Rebecca Hagan Lee (2 page)

He tapped at the door, then put his ear against the cool wood. Hearing her broken sobs and the little hiccuping sound she made as she fought to control her weeping, James knocked at the door again. “Miss?” he inquired softly, his voice, a deep, rough rumble not unlike the rumbling of a big cat. “Is everything all right? Are you hurt? Is there anything I can do to help? Anything I can get for you?” Calling himself three kinds of a fool for standing half-dressed and barefoot outside a stranger’s hotel room in
the middle of the night, James heard himself pleading, “Miss? Please, answer me.”

He reached down to try the doorknob, thought better of it, and snatched his hand back.

What sensible woman would open her door to a stranger in the middle of the night? It would be as foolhardy for her to open her hotel door to a man in a town like San Francisco as it was for him to stand outside it imploring her to do so.

James leaned his forehead against the molding on the doorframe. What was he thinking? What madness had come over him? He squeezed his eyes closed. Her crying had come over him. The sound of her utter hopelessness. James had no defense against a woman’s tears. Tears of grief so overwhelming they made even the strongest of men feel helpless. James tapped on the door again, louder this time. “Miss? I promise I’ll go away and leave you alone if you’ll just say something to let me know you’re fine. Please.”

He thought he heard a slight noise on the opposite side of the door. He listened closely and heard the sound of her erratic breathing close by.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” James asked, hearing the phrase as an echo of the many other times he’d asked the same question.

He didn’t expect a reply. So he was completely taken aback when the door opened a few inches.

“Please go away,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“I’d like to help if I can.” James stared down at her, but she kept her gaze focused on the floor. He couldn’t see her face, only the top of her head. He stared at the thick dark strands of chestnut brown hair interspersed here and there with strands of blond and a light brown. Studying the play of light and dark on her head, James was suddenly reminded of a tapestry that hung on the wall, of his house in Hong Kong. Her hair was like the threads woven into that tapestry—a mixture of browns, tans, and golds, that made up the colors of the coat of a stylized Chinese lion.

“You said you’d go away,” she reminded him. “You promised you’d go away if I answered.” Dismissing him, she stepped back and began to close the door.

James stepped closer and pressed his palm against the door. “I promised I’d go away if you could show me that you’re all right,” he answered.

“Please,” she repeated, “you gave your word.”

He had given his word. He had told her he would leave her alone if she answered him. And she believed him to be a gentleman of his word. The proper thing to do was to step back and allow her to return to her room and her solitary heartache, but James couldn’t bring himself to do so. He was balking at the prospect of leaving her alone, reaching for a way to delay the inevitable. And he knew it.

“My name is James,” he said.

Still she didn’t look up.

“My name is James,” he repeated when she failed to respond, then continued on in a burst of male frustration. “I’m a complete stranger to you and I’m standing outside your hotel room door in the middle of the night like an idiot, barefoot and freezing, because I heard crying.” He took a deep breath. “Because crying disturbs—” James broke off abruptly, then impulsively reached out and lifted her chin with the tip of his index finger, tilting her face up so he could look at her. “Because
your
crying disturbs me.”

James’s heart seemed to thump against his chest. He let go of her chin, took an involuntary step backward, and exhaled all his breath in a rush as he stared down at her face. God in Heaven! A man could lose himself in her eyes. Even red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears, her deep bluish-green eyes were extraordinary—warm, inviting, and trusting—so clear and revealing, James felt as if he could discern all her secrets and look right into her soul.

Then she blinked and the secrets of her soul were concealed once more. He watched as she fought to control the expressions of fragile vulnerability revealed in her eyes. She almost succeeded. If he hadn’t seen the soft, vulnerable
look in her eyes, James would not have believed such a change was possible. But the warmth in her blue-green gaze cooled, even the color changed—hardened—until her eyes resembled a pair of sparkling aquamarine stones. Beautiful, but remote.

