The Haunting of Josie (3 page)

“All right, what is it?” she asked, approaching warily.

The big black cat made a soft, curiously contented sound and reached out a paw to bat at his offering. He looked up at her, obviously awaiting praise.

Josie’s misgivings about dead or mortally wounded victims faded as she knelt before the cat. Lying on the polished wooden floor near glossy forepaws was a tarnished brass key. It looked old-fashioned and plain except for the loop of red satin ribbon, faded and threadbare, that might have been used to hang the key on a hook somewhere.

She held the key up and studied it. For a door somewhere in the house? She didn’t think so. The doors here were big, paneled things with ornate knobs, and took keys much bigger than this one. She supposed it might have been designed for some kind of small box, perhaps a jewelry box belonging to one of the Westbrook ladies who had lived or stayed here during the past fifty years or so. The cat must have found it in the cellar—possibly still inserted into its lock—and was attracted by the dangling ribbon.

Gazing at Pendragon, she said, “I don’t suppose you’d show me where you found this?”

He yawned.

“I didn’t think so.” Josie sighed.

“Homemade bread?”

Getting defensive about it, Josie decided, would only make matters worse. “Yes, my mother taught me how to make it when I was a kid,” she told Marc casually.

“It smells great.”

“So does your spaghetti sauce.” She looked around the surprisingly spacious kitchen of the small cottage. It had that domain-of-a-cook appearance, with plenty of pots, pans, and utensils; a place for everything and everything in its place. He was clearly quite at home in it, and she thought ruefully that he was probably a much better cook than she was despite his inability to make coffee. He had thanked her solemnly for the morning gift of “wonderful” hot coffee the moment she’d arrived at the cottage.

Returning her gaze to Marc, who was stirring the sauce, she said, “Why do I get the feeling that you’re probably a pretty good cook for a lawyer?”

He chuckled. “Something my father taught me. He believed in equality between the sexes, so there was no such thing as a ‘traditional’ role in our house. So I can cook, clean, and sew on buttons—and my sister’s a first-rate mechanic. Of course, she can also cook and I can overhaul an engine. Dad was a very thorough man.”

“And a handy one, from the sound of it.” Josie was smiling. “So what does your sister do now?”

“She trains racehorses in Kentucky,” Marc replied. “Anne has a veterinarian husband, three kids, and a houseful of pets of various kinds.”

At the reference to pets, Josie automatically glanced toward the screen door leading from the kitchen to the back porch, but there was no sign of Pendragon. He had asked to be let out a few minutes before she had headed for the cottage, and she hadn’t seen him anywhere in the garden.

Marc might have been following her thoughts because, without looking at her, he added, “Speaking of which—where’s our feline visitor?”

“Outside somewhere.” Josie hesitated, then said, “He wanted down in the cellar a few hours ago, and the next time I saw him he had a brass key with a faded ribbon attached to it. Do you have any idea what it might belong to?”

“Offhand, no, but feel free to look for yourself,” Marc invited amiably. “I haven’t been in the cellar in years, but I seem to remember that the family kept practically everything we ever owned—and most of it down there.”

“I wouldn’t feel right going through that stuff,” she objected. “It belongs to you—”

“There’s nothing personal down there, Josie, just the kind of junk families store in cellars and forget about. If you’re curious about the key, you’re welcome to explore; if you like cellars and attics—which some people do—you have my permission to rummage around all you want. Of course, if you do happen to stumble over a lost Rembrandt or something…”

“Of course,” she agreed dryly.

He smiled at her, and Josie told herself that the leap in her pulse was merely because she loved exploring cellars and attics.
Yeah, right.

The cottage was too small to have a separate dining room, but it did boast a breakfast nook with a bay window, and a small wooden table with two chairs gave the area a cozy appeal. They ate their meal there, and the food was so good that conversation was desultory until they finished. Afterward Josie helped him clear the table and load the dishwasher, and they ended up on the couch in the living room, where a cheerful fire burned in the fireplace.

“Why can’t I make it taste this way?” he wondered ruefully, sipping the coffee that Josie had made using his coffee maker.

