Forced to the Altar
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Direct hit. He basically had told her she couldn’t question him, although he’d meant only about his work, not life in general. Politics. Religion.
Sex.
All hot topics, ones he didn’t explore with casual acquaintances, no matter how much the mere touch of her clothing and scent of her perfume—without even having met the person—had turned him on. Embarrassingly so.
In a way, she looked like the stereotypical surfer girl. Her hair shimmered in the candlelight, the curls springy and touchable. Her skin looked healthy and tanned. He pictured her in the green bikini he’d rubbed between his fingers. Her breasts would be spilling out of the top, her rear covered but also revealed. She wasn’t a size-four waif but a size-twelve handful of pure woman, and shorter than his five-foot-eleven by about eight inches. He admired the disbursement of pounds on her voluptuous frame.
“No questions?” she challenged. “My life is an open book.”
Do you have a tan line from that bikini?
“I understand you grew up in Southern California. How’d you end up in San Francisco?” he asked instead.
“My brother sent me there to spy on someone.” She took a bite of halibut and smiled at him.
“And did you?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted something from him. It was a trade.”
He waited a few seconds. “Not going to say what it was?”
“No.”
“Must’ve been important.”
“Very.” She continued to eat.
He almost smiled. Almost. She was having fun at his expense. He liked that she surprised him. “What will you do when your brother’s trial is over?”
“I have a plan.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She took a sip of water, holding his gaze over the edge of the goblet. “Enjoying what?”
“Baiting me.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” Her tone was all innocence.
He didn’t feel it necessary to answer her obviously rhetorical question.
“Why are so many rooms off-limits to me?” she asked.
“Which ones are you talking about?”
“Your special room. The other tower room. The guest rooms.”
“You’re allowed in the guest rooms. Who said you weren’t?”
“Mr. Moody said the only room I could enter on the second floor was my office, which I, of course, have not entered, since I’ve had no work assigned to me. I would at least like to use the computer to check my e-mail.”
“I’ll take you up there after dinner. Anything else?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She wasn’t easily distracted or deterred. “My ‘special’ room, as you call it, is just that. You will not be allowed entry. The other tower room is also off-limits. You may go anywhere else in the castle.”
“Except your bedroom.”
“Yes.” Maybe. A few choice curses blared in his head at the wayward thought. He scooped up his wineglass and took a quick sip. He’d never had a woman in his bed here. Yet the picture of Julianne’s hair spread out on his pillow, the thought of that lush body stretched out on his sheets…
“And you won’t enter my tower room,” she said.
“Of course not.”
“Of course not,” she repeated sweetly, her eyes sparkling, as if she were reading his mind, knowing he was more than a little attracted to her. “Good to know. But what about the other tower room? What’s the big secret there?”
“Elspeth prefers it be locked.”
“Elspeth?”
“The ghost. Mr. Moody told you about her, didn’t he?” He watched her eyes open wide. “Obviously not.”
“You have a ghost? Seriously?”
“For more than a century, apparently. Angus McMahon’s daughter, who died at thirteen.”
“From what?”
“Murder most likely, for her to still be unsettled after all this time.” He could tell that Julianne was trying hard not to believe him.
“You…see her?” she asked.
“We hear her.”
She looked toward the ceiling, then she smiled, tentatively. “You’re kidding.”
“You’ll see.”
Mrs. Moody returned, took away their empty plates and left apple pie á la mode and coffee—which meant he and Julianne had more time to fill.
“It’s you I’ve seen walking on the bluff at night, right?” she asked when the coffee was served and Mrs. Moody left. “With two dogs?”
“Yes.” He knew she’d been watching, had sensed it even when her window was dark.
“What breed are they?”
“Bullmastiff.”
“Are they guard dogs? They’re very friendly with you and playful with each other.”
“True to the breed, they’re fearless and confident, yet also docile. Good companions and protectors.”
“And you’re very, very good at not answering questions.” She raised her coffee cup to him.
“If I’d wanted a lap dog I would’ve chosen a toy poodle.”
She laughed. The sound filled the room with such…joy. There hadn’t been much of that in this place. Elation. Relief. Desolation and grief, too. Plenty of that. But not the joyful noise of much laughter. The sound rooted him in his chair.
“Can’t say I can picture you with a poodle in your lap,” she said, still grinning. “Maybe I could join you in your walk one night? I’d love to see the island in the dark, and to meet your dogs.”
“Of course.”
“Tonight?”
“If you wish.”
Her lips curved upward. “I wish.”
For a few seconds, humor fled her eyes, replaced by…he wasn’t sure what. Something different, anyway. Hot. Startling. He drew a long, slow breath as they focused on each other. She started to reach a hand toward him, then didn’t, looking flustered as she pulled back, the mood cooling.
He was glad the crisis had passed. She would tell Jamey not to find her another position elsewhere, Zach could fulfill his promise, and all would be right in the world again. “After dinner you can check your e-mail while I make a couple of calls, then we’ll go for a walk.”
“Thank you.”
