Haunting Rachel (19 page)

Mercy wondered why her throat was hurting, why it was difficult to hold her voice steady. “We’ve never talked like this before. You’ve never talked like this before.”

“You never asked, love.” He caught her hand against the side of his face and pressed his lips to her palm.

Somewhat fiercely, she said, “You’re damned sexy, in case you didn’t know that.”

He chuckled, the bedroom nimble of the laugh much softer than his usual harsh one. “I’m glad you think so.”

“And I’ve looked at your face across many a breakfast table. It hasn’t bothered me so far.”

“I’m glad of that too.” He leaned down and kissed her, his lips playing lightly with hers in a teasing seduction that instantly sent her senses whirling and her entire body throbbing.

Mercy put her other hand up and pulled at his hard shoulders until she could feel his weight on her. He was wonderfully heavy.

And he definitely knew how to please a woman, how to touch and taste and caress, how to bring her body alive. More than knowledge, though, was infinite patience and empathy. He had very quickly learned all Mercy’s most sensitive spots, learned to read her responses and build her desire until she burned in his arms.

But for the first time, Mercy didn’t allow herself to be merely a passive lover, accepting his astonishing skill and the control it demanded of him. She didn’t want him to feel that he had to give some extraordinary performance, that he had to remain detached, critical of what he was doing, striving to be the perfect lover. She wanted a mutual passion.

And she knew how to get it.

He wasn’t the only one who had learned from a lover. Mercy had paid attention as well.

Her fingers and lips found the most sensitive spots on his hard body, and she used all the skill and passion at her command to arouse him past his ability to control what he felt, to push him beyond his detachment. She used the fire in herself to make him burn.

She had the dim awareness that what she was doing was dangerous, that Nicholas with his control in splinters just might be more than she or any woman could handle. But she didn’t care.

For once, just this once, he was going to be as ensnared by her as she was by him.

“God, Mercy, what are you doing to me?” His voice was hoarse, almost gone, and his fingers bit into her shoulders.

“Making love to you,” she murmured huskily. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?” Her lips moved slowly down his hard stomach.

He groaned. “Christ, no.”

Mercy had learned a lot. And by the time his control shattered and his heavy body covered hers, she was so wildly aroused herself, she could only hold him and cry out in a pleasure so intense she wasn’t sure she would survive it.

And didn’t care.

The lamp on her nightstand burned low, but Nicholas didn’t bother to turn it off. He didn’t want to let go of her long enough to move.

They were on their sides facing away from the light, curled up back to front. Spooning, he thought it was called. Mercy’s silky back pressed against his chest, her
warm bottom curved into his loins. His arms were wrapped around her.

She was sleeping.

Careful not to wake her, he rubbed his cheek against her hair and breathed in the sweet scent. He loved the way she smelled. Her hair, her skin. He wanted to absorb the smell of her, make it his own.

Make a memory.

Something had changed tonight. He had been so careful, and still it had happened. She had made it happen, had made him lose control. So now she knew.

She had to know.

It was only a matter of time now. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but it was inevitable. He had known that from their first night together.

He rubbed his cheek gently against her hair and listened to the soft sounds of her breathing.

Making another memory.

It was very quiet.

All she heard was that soft rustling sound, the sound that made her skin crawl and terrified without definition.

Rachel walked on.

She didn’t know where she was going.

She was in a building, one with many hallways and rooms, and doors that were locked. She tried some of the doors, but most remained stubbornly closed. Then one opened for her, and she blinked in surprise.

Just a brick wall with a mask hanging on it

Rachel closed the door and walked on. She passed by a room that held odd lights and shadows, and when she paused to look in, she found more masks. Hanging on the walls. Dangling from the ceiling.

Rachel walked on.

Another room she looked into had windows covered with brown paper, blocking the light.

She went on, and around the next corner there was a door that seemed to have a great deal of light behind it. At first Rachel thought it was locked, but she tugged and tugged, and finally it opened.

For a moment, she was blinded by all the light pouring from the room. That’s all there was—light.

“Rachel.”

She took a step back.

“Rachel.” He stepped out of the light, smiling at her.

Adam. Happily, she held out a hand to him.

He took off Adam’s face, and it was Thomas.

Rachel’s hand fell, and she took another step back, suddenly frightened.

“Don’t trust him, Rachel.” Thomas took off his face, and it was Adam again.

“Don’t trust him.”

The Thomas mask fell to the floor, and when she looked down at it, it was horribly broken, the ragged edges dripping blood….

Rachel woke up with a cry tearing free of her throat. Her heart was thundering, her breathing so hoarse that each gasp stabbed her.

She sat there, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, shivering, staring around at the morning-bright room, trying to reassure herself that it had been only a dream.

Slowly, her fear and panic faded, but anxiety lingered. She had never in her life dreamed like this. Masks.
Thomas and Adam, seemingly interchangeable, one or both of them warning her not to trust … someone.

Who?

Was it only her own subconscious warning her to be very sure of her feelings for both men—the living and the dead?

Or was it a different kind of warning?

hen Rachel came back into her bedroom after her shower, she paused while getting dressed and gazed at the yellow rose in the bud vase on her nightstand. It should have been wilting at least a little, she thought.

It wasn’t.

She reached out and touched a silky petal, then withdrew her hand and stared at her fingers. On two of them were crystal drops. As if the flower were so fresh, it still held morning dew.

Rachel sank down on the side of her bed and stared at the rose. Flowers didn’t just appear out of nowhere and then freshen themselves every night. So there had to be an explanation.

