The Haunting of Josie (12 page)

The police had noted the apparently groundless accusations and had shrugged. The man was unbalanced, of course—why expect his suicide note to make sense?

The biographer had, sadly, accepted this wisdom. He quoted Dryden. “Great wits are sure to madness near allied.” Luke’s genius had finally driven him over the edge. It had been known to happen.

Josie pursed her lips at that, as she had the first time she’d read the biographer’s sad conclusion. Well…maybe. Though creative genius
had
been known to manifest peculiarities throughout history, Josie couldn’t recall many writers who’d gone that way. Drank themselves to death, yes. Even killed themselves with guns and the like—but out of depression, not actual madness.

The letter read like madness.

She brooded about it for a while, but arrived at no satisfactory conclusion. It must have been suicide, despite her doubts. There was certainly no reason to suspect anything else. No indication that Luke hadn’t been alone that final night. Neighbors, admittedly not close by, had heard nothing suspicious. Luke’s brother—Marc’s grandfather—had discovered the body the following afternoon when he’d come to visit.

And…was any of that important?

Absently checking her watch, Josie saw that it was after five. Between six and seven, he’d said. For no reason she was willing to explain to herself, she decided to take another shower and change clothes.

She took the key with her, hanging it on the shower nozzle and looking at it from time to time, once while shampoo was in her eyes. Afterward she dried herself and the key, then took it with her into the bedroom to dry her hair. Then, deciding that enough was enough, she put the key in her jewelry box and closed the lid.

“There. See if you get out of that.” For good measure, just in case Pendragon was responsible for the key moving merrily about the house, she put the jewelry box in the top drawer of the dresser underneath her lingerie. See if it got out of
that.

She left her hair loose rather than confined in its usual braid, and brushed it until it shone in the lamplight of the bedroom. After another quick decision that she didn’t let herself think about, she put on a white satin camisole instead of a bra, not very unusual for her since she hated bras and loved silky things next to her skin. The matching panties were wispy and delicate.

Instead of her usual jeans, she pulled on a pair of brushed cotton slacks in a pale gold color, extremely soft to the touch and very close fitting. And instead of her usual sloppy sweatshirt, bulky sweater, or overlarge flannel shirt, she picked out the prettiest blouse in her closet. It was cream-colored silk, with long sleeves gathered tightly at the cuffs and an open V neckline. She tucked the blouse in and wore a wide leather belt that emphasized her small waist.

Without pausing to look into the mirror because she knew she’d lose her nerve, Josie slid her feet into dorm socks—the only thing chosen for pure comfort—and left the bedroom without bothering to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

Trying not to think too much but very conscious of how nervous she was, she went downstairs to the den. She built a fire in the fireplace and fed Pendragon when he reminded her politely that it was his suppertime. She returned to the den and stood gazing around, and frowned when she noticed the box of books pushed into the corner by the shelves.

Damn, she’d forgotten all about that.

The tape was frayed and easy to rip away, but Josie grimaced at the dust. Great—and her in a silk blouse. She didn’t bother to study the titles of the obviously old hardbound books, but quickly and gingerly placed them on the shelves. She’d look at them—and dust them—later, she decided. Right now all she wanted was for the shelves to look neat.

The empty box went back down the cellar steps, to be dealt with some other time. She got the percolator ready but didn’t plug it in, made sure there was iced tea—which she drank winter and summer—and milk.

Restlessly wandering, she turned on the front porch light. She considered bringing her radio into the den, but turned the television on instead and forced herself to sit still on the couch and stare at the news.

Pendragon leaped onto the back of the chair he had claimed as his own, made a brief catlike comment—but nothing remotely resembling a “meow,” which had yet to escape his lips—and settled down to wash up after his supper.

When gravel crunched, Josie got up, slowly, and went to the front door. When she opened it, he was already coming into the circle of light, stepping onto the porch, carrying the bag of Chinese takeout. He looked even more handsome than usual in a dark business suit with the silk tie loosened. Doing things in Richmond, obviously.

The cast was gone.

“Hi,” she said.

