To Have & to Hold (2 page)

A
part.
Alone.

Was the man she loved still alive?

Or was he gone forever like her idyllic dre
ams of happiness which had evaporated like fog
the day he
’
d almost killed her? Yes, the day the
yacht
capsized, he had almost killed her. Officials had said the accident was staged. It had been staged. He
’
d meant for them both to die on the Celtic Sea. He
’
d drugged her and locked her below deck on a sinking boat. Then he
’
d somehow shot himself in the chest and capsized the boat. Only she didn
’
t die and she
’
d saved him by making him disappear. The monster had been banished, vanquished for a time because of her quick thinking and resourcefulness--and because of her grandfather
’
s key.

“
Then how do you explain the cuts and bruises?
The broken arm?
”

“
I can
’
t.
”
She couldn
’
t explain. Michael would never understand. Nor did she want to weave more lies that would entangle her and rip her to pieces.

“
How can you still love him after all he
’
s done to you?
”

“
I don
’
t know.
”
And she truly didn
’
t know how she could still love the man who had broken her heart.
The rat bastard who had lied to her and who had used deception and trickery to trap her in marriage with a monster.
He
’
d known all along just who and what he
’
d been--he
’
d detailed it in the letter he
’
d left behind addressed to The Consortium.
The day he disappeared.
The day they were supposed to both disappear forever.

One year ago, today.

The Consortium
leader
had
recommended
a year
away
for Grayson
. She’
d granted him a single year.

And she hadn
’
t laid eyes on him since that day.

A sudden longing, so strong it almost overpowered her, coursed like molten lava through her veins--a yearning so deep it made her tremble.
A longing to love and be loved.
A yearning for her soul mate.
She rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Michael had been with her every step of the way this past year. He cared about her. Hell, if she could believe the look in his eyes, he loved her. Her resolve weakened. Maybe Michael could stay.
One night.

She needed a port in the storm.
A safe haven.
She didn
’
t want to be trapped in this dead-end, lonely marriage any more, chained to a monster who had abandoned her.

Cate
wanted out. She wanted to be set free and she certainly didn
’
t want to still love him.

An unholy howl ripped the near-invitation from her lips.

Michael couldn
’
t stay. Not with Coop frantic upstairs. She lifted her head and squared her
shoulders.
“
Really, you should go
.
”

“
That damned dog. I swear. If you don
’
t do it, I
’
m going to take care of him myself one of these days. Wait and see. One day when you walk into the village to get your post, I
’
m going to kidnap that beast and set him free in a remote area where he can
’
t hurt anyone.
”

“
Go home
.
”
She gave him a gentle shove.
“
I
’
ll set Coop free.
Then, we
’
ll discuss if you still want to stay.
”

He gave her a quick, hard kiss. Her promise to release Coop mobilized Michael faster than anything ever had. He grabbed his coat and briefcase and headed for the
door. With his hand on the door
knob, he winked at her, his smile lighting up his face.
“
I
’
ll be back in a week. You won
’
t be sorry you got rid of that rabid
mutt. I promise. Thank you
.
”

If only it were that easy.
Cate
locked the door and set the alarm system. It wouldn
’
t help her cause, or Cooper
’
s, if Michael came back unannounced. She knew what she had to do and she wasn
’
t excited about the prospect. Not one bit.

Silence filtered through the house like a sacred song in the nave of a cathedral.

She mounted the stairs.

One by one, she counted the steps as she gripped the carved mahogany banister.

Three flights of stairs.

Twenty steps per flight.

Three landings.

Sixty-three steps until she would stand at the door to the attic. If she focused on adding up the steps, she couldn
’
t think. Couldn
’
t remember all the despicable things she
’
d said and done in the past year.

She ran out of stairs and almost returned to the main floor to start over. Who was she kidding? Every night she faced this same attic door. And every night, she faced the same truth. In the last year, she
’
d become a bigger monster than the one she
’
d trapped and kept hidden in her attic. For God
’
s sake, this wasn
’
t the dark ages. She was no St. George and Grayson Cooper was not a prince in need of rescue.

Surely there were options in the twenty-first century?

Skilled doctors.
Medications.
Surgery.
Something that could castrate the monster on the other side of this door, strip
away
the beast that roared and thrashed nightly to leave behind the man she
’
d fallen in love with and married. The man she
’
d wanted to set free every single day since she
’
d locked him
up
.

