Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

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СКАЧАТЬ and met two neighbors. Quite a day, in fact.” And so different from any other day in her life so far.

      “You’ve moved in?”

      “Not yet. But I plan to. Maybe next week.”

      “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

      “Why pay for bed and breakfast when I own a whole house? Plus, if I’m in the house, it might discourage nocturnal visitors. Remember Wednesday.”

      “You’re certain someone was there? It could have been moonlight on the windows. Or shadows.”

      “The man in the moon doesn’t drop a flashlight heavy enough to figure as a murder weapon.” She looked straight at him. Did having only one good eye double the emotion he showed? Dark brows creased almost to touching. They even caused his eye patch to shift. Was he angry? Worried?

      “If you’re sure about finding the torch, you’d better tell the police.”

      “That’s what Emma said but it seems a lot of fuss.”

      He shook his head. “Fuss or not, report it.”

      He’d gone from suggesting to ordering in ten seconds. What next? “I will in the morning. If I get around to it.”

      “What’s wrong with now? Sergeant Grace is right over there.”

      Dixie turned. A gray-haired uniformed policeman leaned against the bar.

      “I’ll get him.” Christopher was halfway back before she thought to object.

      “Evening, madam. I’m Sergeant Grace. Mr. Marlowe here says you’ve had a spot of bother.” He pulled a chair up to the table, flipped open a notepad and took her name and address. “Orchard House, eh? Well, well, what’s been going on?”

      Dixie resigned herself to recounting the whole story. In the retelling, it sounded like the fevered exaggerations of jet lag.

      Sergeant Grace didn’t think so. He listened, nodded, and asked when she planned on moving in. “Well, well,” he flipped the notebook shut. “Seems to me you’d best get good locks if you plan on staying. Probably some yobs with nothing better to do, but it never hurts to be careful. Miss Hope, she claimed someone was trying to break in. Of course, she was getting frail at the end.” He stood up. “I’ll ask the patrol cars to drive by once in a while. Just to keep an eye on things. Give us a ring if anything else happens.”

      She would, if she ever got a phone.

      Sergeant Grace left. Christopher didn’t. He seemed settled until closing time. “Feel safer with the law on the alert?”

      “I like the idea of a car driving by. Discourages unwelcome visitors.”

      A slim, white finger circled the rim of his glass. “Would I be included in that description? I’m serious about looking over the library.”

      Smiles like his should be illegal. “No harm in looking.”

      “I’ll be over in a couple of days. Can I get you another drink?”

      “Thanks, but I’m driving home.”

      When she stood up, he followed her out. “Scared I’ll get lost?” One hand rested on the roof of her car, the other closed the door for her and curled round the open window edge. Immaculately manicured nails appeared chalk white against the dark paintwork. It had to be a trick of the moonlight.

      “Dixie,” he said, his face a pale oval in the night, “don’t explore anymore at night. This may not be New York or Atlanta, but things happen. That house has been empty for months. If you do move in, change the locks.” A half-smile quivered around his mouth. “I suppose I sound like Uncle Christopher?”

      No. He wasn’t the least avuncular. “It’s not that, but you’re the third person today to suggest I change the locks.”

      “Might be good advice.” She couldn’t argue. She agreed.

      Christopher watched the taillights disappear down the lane. So, she planned on moving in, claiming her property, and discouraging unwelcome visitors. She had guts to match her beauty, but no notion what she was taking on. He’d have his work cut out.

      If he had any sense he’d leave. Now. But he couldn’t. He had to see that library and Dixie would invite him in.

      Dixie! Dixie LePage could be his downfall—if he let her. He wouldn’t. He was stronger than any mortal, even one with auburn hair, green eyes like polished glass, a smile that scrambled his senses, and warm, sweet blood coursing through her veins.

      But he wanted her and he’d never dare have her.

      “Staying then?” Stan Collins asked.

      “Just a month or so. Until I get things straight.” She’d taken an hour off from scrubbing to drive over to Horsley and extend her rental agreement.

      “It’s booked for a weekend in June. If you’re still here then, I’ll give you another one. Just a weekend switch, okay?”

      Dixie agreed and scribbled a reminder on a notepad she’d bought in the village. A search through her belongings hadn’t turned up her organizer. They agreed on a special rate for a long rental.

      “Just don’t start driving to Scotland on weekends,” Stan warned.

      She promised not to, and drove home to her mops and scrub brushes.

      Sebastian’s Jag purred to a halt outside Emily’s front gate. Glancing from her bedroom window, Dixie smoothed the linen skirt of her business suit. The loan of Emily’s iron had improved its appearance, and an electric blue silk blouse she’d found at Maude’s in the village completed her outfit. After a day of scrubbing in jeans, it felt great to be dressed up.

      Downstairs, Emily and Sebastian faced each other like a pair of bristling porcupines. Dixie wondered if she’d need body armor to walk between them. Emily stood back and grunted some comment that could have been a wish for a pleasant evening. As the front door closed behind them, Dixie felt a warm hand on the small of her back, propelling her towards the car.

      “That color really suits you,” Sebastian said. “It really looks wonderful. Not everyone can wear it, but you have just the right hair and skin.” His breath on her neck felt even warmer than his fingers. Dixie hoped he’d keep both hands on the steering wheel.

      The Whytes lived in a converted barn six or seven miles towards Guildford. Forty-odd people filled the high-ceilinged living room—not exactly the “drinks with some of the locals” she’d expected.

      “How do you do?” A beaming, red-faced man clasped her hand in his enormous paw. “Glad you came.”

      In a whirl of introductions, Dixie heard and forgot a dozen names. With a gin and tonic plus extra ice—two cubes just wasn’t enough—in hand, she looked around the Whytes’ living room at the wrought iron chandeliers, the polished floor with hand-woven rugs, the stone chimney that rose two stories and what had to be an original Warhol soup can over the sofa. Insurance must pay well.

      Glancing СКАЧАТЬ