The men glanced sharply at each other and answered simultaneously. “In town.”
Porchind went on. “We heard you had come back to settle your mother’s affairs and close up the house. Perhaps it was nothing more than small-town gossip.”
“Gossip, perhaps,” Rasmussen echoed.
“No, I have been considering it,” Rachel said cautiously.
“But it’s nothing definite, by any means,” Bryan interrupted.
Rachel scowled up at him. “I thought you wanted to help,” she muttered between her teeth.
“I am helping,” he said, ignoring the anger he felt rolling off her in waves. He turned back to their visitors. “There are so many things to consider. The ghosts, for example. You must have heard by now, the house is haunted.”
The strangers exchanged another glance. “We’re not put off by ghost stories,” Porchind said.
His partner shook his head. “Don’t believe in ghosts.”
Immediately, two huge drops of water fell from the ceiling-one landing squarely on the head of each man. Before they had a chance to recover from the surprise, two more drops fell, followed by two more. Porchind looked up and caught one in the eye.
“And then there’s the plumbing,” Bryan said. It was almost impossible to contain his excitement. It churned inside him as he looked up at the ceiling, which showed no evidence of a water spot. Wimsey. He knew it. He could sense it. This was his first physical sign of Addie’s ghost.
“The plumbing is fine,” Rachel insisted. “That’s just humidity.”
“Humidity from hell,” Bryan said dramatically.
Porchind looked past him to Rachel. “My partner and I are interested in the house, Miss Lindquist. Have you set a price yet?”
“No, I haven’t,” Rachel said, trying to keep her anger out of her voice. She was going to skin Bryan Hennessy alive when this was over. “I need to discuss the matter with my mother,”
“Mrs. Lindquist doesn’t want to move, you see,” Bryan explained cheerfully. “She’s attached to the place. Hard to figure, isn’t it? But you know how elderly people are. They get something in their heads and there’s no telling them otherwise. She wants to stay here forever.”
Bryan tossed his apple core into the wastebasket beside the desk, then resumed his juggling, adding a paperweight to the apple and orange. From beneath lowered lashes he watched the two men scowl at him.
“Perhaps we should come back at a more convenient time,” Porchind said, heaving himself to his feet.
“When it’s more convenient,” Rasmussen muttered, rising and trying to straighten his suit over his bony frame.
“Once you’ve had a chance to speak with your mother and determine a price,” the round man said as he and his partner moved toward the door. “We only thought it prudent to let you know of our interest.”
“Interest.” Rasmussen nodded, smiling at Rachel in a way that made her skin crawl.
She managed a thank-you as she walked them to the door. When she returned to the study, she was seething. Bryan had seated himself behind the desk and was absorbed in one of his history books.
“How dare you interfere!” she snapped, releasing the pent-up anger not only over the house issue, but the anger and frustration that had been building inside her for days. She kicked a sneakered foot against the handsome walnut desk. “How dare you! Those men may be the only people in the free world strange enough to buy this house, and you practically chased them away! And even if they do come back, I’ll be lucky to get enough out of them to pay off the mortgage, thanks to you and your infernal ghost stories and your candor about the plumbing.”
“Addie isn’t going to want to move,” Bryan said calmly.
“It isn’t a question of whether or not Addie wants to move,” Rachel said, planting her fists on the desktop. “It’s the way it has to be. Will you face reality for once? I have a job waiting for me in San Francisco. I’m going to have to support my mother. Her medical bills alone will probably put me in debt for the rest of my life. Insurance would be a great help, but Addie doesn’t have any because she lined a bird cage with her premium notice and let the policy lapse. Are you comprehending any of this, Bryan?” She snatched up a pen and pad of paper and thrust them at him. “Maybe you should write yourself a note. I have to sell this house!”
Bryan looked up at her and sighed. “I know it’s a cliche, but you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
Rachel clamped her hands to her head as if to keep the top of it from exploding off. She counted to ten and took deep breaths. Blessed, infuriating man! He could be every bit as impossible to deal with as her mother.
“I don’t think you should be too hasty about selling, Rachel.”
“Bryan, this house is as expensive to keep as a herd of elephants, and there’s no chance of me finding a job around here that would pay more than peanuts. You’re allegedly an intelligent man-you do the math. I have to sell this house. I haven’t got a choice.”
“We always have at least two choices, angel. You’re just too stubborn to look for yours.”
Bryan had turned back to his book. “I’ve got a bad feeling about Messieurs Porkrind and Rasputin. I think they’re up to something.”
Rachel didn’t like them either, but she was too angry to agree with him about anything. She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I suppose now you’re going to tell me you’re a mind reader.”
“Not precisely.” Bryan pressed his lips together to fight off the smile that threatened.
He studiously avoided looking at Rachel, concentrating instead on his book. His eyes brightened suddenly, and he tapped a finger to the page before him. “Edmund Porchind, alias Pig Porchind, alleged bootlegger during the Prohibition era, resided in Anastasia until 1931.” He pushed his glasses up and stared across the room. “I wonder what one of the late Mr. Pig’s long-lost relatives wants with Drake House.”
“I’m sure I don’t care,” Rachel said crossly. She turned to start for the door, but Bryan caught her wrist, and with one deft tug pulled her into his lap.
“Bryan!” she squealed. Her fury was instantly overrun by surprise and a giddy kind of desire that kept her from trying too hard to get away. She squirmed just enough so Bryan had to wrap his arms around her.
“Don’t you know when a woman is furious with you?” she asked, fighting to maintain her scowl.
“Yes, but I also know when she’s having to work at it.” A wicked grin split his features. Rachel was angry with him, but she would recover. In the span of a few short minutes he had had a bounty of clues dropped in his lap. It was as intoxicating for him as was any liquor.
“Look sharp, Watson!” he said merrily. “The game is afoot!”
He covered her frown with an exuberant kiss. He had meant only to give her a quick smack on the lips, but as soon as he tasted her, his intentions melted away on a groan of pure male need. She tasted so sweet. Even angry she tasted sweeter than anything he’d had in his life for a long time. And beneath her initial resistance he could taste a dozen other emotions-longing, hesitancy. He could taste a woman who wanted to believe in his brand of magic but wasn’t going to allow herself to.
He slanted his mouth across hers in warm invitation as his left hand slid up the supple lines of her back to tangle in her hair. Pins slipped their moorings and dropped to the floor as the mass of pale silk tumbled loose. Her lips softened beneath his, and she yielded to temptation with a moan.
She shouldn’t have been giving in to him this way, Rachel thought dimly. But she didn’t seem to have the will to pull away. She felt safe in Bryan’s arms. She felt womanly in a way she hadn’t experienced in ages. She felt her troubles drift to the back of her mind. That alone was worth the lapse in behavior. What would it hurt to let go of reality for just a moment or two, she rationalized as desire surged through her veins in a hot stream. What would it hurt to take what Bryan was offering, so long as she realized it couldn’t be permanent?
His tongue gently traced the line of her lips, and she invited him inside before her brain could summon an objection. She framed his face with her hands as she took his tongue into her mouth, and reveled in the textures her heightened senses experienced-the softness of his lean, clean-shaven cheeks against her palms, the velvet rasp of his tongue against her own. She could feel his arousal press against her thigh, and an answering heat pulsed between her legs. She twisted in his embrace to press closer, flattening her breasts against the solid wall of his chest.
She slid her hands up the sides of his face, hooking her thumbs under his glasses and sliding them up out of the way, so she could kiss him even harder. At the same time, Bryan traced a line around her rib cage, down to the point of her hip. His fingers snuck under the bottom of her T-shirt and slid up to cup a small, full breast. Rachel’s
