“Hmmm,” Conn hummed against her thigh. “Nobody I know.” She made a low, choked sound rather like a muffled laugh, and he shot a darkly smug look up her body to her face. “If he’s so great, you should be able to quote more of that poem.”
While I do this
, he thought, nuzzling higher. Silence followed, so he gripped her inner thigh with his teeth, pressing firmly without truly biting.
“I’m thinking!” Rae retorted, her voice high and strained. “Something about a voyage,
‘
Drifting on his weary way.
’”
“I want to love you over and over until we’re both so weary we can’t move. ‘
Where for
me, and those I love,/ May a windless bower be built.
’”
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “’
Far from passion, pain and guilt?
’”
“Never far from passion, darlin’. I look at you and I feel passion and love so fiercely I must agree with Shakespeare: ‘
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
’”
“’
Love which heals all strife
.’” She twisted her wrists aimlessly against the ropes and whispered an agonized cry, “Conn.”
“Darlin’?”
“I need to touch you.”
Abandoning his plan of long hours of torment, he moved up over her, giving her his body. She fought the ropes harder, twisting beneath him in invitation, her breathing a rising crescendo that drove him mercilessly. Jerking the slipknot loose, he thrust deeply, welcoming her frantic hands, her face wet with tears, her body hungry and tight.
She nipped his ear and whispered, “Say it.”
He knew exactly what she wanted—needed—to hear. Fisting his hand in her hair, he pulled her head back, straining her neck in an arc. Deliberately, he stared at his heart on her throat, and then lifted his gaze to hers. “You’re
mine
.”
“’
Day and night, and night and day
.’”
Dogs barked, no, howled. Rae jerked upright, disoriented. Conn’s bed. What time was it?
He stood beside the bed, jerking on jeans. “The dogs got out of the backyard and they’re really upset. I think someone’s out there.”
Scrambling out of bed, she scooped up his long-sleeved white shirt and pulled it on, hastily buttoning it. Then she shoved her legs into her jeans, not bothering to try and find her underwear.
They hurried through the house and he grabbed the sword on the wall above the couch.
Muffled curses echoed in the night, and Conn charged out the front door, sword high above his head.
Shivering, Rae halted at the door, her mind frantic. Her cell phone. Where was it? She glanced inside at the kitchen counters. Where’d she put that brand new purse? She should call for help. His car. She must have left her stuff in the car again. She rushed outside.
The big Mastiff had a man down on the ground, his front paws planted in his back while he growled like a mad dog. The little dog raced around yapping at the man’s kicking feet, nipping his calves hard enough he cursed.
Conn stood over the prone man, sword cocked. “Who are you?”
The man froze, covering his head with his hands and trying to kick Prometheus away.
An ostentatious gold ring flashed on the intruder’s hand.
Her stomach pitched queasily. “It’s Richard.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Conn drawled. He leaned down and jammed the point of the sword into the other man’s neck. He must have poked fairly hard, because Richard squealed like a stuck pig. “I’m rather disgusted to finally make your acquaintance, Pencil Dick. You like to take your anger out on women, dogs, and—” He growled. “My car.”
She jerked her gaze to the black Mustang. The yard light illuminated enough for her to see slashed tires and deep grooves down the passenger side door. Tears burned her eyes. Oh, no! She loved that car.
In a low rumble, Conn cursed. “I ought to—”
A police car rolled up. The officer took one look at the little scene and turned his lights on. Even weirder, Miss Belle got out of the front seat. She marched toward the two men, and Rae had this ridiculous urge to giggle. Too bad she didn’t have that parasol.
“I knew it. Colonel Healy slunk off to keep tabs on you and came back in a rush to tell us you were having trouble down here. He let your dogs out for you since you were otherwise occupied.”
“What are you doing with the police?”
“Oh, the nice sheriff arrested me tonight.” At the shock on Conn’s face, she smiled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, we’ve worked it all out. I had a plan, you see. So, this is the snake who hurt our Rae Lynn. Officer Landon, do you still horsewhip men in prison?”
“No, ma’am.” Sheriff Landon had a dazed look in his eyes that Rae recognized well.