“We each have our little talents,” she reminded him in a consoling tone of voice.

“I guess. But it isn’t logical, you know. I watched you make this, and you did
exactly
what I do.”

“Ah—but you didn’t hear me murmur the magic spell.”

Marc peered into his cup with a frown. “You didn’t sprinkle a little eye of newt or toe of bat while I wasn’t looking, did you?”

“Of course not. Today’s magic spells are much more sophisticated. I used dragon’s teeth.”

“Which you just happened to find lying by the side of the road, I suppose?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows dragons shed their teeth every leap year and pass them out only to redheaded witches with purple eyes and black cats.”

After a moment’s thought Marc said judiciously, “Your eyes are violet, not purple.”

Josie had been enjoying the nonsense, but she felt her pulse give another of those peculiar little leaps when he looked at her with a faint smile and an intent gaze. His eyes were like very slightly tarnished silver, she thought, and with his dramatic black hair, widow’s peak, and flying brows, he would have made an excellent warlock.

More nonsense.

Making her voice light, she said, “Well, you can’t deny that my hair is red. Very red. And I do have a black cat, even if it’s only temporarily.”

“True.” With a faint smile still playing about his mouth, he said, “You also have walls about a foot thick.”

The observation startled her, and she knew he saw it. “We just met yesterday, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Marc shook his head. “That isn’t it, Josie. We’ve been fairly casual with each other, and talked all through dinner, but every time I asked a question about you—especially about your background—you were evasive and guarded.”

Josie leaned forward to set her cup on the coffee table. She was trying to give herself time to think, but it was difficult when her awareness of him was so strong and when he was so close. There was no more than a foot of space between them, and that was too little for her peace of mind.

“You’re imagining things,” she managed finally. She leaned back, half turned toward him as before, and met his gaze, trying to keep her own calm and unexpressive.

“I don’t think so.”

She smiled. “I think you’ve been so bored that you’re looking for any excuse to sharpen your lawyerly skills. But I’m not on the witness stand, counselor.”

“I never thought you were.”

“Funny. That’s what it sounded like to me.” Josie knew she sounded too defensive, but she couldn’t help herself. She had spent too many years
feeling
defensive about who she was to be able to let go of that. Not now, at least. Not yet.

“I’m just curious,” he told her in a neutral voice that was belied by his very sharp gaze. “The normal curiosity of a man who wants to get to know a lovely woman. Do you realize that all I know about your background is that you’re a teacher and that you lived and worked in D.C. before you moved out here?”

“There’s nothing else to know.”

He lifted an eyebrow, which made him look even more like a warlock.

Josie debated briefly, then shrugged. And when she spoke, it was calmly but rapidly, offering him no opportunity to ask questions. “All right. I was an only child, born to parents who’d given up on having children until I surprised them. My father died ten years ago. My mother left fifteen years ago. I may have a few cousins scattered about, but for all intents and purposes I have no family.

“I like music, the theater, and movies—particularly old ones, and if most of my books weren’t in storage, I’m sure you’d be impressed by the size and variety of my library. I love cats, which you know, and am also fond of horses and dogs, in that order. Like you, I can cook and sew on a button, and I could even knit you a sweater if I felt so inclined. I can’t overhaul an engine, but I can change a tire and check the oil, which is all I’ve ever needed. My favorite color is blue, my politics are mostly liberal, and if it matters to you, I’m a Scorpio—so don’t mess with me if I’m in a bad mood.”

Marc was smiling.

Josie went on stolidly. “My first boyfriend gave me my first kiss around the age of nine, as I recall; he did it on a dare, and I was curious, but our teeth got in the way, so neither of us enjoyed the experience. Needless to say, the relationship didn’t last. Over the next few years I had several more boyfriends; at that stage, we mostly punched each other on the arm as gestures of affection. In junior high I reached the hand-holding-in-public stage with a boyfriend who knew how to kiss without getting our braces locked; we went steady for more than a year and pretty much fought like two cats tied up in a bag.”