She sagged against the reinforced steel door, allowing the unforgiving metal to cool the fever that raged within, to assuage the guilt that consumed her, and to overcome her warring conscience. This had become her ritual, her daily act of penance for t
he past three-hundred and sixty-
five days. How pitiable? A woman pining at the prison door of her
would-be-killer,
her husband, and the only man she
’
d ever loved.

Cate
splayed her hand flat against the smooth surface and pretended she could touch him. She wished for everything she could never have--a chance to caress his warm skin, to kiss his wide, sensual mouth, to love him the way she
’
d always intended, to start
the
family they
’
d
planned, and to enjoy the normal storms that couples faced together.

Nothing about her life could be called normal.

Not a year ago. Not today.

Now, alone, she faced the monster. A hot tear slid down her cheek. She swiped it away, angry at herself for giving in to weakness yet again.

One year. She
’
d promised him one year to fight the battle.

She
’
d done what she had to do.
Right?

The uncertainty of that answer had kept her tied to the isolated Victorian mansion
,
crouched on the cliffs near
Porthleven
,
when common sense had told her to run.
Fast and hard.

Never look back.

The time for the enchantment to end had come, whether she liked it or not. She dipped her finger below
her
waistband to snag the gold chatelaine she wore
,
the
legacy of her grandparents.
While the warmed metal comforted her today, the ever-present protection of the chain some days felt like a shackle rather than a protective talisman. With a flick of her thumb, she released first a bronze passkey and then a Victorian needle case from clasps on the chatelaine.

T
he quick prick of a needle she
’
d pulled from the ornate container
produced the
bead of blood she needed to releas
e the warded locks of the attic.

S
he pressed her blood to the solid shaft of the key.

The metal glowed gold.
Turned hot, then ice-cold.

Cate
gripped her grandfather
’
s passkey so tight the sharp square edges of the bit pressed hard into her flesh, and the bow threatened to mark its scroll pattern permanently onto her palm. The magic in the old key stung her skin and zipped up her arm.

She didn
’
t care. Physical pain was better than this hell she lived every day, knowing that she
’
d been the one to, first, lure the beast, and then, trap and imprison her own husband for an entire year.

She slipped the key i
nto the slot and turned it
.

An ancient magic hummed through the hallway. Bands of energy sparkled blue and purple, burning white-hot like magnesium
that
unfurled with a snap. The Latin words she knew so well blazed above the door, the magic revealing their invisible warning. A cursive trace of fire charred the wooden lintel, scarring it with the words
Cave,
Hic
Sunt
Dracones
. The acrid smell of scorched wood stung her nose. Orange embers sprayed then fell to ash before they touched the floor.

A magic strong enough to hold a monster at bay for an entire year disintegrated before her very eyes. A trickle of sweat snaked between her breasts. S
he trembled, her fingers slipping
once, twice before she returned the key securely to the chatelaine.

For better or worse, it was done.

God, let it be for better. Please.

The door swu
ng open in a slow, wide arc.

Cate
froze, paralyzed. She tracked the door
’
s movement. Her heart beat fast, filling her ears with its loud drum.

What would she find?

Fear skittered on uneven feet across her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Her husband pushed himself easily from the bed to stand opposite the door.

Instant lust for the man she
’
d always loved crashed through her body. Hair wet from a shower, he wore faded jeans and nothing else. A smattering of dark hair disappeared below the open button of his jeans. His feet were bare. He pulled a white t-shirt over his head, stretching it taut
across
his broad shoulders, muscled chest, and ripped abdomen.

Hotter than ever.

The man who had turned her world upside down now stood before her.
Sexy.
Hot.
Delicious.
Whole.

A man, not a beast.

Hope whispered through her. She took a step into the room. He
’
d done it. He
’
d learned to control the monster. A cautious joy made her heart feel weightless as it took flight. Her vision blurred. Tears of happiness spilled over. Her husband was back.

“
Grayson.
”

He drove his fingers through his dark hair, pushing it off his face.
“
What the hell took you so long?
”
he said, the growl rumbling deep in his chest. His nostrils flared as he raised his head to inhale her scent. He cocked his head.
Went still.
“
You have the smell of James on your lips. He dared to kiss you?
”
The strangled sound that escaped his mouth rose to an indignant bellow.
“
I
’
ll kill the bastard. No one kisses my wife!
”