Читать книгу Daring The Moon - Sherrill Quinn - Страница 8

Alexander Merrick’s Journal

21 November 1988

Catherine is my life, my reason for being, the only bright thing in this dark world. I love my wife. I love her dearly. Yet I do not see an alternative. If I am to end my wretched existence, how can I in all good conscience ask her to continue on, knowing she will go through this vile misery again with our son?

No, it is better by far to take her with me. Ryder is strong—he’ll survive this. And if he’s listened to my advice over the years, he’ll discover a way to coexist with the demons that ride us. If not…

My main concern is for young Miles. He so wants to be part of the Merrick legacy, yet he doesn’t carry the bloodline and so it is impossible. He continues to berate me for my lack of cooperation in making it so. Yet I cannot.

One day I hope he will come to realize what a dreadful existence I have saved him from and thank me for it. As for my son…One day I hope he, too, comes to comprehend my reasons for doing what I’m about to do. And I hope he will never find himself in the same dark despair as I.

Ryder Merrick tossed his father’s journal on top of his grandfather’s diary. Dammit. It had been twenty years since his parents’ deaths, and he still didn’t understand it. How had no one seen how desperate and delusional his father had become?

Ryder had been away at Queen’s College when news of the murder-suicide had reached him. He’d cut short his education and come back to Phelan’s Keep immediately—only to be greeted by the horrendous reality and his cousin Miles’s near hysterics. The police had quickly ruled Miles out as a suspect. Forensic evidence substantiated the report that Alexander Merrick had first shot and killed his wife and then turned the gun on himself, lodging a bullet—one he’d made from melted silver—in his brain.

Everyone was in consensus that Miles had been lucky there wasn’t a bullet fired his way. And while Ryder had never really believed his cousin had anything to do with his parents’ deaths, there was that nagging little voice that whispered maybe….

And for two decades Ryder had never understood it. Sure, there were things the males of his family had to deal with that affected very few other people in the world, relatively speaking. But it could be dealt with in ways other than death.

Isolation was Ryder’s solution.

He pushed his chair away from the desk and stood, turning to gaze out the open veranda doors. Huffing a sigh, he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe and looked out over the ocean.

Sea birds flew across the surface, their raucous cries floating upward. They reminded him it would only be a few more months before the puffins returned to their nesting grounds on the south of Phelan’s Keep, which was much rockier than this side of the island. He’d always enjoyed the little black-and-white birds’ return each season—somehow they made his life a bit more bearable, a little lighter.

The morning sun capped the waves with orange and gold topped with reflective silver. A light breeze brought the smell of salty air to him. He inhaled, wishing the air could somehow make him feel renewed. But, as always, he just felt…old.

He glanced over the immaculate lawn that led to the short stone wall at the edge of the bluff. His only live-in employee, Will Cobb, refused to have someone from one of the main islands come over to keep the grounds, insisting that he was more than capable of performing landscaping work. And he was. The house and grounds looked as good as they did when his parents were alive and had half-a-dozen employees caring for things.

Ryder scanned the horizon. As far as he could see there was only blue sky and white clouds, though he knew they were due for rain soon. And this time of year storms could be gale-strength.

Tilting his head to one side, he tried to work out the kinks in his neck. He was on deadline—if he didn’t get these last few changes in to his editor on time, she’d have his balls for breakfast. And while the big house operated off an industrial-sized generator, he’d prefer to get as much done as possible before they were hit by the next storm.

He grimaced and turned back to his desk. Flexing his fingers, he settled them on the keyboard and got to work. It wasn’t until he heard a knock on the study door that he became aware of the passage of time. He glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. “Come,” he called out.

His hardworking Guy Friday pushed open the door and walked in carrying a silver tray. His thinning hair brushed just so and dressed in his normal attire—crisp dark suit, starched white shirt, black tie, and shiny shoes—Cobb took his job quite seriously. He set the tray on the desk and proceeded to pour strong black coffee into one of the two large mugs that sat on one side of the tray.

The aroma wafted to Ryder and his nostrils flared with his deep inhalation. He enjoyed the smell of coffee as much as the flavor. He pushed his laptop to one side and peered at the tray. Next to the mugs were two plates, each holding a meat sandwich. Reaching out, Ryder lifted up one corner of the homemade sourdough bread of the nearest one to inspect the contents.