“Wow,” he said.

SEVEN

T
HEY ATE THE
food casually, out of paper cartons in the den, both of them sitting on the couch. Marc had discarded his jacket and tie, and turned back the cuffs of his white shirt a couple of times; his left arm was just slightly thinner than his right, and Josie could see a pale scar beginning on his forearm and disappearing underneath the sleeve, but he used the hand and arm easily and was obviously glad to be rid of the cast.

“I knew Neil had tacked on a couple of extra weeks when he told me how long I’d have to wear the thing, just to annoy me,” he told her in a satisfied tone as they were finishing the meal and she finally asked about the cast. “He didn’t admit it, of course, but when I told him either he’d take the damned thing off or I’d find a saw and do it myself, he gave in.”

Amused, Josie said, “Maybe he just didn’t want you undoing all his hard work.”

“That’s what he said.” Marc grinned at her. “Anyway, I promised him I wouldn’t go back to work for at least two more weeks if he’d take me into Richmond, get the damned cast off, and release my car.”

“Release?”

“It was sort of being held hostage. Neil knew if I had it here, I’d drive it—probably back to Richmond—so he either bribed or blackmailed Tucker to keep it in his garage until he decided I could have it back.”

“And Tucker is—your writer friend?”

“Yeah. Tucker Mackenzie. And Neil is Dr. Neil Ferris.”

Josie’s eyes widened. “Good heavens. I’ve read Tucker Mackenzie’s books; he’s very good. And isn’t Neil Ferris a rather famous sports doctor?”

“He’s an orthopedic specialist, so he gets quite a few customers from the sports world. Plus, of course, the occasional friend smashed up on a highway.”

His rueful tone made Josie smile. “He sounds like a very good friend. Both of them, actually.”

“Yeah, they are. And both are dying to meet you, by the way.”

“Me? But—”

Marc went on as if he hadn’t heard her startled words. “To be perfectly truthful, I think Neil was less impressed by my threat than he was by my plea; I told him a man needed both arms to make love to a woman—and he agreed.”

She didn’t know what to say. From the moment she had looked at him at the front door, her nervousness had vanished; she didn’t know why and didn’t question it. All she did know was that she had never in her entire life felt so alive, and that it was because of him. Everything inside her seemed…poised somehow, waiting for something.

Marc set his glass on the coffee table and then leaned back again, watching her very intently. But he still sounded casual when he went on, “Neil’s happily married, by the way. Tucker is dangerously single, which is why you won’t be meeting him anytime soon.”

She shook her head a little, puzzled, and Marc smiled. “He could charm the devil out of both cloven hooves and two prongs of his pitchfork—and I’m not nearly sure enough of you to take that chance.”

This time Josie felt heat rise in her face.
Dammit, he’s got me blushing like a teenager!
“Marc, I—”

“I wish I were sure of you. I wish I could tell Tucker or any other man that this incredibly beautiful woman with hair like fire and glorious eyes that haunt my dreams didn’t care about anyone else. Didn’t notice anyone else. Just me. I wish it more than I can begin to tell you. I don’t know that. But I know you want me. And I think…you made up your mind today, didn’t you?”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She tried a little laugh that emerged shakily. “My mind? What has my mind got to do with it?”

“Everything.” He moved closer, but still didn’t touch her. His voice was quiet and slightly husky. “Josie, I left last night because I wanted you to have a chance to think, to be sure. I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and kick me out of your bed.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she murmured.

“So—there is room for me?”

She nodded, slowly but without hesitation.
In my bed, yes.
In her mind, she stopped the answer right there, refusing to look any deeper. The part of her where the pain lay, where it took so much of her, was firmly closed off, and she wanted it to stay that way, at least for a while.

Probably, she thought, if Marc even realized she refused to allow the prospect of physical intimacy to touch her deeper emotions, he wouldn’t consider anything missing. Probably, by then, he’d be back in Richmond and would be grateful she wasn’t a clinging sort of woman. Probably, they’d even be friends after it was over.

Probably.

