Frovtunes’ Kiss (25 page)

They made it as far as the box hedge bordering the lower gardens when Graham brought them to an abrupt halt. “Isis.”

With trembling fingers, Moira swept loose hairs from her eyes. Her heart was dancing a country jig, reverberating at every pulse point. She had finally decided what she wanted. What she yearned for. What she could no longer deny. And all he could think of was—

“Your spider? What about her?”

“I left her under a tree.”

“Is that what you were looking for?”

“I'd brought her out to hunt. I have to find her before she's lost. She can't survive on her own. Not here.” He looked as apologetic as she'd ever seen him. And as ill at ease as she herself now felt. A few self-conscious steps created distance between them. The spell that had propelled them toward the house had broken, and Moira knew there was no recalling the magic. At least not presently.

“Come,” she said. “We can't have her falling into misfortune on our account, can we?” They retraced their steps at a run.

Falling to one knee, Graham swept the lower branches aside and let out a whoop of relief. “She's still here.”

He came to his feet with Isis perched on his sleeve. He grinned at Moira, and she grinned back, relieved for his sake. But the silence that fell resounded with the acknowledgment of what they had been about to do, spurred by a madness that had taken them both unawares.

Moira sighed her regrets, then wrinkled her nose. “You're really quite enamored of that creature, aren't you?”

He shrugged. “If the truth be told, I believe she's rather enamored of me. She waited here for me, didn't she?” He touched one long, bent, hairy leg. “There, there, my lovely. Safe and sound.”

Moira couldn't suppress a shudder. He held Isis closer to her. “I assure you, she's completely harmless.”

“She gives me chills.”

“She can't help looking ferocious.”

“No…I suppose not.”

“Away from her natural environment in Africa, she's quite helpless. Wouldn't last a single winter here in England.”

Her brows converged as she realized what he meant. He and his spider must eventually return to Egypt. Something she'd known all along. Something that suddenly took on new and unwelcome meaning.

She forced her gaze not to dart away from the fat, hairy being on his sleeve. “She's a curious choice of pet.”

“You shouldn't judge the old girl solely on her looks.” He released a long-suffering sigh. “You might try getting to know her before you discredit her character.”

She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that suggestion. “Get to know her how?”

“By holding her. Unless you insist on allowing your fears to rule you.”

She huffed and thrust a hand toward him. “Fine. I'll hold her. Just for a moment, mind you.”

“There's my brave Moira.” As he held out the fearsome beast, her stomach twisted. Despite her best effort to appear brave, her eyes shut tight as a tomb.

“Do you swear she won't bite?”

“Well, no, actually.”

Moira's eyes flew open.

       15      

W
hat?” She snatched her hand back and clutched it with the other. Those chills she'd mentioned but a moment ago raised gooseflesh across her back. “How could you?”

Worse still, how dare he have the audacity to laugh? The villain was nearly doubled over. Oh, why
shouldn't
she pick up the nearest stick and dash him about the head?

“Stop laughing.” She stamped a foot, an unfortunate habit this man seemed to inspire with increasing frequency. “It isn't funny in the least.”

His guffaws mellowed to chuckles. Then he cleared this throat. “Sorry. But the look on your face… Never mind.” His mouth twisted contritely. “I was joking, Moira. She won't bite, not unless you make a sudden movement that frightens her, or if she's hungry and mistakes your finger for a slug.”

She didn't trust herself to reply, not just then.

“I do promise she isn't poisonous.” His free hand caught hers before she could whisk it behind her back. “Come, let's sit and I'll show you how to hold her in complete safety.”

Gripping her hand tightly enough to prevent it from slipping free, he all but hauled her to a patch of sunlit grass. By the time she sat and settled her skirts around her legs, she had to admit her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Not about how to handle the spider—that she could live entirely without—but how a man who claimed little or no attachment to blood relations could feel such affinity for an alien species.

“Now, then.” He held Isis up to the sunlight. Moira shivered when he ran a fingertip over a hairy foreleg. “When you wish to touch her, be very gentle, but don't hesitate or jerk away.”

“And if I don't wish to?”

“Now, now. Here, you try.”

“J-just her leg?”

“Yes, like so.” His fingertip made another gentle swipe back and forth.

“Oh, dear.” Extending a finger, she drew a breath and held it. Just as her fingertip almost made contact, Isis skittered a few inches along Graham's sleeve. Moira went rigid.

“It's all right,” he whispered.

Her teeth clenched her bottom lip. She reached closer. Short, spiny hairs tickled the pad of her finger. The leg twitched and rose, pushing lightly back. Moira's breath tumbled out, but she fought the impulse to lurch away and bury her hand in her skirts.

“Not so bad,” he prompted, “is she?”

“Hairy. And prickly.”

“But kind of nice, wouldn't you say?”

A tiny shrug formed her reply. Her finger traveled slowly back and forth while she marveled as to where her courage came from. Then Isis opened and closed those fearsome pincers at either side of her mouth, or what Moira assumed to be her mouth. She flinched.

“It's all right, she's not going to bite.” Graham's free hand settled between her shoulders, warm and steadying. “She moves her pedipalps that way because the hairs there are hollow and they allow her to taste and smell her surroundings. She's merely becoming acquainted with her newest admirer.”