“It’s rare roast beef with lettuce, tomato, sweet onion, and brown mustard,” Cobb offered. He lifted a small plate that held homemade chips and placed it in front of Ryder, then did the same with the plate holding the sandwich. “I thought I might be pushing my luck to serve salad for your midday meal two days in a row. You tend to get…overly irritable if you don’t eat red meat on a regular basis.” Moving around to the side of the desk, he picked up a linen napkin and laid the deep burgundy material across Ryder’s thigh.

Ryder glanced at Cobb and saw the slight smile that kicked up one corner of his employee’s mouth. Ryder grinned in response, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize it was as late as it was.” He grabbed the sandwich and took a large bite. The mustard hit the back of his tongue and burned a pleasant trail into his sinuses. Swallowing, he took another bite. As he chewed, he studied Cobb.

The other man’s dark hair had thinned on top, leaving him almost bald. His nose seemed larger than it used to be—a part of the aging process, Ryder supposed. While Ryder carried his age well and still looked as if he were on the underside of forty when in reality he was two years past it, Cobb looked every minute of his sixty years.

“How are the rewrites coming?” Cobb poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down in one of the leather wingback chairs facing the desk.

“Slowly. More so than normal.” Ryder leaned back, rocking slightly. “I’m bored with the story. Hell, I’m bored with myself.”

“You should go on holiday.” Cobb brought his cup to his lips and took a careful sip. “Somewhere with white sandy beaches and nubile young women in bikinis.”

“We have that here. Well, on the other islands.” Ryder sent him a frown. “But you know I can’t leave Phelan’s Keep.”

“No, sir, I don’t know that.” Cobb leaned forward and set his cup on the tray. He braced himself with elbows on knees and laced his fingers together. “You are not your father. His madness is not yours.” He shook his head. “Your father was only a few years older than you are now when the…incident occurred.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ryder muttered. He put his half-eaten sandwich down on the plate and snagged a chip.

“I’ve seen no indications that you’re becoming unbalanced.” Cobb met his gaze. “You’re a good man, sir. An honorable man. One with the notion that what you’re doing is the only course of action. I disagree. However,” he went on, leaning back in his chair, “it’s clearly not my place to tell you what to do.”

“I value your opinion.” Ryder scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “It’s just not that simple. It isn’t simple now and it wasn’t simple then.”

“It certainly didn’t help matters having Miles underfoot all the time.” Cobb picked up his own sandwich. “Always nattering at your father about one thing or another.”

“Yes, well, Miles had his own set of challenges, that’s certain.”

Cobb rolled his eyes, making Ryder grin. “You and your father were both too lenient with the boy,” the older man said. “I understand the trauma he suffered, losing his parents at such a young age, but there comes a time—or at least there should—when we grow up and take responsibility for our lives.” Cobb picked up his cup and leaned back in his chair again. “When the two of you were teenagers with barely three years separating you in age, there was still a world of difference in your level of maturity.”

Ryder snorted. “I’ll say one thing for my cousin—he was more than happy to take credit for anything that made him look good. But when things went wrong, it was always someone else’s fault. Usually mine.” He shook his head. “I wonder on whom he blames things now?”

“I wonder what’s become of him. It’s been twenty years since he left the island.”

“Twenty years since I kicked him out, you mean.” Ryder popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.

“It was necessary,” Cobb said in loyal support. “Always following you around, demanding to be just like you.” He scowled and dabbed at his lips with his own piece of burgundy linen. “He’s from your mother’s side of the family, not the Merrick side, so of course he couldn’t emulate you. He should have counted himself lucky your father left him the inheritance he did.”

Ryder swiveled in his chair and stared out at glittering ocean waves he could see beyond the edge of the bluff. “Miles was only four when he came to live with us. Mother and Father treated him like their own son from day one, which I didn’t have a problem with. It was nice not being the only child.” His throat tightened with sorrow over things lost, regret over things that would never be. He closed his eyes briefly and then turned back toward his employee. “And Mother was glad to have a piece of her sister still with us. So it was only natural for Father to remember him in his will.”

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Cobb stood and began clearing the lunch items. “Miles wanted it all.”

Cobb wasn’t wrong. Miles had alternated between begging and demanding to be given his due, given what he felt should be his birthright, too. Ryder had never understood that. Being a Merrick was what had made his father take the drastic steps he had. Why would anyone willingly take that on?

