Shadow Lover (33 page)

"What else would you be lying about?"

How I feel about you
, he thought. Maybe dragging her down here wasn't the smartest idea in the world, but he couldn't leave her behind. It was simply too dangerous.

He seemed to be totally incapable of ignoring the effect she had on him. She moved around the kitchen, setting water on to boil, moving with calm grace, and all he wanted to do was ease her down on the hardwood floor, strip off her clothes, and put his mouth between her legs. He was worse than when he was seventeen. Then he was impartially obsessed by all females, including thirteen-year-old Carolyn.

Now all that lust was channeled directly toward one woman, and he was having a hell of a time keeping it under control. She had her back to him, and was busy rifling through the cupboards, and he could no more resist the impulse than he could stop breathing. He moved across the room, coming up directly behind her, not quite touching her, so close he could smell the soap from the cheap motel, smell her skin and her shampoo and her faint, erotic, female scent, and he put his arms to either side of her, trapping her against the counter.

She didn't turn in his arms to face him, much as he wanted her to. She froze, keeping her back to him. "What do you think you're doing?" She would have sounded bored if it weren't for the faint quiver in her voice. The faint tremor that washed through her body.

She didn't realize he found her back as erotic as the front of her. She'd braided her silky blonde hair in one thick braid, exposing the nape of her neck, and he wanted to bite her, like a mating cat. She stood straight and still within the prison of his arms, and he wondered if he would ever be capable of making her laugh. Right now it didn't seem likely. Right now it didn't seem as if either of them had much reason to laugh.

He gave in to temptation, putting his mouth against the back of her neck, kissing her there, slowly, letting his tongue touch and taste the warm, soft skin. She shivered, taking in a deep breath, and he pressed his hips against her buttocks, wanting her to feel him.

"Don't," she said in a strangled voice.

He moved his mouth to the side of her neck, tasting, teasing. "Why not? Are you going to tell me you don't want me?"

"I don't want you."

"Liar."

She turned in his arms then, a major tactical error on her part. He allowed her enough room,
then
moved in closer, so that he could feel the soft fullness of her breasts through his t-shirt, pressing against his chest. He could press up against her thighs, nestle there, where he belonged, knowing she could feel it too. She wanted to escape from him, he knew that full well. She also wanted him to kiss her.

He brought his mouth close, so close that he could feel the soft puffs of her breath against his lips. But he didn't close the gap. "Do you want to kiss me, Carolyn?" he whispered.

"I want you to let me go," she said in a dull voice.

He dropped his arms to his side, no longer imprisoning her. "But do you want to kiss me?"

She raised her eyes to look at him, and there was anger and betrayal in their cool depths. "Yes," she said. "But I'm not going to."

He smiled then. "Maybe not now," he agreed. "But sooner or later."

She didn't dispute him. "Arrogant bastard," she said calmly. "I'd prefer later."

"I wouldn't." He leaned closer, savoring the sweet temptation, when the shrill sound of the phone jerked him out of his erotic reverie.

He stepped back, reluctantly. "Do you want to get the phone or shall I?"

"I'll get it." She dashed from the kitchen, and he resisted the impulse to follow her. She was more than capable of handling any of the
MacDowell
clan, and at the moment he trusted her composure more than his own.

He waited as long as he could,
then
followed her out into the living room and the one downstairs phone that Sally would allow. She was sitting in a chair, a lost expression on her face.

"Who was it?"

"Uncle Warren."

"I don't suppose you called him 'daddy,' did you?"

She roused herself. "I barely thought about it," she said, an obvious lie, but he decided to let it pass. "He's been looking for me, he said. They found my car and they were worried. Patsy's in the hospital. Some kind of drug reaction, apparently."

"I can imagine," he drawled. "Did she OD?"

"I don't know.
Warren
said her children are with her."

"And where is your dear papa?"

"Don't call him that!" She shuddered. "He's in
Vermont
, I assume. He's trying to make funeral arrangements for Sally, dealing with Patsy's hospitalization, and mad as hell that I'm not around to take care of the details." She glanced up at him. "He didn't ask about you."

"Interesting. Either he no longer cares, or he already knows."

"What did you two plan on doing when Sally died?"

Alex chuckled mirthlessly. "He was supposed to pay me off handsomely and I was supposed to disappear."

"How much?"

He shrugged. "I don't really remember, since I had no intention of taking it. Somewhere in the mid-six figures, I think."

"I would think he'd be worried that you were planning on blackmailing him. Unless he's figured out that you really are Alex."

"
Warren
's not that smart. Are you sure he was calling from
Vermont
?"

"How could I be?" she said in a cranky voice.

"Exactly. In this life you can't be sure of anything."

"Especially in this family," she said bitterly.

"Of which you are well and truly a member. Finally," he pointed out.

"I don't think so."

She'd managed to surprise him. "What do you mean?" He almost sounded affronted.

She looked at him. "I mean you're well and truly a
MacDowell
, aren't you, Alex, despite the fact that you have no blood tie to them. You're a ruthless, handsome, self-centered liar, willing to do anything to get what you want in this life, no matter who you hurt. Sounds like the quintessential
MacDowell
to me."

