with h er shoulders. “He had her - the Zaca , I mean - completely refurbished, and , in 1945 sailed her to Acapulco on a scientific expedition that turned into a fiasco. After everyone jumped ship, Fletcher trai ned a Mexican crew and rented the boat out to Orson Welles and Rita Hayworth for the filming of The Lady from Shanghai .”
“But what about this place?” Michael pushed. “You must have done some sort of property research.”
Shuddering, Paige noticed a chill in the air and left off picking at her food in order to wrap her arms around herself instead . “It stoo d empty for quite a few years and was rented out for a season or two. The house was in terrible disrepair when I found it. As far as I know, the last person to really own this place was a woman who died in the late 1930s.” She shoved her plate away again, unable to eat – to sit, enjoying a meal, -- wh ile danger see med to lurk around every corner.
Restlessly, Paige moved to her feet and turned her eyes, the color of rich oak, on him . “And now it’s time for you to come clean. You didn’t just seek me out at the museum, follow me all the way to Mulholland, and then risk your life because it was the manly thing to do. Tell me the truth, and don’t try lying, I’ll know if you do . . . trust me, I’ll know.”
Time for the truth indeed, and let’s just see if she believes me. He drew a deep breath. “I started having dreams about you, apparently about the same time as you purchased this place.”
“Excuse me?”
“You said that you could tell if I was lying,” he countered. “Now, tell me, am I lying?”
She gazed at him, visions playing in her mind of him tossing in various beds , one arm flung over his e yes while images of her played through his sleeping mind. Some were fantasies that made her want to cringe, while others brought a bright tint to her cheeks.
“How could you?” she whispered. “You’ve never seen me before the museum.”
“Lots of people have seen you. The trick,” he answered dryly, “was finding you.”
Chapter Six
There was sunlight, streaks of it shimmering against the water . She could smell the hyacinths, light and sweet through an open window. The murmur of nearby water was quiet, soothing, but every muscle in Jenny’s body tensed when Erik turned to her. The small cottage seemed suddenly invaded by his sheer masculine presence.
“This is what I want,” she muttered, gesturing at the surroundings. “And you’re . . . you’re not what I want,” she whispered, and turned away t o escape from him, from the sudden feelings that he evoked in her. He’s an actor, she told herself. W hat you see in his eyes isn’t real.
When he spoke, his words were clear, highligh ted with desire. “Why are you running, Jenny? It’s yourself you’re running from, not me.”
There was impatience in his voice, impatience that became only sharper when he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms. He wanted her more desperately than he had ever allowed himself with any other woman. Her uncertainty, her hesitation, aroused some deep primitive part of him. Demand, take, possess. The thoughts tangled together in one throbbing pulse of desire. He didn’t feel the pleasant anticipation he had with other women but a raging passion, which burn ed almost to violence.
When he tasted her mouth, feeling that first hint of surrender, he nearly went mad.
His mouth was so hungry, his hands were so strong. The pressure of his body against hers was insistent. He held her as if she had always been his. Yet, she knew that the choice was ultimately hers. It was if there had been a stone tossed into clear water; her decisions would now send ripples flowing through her life. Where they ended, how they altered the flow, was something she didn’t know. To give, she knew, would be a risk. But risk held its own excitement, its own fear.
“But what about this place?” Michael pushed. “You must have done some sort of property research.”
Shuddering, Paige noticed a chill in the air and left off picking at her food in order to wrap her arms around herself instead . “It stoo d empty for quite a few years and was rented out for a season or two. The house was in terrible disrepair when I found it. As far as I know, the last person to really own this place was a woman who died in the late 1930s.” She shoved her plate away again, unable to eat – to sit, enjoying a meal, -- wh ile danger see med to lurk around every corner.
Restlessly, Paige moved to her feet and turned her eyes, the color of rich oak, on him . “And now it’s time for you to come clean. You didn’t just seek me out at the museum, follow me all the way to Mulholland, and then risk your life because it was the manly thing to do. Tell me the truth, and don’t try lying, I’ll know if you do . . . trust me, I’ll know.”
Time for the truth indeed, and let’s just see if she believes me. He drew a deep breath. “I started having dreams about you, apparently about the same time as you purchased this place.”
“Excuse me?”
“You said that you could tell if I was lying,” he countered. “Now, tell me, am I lying?”
She gazed at him, visions playing in her mind of him tossing in various beds , one arm flung over his e yes while images of her played through his sleeping mind. Some were fantasies that made her want to cringe, while others brought a bright tint to her cheeks.
“How could you?” she whispered. “You’ve never seen me before the museum.”
“Lots of people have seen you. The trick,” he answered dryly, “was finding you.”
Chapter Six
There was sunlight, streaks of it shimmering against the water . She could smell the hyacinths, light and sweet through an open window. The murmur of nearby water was quiet, soothing, but every muscle in Jenny’s body tensed when Erik turned to her. The small cottage seemed suddenly invaded by his sheer masculine presence.
“This is what I want,” she muttered, gesturing at the surroundings. “And you’re . . . you’re not what I want,” she whispered, and turned away t o escape from him, from the sudden feelings that he evoked in her. He’s an actor, she told herself. W hat you see in his eyes isn’t real.
When he spoke, his words were clear, highligh ted with desire. “Why are you running, Jenny? It’s yourself you’re running from, not me.”
There was impatience in his voice, impatience that became only sharper when he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms. He wanted her more desperately than he had ever allowed himself with any other woman. Her uncertainty, her hesitation, aroused some deep primitive part of him. Demand, take, possess. The thoughts tangled together in one throbbing pulse of desire. He didn’t feel the pleasant anticipation he had with other women but a raging passion, which burn ed almost to violence.
When he tasted her mouth, feeling that first hint of surrender, he nearly went mad.
His mouth was so hungry, his hands were so strong. The pressure of his body against hers was insistent. He held her as if she had always been his. Yet, she knew that the choice was ultimately hers. It was if there had been a stone tossed into clear water; her decisions would now send ripples flowing through her life. Where they ended, how they altered the flow, was something she didn’t know. To give, she knew, would be a risk. But risk held its own excitement, its own fear.
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