Finally exasperated to the point of almost losing control, Ryder had told the nineteen-year-old to get out. Now, thinking back on it, he still didn’t see any other course of action. The inheritance Miles had received had been close to seventy-five thousand pounds. Twenty years ago, that was a good amount of money. Ryder knew that letting his cousin stay could have proven to be too dangerous. To both of them. “I lost track of him after he moved to the States. He stayed in New York for a while, I know, but I don’t think he’s still there.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Nothing but trouble was that young man.” Cobb picked up the tray and turned toward the door. “Is there anything else you need, sir?” At Ryder’s negative gesture, he murmured, “I shall be in the kitchen if you need me.” He closed the door softly behind him.

Ryder heaved a sigh and moved his laptop back to the middle of the desk. He cracked his knuckles. “Just type something,” he muttered. “You can always go back and fix it.” Fingers back on the keyboard, he began to type.

Drivel. It was all pure drivel.

Damn. What was wrong with him today? He felt on edge, disturbed on an elemental level. He wasn’t an inordinately superstitious man, but this restlessness suggested something was going on. Perhaps the change in atmosphere in front of the upcoming storm was responsible.

Perhaps it was something else.

Whatever it was, it was obvious he was done with work for the moment. He wouldn’t waste any more time putting such dismally written words on the screen. He saved the document and then turned off the laptop. Pushing back from the desk, he stood and stretched. The bones along his spine popped, and the pressure from sitting hunched over the keyboard lessened immediately.

Ryder left the study and went in search of Cobb. He found the older man in the immaculate kitchen, wiping down the counters. Ryder grabbed his rain slicker from a peg by the back door. “I’m heading out for a walk,” he told Cobb. “Hopefully it’ll clear my head.”

“Be careful.” Cobb gave his usual response.

When Ryder opened the door and the wind blew leaves into the room, Cobb turned without a word and headed into the hallway. Ryder knew he was going after a broom. “Sorry,” he called out.

“Not to worry, sir,” said Cobb cheerily as he walked back into the kitchen, push broom in hand. “Devil’s playground and all that.”

Ryder grinned. He walked outside and made his way through the small side garden, now mostly dormant except for a few late blooms. He followed the meandering cobbled path until he reached the woods. There the cobblestones ended, and the path was a hard-packed trail forged over time.

As he made his way across the island, heading down toward the water on a natural incline, insects chirped and various small creatures rustled in the undergrowth. Part of him longed to break into a run to try to chase away the demons that continually plagued him, but he knew it wouldn’t work. It never did. He’d content himself with listening to the rush of the sea against the rocks as a way to calmness.

Within ten minutes he’d reached the caves. He slowed, then stopped. His heart rate increased and sweat popped up on his skin. The old fear resurfaced. He clenched his jaw and took a step forward. Then another. And another.

He froze. He couldn’t do it.

It didn’t matter that he was no longer that eight-year-old boy who’d been trapped for two days in the cold, damp darkness. It didn’t matter that, three and a half decades later, he knew his phobia was irrational.

He could not make himself go into that cave.

Unlike when he’d been a boy and compelled by curiosity and the hope of finding long-forgotten pirate treasure, he was a man now and able to control his tendency to snoop. He didn’t need to put himself in danger to satisfy his natural inquisitiveness.

His writing was his outlet.

Ryder swallowed, staring into the darkness of the mouth of the cave. His pulse hammered in his throat. “This is completely asinine,” he muttered. It was just a fucking cave. After taking a deep breath and holding it a moment, he exhaled and strode forward to meet his fear.

About four meters inside the cave he faltered. Irrational fear chilled his skin, but he kept going. After two more meters, with the darkness closing in on him, he stopped. Sweat made his shirt stick to his chest and back, and dripped down the side of his face.

Memories slammed into him, of rocks and dirt crashing down on him, of Miles crying out that it wasn’t his fault. Ryder remembered the total, absolute pitch blackness. Legs pinned by rocks, knowing he was bleeding, terrified he would die. Wondering if Miles had gone for help or had simply run off.

The recollections still much too intense, within seconds Ryder was outside once more, bent over, bracing his palms on his knees as he fought to control his erratic breathing. He muttered a curse at his own cowardice. Straightening, he stared toward the pile of hewn rock and vowed, “One day I’ll conquer you, you bastard.”

That whole ordeal as a youngster was what had started his misgivings about cousin Miles. But he’d dismissed it as his imagination. Even now he had a hard time believing that a five-year-old boy could be so wicked as to try to murder his playmate, his own cousin.

