ever known, was no longer in danger of being sold, but would remain the Calhoun home. It was pointless to worry about the emeralds. The family was doing all that could be done to find the necklace.
If they hadn't been exploring every avenue, she would never have gone to Holt Bradford. Her ringers curled on the stone wall. That, she thought, had been a useless exercise. He was Christian Bradford's grandson, but he didn't feel the connection. It was obvious that the past held no interest for him. He thought only about the moment, about himself, about his own comfort and pleasures.
Catching herself, Suzanna sighed and forced herself to relax her hands. If only he hadn't made her so angry. She despised losing her temper, and it had come dangerously close to breaking loose that day. It was her own fault, and her own problem that something else had broken loose.
Needs. She didn't want to need anyone but her family – the family she could love and depend on and worry about. She'd already learned a painful lesson about needing a man, one man. She didn't intend to repeat it.
He'd kissed her on impulse, she reminded herself. It had been a kind of dare to himself. There had certainly been no affection in it, no softness, no romance. The fact that it had stirred her was strictly chemical. She'd cut herself off from men for more than two years. And the last year or so of her marriage – well, there had been no affection, softness or romance there, either. She'd learned to do without those things when it came to men. She could continue to do without them.
If only she hadn't responded to him so...blatantly. He might as well have knocked her over the head with a club and dragged her into a cave by the hair for all the finesse he'd shown. Yet she had thrown herself into the moment, clinging to him, answering those hard and demanding lips with a fervor she'd never been able to show her own husband.
By doing so, she'd humiliated herself and amused Holt. Oh, the way he had grinned at her at the end had had her steaming for hours afterward. That was her problem, too, she thought now. Just as it was her problem that she could still taste him…
Perhaps she shouldn't be so hard on herself. As embarrassing as the moment had been, it had proved something. She was still alive. She wasn't the cold shell of a woman that Bax had tossed so carelessly aside. She could feel, and want.
Glosing her eyes, she pressed a hand to her stomach. Want too much, it seemed. It was like a hunger, and the kiss, like a crust of bread after a long fast, had stirred the juices. She could be glad of that – to feel something again besides remorse and disillusionment. And feeling it, she could control it. Pride would prevent her from avoiding Holt. Just as pride would save her from any new humiliation.
She was a Calhoun, she reminded herself. Calhoun women went down fighting. If she had to deal with Holt again in order to widen the trail to the emeralds, then she would deal with him. She would never, never let herself be dismissed and destroyed by a man again. He hadn't seen the last of her.
“Suzanna, there you are.”
Her thoughts scattered as she turned to see her aunt striding through the terrace doors. “Aunt Coco.”
“I'm sorry, dear, but I knocked and knocked. Your light was on so I just peeked in.”
“That's all right.” Suzanna slipped an arm around Coco's sturdy waist. This was a woman she'd loved for most of her life. A woman who had been mother and father to her for more than fifteen years. “I was lost in the night, I guess. It's so beautiful.”
Coco murmured an agreement and said nothing for a moment. Of all of her girls, she worried most about Suzanna. She had watched her ride away, a young bride radiant with hope. She had been there when Suzanna had come back, barely four years later, a pale, devastated woman with two small children. In the years since, she'd been proud to see Suzanna gain her feet, devoting herself to the difficult task of single parenthood, working hard, much too hard, to establish her own business.
And she had waited, painfully, for the sad and haunted look that clouded her niece's eyes, to finally fade forever.
“Couldn't you sleep?” Suzanna asked her.
“I haven't even thought about sleep yet.” Coco let out a huff of breath. “That woman is driving me out of my mind.”
Suzanna managed not to smile. She knew that woman was her Great-Aunt Colleen, the eldest of Bianca's children, and the sister of Coco's father. The rude, demanding and perpetually cranky woman had descended on them a week before. Coco was certain the move had been made with the sole purpose of making her life a misery.
“Did you hear her at dinner?” Tall and stately in her draping caftan. Coco began to pace. Her complaints were issued in an indignant whisper. Colleen might have been well past eighty, her bedroom may have been two dozen feet away, but she had ears like a cat. “The sauce was too rich, the asparagus too soft. The idea of her telling me how to prepare coq au vin. I wanted to take that cane and wrap it around her –”
“Dinner was superb, as always,” Suzanna soothed. “She has to complain about something, Aunt Coco, otherwise her day wouldn't be complete. And as I recall, there wasn't a crumb left on her plate.”
“Quite right.” Coco drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I know I shouldn't let the woman get on my nerves. The fact is she's always frightened me half to death. And she knows it. If it wasn't for yoga and meditation, I'm sure I'd have already lost my sanity. As long as she was living on one of those cruise ships, all I had to do was send her an occasional duty letter. But actually living under the same roof.” Coco couldn't help it – she shuddered.
“She'll get tired of us soon, and sail off down the Nile or the Amazon or whatever.”
“It can't be too soon for me. I'm afraid she's made up her mind to stay until we find the emeralds. Which is what this is all about anyway.” Coco calmed herself enough to stand at the wall again. “I was using my crystal to meditate. So soothing, and after an evening with Aunt Colleen –” She broke off because she was clenching her teeth. “In any case, I was just drifting along, when thoughts and images of Bianca filled my head.”
“That's not surprising,” Suzanne put in. “She's on all of our minds.”
“But this was very strong, dear. Very clear. There was such melancholy. I tell you, it brought tears to my eyes.” Coco pulled a handkerchief out of her caftan. “Then suddenly, I was thinking of you, and that was just as strong and clear. The connection between you and Bianca was unmistakable. I realized there had to be a reason, and thinking it through, I believe it's because of Holt Bradford.” Coco's eyes were shining now with discovery and enthusiasm. “You see, you've spoken to him, you've bridged the gap between Christian and Bianca.”
“I don't think you can call my conversations with Holt a bridge to anything.”
“No, he's the key, Suzanna. I doubt he understands what information he might have, but without him, we can't take the next step. I'm sure of it.”
With a restless move of her shoulders, Suzanna leaned against the wall. “Whatever he understands, he isn't interested.”
“Then you have to convince him otherwise.” She put a hand on Suzanna's and squeezed. “We need him. Until we find the emeralds, none of us will feel completely safe. The police haven't been able to find that miserable thief, and we don't know what he may try next time. Holt is our only link with the man Bianca loved.”
“I know.”
“Then you'll see him again. You'll talk to him.”
Suzanna looked toward the cliffs, toward the shadows. “Yes, I'll see him again.”
I knew she would come back. However unwise, however wrong it might have been, I looked for her every afternoon. On the days she did not come to the cliffs.
I would find myself staring up at the peaks of The Towers, aching for her in a way I had no right to ache for another man's wife. On the days she walked toward me, her hair like melted flame, that small, shy smile on her lips, I knew a joy like no other.
In the beginning, our conversations were polite and distant. The weather, unimportant village gossip, art and literature. As time passed, she became more at ease with me. She would speak of her children, and I came to know them through her. The little girl, Colleen, who liked pretty dresses and yearned for a pony. Young Ethan who only wanted to run and find adventure. And little Sean, who was just learning to crawl.
It took no special insight to see that her children were her life. Rarely did she speak of the parties, the musicals, the social gatherings I knew she attended almost nightly. Not at all did she speak of the man she had married.
