiently read half a dozen incoming messages before walking away.

Outside, the sky had grown dark as midnight, and rain pelted the windowpane.

He couldn't pretend to understand what had compelled him to return to White Pines. When his mother had phoned to tell him she was selling the family estate, he hadn't objected. In fact, he'd felt a sense of relief. He'd left here three years ago, vowing never to return. At the time he'd
meant it. He had certainly never expected to see this place again. Despite the fact that his childhood summers here had been happy, those early memories had been completely blotted out by the pain that had come later.

So why was he here? He had no answer to that. One minute he'd been in San Francisco, planning a business weekend in New York. The next he'd been on a plane bound for Maine. Maybe it was the power of suggestion. Maybe the knowledge that this was his last chance to see his boyhood home had blurred his reasoning.

He'd wanted, needed, to be alone here. He'd never dreamed his mother would move so quickly once she'd decided to sell. It had never occurred to him that there might be a real estate agent here to look over the place.

He sighed. It was only for a night. He'd be gone in the morning. Now that he'd had a chance to see how neglected the place was his only thought was to escape. That was why he'd taken the
Odyssey
out on the bay. As a boy that had been his greatest pleasure. He loved the feel of the wind in his face, the flash of sun-dappled water racing past the bow. Today he'd been sorely tempted to keep right on sailing and never turn back to the sad reminder of his past. Had it not been for the storm, he might have done just that.

But here he was. Stuck for the rest of the night in a place that was bound to unleash all sorts of demons.

Maybe it was just as well that he wouldn't have to face them alone. There was that intriguing woman cooking an omelette in his kitchen and looking good enough to eat herself. It occurred to Ben that spending one evening in her company wouldn't be too much of a hardship. She could help keep his mind off other things, and in the morning he'd be on his way.

Good riddance, he thought. The lovely Annie Tyler could have this place all to herself.

He slipped into black pants and pulled a black silk sweater over his head. He picked up the watch from his night table and strapped it on while he stepped into loaf
ers. For good measure, he tucked his cell phone and pager into his pockets before hurrying down the stairs.

He paused in the doorway, watching as Annie tended something on the stove.

He took the moment to study her. She had a model's body, tall and slim, the sort of leggy frame that managed to look elegant even in denims and a baggy sweater. She'd kicked off her sneakers, and her bare toes kept time to Ricky Martin's Latin beat. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail that bounced as she reached for a spatula. Tucked between her shoulder and ear was a cell phone. She was quoting real estate prices while neatly turning the egg mixture.

He glanced around. She'd set two places at the glass table in front of the bay window. On the kitchen counter a pot of coffee was slowly perking, sending up its rich fragrance to perfume the room.

Annie carefully transferred the omelette from the skillet to a platter, these turned and saw Ben watching her. She almost bobbled the platter before getting a firmer grip.

“I'll talk to you later, Shelly.” She tucked her cell phone in her pocket.

She would have to be more careful about letting him sneak up on her like this. It was the second time he'd caught her off guard.

She looked him over as she carried the platter to the table, and felt her pulse leap. He had the look of a sleek black panther, stalking his prey. She felt a thread of fear along her spine. Not the fear she'd experienced when she'd first seen him, soaked and scowling, in the doorway. This was a very different sort that had her heart doing strange little somersaults.

“Well.” She forced a smile to her lips. “That was quick.”

“I might say the same for you.” He crossed the room and held up a cup. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“Black.”

He filled two cups, then took the seat beside her. “This smells wonderful.”

“It's pretty simple fare.”

He studied the basket of French bread, the slices of tomato and onion in vinaigrette, and the perfectly turned omelette dripping with melted cheese. “Sometimes simple is best.”

She glanced at him. “You don't strike me as a man with simple tastes.”

“You know what they say. Don't judge a book…” He took a bite of omelette and paused while he savored it. “Now that's too sinful to be called simple.”

“I'm glad you approve.”

For a moment they both grew silent as lightning burst across the sky in a brilliant display of fireworks. It was followed moments later by thunder that rattled the windows.

Annie shivered as she broke off a piece of bread. “Why did you take your boat out in such a storm?”

He arched a brow, which made him look even more dangerous. “Maybe I just wanted to tempt the fates.”

“People who do that usually have a death wish.”

When he made no protest, she turned to study him more carefully. “Do you?”

“Not that I know of.” He paused a beat before adding, “The truth is, there was no hint of a storm when I started out. Just some misty rain. I was probably an hour from shore when the first clouds rolled in. But it came up so quickly, I was lucky to make it back home. I was watching every cove in case I had to anchor somewhere and wait it out.”

She picked up her coffee. Sipped. “You must be a pretty good sailor.”

“Fair. I've been sailing this bay since I was a kid.”

“Tell me about White Pines.”

“Let's see. There are fifteen acres…”

She lifted a hand to stop him. “I know about the legal
description. I'm interested in the personal history.”

She saw something flicker in his eyes. Whatever he was thinking, it was far from happy.

She decided to tread very carefully. “Did your family spend the entire summer here?”

“We'd usually come up in late June. We were always gone by mid-August, so we could get ready for school.” He smiled, and she thought how handsome he was when he allowed himself to relax. “The natives say there are only two seasons in Maine—July and winter.”

Annie laughed. “My grandmother used to say that.”

“Did she live in Maine?”

She nodded. “All her life. She remained in her family home until she died.”

“So you grew up here?”

