Relative Strangers Part 12

Yet even knowing what Dina had done, he remembered that the decision to leave her had not been an easy one. When he married her he'd expected they'd be together forever. He'd believed in happily ever after, thought he'd made her part of his family.

He'd been wrong.

"I'm not even going to attempt to translate that," Corrie muttered. "And for your information, I wasn't about to suggest you put me ahead of your family in the first place. It was Adrienne I was going to name. In case you've forgotten, she is family."

He felt lower than a drained pond, but it was too late to take back what he'd said. An apology seemed futile too.

"Not even for Adrienne," he told her. "I won't let Pop's health be jeopardized by more questions. Forget about finding out what happened back in 1947 and forget about whatever it is Adrienne wants you to do for her. This is all nonsense, anyway. I shouldn't have let myself be suckered into going along with it."

"It isn't nonsense, and I can't back out now."

"Corrie, there are no such things as ghosts."

Sparks seemed to fly out of her eyes. Blue fire. "You have a right to your opinion, but so do I!"

"All I ask is that you leave my father alone. If you must keep looking for answers, find them somewhere else."

"Fine!" Grabbing her coat off the hail tree as she pa.s.sed it, Corrie slammed out of the house.

Lucas watched her go in growing despair, uncomfortably aware that, once again, he'd put his father's welfare before his feelings for a woman.

This time it hurt more.

He suspected memories of this particular woman would haunt him far longer than his regrets over the end of his marriage had.

Lucas called himself every kind of a fool. He wasn't married to Corrie Ballantyne. He hadn't even slept with her. What did it matter if he never saw her again? Indeed, life would be much more peaceful if she'd just leave the Sinclair House and never come back.

Refusing to acknowledge the ache that thought provoked deep in his heart, he returned to the study, where Hugh was waiting for him. The older man s eyes were alert and filled with concern.

"Is she right, Pop? Do you know something?"

Hugh struck the N on the computer keyboard. No.

"Would you speculate about it if you could talk to me?"

Hugh struck the Y.

Shaking his head, unable to think of the right questions to ask, Lucas was about to abandon this frustrating, nearly one-sided conversation when Hugh began typing one letter after another, until a question that had nothing at all to do with ghosts appeared on the laptop's small screen.

Do you love her?

"d.a.m.ned if I know, Pop." Lucas tried to smile at his father and failed. "I shouldn't. She's been nothing but trouble since she got here."

Hugh waited, this time conveying the same question with his eyes.

"I could love her," Lucas finally admitted, "if I let myself. But somehow I don't think falling in love with Corrie Ballantyne would be a very smart thing to do."

Corrie was in a bad mood when she got back to her room. Rachel had already left to go skiing. The minivan that took downhill skiers to the nearest mountain made several runs each day, but Corrie saw no point in trying to track down her friend.

Her gaze fell on the bed, and she frowned. The maid had been in. So had someone else. A small, plain brown paper bag had been left on the pillow. Cautiously, Corrie picked it up and peeked inside.

She crushed it closed again at once. Rachel. Up to her old tricks.

But on second thought, the gesture made Corrie smile. She opened the bag and stared at the wisps of black lace it contained. Extracting them with exaggerated care, she examined each of the three pieces of what could only be described as a naughty nightie.

She'd seen the outfit before, in a display at the little boutique she and Rachel had shopped in, the boutique where she'd bought the dress she was planning to wear that night for New Year's Eve.

Trust Rachel, Corrie thought wryly, to decide that lives could be improved by exchanging sensible flannel for lace. Corrie had never been much interested in fancy nightwear. Her taste ran to the practical and warm. But now that she had been given this bit of nothing, she couldn't resist the temptation to try it on.

Hastily slipping out of her clothes, she eased into a tiny triangle that was held across the hips by narrow bands of elastic. The lacy top was gathered at the waist so that it flared over her hips in a tiny skirt. It all but bared her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The third piece, so transparent it hardly qualified as a robe, hid little more.

Color crept into her cheeks as Corrie studied herself in the mirror. The peignoir was outrageously s.e.xy, hinting at more than it actually revealed. And, impossible as it seemed to her, it made her feel . . . excited.

Would a man find it arousing? Would Lucas?

For a moment she let herself imagine his gaze moving slowly over her body, heating steadily. Yes, he'd respond to it, to her. And she wouldn't be wearing it long.

