The Visitor. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ working on bids and studying the stereogram until hunger pains disrupted my concentration. Since Devlin would be spending the evening with his grandfather, I decided to walk down the street to a little place on Rutledge for an early dinner. To my surprise, however, he was sitting on the front porch waiting for me when I arrived home a little while later. As I approached the steps, a light breeze trailed a trace of his cologne, a dark, spicy scent with hints of warm vanilla and a dangerous note of absinthe. Sultry, seductive and a bit decadent for the daylight hours, but that was Devlin.

      The late-afternoon sunlight filtering down through the trees blinded me for a moment so that he became nothing more than a dark form imprinted upon my retinas. It almost seemed as if another shape hovered over him, but then I blinked and, like the mysterious stereogram, the two images merged into one.

      “I thought you were having dinner with your grandfather tonight,” I said in surprise.

      “I am. But I happened to be passing by your house and I had the urge to see you before I head out.” He paused to stare down at me for the longest moment. “Are you all right? You were scowling just now as you came through the garden.”

      “Was I? The sun was in my eyes.” I sidestepped out of the glare and as my vision adjusted, I was struck yet again by his devastating good looks. Despite the heat, he appeared as fresh as the proverbial daisy, his cotton shirt crisp, the line of his tailored pants still neatly creased. As I climbed the stairs, it occurred to me that I’d never sufficiently appreciated a well-fitting trouser until I met Devlin.

      When I got to the top step, he bent to kiss me. Normally, I would have gone willingly into his arms, drawn by that delectable scent and his innate allure, but I found myself strangely reticent, holding back my desire as I tried to resurrect defenses that had tumbled upon our first meeting.

      More and more I was coming to understand Papa’s withdrawal. Retreating behind the wall of his own troubled thoughts had been the only way he knew to protect himself and those around him from the ghosts.

      Devlin searched my face. “I don’t think it was the sun. Something’s wrong. I can see it in your eyes.”

      “I’m just tired.”

      “Because you’re not sleeping.” He trailed his knuckles along my jawline. “I wish Rupert Shaw had never talked you into going back to Oak Grove. You’ve been having nightmares ever since you agreed to finish the restoration.”

      “It’s a very dark cemetery,” I said. “A troubled place even before the murders.”

      His gaze deepened. “But it is just a place. What happened there was human evil, not supernatural. You do know that, right?”

      He wasn’t entirely correct, but I could hardly argue the point. “Not all my feelings about Oak Grove are negative. We met because of that cemetery. I certainly don’t regret that. Although I’d like to think that our paths would have crossed regardless.”

      His eyes softened and some of the strain between us melted. “Such a romantic notion from someone usually so serious.”

      “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.”

      “In you, they’re not. I’ve never known anyone so full of contradictions. You’re a very complicated woman, which is only one of the many reasons I find you so fascinating.”

      “You find me fascinating?” I asked without guile.

      “Have I not made that clear?” He cupped the back of my neck as he gazed into my eyes. “Endlessly fascinating.”

      I felt my knees go weak at the dark glint in his eyes, at the provocative edge in his drawl. Then foolishly I wondered if he’d once thought the same of Mariama, and I glanced away.

      He took my chin and brought my face back to his. “Hey. What’s that look?”

      “Sometimes I’m still surprised by us,” I admitted. “You and me. That we’re together.”

      “Why?”

      “We’re so different. We come from different places.”

      “Maybe that’s why we work. Our differences keep things interesting,” he said lightly, but his expression sobered. He tucked back a strand of hair that had escaped from my ponytail. “I hate seeing you like this. So exhausted and distracted. Nothing’s going to happen if you fall asleep, you know. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

      “I know that. Just as I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. But some things are beyond our control. Even you have no sway over my nightmares.”

      “Maybe you sell me short,” he said and tugged me to him.

      This time I didn’t pull away, proving, I supposed, that when it came to Devlin, I didn’t have the courage of my convictions. If the blind ghost lurked in the shadows, I was oblivious to her presence, attuned to nothing more than my own pounding pulse and those seductive eyes peering down at me.

      Devlin murmured something to me that later I would never be able to recall except for the silken drawl of my name. His kiss, when it came, was very slow, very deliberate and devastatingly effective. But his hands... Those strong, graceful hands were greedy and grasping...touching here, skimming there...making me tremble with need as I clutched at his shirt.

      Somehow I found myself backed up against the porch wall, protected from the street by his body. He lifted my top, pressing his hands to my breasts and deepening the kiss with his tongue. I locked my hands around his neck and threw my head back with abandon as his mouth moved to my throat, then to my ear, then back to my lips. The traffic noises faded and the floorboards evaporated beneath my feet. Only the sound of his voice brought me back to earth.

      “Sorry. I got carried away.” He moved back to adjust my shirt. “I know you’re not one for public spectacles.”

      “You didn’t hear me complain, did you?” I asked breathlessly. “I wanted you to do that. All of it. When you touch me like that...”

      “Like this?” he murmured, his hands sliding back inside my shirt.

      Electricity sizzled along my spine. “Yes, exactly like that.”

      With the tip of my finger, I traced the outline of the silver medallion he wore tucked in his shirt. I fancied I could feel the coolness of the medal beneath the fabric and the quiver of power and history contained inside that ominous emblem.

      “You always know how to get to me, don’t you?” I said. “You know just where to touch me, how to look at me so that I can’t help losing control. Sometimes I wonder how you do it.”

      “How I do what?”

      “That,” I said with a shudder as he pulled me closer. “Everything you do makes me want you even more. I’ve never felt this way before. That sounds like a very bad cliché, I know, but it’s true. All you have to do is say my name and I melt. It’s as if you’ve cast a spell over me.”

      I expected him to kiss me again after that candid and perhaps ill-advised confession and then sweep me inside to the bedroom to prove just how vulnerable to his touch I truly was. Instead, his mood seemed to shift as a disquieting shadow flashed in his eyes, and for some inexplicable reason, I thought again of Mariama, a sultry, hedonistic woman СКАЧАТЬ