With Her Last Breath (8 page)

With another sip, Nick settled back into his thoughts, and memories of his wife came floating gently into his mind. He smoothed the ornate gold frame holding their wedding picture. His high school sweetheart had just become his wife. Alyssa, wearing a traditional wedding gown, had laughed up at him. They’d had their whole lives waiting for them. In a temper, his rage against life’s pain, he’d thrown the frame, cracking the glass, but he couldn’t change fate.

He closed his eyes and laid his head back on the wooden lawn chair, thinking of her.

Another woman had driven her pickup beside him, intruding into his pain, and now her face, those dark green eyes with the gold flecks, the burst of fire in her hair came back to him.

The telephone rang again, and distracted, Nick automatically picked up the cordless unit. “Yes?”

Celeste asked pointed questions about Maggie, the same ones as he had asked. Nick had no answers about the mystery woman, but he asked one of his own—“What’s wrong, Celeste?”

The psychic brushed him off, but there was something in her tone that stayed. Celeste had never asked him about anyone, and now for some reason, she was uneasy about Maggie.

Celeste wasn’t the only one that Maggie had stirred. Restless now, Nick refilled his glass, and for once discounted the aromas. He wondered why Maggie Chantel haunted him so, why his body stirred with just one glance of those eyes that could be green as new leaves, or tinged brown when she was brooding. Did she remind him of Alyssa?

But Alyssa’s eyes were blue, and she was sweet and innocent, and something in Nick told him that Maggie had lost all illusions about life, that she trusted no one.

He shoved his hand through his hair, leaned back in the chair, and found himself wanting more of Maggie—the
sound of her voice, the way her hips swayed. While he appreciated how women looked and acted and smelled, Nick had never felt that sharp jerk of lust, the need to reach out and capture those hips, to draw them back to him. But then, when a woman handled a stick shift as Maggie did, a man started having ideas.

When she had passed close to him, he could almost scent her fear, and he’d been angry that she’d been hurt, wanting to protect her. The image of her going up the stairs would keep him awake all night.

The telephone rang again, and this time a woman’s indistinguishable, soft voice left a message that could wait—because it was Lorna.

The wind coursed softly around the Frenchman’s lighthouse, whispering of a woman in another century who could not come to her betrothed—and of a young wife, gone too soon.

Yet again, Nick’s thoughts pivoted back to Maggie. Her face had paled at Dante’s offer of sailboating, and she’d instantly gripped the locket at her throat. Why? Who was she trying to hold on to? To remember?

What ghosts haunted her?

He closed his eyes again, his body needing rest and his mind traveling over what he knew of Maggie. He saw her eyes again, dark green tinged with earth brown. Before she became friends with Nick, Scout’s defensive position said the dog sensed Maggie’s fears.

Who had hurt her, and what did she fear?

Brent would use Maggie Chantel’s fear of water to torture her.

He rented the same room she had, lay in the same cheap hotel bed she had used over a year ago, and thought about how he would tell Maggie everything about Glenda—how she had said she loved him, how she begged for the needle, how in the end, just nine months after he’d tried to rape Maggie, nothing else had mattered, not even her children.

Glenda had been weak, but Maggie’s strength would prove her worthy of him.

Brent rose from the bed and dressed neatly for the night. He’d visit the local gym fishing for tidbits about Maggie, spend time at the local email pub researching her, and telephone his sister.

Cheryl Ann was late with her payment—the one that kept him away from her oh-so-very-special family. She’d do anything to protect them, and the money was easy enough for her to get from her husband.

Because Cheryl Ann knew exactly what he was capable of, and she feared him and the secrets he knew…

But if he ever discovered that Cheryl Ann was withholding information about Maggie’s location from him, he would destroy his sister.

Where was Maggie? How could she just disappear?

He had to find her, to hurt her…

Maggie did her stretches and then began walking quickly, warming up for her early morning run in the fresh, cold air. On her third day in Blanchefleur, dawn had turned the windows on Main Street a silvery pink, almost like the inside of an abalone shell, the cobblestones catching the color.

Last night the cobblestones had gleamed beneath the streetlights. Maggie had just been preparing for her evening run when Lorna had stepped out from the shadows. “Leave Nick alone,” she’d said. “Or I’ll run you out of town.”