On a low moan, Corrie's lips parted. The woman in the mirror was a stranger, capable of- Startled by the wanton direction of her thoughts, she pivoted. Her gaze fell on the bed, and her blush deepened to crimson.

Tonight was New Year's Eve. Did Lucas still want her to spend the evening with him? The night? She was no longer sure.

A week. She'd known him only a week and her life was in turmoil. She was scheduled to stay only three more nights at the Sinclair House. She wasn't sure she wanted to contemplate what could happen in that length of time.

Even scarier was the temptation to extend her vacation. She wanted to help Adrienne. She also wanted more time with Lucas. She knew already that she'd regret it for the rest of her life if she didn't see things through to some sort of conclusion.

The man had gotten under her skin. It wasn't just l.u.s.t, either. She liked him . . . most of the time.

She wanted to spend the night in his arms.

Where had that thought come from?

She had to wonder. Had it been her own idea? Or had Adrienne put the notion into her head, the way she'd engineered that kiss in the sleigh? In sudden confusion, Corrie stripped off the sensually soft pieces and stuffed them back into their plain brown wrapper.

When she was safely bundled into her comfortable, all-concealing terry-cloth bathrobe, she faced the mirror again. The same old reliable, practical Corrie Ballantyne looked back at her . . . except that there was a haunted look in her eyes.

CHAPTER NINE.

A lounge called the Tavern was located at the bas.e.m.e.nt level of the Sinclair House. It had been turned into the local version of a trendy nightspot for New Year's Eve, with a singer and backup group performing and the center of the room cleared for dancing.

Before their quarrel over questioning his father, Corrie had agreed to meet Lucas there at eight. She needed only a moment to pick him out of the crowd. It wasn't that he was taller or dressed differently, though he did look magnificent in a tuxedo. Some strange, invisible current began to flow the moment they were in the same room together. She felt his presence as soon as she came through the door.

He spotted her at the same instant and smiled in her direction. She hoped that meant he'd been watching for her, antic.i.p.ating her arrival. Her spirits lifted as her uncertainty faded. Whatever had pa.s.sed between them earlier, he seemed glad to see her now.

With long, determined strides, he crossed the room, delayed only twice by the milling crowd. Then he was at her side. "My dance, I believe."

When he took her in his arms, Corrie knew not only that he forgave her for upsetting Hugh, but also that he approved of the cream-colored c.o.c.ktail dress she wore. With a warmth that exceeded what he needed to play the suave hotelier, he pulled her closer, moving in time to the music, leading her through intricate steps with practiced skill.

Corrie rested her head against his shoulder and gave herself over to the rhythm. He was a wonderful dancer, and the way he looked at her made her feel more beautiful, more desirable, than she ever had before. She relished the blissful sensation, even though it frightened her a little.

As the old song said, it was almost like being in love.

The Tavern was crowded, with a noise level that made conversation difficult. After a time, in spite of the smoke filters in the ceiling, both Corrie and Lucas were blinking and sniffling from the presence of several cigarette smokers. As soon as the song ended, Lucas gestured toward the door.

"Air," he mouthed.

Corrie coughed delicately and nodded.

"Sorry about the cigarettes," he said as they used the back stairs to reach the second-floor ballroom, where another well-attended party was in progress.

"The smoke was bothering you too," she pointed out. "Why don't you ban them entirely?"

"I wish I could, but it would be a bad business decision. Smokers have rights. Or so they tell me. The best compromise so far is to keep all but one of the lounges smoke-free."

He swirled her into his arms again as they entered the ballroom. The group at this party was older and a bit more staid, but the waltz suited Corrie's mood. She remembered her first impression of Lucas as some sort of misanthropic English n.o.bleman with dark secrets and smiled to herself. Tonight the image of a Regency rake seemed equally appropriate.

Curious, she turned her face toward his neck and sniffed.

"What?" he murmured.

"No bay rum," she whispered back. His start of surprise made her chuckle.

"If I'd realized you were so fond of it-"

"Just an observation, not a preference," she a.s.sured him. In fact, the woodsy scent he had on was perfect for him.

He was a man full of contradictions, she thought, equally at home at a formal affair and in a cabin surrounded by snow and trees.

The waltz ended far too soon, but Corrie let him go with good grace. She knew he had duties to perform as host. It pleased her that he chose to remain by her side as much as he could, and she tried not to resent those duty dances he bestowed on other women.