Unless he was twisted enough to have wanted Ryder’s parents all to himself…

No. Ryder refused to believe it. Miles had had adjustments to make, to be sure, but he’d been such an effervescent boy—there was no way he could have hidden such a dark soul.

Ryder went on, stopping for a few moments in his favorite cove. Hands in his pockets, he sat on a fallen tree and listened to the waves crash against the rocks. He inhaled, slow and deep, dragging the refreshing salty air into his lungs. It was at times like these, when he was alone—just him and nature—that he could almost block out the troubles that were associated with his family.

Almost.

His gaze went upward, where the sun stood sentinel. A few more hours and it would be dark. In another few days there’d be a full moon suspended in the night sky. He didn’t want to think about that and made his mind go blank.

After several minutes, an idea on how to reveal the killer’s true identity in his latest book hit him. Wanting to get it on paper while it was still fresh in his mind, he jumped up and started back to the house, breaking into a jog about halfway there. When he made it to the kitchen door, he knocked dirt off his shoes on the rough-woven rug, then went inside.

As he went down the hallway and through the foyer, he saw Cobb sitting in the old-fashioned parlor, one of Ryder’s earlier books in his hands. Ryder made a detour and went into the small room. Already his breathing had evened out. One positive aspect to his enhanced metabolism.

Cobb looked up. “This one still gives me the shivers.” He put his finger between the pages to mark his place. And started to stand.

“Stay put,” Ryder said. “I only wanted to let you know I’m going to try to get some more work done.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s only two thirty—if that walk and the sea air did their job, I should be able to get quite a bit done yet before nightfall.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with working after dark. You do some of your best work at night.”

“Ha.” Ryder turned and walked to the study. From across the foyer he instructed, “Unless the house is on fire, I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Are Mr. O’Connell and his friend still coming?”

“As far as I know they’ll be here day after tomorrow or the next day, although I told him not to come.” Ryder frowned. “Now is not the best time.”

“Yes, I know.” Cobb raised his eyebrows. “I could always refuse them entrance, sir. Especially since you expressly told him not to come.”

Ryder shook his head. “I haven’t seen Declan in a few years, Cobb. As much as I don’t want visitors now, I can’t turn him away without seeing him. I’ll tell him I’m on a tight deadline and convince him they have to leave after one night. We’ll just need to keep them out of the basement.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ryder sighed. “Let’s make sure we’ve a nice dinner for them, Cobb. Put Declan in my old room upstairs. His friend can stay in the adjoining room. Once they arrive, when I get a chance to talk to Declan alone, I’ll let him know he’s got to turn around and leave straight away the next morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Cobb’s face clearly expressed his misgivings.

“You have a problem with that?” Ryder asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cobb shook his head. “Not with the idea, sir. I am, however, not convinced Mr. O’Connell will merely turn around and go all the way back to America after having just arrived. Feeling unwelcome won’t guarantee he’ll leave. You know how stubborn he can be. He’s much like you in that respect.”

Ryder grimaced. “Just…have the rooms ready, all right?”

Cobb nodded and put his nose back in his book.

Ryder closed the door to his study and settled in at his desk. The cooling air from the veranda blew across his nape. He twisted and closed the doors that led outside until only an inch-wide opening remained, then drew the curtains. He was so close to completing this—he wanted no distractions. Once the laptop booted up, he went to the area in the manuscript where he’d left off and began typing.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he became aware of a scent unfamiliar to him. It smelled like…He inhaled. It smelled like honeysuckle and vanilla, but with an underlying hint of musk. All in all, it was an aroma both sweet and spicy at the same time and utterly feminine.

He shook his head and tried to immerse himself in his work once more. A heightened sense of smell was another trait he’d gotten from his father, and it could be damned inconvenient at times.

It was apparent he’d gone without sex for too long. If he was starting to smell something feminine without the woman to go along with it, it was time to get back over to the mainland and renew some of his female acquaintances.

But not now, not with Declan and his friend arriving in the next few days. Ryder heaved a sigh and pushed his chair away from his desk. Standing, he put one hand in his pocket and with the other pushed the curtain aside.

Cobb was right. Declan would demand to know why they couldn’t stay. Especially if the situation was as serious as Declan had made it sound.

Dammit. Declan had been fairly cryptic over the phone, merely telling him he was bringing a friend named Taite who was having werewolf trouble. He thought Ryder could shed some light based on years of research for his books.

