you?” Melinda sounded playful, but there was an undercurrent of challenge in her voice.
Adrian would have denied it out of hand if she hadn’t thought of Rooke and remembered the way it felt to touch her. As if she had always been meant to touch her. She thought of the many instances in her life when a casual touch flooded her consciousness with sensations, images, half-remembrances of experiences not her own. The explanations had ranged from “hyper-reactive autonomic nervous system” to “sixth sense,” depending upon the prejudices of the expert rendering the opinion. Eventually she’d just accepted the occurrences as part of her life. “I know there are things in the universe none of us can explain. So who am I to say what is possible and what isn’t?”
“I’m not interested in what you think,” Melinda said, the timbre of her voice making Adrian’s skin tingle as if a dozen hands caressed her at once. “Only in what you feel. What do you feel, Adrian?”
Adrian wanted to surrender. She wanted those hands to caress the fevered reaches of her body, to take her soaring, diving, crashing, burning. She stifled a whimper as her inner muscles fluttered a warning.
“Adrian, tell me what you feel.”
“I…” Adrian took a shuddering breath and blinked away the mist that clouded her vision. She laughed shakily, wondering if she could be hypnotized by the sound of a voice. “I think you enjoy playing games.”
“Guilty.” Melinda murmured. “Don’t you?”
“Not when I don’t know the rules.”
“Oh, but that’s what makes this game so exciting,” Melinda countered. “Without rules anything can happen.”
“I’m not that daring,” Adrian said, and the name of Melinda’s gallery came to mind. Osare. Daring. An invitation.
“Of course you are. I’ve been reading some of your articles. You’re quite the adventurer. And a wonderful writer.”
Adrian flushed at the compliment. Her breath quickened and her body stirred again. Melinda’s subtle seductivity was potent, heady and addictive, but Adrian would not be led where she didn’t want to go of her own volition. “So are you going to tell me why you’re calling?”
“I was hoping your grandmother could help me track down my mysterious artist. Hers was one of the names I was given as someone who might know where the statue I’m interested in came from.”
“Really? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard her mention anything about local artists, although she does support more foundations than I can count.”
“Well, that would certainly be a place to start. Do you know the Meriwethers? They are the owners of the piece in question.”
“Bea Meriwether was a good friend of my grandmother’s. She’s been gone several years now. Is the estate sale at Fox Run Manor?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Now I understand.”
“So can I interest you in a little investigating?” Melinda asked. “The sale has been postponed and I am at loose ends. I’d love to have dinner with you. We can do some digging into the local history before that.”
Adrian suddenly felt energized and intrigued. She did want to do some research, and she felt foolish for letting her imagination run away with her. Melinda was simply an attractive woman who knew it, and who enjoyed a little playful sexual banter. There was nothing more to it. Besides, she wasn’t in the habit of backing down from a challenge.
“That sounds like a great idea.”
“Wonderful,” Melinda said. “You know where I’m staying. Two o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter Nine
Dominic dropped Rooke off by the front gates of Stillwater and she made her way on foot up the driveway. Her grandfather must have plowed earlier that morning, because only a few inches of new snow had accumulated. The snowbanks on either side of the wide gravel drive reached almost as high as her shoulders.
Ordinarily she loved to walk through the cemetery after a fresh snow. The
Adrian would have denied it out of hand if she hadn’t thought of Rooke and remembered the way it felt to touch her. As if she had always been meant to touch her. She thought of the many instances in her life when a casual touch flooded her consciousness with sensations, images, half-remembrances of experiences not her own. The explanations had ranged from “hyper-reactive autonomic nervous system” to “sixth sense,” depending upon the prejudices of the expert rendering the opinion. Eventually she’d just accepted the occurrences as part of her life. “I know there are things in the universe none of us can explain. So who am I to say what is possible and what isn’t?”
“I’m not interested in what you think,” Melinda said, the timbre of her voice making Adrian’s skin tingle as if a dozen hands caressed her at once. “Only in what you feel. What do you feel, Adrian?”
Adrian wanted to surrender. She wanted those hands to caress the fevered reaches of her body, to take her soaring, diving, crashing, burning. She stifled a whimper as her inner muscles fluttered a warning.
“Adrian, tell me what you feel.”
“I…” Adrian took a shuddering breath and blinked away the mist that clouded her vision. She laughed shakily, wondering if she could be hypnotized by the sound of a voice. “I think you enjoy playing games.”
“Guilty.” Melinda murmured. “Don’t you?”
“Not when I don’t know the rules.”
“Oh, but that’s what makes this game so exciting,” Melinda countered. “Without rules anything can happen.”
“I’m not that daring,” Adrian said, and the name of Melinda’s gallery came to mind. Osare. Daring. An invitation.
“Of course you are. I’ve been reading some of your articles. You’re quite the adventurer. And a wonderful writer.”
Adrian flushed at the compliment. Her breath quickened and her body stirred again. Melinda’s subtle seductivity was potent, heady and addictive, but Adrian would not be led where she didn’t want to go of her own volition. “So are you going to tell me why you’re calling?”
“I was hoping your grandmother could help me track down my mysterious artist. Hers was one of the names I was given as someone who might know where the statue I’m interested in came from.”
“Really? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard her mention anything about local artists, although she does support more foundations than I can count.”
“Well, that would certainly be a place to start. Do you know the Meriwethers? They are the owners of the piece in question.”
“Bea Meriwether was a good friend of my grandmother’s. She’s been gone several years now. Is the estate sale at Fox Run Manor?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Now I understand.”
“So can I interest you in a little investigating?” Melinda asked. “The sale has been postponed and I am at loose ends. I’d love to have dinner with you. We can do some digging into the local history before that.”
Adrian suddenly felt energized and intrigued. She did want to do some research, and she felt foolish for letting her imagination run away with her. Melinda was simply an attractive woman who knew it, and who enjoyed a little playful sexual banter. There was nothing more to it. Besides, she wasn’t in the habit of backing down from a challenge.
“That sounds like a great idea.”
“Wonderful,” Melinda said. “You know where I’m staying. Two o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter Nine
Dominic dropped Rooke off by the front gates of Stillwater and she made her way on foot up the driveway. Her grandfather must have plowed earlier that morning, because only a few inches of new snow had accumulated. The snowbanks on either side of the wide gravel drive reached almost as high as her shoulders.
Ordinarily she loved to walk through the cemetery after a fresh snow. The
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