Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (206 page)

“Anything?” Tyler asked.

Keelin shook her head. “I dream through another’s eyes. That’s the extent of my gift as I told you. Awake, I cannot conjure her. I agreed to come with you so I could get to know Cheryl better. Or remember something I missed. Perhaps find some material indication as to her intentions.”

She couldn’t miss the disappointment he quickly masked as he said, “Of course.”

Compassion made Keelin cross to Tyler and place a hand on his arm. The physical link drew her closer to this distrusting, angry man, even as she knew keeping her distance would be a far wiser course. “Come.” Hooking her fingers into his flesh, she drew him into the room.

He moved with her as if mesmerized. Confused. As if, for a moment, he forgot what he was about. Their gazes meshed. He allowed her in…and she felt his pain with agonizing clarity. Then he blinked, as if awakening from a spell, and a subtle change came over him.

Keelin suddenly found herself shut out.

“Where shall we start?” he asked.

For the next hour, they browsed through the items on the teaming shelves, hoping for some clue as to Cheryl’s state of mind. Looking for anything that would jog Keelin’s memory. Nothing. They didn’t even find the address book that Keelin had hoped for. No reference to acquaintances in the city.

“She must know all her friends’ telephone numbers by heart,” Keelin murmured.

“More likely, they’re programmed into her phone.”

Surrounded by Cheryl’s things, they were sitting on the floor together, Keelin’s legs swept behind her, Tyler’s before him, knees up, ankles crossed. How odd that they seemed of a mind, at last. They’d worked seamlessly together, and Tyler hadn’t uttered one biting word since they’d begun.

Moving to the bottom shelf, Keelin chose one of several scrapbooks and began paging through photos and souvenirs that were several years old. Her eyes were tired and threatened to close on her at any moment, but she forced herself to examine each page before going on to the next.

Thinking talking would keep her awake, she said, “Tell me about your daughter.”

Tyler flipped through a magazine and threw it onto a growing pile. “Cheryl’s bright and passionate about life,” he said, sounding every bit the proud parent. “She’s trusting, big-hearted and, I fear, too-easily hurt. She’s easy to anger…and easy to…”

“Forgive?”

“I always thought so.”

But not now? What wasn’t Tyler telling her? Keelin wondered. What had he done that his daughter was finding hard to forgive? What lies could he have told her that were so terrible that Cheryl had felt betrayed enough to run away?

Tempted to ask directly, Keelin bit back the question. Asking would only anger him. Better that she wait until he was ready to share whatever it was that was eating him up inside. Though she had no extraordinary powers beyond her mysterious dreams, she had the natural instinct that every person possessed. Perhaps she was more attuned to her intuitive side than some, for she was certain Tyler’s harshness was meant to cover up his own feelings of guilt.

“Cheryl sounds a bit like Flanna,” Keelin said, going on to another scrapbook, this one older. “My sister. And my grandmother Moira, too.”

She was looking at Cheryl’s baby book, Keelin realized as Tyler said, “I thought
you
were like your grandmother.”

His attention was on a stack of Cds, hers on the faded photographs of the infant and her parents.

“We shared some traits, yes. But I think we’re all a bit like her in some way or other. Flanna has a wildness about her that was definitely Moira’s.”

Tyler’s late wife had been stunning, curvaceous and blond, Keelin noted. And she was a natural model. She knew how to make love to the camera, and the camera, in turn, had loved her. Plus, in each photograph where they posed together, Tyler wore the besotted expression of a truly happy man.

A stab of envy made Keelin too-quickly close the album, telling herself that she’d find nothing of value in these pages. She slid it to the side with the others.

“Cheryl sounds very different from you,” she mused. Or at least different from what he’d become since losing his young wife. “Does she favor her mother?”

Tyler’s “Cheryl’s nothing like her mother!” was so vehement, his words sent a chill through Keelin.

He sounded as if he hated the woman, and more than a decade after her death. And yet the love he’d had for his young wife was obvious for anyone to see in those photographs. Uneasy, she wished she hadn’t brought up the subject.

