Forest Whispers (12 page)

She counted to ten, expecting to hear the
crisp footsteps of the housekeeper. She knew the woman wasn’t going
to bellow at her from down the hall.

“
Mr. Draken will be back in an hour,”
Mrs. Higgenbottom said finally, her voice sounding almost mild for
her. “Be certain you’ve finished with the balustrade and moved into
the dining room by then.”

More than a little stunned, Raina nodded,
but the soft click of the door told her the woman hadn’t waited for
any kind of response.

Her entire body slumped as the tension went
out of her. Feeling dazed and more than a little confused, Raina
moved away from the wall when the weakness finally subsided and
strength slowly began to return.

She hadn’t been dismissed.

Yet.

The old bat was probably going to wait until
she’d finished cleaning and then fire her, Raina thought
morosely.

And how the hell did she know he’d be back
in an hour? Where would he go on the island that would take him an
hour to get there and back? He wouldn’t be leaving the island. It
was a fifteen minute ride around it to the dock and another ten to
fifteen from there to the mainland, twenty or thirty to the city
limits ….

Shaking that puzzle off, Raina hurried up
the stairs and hustled to finish the seemingly endless task in the
time allotted. It wasn’t just that she was concerned about the
housekeeper, either. The entire episode had left her feeling
strangely disoriented and jumpy. The man exuded cold and dangerous.
As scary as she’d thought his watch dogs were, the main man made
them seem warm and cuddly in contrast.

That was the impression that had made her
heart stop and her breath freeze in her lungs, she decided.

The image of his strange eyes hung in the
back of her mind as she worked furiously to finish the cleaning and
polishing so that she could play least in sight when the man came
back.

Emotionless, she thought, not just cold in
the sense that he might have been looking at a roach that had had
the audacity to creep out from under the rug. His eyes, his
expression, had been as cold and distant as if there was no soul in
the body.

She’d seen a flicker of … something, though,
she realized after a while. Fleetingly, so briefly she would’ve
missed it if she hadn’t been staring into his eyes, she’d seen
something pass through them, an acknowledgement of her presence,
she supposed. Surprise, maybe? As if it had been so unexpected for
him to discover an actual living, breathing being cleaning his
house that it had jolted him out of that faraway place where his
mind ordinarily dwelt.

* * * *

Such turmoil churned through Simon as he
left the house that it was only habit that guided him down the path
he’d worn over the years from the house to the sea. He found he
could not sort the confusion of thoughts and impressions, even
though he felt a need to do so, and that disturbed him almost as
much as the fact that he was in a state of disorder at all.

He had not expected to encounter the
woman--his people knew he did not like to deal with outsiders--but
he was not unaware of the woman’s presence in his house. As little
interest as he had in such things, he was kept informed of
everything that went on around him. That was a given. Whether he
was interested or not, his rank placed as many obligations upon him
as it did his people.

And that being the case, he should not have
felt such a jolt of … shock upon encountering her. Should not have
felt even a great deal of surprise, let alone stunned to such a
degree that it seemed to suspend him in time so that he’d found
himself unable to move, or think, or even breathe for a seemingly
endless time.

It was shock that he’d felt, though, he
finally acknowledged, an unpleasant jolt of stunned … what?

He still was not sure, but his mind
obligingly recalled every image it had recorded in those moments,
every impression, and tumbled them around again in an effort to
find some explanation, some logical reason for the disturbance.

A small, pale face surrounded by untidy
locks of dark, reddish brown hair emerged dominate, and most
strongly of that impression was the eyes--because they seemed
larger than anything else about her face. More vaguely, he had had
the impression of clothing that had seemed far more suitable for a
man--at least the men of his culture--fitted, though there had been
nothing at all mannish about the body the clothing so faithfully
conformed to--large, soft breasts, a narrow waist, nicely rounded
hips and shapely thighs.

He had noticed everything about her body, he
realized with a mixture of surprise and irritation. Without any
actual intention of doing so, without even a conscious awareness of
it, he had catalogued every pleasing curve, could remember very
clearly every detail of shape and size, even a calculation of
firmness and softness.