Maggie had been harassed, unable to find work, and fired from positions before—and it wasn’t going to happen to her again. “Try it,” she’d challenged briskly. “Maybe you’ve got reasons to be so obnoxious, but don’t try the tough stuff on me. You’re a typical spoiled brat, with nothing else to do but cause trouble. I don’t care what’s between you and Nick, but just maybe you can’t buy what you want this time. Back off.”

Lorna’s threats had slid into the night as Maggie set off on her run. But she didn’t miss the way the woman had reached
to Scout, affectionately scratching her ears. And the elderly in Blanchefleur credited Lorna with her donation to the Senior Center, and to a shuttle van to help them with town travel. Lorna wasn’t all spoiled brat; she was probably a woman with a painful past—just like Maggie.

At five-thirty this morning, the streets were deserted. At eight, Maggie would work with George Wilson, an elderly man who needed to exercise his legs and depend less on his wheelchair. Because his daughter’s family were working and busy, she had hired Maggie. George was an outrageous flirt, and she enjoyed his company.

By ten o’clock Maggie would be at Ole’s, cleaning and scrubbing and praying that women would sign up for her classes. It was a start, Maggie told herself as she settled into run, Scout at her side.

Determined to quell her fear of water, Maggie ran down the highway leading to the beach. High on a side street to the right of her, the woman in the yellow house watched her as she passed, but then Maggie had moved through enough towns to recognize curiosity.

She had a grip on her life and it would get better; a flattened checkbook had narrowed her options. She’d work hard to get the home she needed for her parents’ furniture, and for Scout and herself.

At a sound, Maggie turned to see Nick running easily beside her. “Get lost, Alessandro.”

“You don’t own the highway. I usually run into town once a day, depending on when the folks need me. And try not to hurt my feelings, will you?” In a sweat-damp T-shirt and jogging shorts, he was breathing easily, matching her shorter stride.

She snorted at that, moving up the pace to lose him. Nick wasn’t falling behind. Instead he was grinning at her as he both ran and played with Scout, who was tongue dangling, dog-happy.

“You’re getting all sweaty. I hear things are going good for you.” Nick’s look down her body lingered and appraised. He
had a way of touching that wasn’t physical, rather it raised her senses and they started jumping.

She refused to answer, digging her shoes into the firm wet sand of the beach. She was almost a quarter mile down the beach before she noticed that Scout wasn’t with her.

Maggie resented the run back up the beach, where Nick was bent over Scout, pushing her bottom onto the sand. “Sit. Sit, Scout.”

She braced her hands on her hips. “I’ve had enough of your interference with my dog.”

He stood and grinned down at her. “She likes me.”

“Listen. Your friend Lorna Smith-Ellis caught me on my run last night. She made it clear that you and she have something going. She thinks I’m trying to get you—which I’m not—and she was very unpleasant.”

Nick’s smile died. “I’m sorry she did that. I’ll talk with her. We dated a couple of times and she had big ideas about marriage and—”

“She’s obsessive about what she can’t have, and you’re still in love with your wife. Until Lorna, you hadn’t dated. Amazing the things I’ve learned about you in a short time. That’s why the Frenchman’s lighthouse appeals to you so much, because you like to go up there and brood about your wife. That’s where you should be now, isn’t it? Why the sudden interest in me? Do I remind you of her?”

Nick studied her critically, tilting his head a bit. “Not a bit. Alyssa had blue eyes and a mop of curly black hair.”

“Act like her?” she pushed briskly.

“No,” he said more gently as if remembering his young wife. “Alyssa was very sweet.”

Maggie sighed deeply. “Look, I like being alone. Really. Some people don’t, but I do. I’m fine with it. So don’t try to play big brother with me, or anything else.”

He reached out a hand to her face and Maggie reacted instantly, gripping his wrist and hooking her leg behind his. Off balance, Nick went down heavily in the sand with a surprised “Uh!”

Before she could move, his hand circled her ankle and he was studying her bare legs with that dark, intent look that sent warning bells clanging in Maggie’s head. The gripping sensuality was all hungry male, and her body was responding to that, an excitement running through her that she hadn’t expected.

