The Shadow and the Night: Glenncailty Castle, Book 3 (16 page)

“When I make love to you for the first time, it will not be on dirty stones.” His pupils were huge, making his eyes look almost black. “And when I make love to you, I want you to be so wild, so aroused, that nothing but the roughest, most brutal sex will satisfy you. And then, when we’re done with that, we will make slow love, until there isn’t an inch of your flesh I haven’t kissed.”

He kissed her, hard and deep.

When he released her and got to his feet, Melissa remained on the floor. She watched him stand and stretch. She wanted to rip his clothes off and bite him, claw him until she’d goaded him into doing what she wanted, what she needed.

Melissa tucked her breast back into her bra and fixed her shirt. She’d always thought of herself as sexually aggressive, dominant even, as it was often she who made the first move.

Tristan had showed her, without a doubt, that she was an amateur when it came to sexual aggression. She’d just orgasmed, and yet it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

She rose to her feet. Tristan turned, and his expression was less fierce than it had been a moment ago. She realized he’d needed to take a moment to compose himself. She liked that she had that kind of effect on him.

“That was…better than actual sex.”

Tristan smiled. “Then imagine how good the actual sex will be.”

“You’re like a deadly sex weapon. Seriously, you should have a warning label or something.”

“Not to state the obvious, but I am French.”

“I don’t believe in stereotypes.”

He raised a brow.

“You just happen to be a Frenchman who is a sex god.” She shrugged. “And a chef.”

Tristan laughed. “Oh, my pretty Melissa. They will write poems about what we will do to each other.”

“Poems?”

“Graphic, erotic poems.”

She shuddered as her pussy clenched at his words. “I need you to stop talking now.”

“Why?” He took her hips, pulling her against him. He was still hard, and she had an insane urge to drop to her knees. “Do I make you nervous?”

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have kissed you last night.”

“Why? I liked it.”

“I thought you were nervous or not good at kissing and that I should, you know, initiate. I feel a little stupid. Clearly you don’t need any direction when it comes to physical intimacy. It’s a valuable skill to have, and I’ve always been a bit distressed that my knowledge of human anatomy isn’t a greater asset in planning sexual encounters. I think it’s because I sometimes have trouble reading signals. Body language isn’t an exact science, though there have been some studies that identify…” Melissa lost track of what she was saying. Sighing, she leaned into him, head on his shoulder.

He kissed her head. “Why do you fascinate me, Melissa Heavey?”

“That’s Dr. Heavey to you,” she whispered.

He laughed and she smiled. She was happier in this moment, in his arms, than she had been in a very, very long time.

It was terrifying.

“Shall we get back to work?” he asked.

“Yes, but I have a dress code. No shirts.”

“You want me to dig holes with no shirt on?”

“Yes.”

“Naughty.”

“I’m not even going to get any work done. I’m just going to stare at you and fantasize about you naked.”

He picked up her outer shirt, shook it out and handed it to her. “Then perhaps we should make plans now to spend the evening together.”

Melissa glared at him. “You were going to make me wait until tomorrow?”

“Sometimes the waiting is the pleasure.”

“No. I don’t like waiting.”

“I guessed that when you kissed me.”

“How about we just go back to the castle right now?”

“Ah, but Dr. Heavey, we have work to do.”

She groaned. “You’re a terrible, bad man.”

He grinned, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. “A bad man who will do wicked things to you.”

“Dead babies.”

He jerked his head up. “What?”

“We’re talking about dead babies for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Must we?”

“Well, I don’t see—”

Wind tore through the church. The door slammed shut, sealing them in near darkness. Melissa jumped, startled by the noise. “Time to go,” she said. “We’ll still be able to work if it’s windy, but I don’t want to be out there when it starts raining.”

“That wasn’t wind.”

Chapter Ten

Tristan cursed mentally. After what they’d just shared, and after the plans they’d made for tonight, the last thing he wanted was to have Melissa reminded of the ghosts.

But as he watched the ripples of light dance near the door, he had no choice but to pull her against his side and back them away from the door.

“Jacques?” he said. He really hoped his brother hadn’t been hanging around watching him pleasure Melissa, but at the same time his presence would now be good.
 

“
I’m here.
”

“What’s going on?”

“
I’m not sure. It’s different. Not ghosts, not like me.
”

“Is it a memory, like what was in the nursery?”

“
No. I think… You should get light. There are candles.
”

“Where? I can’t see anything.”

Melissa was still and quiet at his side, listening to his one-sided conversation. Tristan tried not to think about what the situation looked like from her perspective.

He let go of her hand, then followed Jacques’ directions to a niche in a side wall. He gritted his teeth, trying not to think about the spiders or rats that might be nesting in the nook. He found a box of candles, and after some fumbling, a matchbook. He lit a candle, looking at the matchbook. It was from a bar in Trim that he’d been to, and all the candles in the box looked new. He’d grabbed a taper, but there were some pillars too. He lit one of those and turned to Melissa.
 

“Come take a candle.”

“Why don’t we just go?”

He looked away before she got close enough that he could see her face. The memory of her flushed and gasping under him was better than the pity and derision that he would see right now.

“You can. I need to stay. I need to figure this out.”