Arousal, he realized as he felt his body
stir again only at the memories. Part of it, at least, had been
desire.

He examined that with suspicion, searching
for a reason to dismiss it, and realized that he could not. The
potent attraction, unwelcome as it was, unfathomable as it was, had
been the greatest part of the jolt to him.

He had not been with a woman in …. He could
not exactly remember the last time. He had a vague memory of
expending himself on some nameless, faceless female, but nothing
beyond that--no perception of time. In truth, he had ignored his
physical needs so long he rarely felt it to any great degree
anymore and he could not even recall when he had managed to quash
even the call of his manhood.

That explained it, though--need. It was not
want. It was only nature demanding he remember that his body had
needs besides the intake of nourishment and the need to rest.

That did not explain why, though, the eyes
bothered him so much, why the expression on her face haunted
him.

She had felt it, too, he realized after a
few more minutes of thrashing the idea around in his head, feeling
almost more stunned by that realization. That was why he had felt
such a jolt. The look in her eyes, on her face--it had mirrored the
same, inexplicably powerful force of attraction that he had
felt.

Reflected back at him, he wondered? Overlain
there by his mind’s eye only because it was what he felt? Or had
she actually felt it, too?

Frowning, he examined that more
carefully.

He did remember it correctly, he finally
decided, but the attraction wasn’t all that he’d seen. It might not
even have been the emotion that dominated that little face that
he’d found so appealing, so strangely fascinating.

She’d been focused on his eyes, paled as she
stared him, froze like prey that has sensed the interest of a
predator.

He hadn’t been wearing his glasses, he
realized abruptly, feeling anger and far more disappointment than
he should have.

He had scared the hell out of her.

* * * *

The conflicting thoughts and impressions did
nothing to settle Raina’s nerves. As tired as she was by the time
she’d managed to finish, she was still jumpy. The faintest sound
made her stiffen and cock her ears to listen intently until she’d
identified it.

She was frantically polishing the last
segment of the balustrade when she heard the sound she’d been
listening for--the faint scuff of soles on the walkway outside the
front door. For a split second, she froze like a deer caught in a
car’s headlights. As she stared at the door, though, and saw the
door knob begin to turn, she grabbed her cleaning tray and darted
toward the formal dining room on tiptoe.

God only knew why she thought that would
help anything. The cleaning supplies jiggled and rattled with each
step, noisily marking her quick retreat. She almost spilled the
thing in her haste to clear the doorway and close the door behind
her.

Struggling not to pant for breath like an
obscene phone breather, Raina, inspired by some insane impulse she
couldn’t resist, paused before closing the door completely. Holding
it with no more than a thin sliver between the door’s edge and the
frame, she peered through the minute opening as the men entered the
foyer.

He was in the forefront again. Despite the
panic that threaded through her veins, she allowed her gaze to take
a full sweep of him before she focused on the hard planes of his
face, studying his profile as he came into full view.

He hesitated fractionally as he placed one
boot clad foot on the first stair. For a split second, she thought
he knew she was there, that he was going to turn and look straight
at her.

He didn’t. He mounted the stairs and
disappeared from view, leaving her to wonder if she’d just imagined
that slight hesitation.

When the last of his escort had disappeared
up the stairs behind him, she very carefully closed the door,
wincing as she heard the click as the door caught and wondering if
it only seemed loud to her or if it actually had been loud enough
to carry up the stairs.

After glancing around the vast dining room
vaguely for a moment, she finally moved to one of the dining chairs
that lined the wall nearest her and collapsed weakly on the
seat.

Staring at nothing in particular as her mind
focused inwardly, she tried to sort the unfamiliar riot of emotions
inside of her. With a touch of surprise, she finally realized that
uppermost was almost a sense of awe, giddiness--vague hysteria--as
if she’d discovered herself in the presence of some rock star or
god of the silver screen she’d lusted over and fantasized about for
years--except this man was a complete stranger. She was absolutely
certain she’d never seen that face before. She would never have
forgotten it. So how, him being a nobody as far she was concerned,
could he have had that kind of effect on her?