He leaned toward her, his left hand lifting to brush her hair away from her temple and then cup her cheek. She felt herself quiver and knew he saw it, felt it. She couldn’t stop the reaction or hide it. She responded to his touch as if every cell in her body had been created to match him on some primitive level she could never understand.

For a moment, her dazed mind acknowledging the inevitability of her response to his slightest touch, what Josie felt was pure panic. It was too much, too intense, terrifyingly unconditional.
Just
desire? Oh, God, what a joke!

“Don’t.” He was closer, only a breath away, eyes darkened and heavy-lidded as they stared into hers. His face was hard with the look of control, and his voice was so deep it was nearly a growl. “Don’t be afraid of this.”

Josie didn’t know what she might have done if he hadn’t kissed her then. She might have pulled away, run away. She might have, somehow, found the strength to save herself. But once his hard, warm mouth closed over hers, she was lost.

Heat exploded inside her, rushing through her veins until even her skin burned feverishly. Her heart pounded wildly, out of control. She heard a faint moan and knew it came from her, knew that her entire body swayed toward him mindlessly. Her hands lifted, touching his chest and sliding upward, around his neck, her fingers tangling in his thick, soft hair.

Marc’s arms were around her, crushing her against him with a force that stopped just short of pain and only fed her hunger. His mouth plundered and possessed, the thrust of his tongue shattering in its raw need, and Josie responded with the same urgency.

He lifted his head at last, breathing harshly, and for a moment his eyes burned like molten silver. Then he was pulling her to her feet and, just as swiftly and easily, swinging her up into his arms.

“You shouldn’t—” Her voice was dazed, but she had to make a vague protest because she felt sure he shouldn’t be carrying her with his arm just out of a cast, for heaven’s sake, even if it did seem incredibly easy for him. “I mean—I can walk.”

He kissed her again, briefly but with undiminished hunger, then laughed a bit roughly as he carried her up the stairs. “If you’re worried about me, don’t. I could carry you for miles. Besides, I don’t want to let go of you.”

Josie might have forced herself to protest again, but by then he had reached her bedroom and there was no need. He lowered her slowly to her feet beside the wide bed, his hands settling momentarily at her waist, and in the lamplight his expression was absorbed.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said simply, looking at her upturned face as if he were memorizing every feature. “You make me feel like a teenager with raging hormones and precious little control, so wild for you I can barely think straight. When I saw you standing in the doorway tonight, I wanted to make love to you right there.”

She wanted to say that she wasn’t beautiful at all but that it was wonderful of him to say so, but he was kissing her, his hands framing her face as if she were trying to escape him, and words didn’t seem important. His mouth teased now instead of demanded, arousing without force, and again, her body responded so quickly and completely it was as if she obeyed an instinct older than the caves.

“It feels like I’ve wanted you forever,” he murmured against her skin, pressing feather kisses over her face. His hands returned to her waist, unbuckling the wide belt and casting it aside. The tail of her blouse was pulled free of her pants, and he made a rough sound when his hand slipped underneath to touch the satin camisole.

With her arms around his neck, Josie almost absently unbuttoned the tight cuffs of her blouse. Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them when he drew back far enough to concentrate on unbuttoning her blouse, and she watched his intent face as the camisole became visible.

When the blouse had been shrugged off and tossed aside, Marc made another of those low, uneven sounds as he stared down at her. The white satin molded her small breasts, gleaming in the lamplight with every quick breath she drew, and her nipples were clearly outlined by the sheer material.

Josie felt oddly more exposed than she would have been stark naked, and more female than ever before in her life. She thought it was the way he looked at her, with that utter absorption, the way his gaze so intently watched the rise and fall of her breasts. And then he lifted a hand, his fingers pressing, lightly stroking between her breasts, so that the satin provided a sensuous friction, and she thought her very bones quivered.

“Marc.” It was barely said and all she said, all she could say, but it was pleading.

For a moment his hand remained still, and then it slid downward slowly until his fingers reached the waistband of her pants. He was looking at her face now, holding her eyes with his while he unfastened her pants and pushed them down over her hips. Automatically, she stepped out of the pants when they pooled around her feet, nudging them aside and somehow getting rid of her dorm socks at the same time.

