Rekindled (5 page)

Ross’s chiding was gentle. “No need to whisper now. If our yelling didn’t wake ‘em, nothing will.” He took the two empty coffee cups and brought them to the sink.

Chloe wiped off the table. “If it hadn’t been for that battery, I’d have been back home in bed by now.”

“Instead,” he teased, “we’ve had a chance to get reacquainted. Urn, acquainted.”

Chloe stopped wiping and straightened. Getting acquainted was one thing, but where did they go from there? The physical attraction that had been rekindled with a vengeance earlier, weighed heavily on her now.

“Uh-uh, Chloe.” He came up behind her. “Just relax.” She looked back, wondering how he knew. “I can feel it in the air-that whatever-it is that disturbs you.” He took the cloth from her and tossed it into the sink. “I won’t pounce. I’ll just walk you to your room.”

That was exactly what he did. He halted on the threshold. “The manager said he’d leave plenty of towels. I wish I could offer you something else. You seem to be without those … things that most women can’t live without.”

She smiled. “I don’t need anything.”

“A shirt? Would you like a fresh shirt of mine in place of a … a..

“Negligee?” Her smile widened. “No, thanks, Ross. If the sheets are clean, they’ll be covering enough. But I have to get an early start in the morning.”

He nodded. “I called the garage while you were making our dinner. They’ll be at your car no later than eight. Is that too early?”

“Lord, no! I have to call Lee, my partner, anyway. There’s a small matter of an appointment at nine.”

“Will she fill in for you?”

“No. He has work of his own to do.” She grinned at Ross’s startled look. “He’ll cancel and explain for me. I’ll reschedule when I get back.”

Ross nodded, but he was gnawing on his lower lip. There was obviously more that he wanted to say, but Chloe wasn’t inviting him in. That would be dangerous. Very dangerous. But when he turned and headed down the stairs to his own room, she felt disappointed. Part of her wondered if flirting with danger could end on a happy note this time.

The night manager hadn’t only left extra towels, but he’d also left a package of goodies tailor-made for the stranded motorist. There was a toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb, soap, and, luxury of luxuries, an envelope of bubble-bath powder.

Chloe smiled. She’d had her share of tension today; now she would release it. The devil could take the hour; she would take a long, hot bath!

Several deft flicks of her wrist sent a full stream of hot water into the long porcelain tub, which stood, in keeping with the vintage aura of the inn itself, on four clawed feet. Feeling scandalous, she sprinkled the entire contents of the envelope beneath the steaming flow.

Moments later she was immersed to her neck in bubbles. Draping her hair over the lip of the tub, she closed her eyes and gave in to pleasure. Was it true what they said about the subconscious urge to return to the womb? Was this all-enveloping warmth, this light floating what it had been like?

The womb, however, was not where she wished most to be at that moment. Rather, she thought of the arms that had held her earlier, the lips that had kissed her, the strong body that had supported her. Buoyed by a sense of euphoria, she allowed herself to think back on the full story of that night eleven years ago.

It had been the holiday recess. She and Crystal had returned from their first semester at the university to spend Thanksgiving with the family. The boys were gathered: AJLAN from Denver, Chris from Chicago, Tim from St. Louis-from their respective subdivisions of the Macdaniel domain. They had spent a typically revel-filled Thanksgiving Day, complete with gargantuan offerings of turkey, stuffing, salads and vegetables and fruit molds, pies and cakes and other goodies, not to mention the company of aunts and uncles and cousins galore. Later that night, she and Crystal had dropped in at Sandra’s house, where a party had been in progress.

Sandra had been their best friend through carefree high school years. They hadn’t seen her since September when she had left to go to college in New York, where her older brother lived.

Ross was that brother’s friend. From the moment Chloe set foot into the Brownings’ living room her eye was drawn to him. He had seemed to represent all the things she had never knowrmonconformity, independence, singularity. Even in a crowd, he stood out. Sandra had said he was in the Peace Corps, stationed in Africa. He was tall and breathtakingly attractive in a wholly new and exciting way for Chloe. “Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Crystal had whispered in the ear of her twin.

“I’ll say. What do you think he’s doing here?”