In a flash of insight James realized the face he was seeing now was the one she showed to the rest of the world, the one most people saw. He knew, without being told, that only moments ago he had unwittingly caught a rare glimpse of the private young woman the rest of the world never saw. And he had the uncanny feeling that a man might live his entire life without ever again glimpsing the powerful emotions and secret longings hidden deep within her. Looking at her now, he was able to take note of her without the distraction of her extraordinary eyes and find that with her pale ivory skin, her small nose, her squarish jaw and determined chin she presented a capable, no-nonsense appearance. Other than her eyes, there was nothing else about her that gave any hint of the incredible beauty she kept hidden like a light beneath a bushel. Nothing else except her plump, shapely lips.

Her plump, shapely,
kissable
lips.

The idea lodged in his brain and seemed to grow with each draw of his breath until James Craig found himself nearly overwhelmed by the desire to taste those lips. Suddenly he knew he was in danger of being swept away by emotional waters too swift for him to navigate. He took another step backward, trying to distance himself from the powerful and unsettling feelings surging through him.

“I’m terribly sorry.” James retreated, running for emotional cover. “I apologize for intruding on your privacy.” He gave her a slight bow. “With your permission, I’ll say good night and leave you alone.”

He whirled around, heading back to the safety of his own room.

“Don’t.”

James stopped in his tracks, then turned to look at her. “Don’t what?”

She bit her lip, clearly startled by her impulsive command. “Don’t say good night,” she finally whispered.

He hesitated. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t leave me alone.” She opened her hotel room door, then hugging herself tightly, stepped into the breach. “Please, don’t leave me alone.”

James just stood there, transfixed, staring as her eyes filled with tears, unsure of his next move. Or hers.

A flush stole up her face. Embarrassed, and unable to meet his gaze any longer, she bit her bottom lip again and glanced down at the floor. “Forgive me.” Her voice broke and she stepped back into her room. “I never meant to disturb—”

“Wait!” James ordered. “It isn’t that I want to leave you alone. It’s just that …” The awkwardness around women he’d suffered as a twelve-year-old boy returned with a vengeance. “It’s just that you shouldn’t trust me,” he blurted out. “I’m a stranger. You don’t know anything about me.”

She regained a measure of her composure and shook her head. “I know you. You’re good and kind and caring. And your name is James.”

“But …”

“My name is Elizabeth,” she said, in an echo of his earlier declaration, her voice shaky and thick with tears. “And I’m standing in my hotel room in the middle of the night, opening my door to a stranger because he tells me his name is James and his kind eyes and voice offer comfort. Because I arrived in San Francisco this afternoon to join my brother, only to find that my brother has been dead and buried in a potter’s field for weeks. Because I lost my teaching position in Providence. Because I have no place else to go and very little money. But mostly because I’m more afraid of being left alone man I am of being accosted by a stranger.”

That said, Elizabeth’s face crumpled and she could no longer choke back her sobs as she clung to the doorway.

And this time James did what he had not been able to
do for Mei Ling. This time, James did what he felt he should do, what he needed to do. He reached out and scooped Elizabeth up in his arms. Leaning his shoulder against the door, he closed it with a soft final click. Then he carried her over to a chair near the warming stove, where he sat down, and cradled her tenderly against his chest. He held her until her tears were spent, then removed his handkerchief from the pocket of his robe and gently dabbed at the tear stains on her face. “Shh,” he soothed. “Close your eyes and sleep. I’ll take care of you,” he promised. “I’ll take care of everything.” He cared for her as he would care for a child, comforted her as he would comfort a babe. Relying on instinct and half-remembered bits of old lullabies, James rocked Elizabeth against his chest and sang in a low, rusty baritone until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

ELIZABETH SLOWLY OPENED
her eyes and recognized the interior of her room at the Russ House. Her eyelids felt weighted down, swollen, and gritty. She tried to stretch but found herself held securely and surrounded by warmth. She luxuriated in the warmth as she breathed in the woodsy, spicy aroma permeating the room and listened to the reassuring thump of a heartbeat beneath her ear and the even, rhythmic breathing of a deeply slumbering man.