Anyone who spent much time at all in Miss Belle’s presence soon looked like that. “What’s the problem here, Dr. Connagher?”
“This intruder keyed my car and slashed the tires. We caught him in the act. He’s my fiancée’s ex-husband and I want a restraining order put on him.”
“Rae!” Richard whined. “I wouldn’t hurt you!”
Taking out his handcuffs, Sheriff Landon put a knee in Richard’s back and latched one wrist. “Did he hurt you, ma’am?”
Reluctantly, Conn took the sword out of Richard’s neck and joined her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Not tonight.”
“But he has hurt you before?”
“Yes. He hit me and I divorced his ass.”
“Good girl,” Miss Belle said, nodding so hard she almost lost her big straw hat. “So, Officer Landon, that’s your…third arrest tonight, isn’t it?”
The sheriff heaved a huge sigh and drew Richard upright, his hands locked behind his back. Again, Rae had the urge to giggle. She’d been tied up herself just a few hours ago. Only she bet she’d had a much better time than him.
“Miss Belle, I appreciate your help, honestly. But you really shouldn’t be solving murders all by yourself. It’s dangerous.”
“Please, Rae, give me another chance,” Richard babbled. “This is all just a big misunderstanding. Why don’t you arrest the bastard with the sword? He cut me! I’m bleeding!”
Staring at her ex-husband, she felt a surge of anger. God, he was such a miserable excuse for a man. Why had she been so stupid?
“I should have cut his throat,” Conn muttered.
“Dr. Connagher, bring your fiancée down to the station first thing in the morning
—”“Fiancée.” Richard sneered. “I know what kind of jerk Dr. Connagher is, and if you think
—”
Conn tensed beside her, his hand tightening into a fist. Shrugging off his arm, she sauntered over to stand in front of Richard. “You think he’s a jerk? He’s a hundred times the man you are.”
“You’re nothing but a whore.”
With a wide smile, Rae kneed him as hard as she could in the balls.
Gagging and crying, Richard sagged in the sheriff’s grip, his arms wrenched behind his back.
“Shit. Ma’am, please go back over there by Dr. Connagher. Come down to the station in the morning and file a statement. We’ll keep him at least overnight. If you change your mind about the restraining order or you don’t want to press charges, we’ll release him around lunch.”
“We’ll be there,” Rae said, her voice ringing. Conn wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to his chest, his chin settling on her head. “I never want to see him again.”
Walking back inside the cottage, Conn flipped on the kitchen light and put a kettle on the stove. Miss Belle opened a cupboard door and took down a teapot, three cups, and what Rae hoped was herbal, non-caffeinated tea. Glancing at her watch, she was shocked to see it was only a little after ten o’clock. It felt like two o’clock in the morning.
It was nice watching Conn and his grandmother doing something together so domestic.
They worked quietly, seamlessly, as if they shared a pot of tea quite often in the dead of night.
In a few minutes, Rae was curled up against Conn’s side on the leather sofa, a cup of chamomile in her hand.
Miss Belle sat in the other chair. “So that’s why Colonel Healy’s been so smug.”
“Why’s that?” Conn asked.
“I’ve lost the bet.”
Rae choked on the tea, but Conn merely smiled. “Absolutely. What’s he going to require from you this time?”
“Oh, we hadn’t declared any terms.” Miss Belle smiled breezily. “You see, we were both winners either way. Wait until your mama hears the news. Have you set a date yet?”
Rae stiffened, her mind whirling. Yeah, she was in Conn’s bed, but marriage? Already?
She wanted more time. She’d only been back with him…what…a week? He’d warned her, though, so she shouldn’t be surprised.
Smoothing his hand up and down her arm, Conn chuckled. “No date. The more you ask us, the longer off it’ll be.”
Miss Belle sniffed. “We’ll see about that.”
“So why were you arrested tonight?”
“I went back to Pearsons. The murderer was there, and I caused a disturbance so the police would come. It only took an hour or two to sort things out.”
“What murderer?”
“The man who killed Bill Franklin.” Miss Belle rolled her eyes like she was dealing with two blockheads. “Jared Kent.”
“The vice president of the bank? Why?”