“That’s a dumb question. He’s visiting the Brownings like we are.”

They stood with their heads together, both pairs of eyes glued to Ross.

Chloe asked, “Do you think he has a girl?”

“A guy like that? Girls, plural. He’s oozing virility-or hadn’t you noticed?”

“I noticed,” Chloe drawled. “Think he’ll notice us?”

“Why not? We’re rich and beautiful and sexy-“

” -and young.”

Crystal bristled. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“If he’s Sammy’s friend, Crystal, he’s ten years older than we are. You don’t really think he’d be interested, do you?”

“God, Chloe, you are a stickin-the-mud. Of course he’ll be interested. Men like freshness. And we are rich and beauti-“

“I know, I know,” Chloe interrupted the litany, feeling a sudden surprising disdain for her sister’s arrogance. So often the arrogance was shared. As the babies of the family-and twins, at that-they’d been reared like royalty. For the first time, however, Chloe wondered whether men like this stranger were attracted to royalty. Was being rich and beautiful and sexy all that mattered? Something told her that this divine-looking man would seek more, something in his gaze as he slowly turned it their way.

“Wow,” Crystal whispered. “I’m going after him.”

“Oh, no. It’s my turn,” Chloe whispered back with matching determination. “You got Roger. This one’s mine.”

“He won’t want a stickin-the-mud. You think we’re too young for him.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Besides, he’s looking at me, not you.”

Crystal snorted. “Arbitrary choice. We look exactly alike.”

“All of a sudden we look exactly alike?” Chloe choked. “What about that ‘added bit of spice’ you claim to have? What about your last-born ‘glow of vulnerability’?”

Crystal crinkled her nose. “He can’t see all that at this distance.”

But Chloe was vehement. “I have a feeling about him.”

“You always have feelings about people. I’m the doer. Remember?”

“Not this time.”

“Chloe …” Crystal warned in a singsong murmur.

“Crystal …” Chloe warned right back. “We’ll toss a coin. Heads, I win.”

Crystal’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll do the tossing. You always seem to win.”

It was true. While Crystal, with her heightened impishness and propensity for instigating trouble, was often at the fore in their mischief-making, Chloe invariably won the toss of the coin. And with good reason. As the more levelheaded of the two, she was expected to be the one to produce the coin. It came from a secret fold in her wallet and served no other purpose than this. It would never have passed for currency. It had two heads. But Crystal never knew that, not even when she did the tossing herself.

And so, with the keenest of amber eyes pulling her forward, Chloe had approached the mysterious man of the love generation. Initial silence had given way to the exchange of smiles, then names. There was brief small talk, amid a riot of steamy looks. The party had paled. Forgetting their friends, they had wandered onto the patio, then taken refuge by the pool. Later they had moved on to the sloping lawn of Sandra’s parents’ estate.

Chloe shifted slowly in the tub. The heat of the water had dissipated, but was replaced by the heat of her body as she remembered. It had been warm that night. The crescent moon had been brilliant, repeated in the white smile that split Ross’s dark beard when he looked down at her.

“You’re a vision, Chloe,” he whispered, sharing her fascination. “Are you real?”

“I’m real,” she whispered back and was suddenly, uncharacteristically tongue-tied.

But further words were unnecessary. The guest house where Ross was staying was on a far corner of the estate. He took her there, pausing along the way to kiss her, to assure her with a protective embrace that he wouldn’t hurt her, and he hadn’t. He had been a masterful lover, so very gentle undressing her, so very subtle baring his potentially frightening body, so very patient as he coaxed her to heights of desire, then tender when he took her virginity. When tenderness gave way to driving passion, she rose with him, reveling in an ecstasy she had never known before.

Ross’s lovemaking had been a magical experience. She would always cherish it.

She stirred in the tub, suspended between the world of memories and the present. In a final indulgence, she submerged her hand and touched the skin Ross had touched, traced the curves he had traced. Thoughts of him were fresh and near. She sighed in delight.