“How charming.” And yet, the behavior did imply a personality of sorts, making the creature somewhat less of a monster. Moira leaned for a closer look. “Are those her eyes? My word, how many does she have?”

“Eight.”

“Goodness. Can she see eight places at once?”

“Of course. The better to keep an eye on you, my dear,” he said in a dastardly growl. Moira chuckled—quietly, so as not to disturb Isis. “Would you like to try holding her now?”

“I don't think—”

“Of course, you do. You've come this far. I'll be right beside you.” He did better than that, shifting until they sat thigh to thigh. His chest braced her shoulder, and he stretched an arm behind her, cradling her back while bringing the arm that held Isis up beside Moira's.

“Don't.” She felt herself shrink into his protective warmth. “That's too close.”

“It's all right.” His breath grazed her neck, eliciting a shiver. He seemed to misinterpret her reaction as fear, because he said, “If you really don't want to, I'll move her away.”

“No…wait.” With her fingertip she explored the bend in one of Isis's legs. “Maybe just for a moment.” But she didn't know if the words came of a sudden desire to hold the spider or to simply keep Graham close.

“Here we go, then.” He brought the length of his forearm against hers and held it there. How she wished she had opted for long sleeves rather than the three-quarter ones she wore. Fascination mingled with stomach-sinking dread at the sight of those legs arching and stretching like fingers across a harp. At the first whisper-light tread upon her skin, sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.

“Don't go anywhere,” she rasped through a throat gone dry.

Graham placed his arm beneath her own, his fingers wrapping gently round her wrist. “I'm right here.”

“Oh, Lord…eek…it tickles.” Panic rose in a tremulous giggle.

“I know. But it's rather pleasant, isn't it?”

“Look, she stopped. She's staring at me. Whatever could she be thinking?”

“That her hostess is very beautiful, I'd imagine.” His words infused her with a heated awareness of his strength, his solid presence lending her the courage to do something she'd never in her wildest dreams do on her own. “She seems pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, I'm sure.” Or was she? As Isis began a slow ascent up her arm, every muscle in Moira's body tensed. The spider's many legs tipped a ticklish path along the sensitive skin of her forearm. Tremors shimmied across Moira's shoulders. At her elbow, Isis paused and explored the edge of her sleeve before continuing up. Alarm tingled through Moira's nerve endings. “She's going too high. Take her off. Take her off now. Please.”

Isis was in Graham's palm before Moira drew another breath. Relief flooded her. Feeling as though an enormous weight had been lifted, she drooped back against him as the rigidity flowed from her muscles.

“You did it,” he said and kissed her hair. “I'm so proud of you.”

She angled her head to gaze up at him. The slant of his jaw revealed an effusive grin. “Joking as usual.”

“Not in the least.” Transferring Isis to his knee, he stroked his hands up and down Moira's arms as if to warm her. “You did splendidly. I'll have you know other than me, you're the first non-Egyptian ever to hold her. Shaun refuses.”

She wrenched away and faced him head-on. “Graham Foster, one of these days the devil is going to roast you on a spit.”

His dimples flashed, faded, reappeared in a fruitless display of innocence. “What d'you mean, Moira?”

“ ‘Don't let your fears rule you, Moira,” she parroted in a deepened voice meant to mimic his. She yanked a handful of foxtail and clover from the ground and tossed it in his face. “I only agreed to hold the dreadful creature because I didn't wish to be considered the only coward in your acquaintance. I wouldn't have touched her had I known
everyone
abhors her.”

He combed bits of grass from his hair and brushed it from his shirtfront. “Go on, admit it. Holding Isis was a bit of a thrill, and now that it's over, you're elated you did it.”

She pursed her lips. There did exist a tiny morsel of truth to his words, but she didn't have to admit it. He smiled, not the teasing smile of moments ago but one that sped her pulse and sent prickling heat to her cheeks. She couldn't help smiling back.

He cupped her chin. “Brave Moira.” His voice dipped, rumbled like an ocean wave approaching the shore. “You amaze me at every turn.”

She accepted the praise by simply tucking her chin more firmly into his palm and silently forgiving his prank. He leaned in, at the same time drawing her gently forward until their lips met, without the urgency of their last kisses but softly, like petals opening to the cool touch of rain.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “We were about to make a mistake earlier, weren't we, Moira?”

She understood his meaning. Before he remembered Isis, they'd been rushing back to the house with no illusions between them as to what would happen once they arrived. She should be thankful they'd come to their senses in time. Disappointment welled instead. Her eyes fell closed. His forehead felt smooth and strong and warm against hers. “Yes.”

“It wouldn't have felt like a mistake, and afterward I'd have denied the error of it to my dying breath.” He broke the contact between them, only to reestablish it with his palm against her cheek. “I swear it, Moira.”

“I believe you.” Her heart twisted within the depth of that belief. “But it would have been wrong all the same, wouldn't it?”

He nodded, all trace of his dimples fading into sadness. “Wrong to permanently bind ourselves to each other when I must eventually leave England and you must stay. For that is the truth of it. The work Shaun and I do in Egypt is too important to forsake. I have obligations, and I've made promises. Promises I temporarily forgot this morning.”