When she paused, Marc murmured, “Don’t stop now. I’ve a feeling we’re just getting to the interesting part.”

She frowned at him. “Not really. I had the same boyfriend all through high school, but he ended up at Stanford while I went to Wellesley, and neither of us could commute—so that took care of that. I dated in college, but nothing serious. Since then, I’ve been working long hours, so there hasn’t been a lot of time for a social life. And that brings us up to the present.”

Marc nodded gravely and leaned over to place his cup on the coffee table. He seemed thoughtful, and when he leaned back and met her gaze, there was a heavy-lidded look to his eyes. It was unmistakably sensual. That was the only warning Josie had before he closed the distance between them, slid his unencumbered right hand under her loose hair to the nape of her neck, and pulled her slowly toward him.

“There’s something I have to know,” he murmured.

In the seconds granted to her, Josie knew she could stop this. She
knew
she could. All she had to do was stiffen, or pull away, or just say no. No, don’t do that. No, I don’t want to.

Except that she did want to.

She gazed into his heavy-lidded, tarnished-silver eyes until his lips touched hers, and then she closed her own eyes as an abrupt wave of dizzying pleasure washed over her. His mouth was warm, soft and hard at the same time, and incredibly erotic. She could feel the tension of wariness seeping out of her, feel her body soften and begin to tremble.

She wanted to reach out to him, touch him, but her mind was still too wary for that even if another part of her wasn’t. She couldn’t reach out. But she couldn’t pull back, either, or deny even to herself the pleasure she felt and the overwhelming response of her body to his touch.

She felt the tip of his tongue probing, sliding along the sensitive inner surface of her lip, and a hot shiver rippled through her. She had never felt anything like it before, and was astonished to realize that it was desire. She had believed she’d felt desire before, but now she knew better.

This was desire, swift, hot, and urgent, and everything in her recognized the enormity of it.

Josie didn’t know what she might have done if he hadn’t drawn slowly away just then, because with that devastating desire had come a confused jumble of emotions she very badly needed to sort through and understand.

“Our teeth didn’t get in the way,” Marc murmured huskily as he drew back, “and there are no braces to lock, but I have to know how I stack up against your previous boyfriends. It’s a macho thing, I’m afraid. The battle of conquest, and all that. So tell me—how do I compare?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“As a kisser.” He appeared perfectly serious.

Josie had a vague objection. “But you aren’t my boyfriend.”

“We’re a little old for the terminology,” he agreed. “How does
lover
strike you?”

After a brief moment of uncertainty, Josie got hold of herself. “I don’t want a lover, thank you very much,” she told him politely.

“No?”

“No.” She wished somewhat desperately that she sounded more certain of that. Before Marc could pounce on her hesitancy, she drew away from the fingers lightly stroking her cheek and got up off the couch. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had a long day and I think I’ll go home. Thank you for dinner, it was lovely.”

He followed her into the kitchen as she headed for the back door and her path across the garden. “I’ll walk you to the house,” he offered.

“That isn’t necessary,” she told him as she opened the door. She had the unnerving feeling that he knew very well she was more or less bolting in panic.

“I insist,” he said, following her out onto the porch.

“No, Marc, I’ll be fine.” She went down the steps, relieved when he didn’t follow.

Sounding amused, he said, “Well, all right. But you didn’t answer my first question.”

Josie paused before taking the narrow path that would lead her home, and looked back at him. It was too dark to see him, especially with the light from the kitchen behind him, and his silhouette was so starkly masculine that her throat tightened up in response.

What had he asked? Oh, yes, of course—how he compared to her “previous boyfriends” as a kisser.

She wanted to lie about it, but although she could evade the truth when necessary, an outright lie was beyond her. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “A-plus. Dammit.”

He had a nice laugh. But it didn’t do much for her peace of mind to have it echo after her as she bolted home.

Pendragon had apparently found a way into the house, because he was waiting for her inside. Josie didn’t know how he’d managed it, but made a mental note to herself to find out in the morning. At the moment she was tired and upset, and the idea of a nice long bath and an early night sounded terrific.