Ahh, much better, indeed. She was the naive and sweet young woman that Jamey had labeled her.
She would be easy to manage, after all.
Three
“It’s a mild night,” Zach commented as they left the castle. “Warm. Considering it’s almost December,” he added.
Julianne was disappointed at the lack of wind. Because of it Zach wore a light jacket, not the romantic-looking long coat she’d seen him in for the past few nights. He’d made an imposing figure in stark silhouette. His hair, just slightly darker than hers, and long enough to brush his shoulders, had been tossed around by the wind.
She realized she’d created an image of him in her head since she’d arrived, an image that was not entirely accurate. He was guarded, cool and private, but he was young, broodingly handsome—his hair waving softly now—and well-spoken. His hermit life hadn’t limited his life skills or conversational abilities.
He fascinated her.
And he was also intrigued by her, she thought. She’d never felt so thoroughly examined, yet with few blatant looks—just the time she’d turned around and caught him eyeing her rear. Whatever he did for a living must include studying people surreptitiously. Had he noticed her attraction to him? It had caught her by surprise, the pull she’d felt, the need to touch him.
Why? Because he was different? Challenging? Commanding? She’d found it arousing arguing with him, keeping up with him.
She’d been attracted to other men, but not like this. Not this sudden, overwhelming pull. And even though he’d made peace with her so that she would stay on, she recognized that Zach represented danger in a way her family’s business never had.
Growing up as she had, she was accustomed to men not talking about their work, but it was also something she didn’t want to live with again. Too many secrets led to lies, which ultimately led to hurt.
He could easily ruin her plans, turn her life upside down, take something from her she’d never given to anyone else. And for what? A moment of pleasure? She couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not when she stood at freedom’s gate at long last. But she hadn’t been in this position before, of wanting something, someone, she shouldn’t want.
“You’re very quiet,” he said as they hiked a trail that he must have known by rote, because she saw no path of any kind. They emerged from the trees onto the cleared land up high.
“It’s beautiful,” she replied, hoping he bought that, although there was enough truth in her words that he should believe her. “And…majestic. I feel like I shouldn’t talk.”
“Wait till we’re at the top.”
The sound of muted thunder reached her, getting louder and closer. She drew a quick breath, tucked her arms close and looked around, seeking the source.
“It’s the dogs,” Zach said softly. He put a hand on her back then whistled, two short, ear-piercing sounds.
Even as his touch soothed, she jumped.
The bullmastiffs’ paws pounded the ground with Richter-scale-measurable force. Then, suddenly, they were there, stopping on a dime, dust shrouding their bodies and rising up, their rear ends wriggling, tails wagging as they bumped affectionately against Zach’s legs.
He talked to them, petted their heads and scratched their ears. They whined blissfully. Then he introduced them to her.
“Archibald and Annabelle, otherwise known as Archie and Belle. This is Julianne. Be nice to her.”
The dogs nudged her hands. The animals were big, easily over one hundred pounds, and their heads came to her waist. While they didn’t give her the same loving greeting, they were friendly.
“How dangerous are they?” she asked.
“My security has never been breached.”
She didn’t ask the questions that popped into her mind, since she knew he wouldn’t answer them, but she was curious. Security for what? What did he do behind that locked door?
“Except for your ghost,” she pointed out. “I haven’t heard any sounds out of the ordinary, by the way. Except I thought I heard someone crying once. The same night that the helicopter landed.” She watched him for reaction. Nothing. Not a flicker.
“You must have been dreaming.”
“Or it was Elspeth,” she said.
“Could be.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of the ghost story, except he was so serious.
Chills danced down her spine. She decided to change the subject. “Why do you call the Moodys Mr. and Mrs.?”
“What should I call them?”
“They’re employees. I would think you would call them by their first names. We’re not a formal society anymore.”
“It’s a sign of my respect for them.”
She waited but he added nothing. The dogs started prancing.
“Go,” he said to them, and they took off, racing across the bluff, then out of sight. “They’ll be back. They’ll work off some steam first. Here,” he said, extending his hand. “This last part is steep.”
She was glad she hadn’t worn gloves. His larger hand engulfed hers with warmth. She almost floated up the path behind him until they reached a roadblock, a rocky ledge.
“Wait here a sec,” he said, then he leaped up the ledge like a surefooted mountain goat. He turned around, held both hands to her and pulled her up, tugging hard, although to his credit, not groaning at her weight.
She found a foothold. Her body shook as she tried to push off with her bottom leg, but finally let him yank her up. She staggered against him from the momentum, and his body turned to steel, keeping them from tumbling. His arms slipped around her. She held her breath, almost put her face against his chest, then he stepped back and released her.
The silence between them filled with the sound of surf hitting rock. He turned away from her and walked ahead, expecting her to follow, she supposed. Within a few feet she saw the horizon and the lights of the distant island she’d seen during her previous walks. Then she looked down. Her stomach did a somersault at the steep, staggering distance between her and the water, and the long, craggy drop that made her throat close. When she could focus, she saw the white foam of the waves crashing.