“I’ll talk to Lorna. She won’t bother you again.”

His thumb was warm, caressing her skin. “Maggie,” he added softly as if testing her name on his tongue. Those black eyes were saying things she didn’t want to know, like how he wanted her, to move with her, in her—

Then Nick released her, his arms going behind his head as he lay easily on the sand. “You’re trying to face your fear of water, aren’t you? That’s why you chose a lakeside town.”

Scout flopped her chest and paws over Nick’s stomach and watched Maggie. She forced herself to break away from the sensuality of Nick’s gaze, his big body sprawled on the sand below her. He was trouble, and lots of it, and he wasn’t going to keep his distance.

Maggie wanted to hurry away, to protect herself. Nick already knew too much, her fear of water and her need to face it. “Come, Scout.”

The dog didn’t move, whining softly. Then slowly, as if resenting leaving a new friend, she rose to follow Maggie.

Because Nick had upset her, Maggie chose to run toward town and away from the beach, pitting herself against the slope, faster and faster, Scout keeping at her side.

When she returned on the highway, the woman in the yellow house high on the right side of the valley was holding a cat, almost as if she had been waiting for Maggie. And the wind chimes’ musical notes floated on the morning air following her….

Freshly showered in his parents’ apartment and ready to help in the restaurant, Nick pulled on his jeans and a shirt, stepped into comfortable loafers, and opened the door.

His mind was on Maggie: how it felt to touch her skin, the
way she looked down at him with the blue sky behind her. He’d barely kept his hand from sliding higher on her leg, over that smooth, gleaming skin, the muscles beneath that tightened at his touch.

His body told him to tug her down, to hold her beneath him. His hunger for Maggie rode him, the need to taste that sassy mouth, to hold her tight and close, fitting her to his body.

Maggie was fighting her desperate fear of water, trying to adjust to it. And she trusted no one.

But her recognition of the attraction between them had been there, brief but true, and Nick realized that he had begun a journey he could not stop—to know more about Maggie.

To know how she felt in his arms.

To know the scent of her body, the hidden hollows and the sounds…

He shrugged, his body still damp within the clinging cotton shirt and jeans. Maybe he could forget her if she moved on. More than likely he wouldn’t forget a woman with witch’s eyes and silky copper-colored hair.

But if Maggie stayed, he intended to have answers.

With his hands on his jeans’ unbuttoned snap, he stepped into the hallway landing between the two apartments.

Just then, Maggie’s door opened and she moved into the doorway. At the same time, Scout barreled past her, leaping on him. Off-balance in her dog’s wake, Maggie started to tip toward the stairs and with a small cry, hovered on the edge of the first step.

Nick reached out to her, snagged her upper arm, and holding his breath, drew her back to safety.

Maggie sank against the wall, breathing hard. “Thanks.”

Nick couldn’t move or speak because she was looking at his chest, his shirt unbuttoned, with a woman’s awareness that couldn’t be ignored. He followed the swallow down her throat, took in the way her lips softened in that heartbeat. Trapped in that moment, the same as he, she looked helpless and warm and feminine and sweet. There were little damp tendrils clinging to her neck and in front of her ears. He
breathed her fragrance, rich and fruity, sweet and new, with just a touch of herbal bite.

He mocked himself, a vintner, comparing a woman to the finest reserve wine, but then, unguarded and vulnerable, Maggie Chantel was a very desirable woman.

Nick leaned closer, lowering his face to hers, catching the aroma of woman and shampoo, and her eyes widened. He’d thought they were green, but instead they were the color of new earth and lush, dark grass, capturing his reflection.

He heard her indrawn breath as he bent to brush her lips with his. Soft and sweet, they moved just that bit in a welcoming, knowing, womanly response, rich with layers of interesting character.

Maggie’s hands went to his bare chest, fingers open to push him away, but instead she held very still, watching him with those green-brown eyes as he kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other. Summer moved through him then, sweeping away the coldness of spring.

“I don’t play games, Nick,” she warned huskily.

“Neither do I.” This time he sank into the kiss, fed on it, searched for her hunger and found it, simmering and soft.