Of course, coming here to this isolated island wasn’t much safer. But they had no way of knowing that, and, if Ryder was successful in keeping his own lycanthropy hidden, they would never find out just how much danger they were in.

He turned back to his laptop and within moments was immersed once more in the story he created. It wasn’t until shadows had crept further into the room that he realized his buttocks were numb from sitting in one position for so long.

Glancing at the clock on his desk, he saw another two hours had passed. He stood and stretched, rotating his head to work the kinks out of his stiff neck. He started to turn back toward his desk, then stopped, caught by that same musky-sweet scent, stronger now.

Nostrils flaring, he pushed open the French doors and took a step outside. Vanilla and honeysuckle assailed him and a low growl left his throat before he could stop it. It was a woman, somehow familiar, and she was on his island.

Voices carried to him on the wind. “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?” The husky feminine voice with a distinct note of exasperation curled around his senses like wispy smoke, tantalizing him, enticing him.

“Well, when we caught sight of the wolf again in Atlanta, I reckoned we should just get on out here. It’s only a few days early, lass.” Declan’s deep voice was calm, the way Ryder remembered him.

“Okay, but that would mean he’s expecting us. Why did you just tell me he isn’t?”

He heard the huff of Declan’s sigh, then the other man mumbled something that Ryder was too far away to clearly catch, even with his exceptional hearing.

“What?” The woman’s voice rose in pitch.

“I said he told me not to come.”

“And yet, here we are.” Although her tone was rich with sarcasm, she still managed to sound as smooth as honey. Her voice slid over Ryder like silk on skin, tightening his entire body with need. When she added, “What’s the plan now, Sherlock?” Ryder almost felt sorry for Declan.

Almost.

His two visitors rounded a curve in the path that became cobblestoned at the edge of the lawn and followed a straight line to the front door. Before they could spot him, Ryder drew back into the study, staring at Declan’s companion as she stopped and rounded on his friend.

“I cannot believe you brought me all the way out here. You…You…” Dropping her two small suitcases, she threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t even have the words!”

Ryder’s jaw clenched against the brutal arousal that slammed into him at his first good look at her. The open flaps of the lightweight jacket she wore revealed full breasts above a narrow rib cage and small waist. Hips curved out, inviting a man’s hands. Long legs encased in worn blue jeans led down to slender, booted feet, one of which tapped against the ground.

His gaze swept back up and lingered on her face. Even from here he could see the tilt at the end of her pert nose and full lips made for kissing. He had a sudden vision of those sensuous lips wrapped around his cock, her hot, wet mouth sliding up and down his shaft, taking him deep. A growl crept from his chest and he trapped it in his throat.

“That’d make a nice change, darlin’,” Declan responded, his grin widening when she made a low, rumbling noise deep in her throat. Setting down one of the suitcases he carried, he laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to his side with a quick squeeze, making Ryder stiffen.

He was outraged Declan had disregarded his wishes, that was it. It wasn’t that he was jealous over a woman he didn’t even know, no matter how much her scent seemed to meld with his until he had a hard time separating one from the other.

A woman he’d thought was a man, which he knew was what Declan had intended. His former good friend had known Ryder—who lived like a monk, and Declan couldn’t understand why—would never have agreed to have a woman on the island.

Not that he’d agreed that Declan could be here, either.

With a stealthy movement, Ryder pulled the French doors closed and leaned against the wall, out of sight, and continued to listen to their conversation.

“Well, just tell me what we’re going to do when he leaves us standing on his doorstep, Einstein.” Footsteps crunched up the walk. “In the dark.” Her voice wavered a bit, and she cleared her throat.

“He’s not goin’ to just leave us out in the cold, lass.” Declan’s deep voice was still cool and calm, amused.

“Well, it’s hardly that cold,” she said. “Although I’d thought this time of year it would be.”

“It’s the Gulf Stream,” Declan said. “It keeps the climate here fairly temperate. Except during these short late fall and winter months, when some fairly nasty gales can come in off the Atlantic. Which is why Ry won’t leave us stranded.”

Ryder shook his head, knowing before it even began that he’d lost this battle. Declan was right. He wouldn’t deny them, not now that they were here.

“Oh, my God. Look at this place.” The woman’s voice softened with awe. “It looks like something out of Wuthering Heights.”

Declan laughed. “Aye. Ry’s great-grandfather Phelan built the place, hence the name Phelan’s Keep. Look over there.” Gravel crunched as they backed up a few steps. “That’s an honest-to-God tower. Used for storage now, but at one time there was a bedroom at the top.”