Then her back slipped on the porcelain. With a jerk, she sat up, but not before her hair got wet. Hissing her annoyance, she reached for a towel to wrap around her head, then soaped herself quickly and climbed out. A lovely trip into the past had ended in frustration. Satisfaction would not be forthcoming. Nor would there be a respite from the guilt she still felt.

For the guilt was only in part related to the act of loving Ross. Its other part was Crystal. Crystal-her twin. Crystal-her alter ego. Crystal-who had never known that same joy, but should have, should have at least once before her death such a short time later.

The long ponytail bobbed against her neck as Chloe jogged on the beach. Indian summer had come to Rhode Island, bringing bright sun and a heat that was unusual for mid-October. She wasn’t about to complain, though. All too soon her daily run would require a sweat suit, hat, and gloves. Now she delighted in the freedom of shorts and tank top, which allowed her arms and legs to breathe. The sweat that dotted her brow trickled across her temple and down along her hairline. It glistened on her skin, adding glow.

It had been two weeks since she had seen Ross Stephenson, two weeks since his presence had stunned her. He had a way of doing that, she mused, as she dodged a piece of driftwood that had washed up on the beach. The slap of her sneakers on the wet sand evened out.

Eleven years before, Ross had scored a coup, conquering her mind and body within hours. Their encounter two weeks ago had been under vastly different circumstances, but it was nearly as devastating.

The physical attraction between them hadn’t diminished. If anything, it was more awesome than before, if her recollection of that kiss in the Wayward Sailor’s kitchen was correct. He had to have known how he would affect her, which made his disappearance the next morning all the more unforgivable.

Chloe hadn’t known what to expect-whether Ross would wake her or meet her downstairs for breakfast. She had assumed that, at the very least, he would drive her back to her car. But a maid had awakened her at seven, putting a pot of fresh coffee and a plate of sweet rolls on the small stand by her bed before scurrying back out, and when Chloe reached the front desk, she learned that Ross had already checked out.

She was immediately disappointed, then annoyed with herself It was better this way. She was too vulnerable, if the previous night’s kiss meant anything. Ross made her feel beautiful things, things she didn’t deserve.

She was alive. That was enough. She reasoned that it was far better that he should be gone from her life.

When the day manager had handed her Ross’s note, though, she was livid. “Chloe,” he had scrawled in a bold hand, “Had to leave to catch the early plane. Your car is taken care of Someone from the inn will take you there.” It was signed, “Love, Ross.” and was punctuated with a period as a statement of fact.

He had no business doing that, had no business using the word love so blithely. But that was the least of it. It seemed that he had paid her tab at the inn and the cost of a new battery and its installation.

She ran on down the beach, struggling to forget about Ross, to push him from mind, to focus on work. But he remained, along with her wounded pride. She had stewed all the way from Rye to Little Compton that morning. On arriving home, she had gotten the address of the Hansen Corporation and sent a check out in the mail that same day, with a note that was much less personal than his.

“Enclosed is a check to cover the expenses I incurred last night and this morning. Chloe Macdaniel.” She hadn’t asked him to take care of her. She didn’t need him to take care of her. She didn’t want to feel beholden to him in any way, shape, or form, because one thing was clear. She had picked herself up after Crystal’s death and built a new life. She wasn’t letting anything threaten it.

With firm resolve she made a gentle semicircle and jogged more slowly back toward where she had left her towel on the rocks at the sea side of her home.

As she approached, though, it wasn’t the house that caught her eye but the tall figure that moved away from it and began to walk to the beach. She stopped short.

He was dressed in casual navy slacks and a plaid shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck and rolled to the elbows. His dark hair tumbled in disarray across his brow. Even from a distance he looked threatening in a divine kind of way.

He must have been watching for her, must have stood by the living room window until she had come into sight. If Lee hadn’t been there to answer the door, he might have left. Now she was caught-and annoyed.

Tipping up a defiant chin, she began walking. Ross made no move to meet her halfway, just watched and waited, but his stance suggested an annoyance of his own, along with a touch of the imperious. Despite his casual clothes, he looked formal.

She came to a halt before him, nodded, and offered a polite “Ross” in greeting, before shifting beyond him to retrieve her towel.

“What in the hell did you do it for, Chloe?” He was annoyed, all right.