To break the tension, she turned the conversation back to her own family. “I wish I were more like Moira.”

Words stiff, he asked, “How so?”

“She was a woman who drew people and creatures alike to her. More important, she was so unafraid of who she was.”

He seemed to let down his guard when he asked, “What do
you
have to fear?”

Her gift. Not knowing if she could ever live up to its expectation of her.

People.

Him.

“Sometimes…everything,” she admitted.

His dark eyebrows slashed upward. “You could have fooled me.”

Warmth crept through Keelin. Tyler almost sounded as if he admired her. A little flustered, she chose another of Cheryl’s scrapbooks, this one newer than the others, and turned back the cover. A large glossy print of father and daughter stared back at her. They stood in the shelter of some trees. The facades of buildings behind them had a medieval look as did several costumed people. A summer fair. Cheryl looked only slightly younger than she had in the news clip Skelly had shown of her. This probably had been taken the year before.

As she studied the pretty face she had never seen in person, Tyler urged, “So tell me more about this grandmother you wish you were like.”

Keelin looked up at him. “She was quite unconventional for a woman of her day. She married late. The thirty-third day after her thirty-third birthday to be exact.”

Hence, part of Moira’s legacy.

“Ah, a superstitious woman.”

“More to the point, the people who lived in the area were superstitious, including the young men who feared to pursue her. Some called her witch.”

“Because of the dreams?”

Keelin nodded. “And because she had the power to heal. We had that in common also – our love of the land and of the plants that could ease suffering.” Seeing the shadow sweep over Tyler’s features, she quickly added, “Gran also talked to the animals, both domestic and wild, and swore she understood what they said in return.”

“Most people
would
consider that a little strange,” he agreed, his expression lightening, making him appear even more handsome.

Her pulse skittering strangely, she said, “And the men of the surrounding villages were timid romantically because of these things. Moira Kelly would have none of them with their weak natures. She wanted a real man, her equal.”

“Since you’re here, she obviously got what she wished for.”

“Eventually. Seamus McKenna came to her rescue at a desperate time.” Keelin remembered the tale her grandmother had repeated both with sadness and joy many times through the years. “A child Gran tried to heal died. There was no helping it, for the parents waited too long and expected a miracle. The fever took the lad. But the family blamed Moira, came after her, determined to burn the witch in her enchanted cottage.”

“But Seamus stopped them.”

Keelin nodded. “A tinker by trade, he lived on the road in a caravan and made his way by fixing tools and such for people. He was repairing a drying rack in the herb shed when trouble arrived. He protected Moira with his own life and so won her heart. She, in turn, tamed a bit of the wildness in him, enough to convince him to settle down with her.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale.”

“My family is from Éire, after all,” Keelin said with a grin. How good it felt to smile. To feel days of tension drain from her, if only for a short while. “A land of many wondrous tales.”

“You’ll have to tell me more.”

He made it sound as if she would be around for an indefinite period. As if he was suddenly enjoying her company. And despite the many heated words that had passed between them, despite the distrust that still lingered like a dark shadow in the background, she found the idea of spending some peaceful time with Tyler oddly appealing.

“Sometime, perhaps,” she said softly. “But at the moment, I fear I am talked out.”

Before she knew what he was about, Tyler cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face to his. Though he held her gently, she could feel the imprint of each finger. Her breathing near stopped. His pale blue eyes seemed to take in every detail of her features. And the longer he took, the harder her heart thudded.

And for a moment, she lost it.

Sense.

Purpose.

Everything but the need to give and take comfort.

He lowered his head a fraction, found Keelin’s mouth. She opened to him, invited him in. Fiercely, he entered, and she felt as if his frustration with his powerlessness battered her. But she was stronger than she’d implied. She seized his demons and matched them with a potency of her own.

For a long, long moment, they lost themselves to each other. Male to female. Strength to softness. Determination to compassion. She had never felt so lost in a simple kiss.

A low moan shuddered through her. She pressed closer, her body flamed with wanting…

And then she came to her senses, remembered what she should be about.

