breath caught in her throat at the feel of his thumb rubbing back and forth across her hardened nipple.
Bryan drew back a little, planting tiny kisses along the line of Rachel’s jaw, then drew back a little farther so he could look at her face. Fresh air rushed in and out of his lungs, bringing with it a measure of sanity. It seemed an eternity had passed since he’d wanted a woman this badly. His hormones were screaming for him to press his advantage and take Rachel right there and then, but as he looked into her violet eyes he saw not only desire, but vulnerability and uncertainty.
She might want him, but she wasn’t clear on the reasons why, and for him it had to be something more than an act to obliterate the present and push away the specter of a lonely future. He’d been down that road himself. He wasn’t willing to go down it again, even with Rachel. When they made love, it would be just that-love.
He smoothed down the hem of her soft pink shirt and gave her a gentle smile as he dropped his glasses back into place. “For someone who doesn’t believe in magic, you do a pretty good job of weaving a spell,” he said.
Rachel stared at him as if he had just materialized before her, taking in his tousled tawny hair, the gleam of residual desire in his blue eyes, the slight puffiness of his sexy lower lip. She could still feel him, rigid and ready against her thigh, and a bolt of heat shot through her.
Magic, he’d said. Illusion. That was all this was, she told herself, her heart sinking. She could lose herself to the illusion she found in Bryan’s arms, but the reality of her life would still be there waiting for her when the smoke cleared.
She tried to bolt off his lap, but he held her there, his hands firm but unyielding.
“Love isn’t the trick, Rachel,” he said softly, his earnest gaze holding hers, “believing is.”
Awareness shivered through her. Almost immediately panic closed her throat. She couldn’t be in love with Bryan Hennessy. She just couldn’t be. Fate couldn’t be that cruel to her again, to make her fall in love with a man who believed in magic. Love would make her weak when she most needed her strength. It would hand her disappointment when she already had a wagonload of it.
This time when she tried to extricate herself from Bryan’s hold, he let her go. She straightened her clothes and pressed a hand to her mouth as she looked away from him. Her lips were hot and sensitive and still tasted of him, of apples and man. Longing ribboned through her again, and she squelched it, wincing as she ground out the fragile emotion.
Bryan watched her, hurting for her as he sensed her inner struggle, hurting for himself as she denied them both. But despite the mild setback, optimism brimmed to life inside him, and he smiled. Things were looking up. There was a mystery to unravel, and Rachel Lindquist had just kissed him silly. What more could a man ask for?
“We’d better get back to work,” she said, her voice remote. “Faith will be wondering what happened to us.”
“You might be wondering that yourself,” Bryan murmured as Rachel walked away. He took one last look at the history book open on the desk, then focused his gaze on Rachel’s delectable derriere as he pushed himself out of his chair and followed her into the hall.
“Faith, thanks for all your help,” Rachel said. She stood on the porch with her arms wrapped around herself as the fog bank rolled in for the evening, obliterating what was left of the sunlight. “Are you sure you won’t take anything for your time?”
“Absolutely not.” Faith shook her head, her curls bouncing. “I was just lending a hand. That’s what friends do. If you’re a friend of Bryan’s, you’re a friend of mine. Remember that.” She skipped down the sagging steps and turned around at the bottom with a sunny smile. “Ill expect to see you at the inn one day soon for tea.”
“All right.”
Rachel couldn’t help but smile in return. It would have been nice to nurture a friendship with Faith Callan. For a moment she let herself think of what it would be like to settle there and have the kind of friends she could call simply to chat with or meet for tea. Another thing she wanted but could never have, she told herself as she watched Bryan walk his friend to her station wagon.
“Dear Miss Lindquist,” Bryan said as he ambled along with his hands in his pockets, “you are cordially invited to an interrogation at Keepsake Inn, Anastasia-by-the-Sea. Thumbscrews optional.”
Faith frowned at him in disappointment. “I like her, Bryan. She probably deserves better than a man who questions the motives of his dearest friends. Besides,” she added, “Alaina and Jayne and I are only looking out for you the same way you look out for us.”
“Yes,” Bryan agreed, “and I love you for it. But I’m a big boy, now; I can take care of myself-more or less”
Faith didn’t look the least bit convinced as she opened the door and slid behind the wheel of her car. “You need a haircut, big boy.”
A wry grin twisted Bryan’s mouth as he ran a hand back through his hair. He was going to have to write himself another note. He bent and kissed Faith’s cheek through the open window, then handed her a little blue flower he had produced from thin air. Faith tucked it into a buttonhole on her white oxford shirt and looked at him with an expression as earnest as any he could have mustered.
“Please be careful with your heart, Bryan. You give it so easily. I’m not saying Rachel isn’t worthy of it. I’m just afraid that maybe you’re falling in love with her because she needs someone to take care of her and you’ve run out of people to look after.”
“That’s not it,” he said evenly, though he suspected he was fibbing a bit. He did want to look after Rachel, but caring was a part of love. Besides, kissing her this morning had had little to do with her plight and everything to do with the way she felt in his arms.
Faith sighed and told him good-bye. He stood in the yard, watching as she drove down the long driveway, a pensive mood settling over him. He had a lot to think about tonight-Rachel, Porchind and Rasmussen, the possibility that Wimsey had showered those two with disapproval over their opinion of ghosts.
A mournful wail drifted to him on the cooling breeze. He snapped himself out of his musings and listened, holding his breath. The sound came again, faint but real, and he turned and jogged off across the lawn toward it, not at all sure of what he might find.
Addie wandered through the maze with no idea of where she was. All around her were high wild bushes, their branches tangled into an angry mass with leaves that rattled at her in the wind. They towered over her, casting a sinister shadow across the narrow, weed-choked path.
She had left the house because she was angry and frightened and she had thought the fresh air might clear her head, but she had promptly become lost. She had no idea how long she had been gone. It seemed like hours had passed. She had no idea of how far she had wandered. All she knew for sure was that she was cold and that Rachel was going to sell her home and make her move to a place where nothing would be familiar.
She had overheard her daughter’s conversation with those strange little men and her argument with Hennessy afterward. She had thought about confronting Rachel, but fear of the future had overwhelmed her, and she had run away instead. Her forgetfulness wasn’t such a terrible thing here in Anastasia, where people knew her, and in Drake House, where things were usually familiar. But to go to a place where everything would be strange, where there would be no memories at all to draw on, where she would have to learn new faces and new ways of doing things…
Tears welled up in her eyes and in her throat, choking her as she stumbled along the path, her garden boots catching on the rough ground. How could Rachel betray her this way? How could the daughter she had sacrificed so much for treat her so badly?
Addie stopped and looked around her, her eyes wide with fright. No matter which way she turned, everything looked the same. She pressed her bony hands to her cheeks and sobbed aloud as she sank down on a cracked stone bench.
Suddenly a man burst through the shrubbery. She looked up at him, terrified, and sobbed again.
“Addie,” he said, stopping in his tracks. He was out of breath and his hair was disheveled. “Are you all right?”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“It’s me, Addie. Bryan Hennessy.”
“I don’t know you,” she said vehemently, swatting at him as he came nearer and knelt down at her feet. “I don’t know you. Go away! Go away or I’ll scream!”
“It’s all right, Addie,” Bryan said in a soft voice. He never broke eye contact with her as he reached out and captured one of her frail hands in his. “It’s all right. It’s me, Hennessy.”
