They'd disappeared into the stable after that, and the pair, with Dewey's help, came riding out on the gentle mare. They'd ridden down the beach in a sedate walk, but he could see that Laura wanted to race with the wind. And he couldn't help notice then how close she and his daughter were growing. Richard admitted he was completely jealous, though grateful that the two hit it off so well. Laura would make a good mother, he thought, and wondered again why she wasn't married.
He heard the door creak as it opened. Quickly, he stood, silently slipping into the hidden passageway.
Laura stepped into the room, frowning. She could have sworn she'd heard something. She glanced around, then back at the sleeping child, and bent to brush a kiss to her hair. She inhaled a scent that wasn't Kelly's, wasn't the shampoo she'd used on her hair or the bath soap.
It was … spicy, male, and she straightened abruptly.
"Mr. Blackthorne?" she whispered. She didn't get an answer, but then she hadn't really been expecting one. Even if Kelly was sound asleep, he'd been with her. And that was at least something. He obviously wasn't as distant as he pretended to be.
She left the room, and too awake to fall back asleep, she went downstairs to fix herself some chamomile tea. The halls were dark, the lights running along the floorboards giving off a warm glow as she walked down the back hall and into the kitchen. She was warming water in the microwave when she heard the pop and crackle of burning wood. She rushed into the living room and found a fire blazing in the hearth. He did that, she thought, and slowly she came forward, stopping near the blaze and warming her bare toes. She could feel him behind her somewhere.
"Join me."
She turned. He sat in a high-backed chair, far enough into the shadows that she couldn't see his face. She swore the man knew exactly where every shadow was, how to sit or stand in them so she couldn't see him. It irritated her. Her gaze moved over the maroon silk robe covering his legs, the matching slacks.
"Why aren't you asleep?"
"Not enough activity, I suppose." He brought a crystal goblet of wine toward his lips, into the shadows. The stem glittered as he tipped it. She noticed his right hand was smooth without scars, the other tucked close to his body and out of sight.
"Well, that's your fault. No one is saying you have to stay in the tower."
"I don't want to have this discussion, Laura. Either leave me in peace or join me. There's wine on the sideboard." He gestured with the wineglass.
She hesitated, wondering if it was wise being around him.
"Scared?" he asked, his raspy voice doing strange things to her.
She laughed softly. "Of you? No, your growl is worse than your bite."
"How do you know?"
"Because you won't come close enough to bite," she quipped.
"So brave," he muttered into the wineglass, wishing she'd sit the hell down. The fire cast light through her black satin robe, offering her naked figure in lush detail. He smothered his frustration, yet masochistically couldn't look away. Perfection stood temptingly before him, and the ache in his groin magnified with his anger. He didn't want to desire her, but he was human, no different than any other man. She was a breathtaking beauty with long legs and full breasts, and she was in his house, enthralling him.
"Sit down, Laura," he finally said, unable to stand the sight another moment.
"I'm just going to get my tea." She walked back to the kitchen, prepared her tea and returned. He was still there, and she didn't like how much that pleased her as she sat on the far left end of the couch, close to the fire. She cupped the mug, sipping, staring at the dance of flames. He shifted in the chair and Laura felt it without seeing it.
I hear your breath quicken when I am near, feel your body pulse, he'd said the other night.
Could he feel what he did to her now? Laura took a gulp of her tea, wishing the sensations away, yet they refused to go. She pulled her robe closed at the throat and remembered the photograph. How hard it must be for him, a man who'd made women sigh with his looks, who now felt he'd make them shudder.
She looked in his direction. "I'm sorry for what I said the other night."
"Why? It was true."
His words made her insides shift and burn. "It was rude to point it out."
Richard felt his heartbeat skip. "I accept your apology."
"Thank you, Mr. Blackthorne."
"I think we've wounded each other enough to continue on with first names."
"Oh, Richard," she whispered softly, twisting toward him. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"The truth stung you more than it did me."
"Stop being so damned cold!" She set her mug down on the coffee table with a thump.