“Awesome,” she whispered, her body still humming from his touch, but her heart pounding at the vista before her.
“Not a sight a city girl sees very often.”
“No, never. I’ve been to grunion runs at night at the beach, but that’s on shore, not a cliff. This is kind of scary. But exhilarating, too.” Which pretty much defined her reaction to him, as well.
The thunder of paws sounded again. Zach took her by the arm and moved her back from the edge.
“Would the dogs knock me off?” she asked.
“Not on purpose.”
“Well, I didn’t mean it that way.” She saw them running straight at them.
“They can get rambunctious. I just want you in a safer spot.”
“If I’m alone here, should I stay away from the edge?”
“That’s the safest course, dogs or not.”
Archie and Belle came to a stop. Zach talked to them as people often talk to dogs, some words, some nonsense, his tone encouraging.
You would make a good father. The words lit up in her mind, their truth accepted instantly. She’d never thought that about anyone else. Well, maybe Jamey, but no man who’d interested her romantically. Zach parented his dogs with affection and discipline, like a good father would.
She almost groaned. Like she needed something else to like about him.
“Ready to go back?” he asked.
No, but it was probably wise to do so. “Sure. Thank you for bringing me. It’s amazing.”
He hopped down the ledge, landing with a quiet thud. “Sit down. You can slide a little, then I’ll catch you.”
Dirt clods loosened beneath her rear as she slid, her toes seeking a landing. His hands slid under her arms, slowing her descent. Distracted by his touch, she was barely aware when she hit ground. Her jacket was down-filled, warm but not too thick. Her breasts were too substantial for him to avoid touching their sides with his arms.
He didn’t let her go.
After a few seconds, she lifted her face and locked gazes. His hands didn’t move, yet she felt touched all over. Her nipples drew tight. She went up on tiptoe.
He jerked his head back. “This is a bad idea,” he said, stepping away.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Bad. Definitely bad.” She brushed the seat of her pants, looking at the ground, knowing her face would be flushed. “I was just…Well, anyway.”
He walked away.
She followed. They hiked in silence. He didn’t hurry, so she had no trouble keeping up, although she wished she’d brought a flashlight. Without him holding her hand, she felt unstable and unsure. She would have to come back on her own in the daylight and get accustomed to the land. She didn’t like not being in control, had only recently felt as if she’d finally found her direction in life. This was not a good way to keep moving forward.
They reached the castle.
“Are you going to watch television?” he asked.
“What time is it?”
“Nine.”
“Yes. For a while. How about you?”
“I’m going to work.” He walked ahead of her until they reached the media room. “I’ll see you in the morning, Julianne. I’m glad we finally met.”
Had that been just a few hours ago? “Thanks again.”
“Sure.”
“Oh, Zach. Just one question?”
He cocked his head.
“I’m curious why Elspeth’s room is locked. My impression is that ghosts can vaporize and travel wherever they want to.” She worked hard to keep innocence in her voice.
“Elspeth prefers it.”
“She said so?” Julianne asked, but he just slid his key in the lock then disappeared into his hidey-hole. She smiled. There was no ghost. He liked to perpetuate a myth, when convenient.
She slid a DVD into the player, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, and settled in. She listened for Zach, but he didn’t emerge by the time the movie ended and she returned the movie to its box. She considered the exquisite black-and-white film an incredible romance, even though the fiery, sea-captain ghost and the beautiful widow Mrs. Muir couldn’t touch or kiss. The seaside house and ocean made Julianne feel even more connected to the film.
In a thoughtful mood, she turned off the television to go to her room. A slight sound stopped her. She stood still, listened hard. Footsteps from above, near—or from—Elspeth’s tower room.
“Ridiculous,” Julianne muttered. “It’s two floors up.”
Something heavy fell to the floor, the sound muted as if by a rug. Silence again.
Julianne waited a few seconds then hurried out of the room, through the dining room and kitchen then up her stairs. She shut her door soundly then laughed at herself. Zach had planted the seed of curiosity tonight. Ghosts. Ha!
Still, she didn’t take much time to get ready for bed, then pulled the covers up to her chin and stared into the darkness for at least an hour. Just as she finally drifted toward sleep she heard a helicopter again. She threw back the covers and raced to the window in time to see lights from the chopper as it landed quite a distance away.
She saw Zach leave the house and jog into the night, disappearing. She waited and waited and waited. If he returned, it wasn’t via the same path. Vague sounds reached her from somewhere within the castle, but it was like an echo chamber, bouncing sound without clarity.
What do you do, Zachary Keller? Are you a smuggler? Contraband of some sort? Illegal substances? People?
Her imagination was working overtime and she was running on empty, tired and yet keyed up. She was tempted to creep down the stairs, but finally decided against it. She wasn’t going to cause problems, wanted nothing to interfere with her plans. If they left her alone, she would give them—although she had no idea who “them” might be—their privacy, too.
Her decision made, she went back to bed, knowing she was fooling herself. More than anything she wanted to know what was going on.
Even if it involved ghosts.
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