“In the window at the side of the house. That’s the library, right?”
“Through those doors.” She pointed to the double doors standing open in invitation. “But we weren’t exactly quiet when we broke in here.”
“Maybe he’s still hiding in the library, light extinguished, waiting.”
She yanked on his jeans. “That doesn’t make me want to go snooping around the library.”
He turned, holding the candle up to her face, casting his own in shadow. With her fingers still hooked in his belt loop at the back of his jeans, Devon’s arm wrapped around his waist. She left it there.
“You’re not afraid of Columbella House, are you?”
“No.” How could she be afraid of a place that held the memories of their love? Especially since that’s all they had left.
Cupping the candle with his hand, he took a step closer, his warm breath caressing her ear. “When I got to Coral Cove, the house drew me.”
She closed her eyes. His familiar masculine scent overpowered her senses. Her breath came out in shallow spurts and she parted her lips to take in more air. Her arm, draped around his waist, sagged to his hip, and his jeans chafed her inner wrist.
“This house…” A scuttling sound propelled her against his chest and he pulled her snug against his body with one arm. His heart thudded against the palm of her hand as they stood frozen, their feet rooted to the hardwood floor.
After a few seconds that seemed like minutes, Kieran shifted his body away from hers. “Do you still want to investigate?”
Tilting her head back, she gazed into his eye, the darkness of the house rendering it black to match the patch, the dance of the flame adding sparks of light. “Do you still have that gun?”
“You didn’t feel it?” He patted the pocket of his sweatshirt.
Her cheeks warmed. She didn’t want to get into what she’d felt when he pulled her into his arms. “If you still have the gun, I still want to investigate.”
He turned from her, and she grabbed the back of his jacket. He weaved through the furniture in the sitting room and passed through the double doors that led to the library. The smell of smoke permeated everything in this room. A gaping hole scarred one wall of the library where firefighters had barreled through the panel to the secret room to put out the flames that had threatened to devour it.
Kieran swept the beam of his flashlight across the library and its covered furniture. Where they walked, dust swirled in the shaft of light. He directed the flashlight at the floor.
“Footprints.”
She studied the pool of light on the floor, which illuminated men’s footprints in the dust and ash. “Could be anyone’s. Could even be yours from before.”
“I don’t think so.” He placed his running shoe over the outline, his foot exceeding the imprint.
She took a tentative step forward, poking her head into the gash in the wall. The firefighters, or someone, had removed the big four-poster bed that used to dominate the room. Larry Brunswick had died on that bed, thrown himself onto it as if diving into a funeral pyre.
Kieran’s hand trailed up her arm. “I remember this room.”
“From before?”
“From before. With you.”
The fingertips brushing her arm caused her insides to quiver and she sucked in a breath. “We spent time here.”
“We didn’t fear the ghosts?”
Her tremulous lips managed a smile. “We were willing to brave anything for a few moments of privacy.”
“The house drew you, too, didn’t it? I knew you’d come here eventually.”
She tilted her head. “I thought you didn’t remember me.”
“I saw you when you got here, Devon, you and Michael. Maybe even then I realized he was mine. I watched you. I waited.”
She rubbed her arms. Seems a lot of people had been watching her lately-some with good intentions and some with bad. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”
He shook his head. “And say what? I don’t know who you are, but I feel you inside me. I don’t know your name, but you kept me alive for four long years in a stinking hovel.”
“And if we hadn’t bumped into each other on the beach?” She pressed her hand against his chest, over his heart where its pounding reverberated against her palm.
“I don’t know. Maybe I would’ve taken it as a sign to move on.”
She bunched her fingers into his shirt. “You were willing to leave my life up to fate? Michael’s life?”
“It might’ve been better.” He gripped her hand, squeezing the blood out of it. “How do I know all this danger surrounding you isn’t coming from me?”
“What?”
“What if the government wants me to come in? What if my captors have come after me?”
Her jaw dropped. He couldn’t really believe that, could he? Had his years in captivity made him paranoid? Delusional?
She yanked her hand from his strong grasp. “I don’t believe that for a minute. If the army wanted you in, they’d come and talk to you, not try to kill your fiancee…your ex-fiancee.”
He plowed a hand through his black hair, the ends gleaming in the candlelight. “I don’t know, Devon. I feel like I’m toxic. Wherever I go, evil follows.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “That’s not true, Kieran. When I saw you, I knew all my prayers had been answered. You’re alive, even though you don’t belong to me anymore. And Michael has a father.”
He brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips, and then cupped her jaw with his rough hand. “I want to be a father to Michael, but…”
“Shh.” She put a finger to her lips. “I heard that noise again.”
Kieran turned and took several more steps into the burned-out room. “I think it’s a rat or something.”
“Ugh.” She followed him into the center of the room. “I can’t believe most of the furniture survived the blaze.”
She didn’t want to hear Kieran’s objections to being Michael’s father. Michael needed a dad, now more than ever. She kicked a heavy dresser with the toe of her shoe. The finish had been destroyed by the flame retardant the firefighters had used to put out the fire.
“Mia St. Regis needs to come back and make some sense of this place.” She yanked open the top drawer of the dresser and it came apart in her hand. “Oops.”
“Is it broken?” He’d come up behind her and placed one hand on her shoulder, balancing the flashlight on top of the dresser.
She looked into the wavy mirror at their reflections. They looked like something out of a funhouse-distorted, hazy, disjointed. She wanted the old Kieran and Devon back-whole, undamaged, in love.
His touch turned into a caress and he bent his head and pressed his lips against her temple.
A scuttling sound drove her back against his chest, and he laughed. “Maybe a family of mice has taken up residence in this dresser.”
She held up the larger piece of the dresser drawer by its handle. “And maybe I just destroyed their home.”
The rest of the drawer broke off and dropped to the floor with a thud. Kieran crouched, his head cocked to one side. “There’s a false bottom in this drawer.”
Devon’s heart pumped faster. “Do you remember how we used to search around this house for more secret passageways and cubbies?”
“I remember this room…and you.” He rapped his knuckles against the bottom of the drawer. “Do you hear that?”
All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears. Why couldn’t he just take her in his arms and kiss her… on the lips this time…hard?
“Help me.” His long fingers traced around the edges of the inside of the drawer.
Devon added her hands to his, her fingers pressing, exploring. She’d rather be exploring his body.