They wouldn't be with him after the dance, she told herself.

Then she stopped and wondered. Would she? Lucas hadn't said a word about how their evening was to end.

She didn't have much time to worry. Other men danced with her while Lucas circulated, and he came back to her time and time again. Swirling in his arms, she relaxed, letting herself enjoy the evening.

At ten minutes before midnight, he spirited her away from the crowd, giving her only time enough to collect her evening bag while he stopped for two gla.s.ses of champagne. Once more they used the narrow back stairs, but this time their destination was the Fireside Room. Lucas closed the door behind them to ensure privacy.

After the noise and crowding in the Tavern and the more subtle gaiety of the ballroom, it was almost too quiet in the deeply carpeted room. A fire burned fitfully in the hearth, providing the only illumination other than the Christmas tree, which had been lit for one last night, and a single table lamp. Lucas handed Corrie both gla.s.ses and switched off the light, leaving them in romantic, multicolored shadows, before he went to stir the embers.

"Back where it all began," she murmured as she watched the fabric s.h.i.+ft and tighten over the backs of his thighs when he bent, then straightened again.

She didn't think Lucas heard her, but he had to be thinking the same thing. Only a week ago, she'd stood there and watched him. And he'd watched her.

Returning to her side, he took one gla.s.s and toasted her with the champagne. "To a new year," he said. "To new beginnings."

She clinked her gla.s.s lightly against his, wondering what exactly he had in mind. If the smoldering look in his eyes was anything to go by, he had very specific plans for the two of them.

Suddenly nervous, she was awkward when he slipped his arm through hers so they could sip from each other's gla.s.ses, but at least they managed not to spill any.

"Hard to believe we met just a week ago in this very room," he said, echoing her earlier thoughts.

"A lot has certainly happened since then."

She was thinking about the two of them, but she made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder . . . directly at Adrienne's portrait. She jerked her gaze away, remembering the resolution she'd made earlier in the evening. She'd promised herself she would not dwell on anything unpleasant that night and for some reason Adrienne seemed to fall into that category.

"I was a fool to try to resist you," Lucas said.

"Christmas Eve was a wonderful night all the same, she a.s.sured him, "and I thought you sang beautifully."

He chuckled and took that as a hint. Catching her hand, he drew her after him to the piano. "Sit," he ordered, tugging until she was beside him on the bench. Then he set aside his champagne gla.s.s and picked out the first notes of "Some Enchanted Evening."

"Sing with me," he invited.

"I wish I could. My voice is hopeless."

"It sounds sweet to my ears."

She smacked him on the arm. "Don't overdo the flattery, Sinclair. I'll think you're just playing perfect host again."

In the firelight, she saw his face go abruptly serious. "All right," he agreed. "No games, Corrie. No humoring you. And no preconceived notions about where we're headed. I don't have any idea, but it doesn't seem to matter at the moment."

Her gla.s.s joined his on the end table next to the piano. In the distance she could hear the whistles and shouts of revelers as the new year arrived, but Corrie's focus was entirely fixed on Lucas Sinclair as he gathered her into his arms. He held her as carefully as if she were a statue made of spun gla.s.s.

"Happy New Year, Corrie."

"Happy New Year, Lucas."

His kiss started out gentle and heated slowly. Corrie responded to it with every fiber of her being, flowing against him as her arms crept around his neck, her fingers tunneling into his thick dark hair.

With the gentlest of touches of his mouth, he urged her lips apart, sipping at her with a quiet intensity more demanding than a rough kiss. She let her eyes drift closed, the better to savor both his response and her own.

For endless moments they clung together, absorbing from each other the essence of tender caring. It seemed to Corrie she'd been waiting her whole life to be held this way.

Before long, she was unable to resist looking at him again. She opened her eyes to the sight of pure pa.s.sion in the mobile features of his face. She felt her own eyelashes flutter as she realized he was watching her every bit as intently, looking for some sign from her. When he recognized it, his eyes darkened to deepest amber. His pupils grew huge with arousal. A s.h.i.+ver of desire shuddered through Corrie at the sight.

The yearning, the longing, was mutual.

Her fingers stroked again through his softly waving hair. His hands dropped to her waist, then slid lower, tugging her tight against him on the narrow piano bench.

Lost in the sensuality of the moment, Corrie clung to him, her senses reeling. Her eyes were still open as his lips moved along her jawline and dipped down to the exposed flesh of her neck.