Page 11 of From the Darkness

She’d been a virgin seven years ago when she’d first met him, and she was pretty sure he knew it. So, he’d been careful of her, going slowly, awakening her sensuality with touches and kisses that became more intimate over time. She remembered that first thrilling moment when he’d cupped her breast, then played with her beaded nipple through the fabric of her blouse and bra.

They’d been dancing on the porch, then. Their bodies swaying in slow provocative rhythm, and when he’d slid his hands down her body and pulled her middle against his arousal, her own arousal had leaped up to meet his.

She’d been exhilarated with the knowledge that they were on the verge of making love. Then her mother had gotten sick, and she’d gone rushing back to North Carolina. Mom’s health was fragile, and she couldn’t be left alone, so they’d moved to Baltimore, where Aunt Martha could take care of her while Bree was in school.

She’d lost track of Troy in the flurry of activity surrounding the move. Later, she’d told herself it was for the best. Still, she’d been shocked and hurt when she’d heard that he’d gotten married—so soon after she’d left.

After he’d taken a wife, she’d told herself it was wrong to still want him. And mostly she’d managed to keep him out of her thoughts. But Helen’s call had changed everything.

And maybe the real reason, the secret reason, she’d come rushing to Ravencrest was because she wanted to take up where they’d left off.

Unbidden, more scenes came winging back to her from the summer of her sophomore year in college—when she’d been head over heels in love with Troy. It wasn’t just sex. The two of them had seemed so right for each other. They’d gotten into long discussions about all sorts of topics—from world politics to the running of the family’s cattle ranch. They’d gone for rides into the mountains, taking along a picnic lunch so they wouldn’t have to come back for hours. He’d taken her to the barn where she’d been entranced by a newborn foal.

She’d thought their relationship was heading somewhere important. And then it had all been snatched away from her.

As those memories from the past flooded through her mind and body, it was impossible to stay in the bed where he’d come to her. Throwing aside the covers, she swung her legs over the edge, thumping her feet onto the floor as she looked around.

Weaving slightly, she crossed the room. First, she tried the door, just to make sure. It was locked—the way she’d left it.

With a sigh, she backtracked to the window. When she opened the curtains and pushed at the bottom sash, it slid upward with only minimal resistance.

The cold outside air sent a shiver rippling over her skin, but she didn’t draw back. Cautiously, she stuck her head out and took in the scene. The stars and moon gleamed in a black velvet sky. And a path of moonlight wavered on the dark surface of the restless ocean below her.

Dragging her gaze away from the mesmerizing sky and water, she inspected the wall of the building. It rose above her for two more floors like a man-made extension of the cliff. And like the cliff, there were rough stones that an agile climber might be able to use for hand- and footholds. But could anyone climbing the wall have gotten away so quickly?

Maybe, if he’d slipped inside another room. Or if he was a mountain climber, like Troy. That summer, she’d watched with her heart in her throat as he’d scaled sheer cliffs. There was no reason he couldn’t do the same thing now.

Suddenly feeling dizzy, she pulled her head back inside, then shut the window and sprung the latch.

Her next stop was the bathroom, where she felt around for the light switch. It was in the off position, and the light came on as soon as she flipped it up. Blinking in the yellow glow, she waited for several seconds, then checked her watch. It was one in the morning. She’d gone to bed around seven and slept almost six hours. That meant she probably wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon.

With a small shrug, she crossed to the sink, scooped up some water in her hands and took several sips. The tingling cold helped ground her. Deliberately, she brought up more details from the disturbing encounter—examining the facts and her feelings.

Either she’d dreamed up the whole thing, or a man had come to her room, a man whose presence had frightened her but whose seductive touch had captivated her. He hadn’t been rough with her. On the contrary his attentions had been gentle yet thrilling. Still, she’d known he shouldn’t be there, and when she’d reached to push him away, her hands had contacted only empty air.

Once more, her skin prickled. She wanted to cling to the dream theory, but she knew that would be dangerous.

And dangerous to get all wound up with memories of Troy—or mix them up with the present.

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to talk herself out of the feeling of intensity he’d created within her. Intensity she’d seldom experienced in her lifetime.

Of course, she’d had relationships with other guys since her almost affair with Troy. In fact, she’d done her best to forget Troy London and get serious about someone else. But none of her other boyfriends had seemed like the soul mate she’d wanted for a marriage partner. And she’d known deep down that she was comparing each of them unfavorably to Troy.

She snorted. Talk about carrying a torch! Obviously, the man had gotten over her. He’d married not long after that sweet summer encounter. And Helen had said that his wife’s death had devastated him.

Yet tonight he hadn’t come to her like a man still pining for his lost wife. He’d come to her like a lover. Now she struggled to figure out what that encounter meant.

Again, she touched her lips, remembering the kisses in the darkness. She was making assumptions about his identity. Could she be sure he was really the same man who had held her in his arms seven years ago.

She couldn’t answer that question. Maybe if she’d seen him tonight, she would know for sure. But she was forced to rely on her other senses—on the memory of his long-ago kisses and caresses. She’d been a lot younger then. So had Troy. His kisses had been different, less skillful back then. But she could put that down to his lack of maturity and experience. And her own immaturity, too.

Resolutely she reentered the bedroom and switched on the overhead light. Then she turned to the closet. The door was closed, and she hesitated for heartbeats as she stared at the dark wood, trying to penetrate it with her gaze.

If he was inside, she should clear out. Yet he hadn’t hurt her. He hadn’t demanded anything. He’d only taken as much as she’d wanted to give. And he probably wasn’t anywhere around now.

She recognized all those thoughts as rationalization. Still, before she could stop herself, she grasped the knob, turned it, and pulled the door open. The closet was empty—and as dark as she remembered.

She breathed out a small sigh, then knelt on the floor, felt around in her suitcase and found the flashlight that she’d brought along for emergencies. When her heart rate had calmed a little, she began investigating the closet, shining the light along the walls, over the ceiling and down to the floor—which was made of the same wood boards as in the bedroom. The walls and ceiling were old-fashioned plaster, except for the back of the closet, which was wood paneling. Holding the light in one hand, she shined the beam over the surface. With the other hand, she ran her fingers and palm lightly over the wood, taking care not to pick up any stray splinters in the process. She thought she detected a line where two pieces of paneling came together—which proved nothing more than that the surface had been applied in sections.

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