It shouldn't have stung, but it did. "And you're Miss Pure-as-the-Driven-Snow?"

"No. But I don't put my wants in front of everybody else's, and damn the cost. And I don't lie."

"You don't lie? I guess we can add self-delusion to your list of sins as well," He said. He didn't trust himself to move any closer to her—leaning against the doorjamb in the back parlor kept him from touching her.

"I don't lie," she said fiercely, making the mistake of rising from her chair and coming toward him, too angry to realize her danger.

"What do you think of me?"

"Why bother to ask—you know perfectly well what I think of you."

He managed an extravagant yawn. "Yeah, I know. You despise me, you think I'm lower than dirt, I'm a liar and a cheat and I don't even have the decency to tell the truth about being an imposter. I'm as rotten as I ever was, the bane of your existence, and you wish whoever had shot me had had better aim. Does that about sum it up?"

"That about covers it." She came right up to him, a major mistake. "Except for one thing."

"And what's that?"

She had the absolute indecency to smile at him, a to-hell-with-you, in-your-face kind of smile. "When you figure it out, let me know," she said sweetly. And she walked past him before he could put his hands on her.

* * *

The hours in the old house dragged. There'd been a time when Carolyn had loved the house on

Now it would be Patsy's and Warren's. Or possibly Alex's, if he wanted it. He said he had no interest in his inheritance, but the man had been known to lie, she thought wryly. And who could turn down an inheritance of such magnificence as this house?

She could. She realized it with a sudden, liberating shock. She could turn her back on this huge, stuffy old house in Edgartown, with its history and its perfection, where even as a child she was told to behave herself, never to make too much noise, not to make a mess, do nothing to mar its pristine beauty. It was a huge house, built by a sea captain for his half-dozen children, but no child's voice had rung out in the halls for generations, even when Alex and the rest of them were little. It was a dead house, and Carolyn found she could let go of it as easily as she'd let go of the
MacDowells
. It was a hard lesson to be learned in this life, and she was lucky she'd learned it by the age of thirty-one and not years later. The things you most longed for in life quite often turned out to be worthless and shallow.

She glanced across the room to Alex. He was stretched out on the wicker chaise, a remarkably uncomfortable chair in Carolyn's opinion, though he didn't seem to mind. His eyes were closed, but she had no illusion that he was sleeping. Still, it gave her the time to look at him at her leisure, and she knew with dark certainty that this might be the last time.

Worthless and shallow. Most certainly he was, as well as beautiful and dishonest and pathologically self-centered. He was also what she had longed for most in this life, more than family, more than to be a real
MacDowell
, more than this perfect mausoleum of a summer house.

And she still wanted him. Ached for him, like a stupid, hormone-riddled adolescent. She looked at his long, lean body, his ripe mouth, his Cossack eyes, and she burned.

And he wasn't going to know it. Oh, he might guess. After all, he was an intelligent enough man, and wise in the ways of women. He knew perfectly well she lusted after him, just as he knew she could keep her lust firmly under control.

What he didn't know was that she still loved him, deeply, passionately. And most likely always would, since time and the harsh truth and sorrow couldn't diminish her feelings.

She wasn't about to end up a bitter old woman, mourning a lost love—she had too much sense for that. Once she broke free of the
MacDowells
she'd get on with her life, find someone kind and good to marry. She'd have babies, babies that she'd never give up to a rich old woman willing to pay the price. And only on certain hot summer nights, or maybe on cool, crisp autumn ones, would she think about Alexander
MacDowell
and remember the man she loved.

"Do you ever get the feeling that someone is watching you?" Alex's voice drifted toward her, startling her. He hadn't bothered to open his eyes, but he must have been far too aware of her perusal.

"So sue me," she said.

Then he did open his eyes, looking at her with veiled amusement. "I didn't mean you. Of course you watch me, just as I watch you. Whether you admit it or not, we're both suffering from a case of terminal, mutual lust, and even if we manage to keep our hands off each other, we can't stop watching."

"Terminal lust," she echoed. "What a charming way to put it."

"Do you deny it?"

"Lust is not how I'd describe my feelings for you," she said dryly.

"I won't bother arguing with you about it. I was talking about this house. I've always had the feeling that someone was watching me. Maybe it's all the windows looking out over

"It's off-season. No one's walked by in hours, and the traffic is minimal."

"So why do I get the feeling someone is spying on me? Or am I being paranoid?"

"You're probably being paranoid."

"Probably?"

"I'm feeling it, too."

He sat up swiftly, the ancient wicker chaise creaking. "Maybe they've gotten here sooner than I thought."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. We can rule out Patsy, I suppose, since she's in
detox
."

"And her children, since they're by her side.
Which leaves
Warren
.
"

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not." He rose. "I'm going outside to see whether we might have any little visitors."

"And leave me alone in here? Forget it."

"You mean you expect me to protect you? I'm touched, Carolyn. I didn't think you were about to accept anything from me."

She glared at him. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that, Alex?"

"I know that. Why don't you go upstairs and lock the door while I scout around and make sure the house is secure?"