Shadows (6 page)

Her heart beat so loudly that whoever lurked by the wall must surely hear it.  She forced herself to inhale slowly and quietly.  Her heartbeat slowed a little.  The air around her was cold.  It’s always cold when—she slammed down on the thought about ghosts before it formed in her mind.  She looked at the space between herself and the door, and the door and the dark, shifting shape.

She could reach the door.  She had to.

The chair scraped across the flagstones and drowned the slap of her bare feet as she hurtled into the mill, slammed the door and rattled the bolt home.

Flexed from the hips, palms braced against the half glass door, she waited, mouth open, panting.  Through the mottled glass and the wrought iron Perigourdine goose that guarded it, moonlight lit the grass beyond the bolly.  Nothing moved.  Her breathing slowed.  She remembered she’d seen a baseball bat by the door and groped for it without taking her gaze from the door.  The smooth wooden shaft came comfortingly to her hand.

Something creaked behind her.  Melissa whirled on a sharp indrawn breath.  The bat cocked and ready, she watched the door to the hall open.  A large, shadowy form ambled into the living room.  “Wha’s the matter?  Did you shout?”

“There’s somebody out there.”

“Out where?”

“On the bolly.”  She flung out an arm and rattled her knuckles on the goose guard.  “Ow.”

Rory ducked his head, ran both hands over his face.  Straightening his shoulders, he walked toward the door.  “I’d better have a look.”

Melissa stepped aside.  He stooped, fumbled for the bolt in the gloom and pulled the door open.  Melissa held out the baseball bat.  “Take this.”

Rory blinked at the three feet of pale, solid wood and made no move to take it.  “I could kill someone with that.”

“Take it.”  She thrust it into his hand. It seemed imperative he had some protection.  There was something nasty out there.

Reluctantly, Rory hefted it and stepped across the threshold.  “Put the lights on.”

Melissa pushed the door curtain aside and ran her palm down the bank of switches.  Light bloomed inside the mill, and floodlights snapped on at each end of the bolly.  Startled birds squawked, complained and clattered about in the trees.

“There’s nothing here, Melissa.  Come and look.” He sounded wide awake.

Suddenly aware that she was wearing only a tee shirt, Melissa whipped the door curtain across her hips and peeped around the doorjamb.

Moonlight emphasized the broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist and flat stomach.  Wrinkled, striped boxers hung low on one hip.  His hair stuck up about his head, and the baseball bat dangled from the fingers of one hand.  The width of his chest and the prominent muscles of his arms and thighs were reassuring.

“They might—”  Her breath caught in her throat as all her initial attraction to Rory rushed back and choked her. She coughed and tried again.  “They might have gone round the back of the mill.”

Rory’s chest expanded and deflated on a long sigh.  “Okay.  Pass my trainers.”

Melissa retreated, grabbed her discarded jeans and hauled them on.  Spotting his trainers in the hall, she tossed them out to him.  He fastened the Velcro tabs and looked up with a crooked grin on his face.  “If I’m not back in ten minutes, call the gendarmes.”

He shook his head, still grinning, and strode off, hitching his boxers higher as he went.

Intruders might attack him.  The idea struck her like a blow to the belly.  What could she do?  “What number shall I call?”  Her frantic whisper echoed along the bolly.  “Rory.  It can’t be 999—what number shall I call?”

A casual wave of the hand was his only answer as he disappeared into the shadows.  Melissa ran inside and tried to track him through the windows, but it was impossible.  Turning back, her eyes widened on a dark shadow flitting past the open doorway.  Frightened, without a coherent thought in her head, she plunged forward, slammed and bolted the door.  Backing away from it, breathing in sketchy gasps, she turned and ran to the window again.  Where was Rory?  She wanted his solid presence beside her.  Even though light blazed from each corner of the mill, she could not see him.  Gripping the windowsill, she leaned out across the three-foot ledge.

Nothing.

That was odd.  What if someone had attacked him?  A pang shot through her innards.  She should have gone with him.

Footsteps thudded up the steps beneath the window.  “Rory?  Is that you?”  Heart pounding, she leaned out as far as she could, saw the dark shape pause and glance up.

“Who did you expect?”  He was laughing, damn him.

Still, she could forgive him, simply because he was safe.  She opened the door, trying to stop herself smiling as he approached.  Cool, calm and definitely amused, Rory strolled toward her, swinging the baseball bat from one hand.  “There’s no one about.  Let’s go back to bed.”  He slung a casual arm around her shoulders and reached behind him to switch off the lights.

His arm was heavy.  She ducked out from beneath it and stood off from him.  Had he forgotten the agreement?  Or did he think she would be too scared to stay out here on her own?  “No thanks.”

He grunted, shrugged and left her standing in the dark.

The darkness swallowed him up.  She eyed the black shadows of the living room behind her.  Every muscle tightened.  She wheeled around and scampered after him.

He hesitated by the bed.  “Melissa?”

She skidded to a halt at the door to the bedroom.  It struck her how much his tall silhouette in front of the window resembled the shadow she had seen outside.  Out of nowhere, a deep sense of loneliness gripped her, almost overwhelmed her.  “I…er, I don’t want to stay out there.”

“Oh.”  Rory stooped, grasped the duvet and then hesitated.  “Shall I sleep out there?”

“Yes.  No.  I…”  She shrugged, helpless.  “I don’t know.”

“You’re scared?”

Was that a thread of sympathy in his voice?  Impatience was layered in there, certainly.  She nodded miserably.  “My night vision’s gone after the lights have been on.”

“Okay.  Climb in then.  Just for ten minutes, until you feel calm.”