“Wow.” A shadow passed by the window, and Ryder saw her walk by, her head thrown back as she looked up at the house. “Just how many rooms are there?”

“Seven bedrooms, five and a half baths. Old Phelan was ahead of his time and gave nearly all the bedrooms their own separate bathroom. All of the stone used to build the house was quarried from the island.” Declan snorted. “Jaysus, Taite. I’m not a flippin’ realtor. It’ll be dark in another hour or so. Let’s get inside.”

She walked back toward the front door, then the door knocker creaked as it was lifted. The clunk of brass on brass reverberated through the foyer and filtered into the study. Ryder listened for Cobb’s footsteps, frowning when they didn’t sound.

“You were saying?” The woman’s voice held a note of wry humor.

The knocker clanked again, and after another minute, Declan muttered, “Son of a…You wait here, Taite. I’ll walk ’round to the other side of the house and see if they’re in the kitchen. Be right back.”

Declan walked past the study, pausing to jiggle the handle and peer through the doors. Ryder, needing a bit of time to come to grips with the emotions stirring within him, stayed in the corner, careful not to draw his friend’s keen gaze in his direction. When Declan was apparently satisfied the study was empty, he went on around the side of the house.

Something thumped against the front door. Ryder grinned at the picture in his mind of Taite slamming her balled-up fist against the unforgiving wood. Another thump and a pithy comment. Then more thumping.

Cobb’s footsteps sounded in the foyer, and the front door squeaked open. “Yes?” his employee asked in a bored, unwelcoming tone.

“Hi.” Taite’s voice was bright and friendly, in direct contrast to the dark comments muttered at his door mere moments before. “My name’s Taite Gibson. I’m here with Declan—”

“Mr. Merrick is not at home to visitors, miss, which I believe he made very clear to Mr. O’Connell when he called.” The door squeaked again, and Ryder knew Cobb was about to close it in the woman’s face.

He sighed at Cobb’s stubborn insistence on maintaining their privacy, even after Ryder had told him not to. When he heard a thud, he cracked open the door of the study to see Taite standing with one hand planted palm-down on the front door.

“Wait a minute. Please,” she said, her smile still in place. “We’ve traveled all day.”

“I’m sorry, miss. But if you leave now you’ll reach St. Mary’s before dark. It’s not convenient for Mr. Merrick to have visitors at this time.” Cobb’s voice was cool and polite, but Ryder heard the underlying thread of steel. The little man didn’t look like it, but he was quite the watchdog.

Even now, he chose to disobey Ryder’s instructions in an effort to protect him. Cobb went on, “As I have said, Mr. Merrick is not available.”

“But we’ve come all the way from the United States to talk to—”

Without a word or even a change of expression, the short, balding man closed the door. Ryder fully opened the study door and leaned one shoulder against the sturdy frame.

When Cobb turned, he caught sight of Ryder standing in the doorway of the study. At Ryder’s raised eyebrow, Cobb said, “This isn’t a good time, you said so yourself.”

“I also said they’d have to at least stay the night. The sun will be fully set in another hour—I don’t want them trying to get back to St. Mary’s in the dark.”

He wasn’t sure why but, even knowing he couldn’t have her, he needed to meet this woman. Nodding toward the front door, he said, “We’ll just have to be sure the basement door stays locked at all times to avoid awkward questions. Let her in.”

The older man sighed and turned back to the door. Pursing his lips, he swung open the door and stepped back as Taite’s raised fist nearly caught him on the nose. “Come in, miss,” he said in a long-suffering tone. He waited until she’d picked up her suitcases and walked into the house, then he went out and collected the other two suitcases Declan had left on the small portico.

Coming back inside, Cobb set the suitcases down and closed the door, shutting out the cool November wind.

Ryder could see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, could smell her beguiling scent so much more clearly. Her lips were slightly parted, showing small, white teeth, and he clenched his fists against the desire that slammed into him with the force of a gale.

God, she was lovely. Why couldn’t the person with Declan have been a man? He wouldn’t have been tempted by a man. Oh, his condition would still flare but, without sexual arousal, it would have been…manageable. Throw his hard dick into the mix, and he wasn’t so sure he could maintain control.

But as great and as immediate his need of her was, she was off-limits. He didn’t trust himself with her, not with the time of his Change so close. More determined than ever to get her and Declan off the island in the morning, he moved forward.