Not just any man.
James.
Startled, Elizabeth jerked upright and bumped her head against his chin as the memory of the night before came flooding back. She might have tumbled to the hard floor if not for the strong arms around her and the large hands intimately cupping her bottom, the long lean fingers laced together holding her in place. She wiggled in his embrace and rubbed at the tender spot where her head had come in contact with his chin, waiting for him to awaken. But he simply tightened his grip on her and continued to sleep. Elizabeth sighed. She knew she shouldn’t linger. She knew she should get out of his arms right away and feel scandalized by their intimacy, but she didn’t. She hadn’t had anyone to watch over her or hold her or cuddle her for a very long time.

She waited, barely daring to breathe, as he nuzzled her hair with his mouth and murmured unintelligibly in his sleep. She fought against the weakness sapping her resolve, fought against the almost overwhelming urge to burrow deeper against James’s chest and cloak herself in his strength. But the night was over and with the dawn came the reality that she wasn’t a child any longer. And she couldn’t expect to be pampered and petted like a child. She was a woman grown. A woman who didn’t waste her breath wishing for things she couldn’t have. She had never prayed for miracles or hoped for impossible dreams to come true. She had learned a long time ago that there was no point in wishing for someone to hold her at night, to comfort her and keep the monsters at bay. And she didn’t intend to start relying on the kindness of strangers at this late date. Even strangers like James. Especially good, kind strangers like James.

Men like James deserved women with untarnished reputations. They deserved—he deserved—the best. And she wasn’t the best. Not anymore. Still, it was nice to think about … Elizabeth bit back a wistful sigh and ruthlessly suppressed the hundred unnamed, restless yearnings plaguing her. Don’t think about it, she admonished herself, just do what you have to do. She pressed her lips together, flattening them into a firm determined line, and carefully extricated herself from James’s protective embrace.

She tiptoed around the room, quietly retrieving her belongings. But Elizabeth couldn’t help but glance over from time to time to study him. She’d guessed him to be about thirty years of age when she opened her door to him, but he looked so much younger in repose. His face was relaxed and his lips slightly parted. His piercing blue eyes were closed and shielded from view, and his black eyelashes fanned against his face, drawing her attention. His were the eyelashes of a child—thick and impossibly long—and the way they caressed the curve of his cheekbone made it relatively easy to believe the boyish illusion and to disregard the fine network of lines crinkling the corners of his eyes
and the dark shadow of his unshaven jaw that gave proof of his maturity.

Unable to resist the impulse, Elizabeth walked over and gently traced the line of his jaw with the pad of her thumb, delighting in the sandpapery feel of it. James was an impressive man. The most impressive man she’d ever been close enough to touch. He wasn’t as classically handsome as Owen. His looks were too dark, too rugged, but she couldn’t deny his appeal. James exuded strength and a masculine vitality, even in sleep, that Elizabeth found impossible to ignore.

But ignore it she must. She had to forget the comfort of his arms, the warmth and feel of his body against hers, and the sense of well-being he offered. She had to dismiss the almost overwhelming desire she felt to lay all her troubles at his feet and let him sort them out. Because she couldn’t allow herself to do otherwise. She couldn’t allow him to take her cares and concerns onto his shoulders—even if his shoulders were broad enough to carry them. She didn’t know why it seemed so important to her, but Elizabeth desperately wanted James to recognize the fact that she wasn’t weak or helpless and that she was perfectly capable of handling her own affairs. Especially since he’d seen her at her worst. What must he think of her already? Allowing him into her room in the middle of the night was bad enough, but crying on his shoulder was really mortifying, because she never cried—not when Papa died or Owen left or when Grandmother …

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip.
That
didn’t bear thinking on. Not when she had so many other worries to tend, not when she was about to do the most cowardly thing she had ever done in her whole life. Not when she was about to sneak out of her hotel room like a thief in the night because she couldn’t face James in the morning light and risk succumbing to that age-old female weakness of relying on a man’s strength instead of her own. Because she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing contempt replace the kindness in his eyes.