She took the pillar candle and set it on the altar. He lit a few more, passing them to her so she could set them out.
 

“
She can’t leave either.
”

“What do you mean?” Tristan walked to the altar where Melissa had set out the candles. In the dim light, his brother’s ghost appeared as solid as if he were alive.

“
This is about her.
”

“What’s about her?”

“
The thing in here.
”

“Fuck,” he said, using the inelegant English curse word.

“Who’s ‘her’? Who is this about?” Melissa asked.

“My brother says this is about you.”

“What’s about me?”

“Whatever closed the door, whatever is keeping us in here.”

“That’s not possible.”

“You say that about a lot of things.”

“Why would it be about me?”

Tristan looked at Jacques. Jacques cocked his head, as if listening. “
I think it’s the thing that protects her.
”

“What protects her?”

“
I still don’t know.
”

“Protects who? Protects me?” Melissa asked.

Tristan faced Melissa and carefully grabbed her upper arms, forcing her to listen. “You cannot see ghosts. Even Elizabeth, who none of us, including my brother, knew was a ghost. You are different.”

“Like I said—”

“No, listen to me. I need you to believe. I have this feeling like if you don’t believe, something bad is going to happen.”

“Tristan…”

He squeezed her right arm. “My brother says you’re protected. Something he can’t name is protecting you from the ghosts, making sure you can’t see them.”

“Protecting me…how? Who?”

“I don’t know, but Jacques thinks that who or whatever it is just closed that door, locking us in here.”

“Tristan, I respect you, I like you, and I want you, but I can’t be a part of this. I can’t.” She shook her head, then shrugged free of his hold. “I’m going to walk out the door. I hope you come with me.”

Tristan combed his hair back with his fingers as he watched her walk away. He clenched his teeth to stop from calling her back. He knew that if she walked out that door, whatever connection they had would be gone. She’d never look at him the same way again. No one wanted to deal with the crazy man. He knew that, and it made him sick to think that Melissa would look at him the way his coworkers and friends in Paris had. Running a restaurant in rural Ireland had never been part of his plan, but if he was honest with himself, he’d admit that he needed this place, needed to be where people did not sneer at or pity him. Glenncailty, for all its faults, was a refuge.

Melissa stopped, her right hand reaching for the door handle. She was a shadowy outline in the faint light from the candles.

Tristan held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t do it. She stood that way for a full minute.

“Tristan?”

He barely heard her whisper his name. “Yes?”

“I can’t reach the door.”

Melissa stared at her hand. It was only inches from the handle. Inches from pushing that door open, letting in the light and helping Tristan to break out of whatever dark mental place he was in. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to free him from these delusions. It was painful to watch him talk to thin air.

She tried some deep breathing while telling herself that she could still like Tristan, still want to be with him despite his weird ghost obsession. She was sure that her inability to move was due to her emotional turmoil and her reluctance to force Tristan to face the truth, and therefore potentially jeopardize whatever they had.

After a minute of reassuring herself, she tried again, rocking her whole body forward to bridge the gap. Her hand sunk into the darkness, which was thick and cold.

She froze, not trusting what she was feeling.
 

She heard his footsteps approaching, but she refused to turn around. She was going to get out of here.

He stopped beside her and raised the candle. Her hand wasn’t visible—her arm ended at her wrist, her fingers and palm sunk deep into a thick black fog that blanketed the door.

Melissa screamed, cradling her hand against her belly as she stumbled back. She didn’t stop until she reached the altar. Her hand was still there. She gasped in relief and stared at her trembling fingers.

“This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible.” Melissa made a fist, then released it.
 

Tristan was still at the door. Holding the candle aloft, he examined the darkness that covered the door.

“You’re sure it won’t hurt her?” he said, looking to his left.

Melissa sank down on the floor, back against the altar, and focused on her breathing. There had to be an explanation.
 

This place was getting to her the way it had to everyone else, the power of suggestion making her see things that weren’t really there.

“I just need to go outside, get some sunshine. It’s a creepy old church and I’m human. It’s a natural reaction. That’s all this is.”

“Careful.” Tristan took a seat beside her. “People will think you’re crazy if you talk to yourself. Trust me. I know.”

“For a minute I couldn’t see my hand. It was like there was something coating the door, and my hand was in it.”

“That is what happened, Melissa.”

“No, it’s not, because that isn’t possible.”

He cupped her cheek, smiling softly, but she jerked her head away. She didn’t want or need his pity. He was the one who was crazy.

“I’m leaving.” She grabbed a candle and marched to the door. She shoved her hand out…

…and it sank wrist-deep into the darkness. Her skin tickled as if there were bugs on her.

Melissa stumbled back, dropped to her knees and dry-heaved.

“Melissa!” Tristan was at her side, one arm under her while the other hand smoothed her hair back from her face.

“I can’t stand it,” she gasped. “I can’t stand slimy things on my skin. It reminds me of…reminds me of the maggots.”

“Come on, come away from the door.”

Tristan lifted her to her feet and half dragged her back to the front of the church.

She curled against him, shaking and sobbing. Tristan’s hands were warm and strong on her back. After what felt like a long time, Melissa was able to take a breath without gagging.

Tristan was watching her with a pitying expression.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

She looked from Tristan to the door. “I should be able to open that door.”