Except she couldn’t think of one.

Even if there had been nothing else, Rachel would have been unsettled. Added to her dream, it was profoundly disturbing.

“Don’t trust him, Rachel.”

Dreams were seldom straightforward, instead presenting symbols and signs that had to be interpreted based on what was going on in one’s life at that moment. She knew that. So what was her subconscious trying to tell her? Not to trust Adam? Or not to trust her growing feelings for him?

Rachel didn’t know, and not knowing was painful.

She finished dressing and went down to breakfast, pleased to find that Mercy had stopped by, as she sometimes did. Their lives had been so busy that they had not had much time to talk lately, but during the past weeks Mercy had made it a habit to stop by once every few days for coffee and conversation.

On this morning, Mercy was a bit preoccupied, but she did note a change in her friend. “Bad night?” she asked as she joined Rachel at the table.

Rachel grimaced. “Does it show?”

“Yes,” Mercy replied slowly. “It does.”

“Just unsettling dreams,” Rachel said.

“About?”

Rachel hesitated, then shrugged. “Tom. Adam.”

“You still dream about Tom?”

“I hadn’t for a long time. But lately …”

“Since Adam came?”

Rachel nodded. “I guess my subconscious is trying to work out how I feel about them both. Adam’s coming over this morning, so you may see him, Mercy. Be warned. He’s the image of Tom.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Mercy murmured.

“What?”

“Why you’re different.”

“I didn’t know I was.”

Mercy smiled. “Look in the mirror. It isn’t a drastic
change, but this morning you look a lot like that girl I knew as a teenager. Your whole face seems more alive somehow. Expressive of what you’re feeling.”

Rachel knew that Tom’s death had changed her. What she had not realized was that Adam’s arrival had wrought another change. “And you think it’s because Adam looks like Tom?”

“Isn’t it possible? You lost the love of your life, and ten years later his double shows up. I can only imagine that he would be easy to love.”

Rachel gave herself a moment, sipping her coffee, then spoke slowly. “I can’t deny that Adam looking so much like Tom might have influenced me in the beginning.”

“Might have?”

“All right—did. But, Mercy, I know he isn’t Tom. He looks like him, even sounds like him, but there’s something in Adam I never saw or sensed in Tom.”

“What?”

“A toughness. A danger. Tom was always more careless and carefree than anything else. Friendly, charming. You never got the feeling that Tom could be dangerous, that there was anything especially powerful or tough inside him.” Rachel shrugged. “He loved fast cars and fast planes, and he laughed more than he frowned. He’d make promises blithely, with every intention of keeping them, but somehow …”

“Somehow they always got broken.”

A little hesitantly, Rachel looked at Tom’s sister. “He always tried to keep his promises, I know that.”

Mercy smiled. “Of course he did. He was my brother, Rachel, and I loved him. But he was a lot like our father. His charm took him through life, and it succeeded so well for him that he never really had to work at anything. Never had to fight for anything that mattered to him.”

“You’ve never said anything like that before.”

“You weren’t ready to hear it.” Mercy shook her head. “He loved you, and I like to believe he would have made you a good husband, but those fast cars and fast planes would have kept him away from you a lot. Just the way they’ve kept Dad away from Mom.”

Rachel had been vaguely aware of Tom and Mercy’s parents as a child, and had gotten to know them a bit better during her engagement to Tom, but she had never really considered them as a couple. Thinking about it now, she realized that Alex Sheridan traveled a great deal and was seldom home, and that Ruth Sheridan—like her own mother had—occupied her time with charities and other social duties and responsibilities. To all appearances, it seemed a content marriage, just as her own parents’ marriage had seemed content. On the surface.

“I never thought,” she said slowly.

Mercy’s smile held a touch of ruefulness. “Charming men have a way of discouraging thought.”

Rachel looked at her. “Is that why you’ve tended to date men who were—”

“Not charming?” Mercy laughed. “I guess you could say that. I learned to value other qualities more.” Then she sobered and gazed at her friend steadily. “The point is that you can’t believe you’re being disloyal to Tom because Adam has come into your life. Whether anything develops between you or not, Tom shouldn’t be part of the equation. He had his share of faults, just like the rest of us, and you have no way of knowing—really knowing—if the two of you would have been happy together. But even that isn’t important. He’s gone, Rachel. Let him go.”

Rachel managed a smile. “That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t met Adam yet.”

“Looks can be deceptive, as the man said. At least, I
think it was a man. Anyway, just keep reminding yourself that Adam is not Tom. Sooner or later you’re bound to get them separated.”

“Umm. I hope you’re right.”

“I am. Which entitles me to ask one nosy question.” “That being?”

“Why is Adam Delafield coming over this morning?”

Rachel’s hesitation was brief. “To help me go through Dad’s private papers.”

Mercy raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Rache, I hate to sound too much like Graham Becket, but is that a good idea?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel replied frankly. “Yesterday I would have said I trusted him. In fact, I did say it. Today … I just don’t know.”

“Then maybe you should ask him not to come. Give yourself a little more time to make up your mind about him. With everything that’s happened to you recently, it would probably be a good idea.”

Rachel shook her head. “No. Dad trusted him, Mercy. He trusted him enough to lend him a lot of money on a handshake.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Reasonably sure. Maybe as sure as I’ll ever be. In any case, I can’t see how his helping me would be a mistake on my part.”

“You hope.”

Rachel sighed. “Yeah. I hope.”