Annie shook her head. “My mother was the first in four generations to leave. She and my father moved to California shortly after they were married.”

“And you became a California dreamer.”

She gave a short laugh. “Hardly a dreamer. Those who know me would tell you I'm a hardheaded realist.”

“A pity.” He studied her over the rim of his cup. “They tell me there's a lot to be said for dreaming.”

“I don't have time.” She began fiddling with a spoon. “Never have.”

“Really?” He leaned over and put a hand over hers to still her movements. “A woman in a hurry.”

She pulled back as though burned. “I guess you could say that.”

His eyes narrowed. Had he just imagined that jolt? It was the most purely sexual tug he'd ever experienced. Judging from her reaction, he'd be willing to bet she felt it, too.

The evening had just become more interesting.

Seeing that he'd finished his omelette, she picked up the dishes and headed toward the sink.

He sat for a moment, watching as she loaded the dishwasher. Her hurried movements told him she was evading
him. Intrigued, he snagged her coffee and his and walked up beside her, leaning a hip against the counter.

“So. Have you always had this affliction?”

She looked up, puzzled. “What affliction?”

“You show all the symptoms being of being a classic workaholic. And I ought to know. I've been called one myself. Let's see. An unwillingness to linger over coffee. A need to keep your hands busy.” He caught her hand and felt the way she jerked back. This time he'd anticipated her reaction and was ready for her. He absorbed another jolt and continued holding her hand while he ran a thumb over her wrist. He was pleased to note the flutter of her pulse. At least he wasn't the only one affected.

“I'll bet when you were a kid you always had to be first in your class.” He looked up. “Am I right?”

She nodded, unwilling to trust her voice. He was too close. Too potently male. And though she didn't know why, the mere touch of him caused the blood to pound in her temples.

“And after school it was the same with work, I'd bet. Why real estate?”

She shrugged. “It's what I knew. What my father and mother did.”

“Did you work with them?”

“No.” She said it too quickly, and he realized he'd hit a nerve.

He shifted gears. “Did you start your career in California?”

“New York.”

“That's about as far as you can get from California. What brought you to Maine?”

“Family. My grandmother. I came back to take care of her and stayed on after she…” She couldn't say the word. It was still too fresh. She suddenly felt the lump in the back of her throat.

“I'm sorry.” He poured more coffee and handed her a cup.

There it was again. That quick flutter of nerves in the
pit of her stomach as their fingers brushed. She looked up to see him watching her in a way that told her he'd felt it too.

There was another crash of thunder, seeming to rumble directly overhead. Suddenly the lights flickered, then died. The room was cast into complete darkness.

Ben's voice was right beside her. “Just stand still. I know the layout of this room better than you.”

Annie needed no coaxing to remain where she was. She listened to the sound of drawers being opened and closed.

Finally he exclaimed, “Here's a flashlight.”

She heard the click as he turned it on, but there was no beam of light.

He swore. “Batteries must be old. I'll have to find some candles.”

She heard him rummaging through more drawers, then he gave a murmur of approval.

A moment later a small circle of light sliced through the darkness.

He made his way back to her and offered an arm. “Come on. I'll lead the way. There's a fireplace in the great room. I saw some logs stacked beside it. If I can coax a fire, we'll soon have heat and light.”

She couldn't hold back the little shiver. “Do you think the power could be out all night?”

“Who knows?” He lifted the candle and peered through the gloom until he located the doorway. Then he started forward, with Annie beside him. “But don't worry. There are fireplaces in almost every room of this old house. And plenty of candles. We'll have enough light to find our way around.”

“That's good.”

In the great room he led her toward a sofa and waited until she was comfortably settled, then turned toward the fireplace. Within minutes he managed to coax a thin flame into the life with a long wooden match held to some kindling.

From her position on the sofa, Annie watched the way
the muscles of his back and shoulders bunched and tightened as he worked, straining the fabric of his sweater.

There was no denying that he was dangerously attractive. Tall, trim, with that spill of dark hair over his forehead. And though his eyes were a bit too compelling, seeming to see things she'd rather not reveal, there was a softness around his mouth, especially on those rare occasions when he smiled. Then he was pure charm.

He wore his clothes with casual elegance and he moved with the air of one who was completely self-assured.

Before long, fire licked along the bark of the log, filling the room with warmth and light.

He turned. “Isn't that better?”

“Much.” She watched as he drew the fire screen closed before crossing to sit beside her. “Did your family ever experience a power outage when you were young?”

“It happens a lot up here in the summer. My mother used to keep supplies for just such an emergency.”

She glanced over with a smile. “I'm really glad this didn't happen to me while I was alone.” She pressed her hands together. “I'd have been petrified.”

“I doubt that. Like all clearheaded realists, you'd have simply rolled up your sleeves and figured out a way around this little inconvenience.” He caught her hands in his and turned them palms up, studying them with a critical eye.

As he moved his index finger across her palm, tracing a line to her ring finger, he felt her flinch.

His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. “Of course, you could be wrong about yourself.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“The woman I just saw in your palm isn't at all the woman you described.”

“Really? Who is she?”

“She's not afraid of hard work. But she's also a tenderhearted romantic who's afraid to reveal that side of her nature, for fear of being hurt.”

Annie pulled her hands away. “That's…silly. You don't believe that sort of thing, do you?”

“Palm reading?” A slow, dangerous smile tugged at his lips. “I'd say it's as accurate, or inaccurate, as any psychological profile.”