Smiling her infamous shark grin, Miss Belle explained the whole thing. “Samantha said that Bill came home that night bearing presents they couldn’t afford because he hadn’t worked for months. Yet he occasionally had money, money enough to drink every single night at Pearsons. The first night I went for a drink, Jared Kent arrived looking rather flustered I must say, and sat at the bar schmoozing with the bartender, a very attractive young lady named Sasha. It wasn’t long before Sasha and Kent disappeared into the back.”
“Kent’s married.”
“Exactly. Bill Franklin saw something he shouldn’t have. Kent was paying him off, but Bill got greedy, and as a drunk, he wasn’t trustworthy. Kent had to get rid of him before he blabbed the secret all over town.”
“So how was Bill murdered?”
Draining the last of her cup, she set the saucer on the table and stood up. “Poison in the beer that Kent delivered to his ‘good buddy’ personally that afternoon. It had absolutely nothing to do with Samantha’s brownies, but now she’s completely cleared and my Bed and Breakfast will have the best cook in the state.”
The old lady’s piercing gaze settled on Rae, who tensed despite the smile. “And the best project manager. Will Healy House be ready to open in another month?”
A wind rushed through the room and the stack of books on the end table fell over.
“Honestly, honey, I’m changing the blasted name of the house. I hate Beulah.”
“Grandma, Beulah is your real name,” Conn said gently. “Belle was your stage name.”
“I know that, Verrill. Why do you think I began using Belle in the first place?” The invisible wind swirled around the old lady, shaking her hat, rustling beneath her dress until the old lady giggled. “Oh, all right. Beulah Land it remains.”
Dear Dr. Connagher:
I love watching you sleep. Your face is soft and open, so relaxed and completely at rest.
It ought to be. You certainly had a very good workout last night.
I love watching you breathe. Listening to your heart beat beneath my cheek, I feel like
I’m in the safest place in the entire world.
I love you when you hold me, when you put your powerful arms around me and draw
me next to your heart. I love you when you read poetry to me. Even your pop quizzes. I love
you when your turn those blazing sapphire eyes on me, the lines deep around your mouth and
between your eyes. Your will is a tangible force compelling me as ceaselessly as the moon
draws the tide.
I love you when you tie me to your bed and torment me with your incredible body. I love
you when you take me over your knee and transform me into a quivering, crying, aching mess
of need.
God, I love you.
But I’m not giving that pink parasol back. Not until you give me the two pairs of panties
of mine you still have.
Oh, and in case you need some incentive? I still have that white mini-skirt. I tried it on. It
still fits, for the most part, but it’s rather shorter now than it was five years ago.
~ Rae
P.S. If Miss Belle asks me when we’re getting married one more time, I’m going to use
that pink parasol on her.
P.P.S. I’m going to Alaska when your mama comes to visit.
The brand new iron gate looked incredible,
Beulah
written in ivy, just as before. The trees lining the drive were at the height of color, gorgeous flaming red and pumpkin orange, and although Rae couldn’t see the house from here, she knew what a grand impression it would make on their first guests scheduled to arrive for a weekend stay tomorrow afternoon. Those pink pillars would frame an impressive stained glass window of pink roses and an odd—yet striking—mosaic of black and white tiles.
Assuming she had time to finish her project.
A car approached. She turned around, smiling as Conn’s black Mustang slowed. Luckily he knew a very good repairman, and the paint job looked as good as new.
The passenger window rolled down. “Yeah, she’s right here. I know, Mama, but—”
Good Lord. Rae backed away, waving her hands frantically.
Conn smiled, arching an eyebrow at her. “We can’t get down there until the semester’s over. If you want to meet her, you’re going to have to come up here. How about a family Thanksgiving? Miss Belle has a new cook, so I don’t think she’ll poison us this time. You want to talk to Rae? Okay, hold on. Darlin’—”
She turned around and ran up the driveway.
“Sorry, Mama, she’s run off to handle an unexpected emergency.”
Breathing deeply, Rae paused at the line of trees and looked back over her shoulder at him. He stood half out of the Mustang, leaning against the top of the car to glare at her. Steely blue, his eyes flashed, the groove between them deepening with his frown.