She pictured herself curling against his solid warmth and admitted it was tempting.  But some shred of courage made her hesitate.  Or pride, perhaps.  If she crawled into bed with him, she had a very good idea where it would lead, and she was not ready for that.  Not yet.  She curled one foot about the other calf.

“How about if I make a cup of coffee instead?”

“That’ll keep you awake.”  He slid into bed.

She dithered on the threshold.

Rory flipped the duvet to the foot of the bed and yanked the sheet over his chest.  “Melissa, do whatever you want to do, but don’t just stand there.  Sleep here, sleep on the sofa, make a bloody fried breakfast if you want to, but just do it.  I’m tired and I’m going to sleep.  Leave the light on.  Leave the door open.  I’ll hear you if you call.”

He sounded so callous and cold Melissa swung on her heel to hide the sparkle of tears and stalked across the hall.  He needn’t be so brutal.  She did not slam the doors, although the temptation was great, but left them open.  Switching on the light would be an admission of cowardice.

She had almost let down her guard.  Indignant and annoyed with herself, she snatched the blanket from the floor, shook it, burrowed beneath it and recited every poem she could think of until she fell asleep.

~~~

Melissa lay on the lounger in bright sunlight, and listened to the crickets.  How far away the fears of the night seemed.  Rory’s lounger was two yards away.  A rugby cap hid the upper part of his face and shaded his mouth and jaw.  Sweat stood in tiny beads and droplets in all the folds and creases of his skin, and the long hairs on his forearm were already wet and dark.

A sense of unease made her look over her shoulder toward the old grass track heading into the woods behind them.  A person could travel almost unheard and certainly unseen down that path and arrive on the doorstep of the mill.  In the heat of the mid-day sun, the path threatened nothing more than their privacy.  There was no knowing who or what used the ancient track at night.  Teenagers, bent on mischief.  Vagrants?  Poachers, perhaps?

She ought to see where it went.

Her muscles tightened in anticipation of getting up, but the heat sapped her energy.  She relaxed once more and turned her face up to the sun.  For the moment, it was enough to apply suntan cream.  Was her tiny bikini truly a good choice for someone with her slender build?  She had curves.  Not luscious, admittedly, but they were in the right places.  Luscious curves and bikinis did not go well together.  Far too over the top in more ways than one, she snorted, and looked across at Rory to see if he had noticed.

He lay quiet, possibly asleep after his disturbed night.  Her gaze traveled over the long, muscular length of him.  No wonder men felt so much braver than women when they were so much bigger and stronger, so able to deal with whatever threatened them.  Melissa turned her head to let the sun reach the other side of her face.  Even the air smelled hot, a rich, lush mixture of suntan oil, leaves and grasses, and beneath it all the cool dampness of the pool a few yards away.  She stared at the turquoise water, so very still and inviting in its surround of pale tiles beside the walnut tree.

A sudden longing to be cool had her swinging her legs to the ground.

“The pool?”  His deep voice came from behind her.

Stepping lightly over the grass and then the hot tiles, Melissa glanced over her shoulder.

Rory lifted his rugby cap with one forefinger.  So he hadn’t been asleep.

“I’m too hot, so…yes.”  Knowing he was watching her, she added a provocative sway to her walk.  The lounger creaked behind her.  Perhaps it wasn't wise to tease him when she wouldn't sleep with him.  Well, he'd just have to put up with it.  She ran the last few steps and dived into the pool.

She surfaced, blinking.  The rolling turmoil of water from Rory’s plunge smacked into her face.  Before she opened her eyes again, his hands gripped her waist and pulled her close.  Instinctively her legs clasped his hips.

Laughing, she clutched his shoulders to retain her balance.  Then became aware of her thighs wrapped around her waist, and froze, every thought driven out of her head.  How could she have been so bold, so stupid, so thoughtless?  She was so very close to him.  Face to face, in fact.  His smile died away.  His startling blue eyes studied her.  The urge to duck her head and put her mouth to his was so strong she wriggled away from him before the temptation became reality.  Any giving in on her part, and she would be lost.  She must resist him until she was sure of his feelings, and her own.

Rory hooked his elbows over the edge of the pool, leaned back and smiled without opening his mouth.  A lazy smile.  Had he seen how embarrassed she’d been?  She hoped not.  Feigning confidence, she sank back, spread her arms and balanced on her toes in the water.

She remembered the smoothness of his waist against her thighs, shivered and then giggled.  Being up to her neck in the pool hid her reaction, and she was glad.

Drops of water sparkled on him.  His gleaming skin begged her to touch, to taste.  Tempted too far, she lunged forward, pushed the water-flattened hair back from his brow and kissed him.

It was more a meeting of lips, a gentle exploration, than a kiss.  But her instinct had been good, for he let her do what she wanted.

He murmured deep in his throat, but remained still.  If he had grabbed her, she would have backed off immediately.  Kissing him was a risk, and certainly going against all her good intentions, but Melissa lifted a wet finger and traced the straggly line of his eyebrow.  “You taste of chlorine.”

She didn't regret her action at all.

The eyebrow lifted beneath her finger.  “You surprise me.”

Then he moved, his arms coming down from the rim of the pool, and she laughed, backed away and struck out for the far side of the pool.  When she reached the tiles and turned, dragging her hair from her face, he was where she left him.  He sank lower in the water and glided toward her, a wave rippling below his eyes.  She slid sideways out of his way.

Who would have thought, a week ago, that she would be here in this beautiful place in the sun drenched Dordogne with this beautiful man?  Yet something niggled.  The urge to throw herself into his arms was strange and unfamiliar.  Was this how her mother had felt about John Hazlerigg?