She broke the kiss.

When he raised his head, Tyler appeared as astonished as she. And even more flustered. But though her fingers worked against the muscles of his arm, she made no immediate move away from him. Instead, she waited, her gaze twined with his, anxious to see what he would do, to hear what he would say to her, now that their alliance had taken a new twist.

Seeming in some quandary, Tyler sat frozen for a moment, his tension clear. Then he took a deep breath. Carefully backed off, a neutral move that put some distance between them without offending.

“You look exhausted,” he said sympathetically.

So he was going to avoid talking about what just happened. Too bad she couldn’t ignore the feel of his mouth that lingered against hers.

“Tis the jet lag.”
And the dreams
. She couldn’t remember her last full night’s sleep.

“Maybe you’d like to freshen up and rest until dinner. We can continue going through Cheryl’s things afterward.”

A sensible suggestion. “A short rest would be grand.” If truth be told, Keelin felt as if she could sleep for hours and hours. And she definitely needed time alone, away from Tyler to regain her bearings. A sudden thought occurred to her. She eyed him warily. “And who will be doing the cooking?”

Tyler laughed as he rose to his feet. “Don’t fret. Mrs. Hague – that’s the housekeeper – cooks in big batches once or twice a week and leaves meals enough for two in the freezer. Everyone says a dog is man’s best friend. I say it’s the microwave oven.”

He was still grinning when he held out a hand to her. Keelin accepted his help, slipping her hand in his and allowing him to steady her as she got to her feet. She swayed toward him and caught herself just before they touched again.

“Hm, maybe I should have had the room straightened,” Tyler mused.

His glance at the unmade bed sent tension humming through Keelin. “No problem,” she said, when really there was.

The growing attraction…

… the imaginings…

… the unexpected kiss.

“There are clean linens in the closet.” As if realizing he was still holding onto her, Tyler stared down at her hand for a moment before releasing it. Then he started for the door. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to put dinner in the microwave.”

Keelin nodded and closed the door behind him. Touching forehead to the wood panel, she sighed and went limp. Either she was fooling herself or Tyler was experiencing a change of heart toward her. He was treating her s if he wanted to be friends with her.

Or perhaps more.

A scary thought.

Something to dream on.

Chapter Six

SHE DIED A LITTLE AS SHE WAITED until the apartment grew quiet except for the game show on the television in the living room, the announcer’s voice backed by the intermittent sound of snoring.

Stemming her rising excitement, she forced herself to wait a moment longer. Until she was sure.

One of her jailers had left directly after they’d eaten, never suspecting that she knew what they were up to. Then she’d volunteered to do the dishes, had acted as if she were ever-so-grateful because they were keeping her safe and off the streets. She’d even gotten the first beer from the fridge.

Then she’d gone to her room to wait.

For the past hour, ear pressed to the door, she’d listened to channel-surfing and the toilet flushing, interspersed by the refrigerator door opening and more beer tops popping.

Finally, she decided it was time.

Trembling inside, her stomach knotted so bad it ached, she grabbed her backpack and ever-so-quietly turned the door handle. Knowing it would creak if she opened it all the way, she carefully swung the panel only far enough to squeeze through.

She slid into the shadows of the narrow hall and held her breath.

From her vantage point, she could see the television screen and the back of the chair from which an arm dangled, fingers pointing to the half-dozen beer cans littering the floor below. Asleep. Rather passed out.

Better for her.

Heart thrumming with excitement, she backed up. Slowly. Silently. One hi-top-shod foot behind the other. Eyes glued to what she could see of her solitary jailer. No movement from the living room but that on the television screen.

Then she was at the door.

Unlocking.

Opening.

Slipping through the crack.

The hall was dark, the landing light out. She felt her way to the stairwell. Hung onto the rail as she flew down the steps as fast as her feet would take her. On the second floor landing, she grazed a silver-haired woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses
.

“Sorry,”
she muttered, dancing around the elderly lady, whose arms were loaded with groceries.