“Touch me,” he murmured. It was not a command but something urgently necessary.

She didn’t think she was breathing and didn’t know how she was standing, but when he lifted her hands and placed them on his chest, her fingers were astonishingly nimble as they unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it over his shoulders. Then those same deft and avid fingers were sliding over his chest, probing thick, springy black hair and hard muscles.

She leaned toward him and pressed her lips to him while her hands explored his ribs and hard belly. She blindly found his belt and got it unbuckled, but Marc stopped her before she could do more.

“If you go any farther right now,” he told her huskily, “I won’t be able to take it.” He leaned over to throw back the covers of her bed, then lifted her and placed her in the middle.

Pausing only to get rid of his shoes and socks, Marc joined her on the bed. He didn’t completely undress for the simple reason that he was afraid he’d lose control; he wanted to go slowly, to look at her and touch her and taste her until the aching need in him was at least partially satisfied. But just looking at her had him on the fine edge of his control.

Her lustrous hair spread out around her on the pillow, the vibrant red burnished with the lamp’s soft glow, and her eyes were darkly purple, wide and fixed on his face with a wondering kind of intensity. Her body was creamy pale against the dark floral sheets, the delicate white satin underthings she wore incredibly erotic for the simple reason that they hid very little and yet…enriched her natural beauty.

He’d grown so accustomed to seeing her in bulky sweaters and tops that he’d almost stopped thinking about how petite she was, and now her delicacy enthralled him. Not too thin, she was tiny, fine-boned and exquisite.

He leaned over her, easing the hem of the camisole up gently with his fingers until he could press his lips to her silky stomach. She quivered at the touch and he heard a sharp intake of breath even as her fingers slid into his hair.

“Marc…”

Just as it had before, her soft, husky voice saying his name, just his name, was almost enough to shatter his control. He was suddenly wild to see her completely naked and he knew his fingers were shaking as he grasped the hem of the camisole. She helped him get it off her, then clutched at his shoulder with a muted whimper when he touched her breasts.

Small and firm, they fit his hands perfectly, the coral nipples tightening even more when he touched them. His fingers and lips caressed her, learned her. Her skin was pure heated silk under his touch, and Marc thought he’d never be able to get enough of her.

But the urgency, in him and in her, demanded, and he had to obey. He stripped away the pale, wispy panties and eased her legs apart. Her thighs tensed when he stroked them, and he wanted to tell her again how beautiful she was, how wildly exciting, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. Instead he touched her gently, his fingers sliding into red curls, probing until he found the moist heat of her.

Josie caught her breath and tensed even more as his mouth caressed her breasts and his fingers stroked her. She couldn’t believe how incredible it felt, and she still found it impossible to say anything at all. Her fingers were in his hair, holding him. Faint sounds of pleasure escaped her, welling up from somewhere deep inside her.

Just when she was convinced she was going to break into a million pieces or melt into a puddle of liquid want, Marc rolled away from her and swiftly removed what remained of his clothing. She watched him dazedly, unable to say anything or move, or do anything at all except wait for him. She saw that she’d been right about him being a responsible man, and she was vaguely grateful to him for assuming that responsibility, because all she’d been able to think about was having him.

He returned to her before the sharp tension in her had time to ebb, and she caught at his shoulders in mute need when he spread her legs wide and slipped between them. She was ready for him, more than ready, but it had been a long time and the inexorable penetration was so shatteringly intimate that it shocked her. She stared, wide-eyed, up at his taut face, saw the intense pleasure and heard his low groan of satisfaction when her body sheathed his completely.

Then he was moving inside her and Josie nearly cried out at the sensations. The tension inside her wound tighter and tighter, burning and aching until she wanted to sob with it, until she felt like a single raw nerve stimulated beyond bearing. It was wonderful and dreadful and so sweet she couldn’t believe she’d existed all these years without
knowing
, and if it didn’t stop soon she knew she’d scream or turn into some kind of wild animal or just splinter into shards of pure raw need.