only light cast through the open door into the hallway. Restlessness plagued her like a bad reputation.
The lace curtains at the open window stirred and danced in the breeze, the wind as restless as her blood. She rose and walked to the window, brushing aside the curtain to draw in a breath of night air. She'd been jittery all day, unable to escape thoughts of Cole.
Turning from the window, Elinor left her office in a surge of nervous energy, slipping out the front door to the wide gallery to find refuge in a comfortable wicker rocker. The air was sweet all around her, fresh with the scent of awakening earth and the flowering of a hundred spring shrubs. A night breeze slid over her sundress-bared arms and legs, soft and seductive against her skin.
The pebbly surface of the wicker felt smooth and cool beneath her fingers as Elinor set the chair in motion and untethered her mind. She'd fought it all day, but now Cole crowded into her consciousness, as pervasive as the drumbeat of springtime.
Their brief afternoon interlude by the river troubled her thoughts . . . and her body.
Night sounds rose and fell around her as she rocked, the busy life of insects and night critters carrying on as if she wasn't there. In the distance, she heard the hush of tires on the black-topped road at the end of her curving drive. The sound approached in the night and died away.
There was an itchiness beneath her skin, a tangled yearning as ancient as the seasons. And every possibility of respite collided with her heart. She wanted, lusted, longed for Cole Whittier. And he was the last man to whom she could bare her soul. Cole worshipped money, the attitude that ruined her father and grandfather's lives.
The gallery's wooden floor creaked beneath her with the slow rocking of the chair. She leaned her head against the woven back, submitting to her daydreams.
The crackle of footsteps nearby brought Elinor up in her chair. A flash of sensation skittered over her skin like a cold shiver. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, she considered bolting for the door. She felt vulnerable, suddenly aware of being easy prey. But surely, her mind rationalized, Bayville was different from living in the city. Strange men didn't stalk women here.
The breeze lifted sliding around her body with restless fingers. Elinor searched the night with still-anxious eyes. The inky blackness of the country-dark night, lit only by a pale sliver of moon, had never seemed so filled with possibilities.
He materialized out of the murk at the foot of her steps, the faintness of moonglow coalescing on his hair. Standing at the lower step, Cole watched her.
"Come dance with me," he bid her without preamble, his hand raising in invitation.
She knew she shouldn't go with him. Elinor's fingers clenched the arms of the rocking chair. There could be no happy ending with him; still, she felt compelled to respond.
He stood waiting, silent and persuasive, his hand held out in entreaty.
She rose from the chair, her full skirt whispering with the movement. The gallery had never seemed so long, and never had she been so filled with mingled desire and dread. Cole Whittier could break her heart, but her heart didn't seem to care.
Her hand slipped into his like a homecoming, a perfect fit, the warmth of him surrounding her. She saw his smile, a glinting temptation in the faint light, and joy bubbled up in her. She loved Cole's smile. He didn't look like himself without it.
Taking her hand, he drew her down the steps and away from the driveway, into the junglelike grounds of Oakleigh.
"Where are we—?"
"Shh," he hushed her, weaving his fingers more snugly with hers.
He had to have cat eyes, she thought as he led her down a path she could hardly detect. At first, she walked hesitantly, not wanting to be tripped up as her sandals caught in stray vines. But gradually she grew less cautious. Cole seemed to know the path as if he'd walked it his whole life.
They crossed what had once been
The lace curtains at the open window stirred and danced in the breeze, the wind as restless as her blood. She rose and walked to the window, brushing aside the curtain to draw in a breath of night air. She'd been jittery all day, unable to escape thoughts of Cole.
Turning from the window, Elinor left her office in a surge of nervous energy, slipping out the front door to the wide gallery to find refuge in a comfortable wicker rocker. The air was sweet all around her, fresh with the scent of awakening earth and the flowering of a hundred spring shrubs. A night breeze slid over her sundress-bared arms and legs, soft and seductive against her skin.
The pebbly surface of the wicker felt smooth and cool beneath her fingers as Elinor set the chair in motion and untethered her mind. She'd fought it all day, but now Cole crowded into her consciousness, as pervasive as the drumbeat of springtime.
Their brief afternoon interlude by the river troubled her thoughts . . . and her body.
Night sounds rose and fell around her as she rocked, the busy life of insects and night critters carrying on as if she wasn't there. In the distance, she heard the hush of tires on the black-topped road at the end of her curving drive. The sound approached in the night and died away.
There was an itchiness beneath her skin, a tangled yearning as ancient as the seasons. And every possibility of respite collided with her heart. She wanted, lusted, longed for Cole Whittier. And he was the last man to whom she could bare her soul. Cole worshipped money, the attitude that ruined her father and grandfather's lives.
The gallery's wooden floor creaked beneath her with the slow rocking of the chair. She leaned her head against the woven back, submitting to her daydreams.
The crackle of footsteps nearby brought Elinor up in her chair. A flash of sensation skittered over her skin like a cold shiver. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, she considered bolting for the door. She felt vulnerable, suddenly aware of being easy prey. But surely, her mind rationalized, Bayville was different from living in the city. Strange men didn't stalk women here.
The breeze lifted sliding around her body with restless fingers. Elinor searched the night with still-anxious eyes. The inky blackness of the country-dark night, lit only by a pale sliver of moon, had never seemed so filled with possibilities.
He materialized out of the murk at the foot of her steps, the faintness of moonglow coalescing on his hair. Standing at the lower step, Cole watched her.
"Come dance with me," he bid her without preamble, his hand raising in invitation.
She knew she shouldn't go with him. Elinor's fingers clenched the arms of the rocking chair. There could be no happy ending with him; still, she felt compelled to respond.
He stood waiting, silent and persuasive, his hand held out in entreaty.
She rose from the chair, her full skirt whispering with the movement. The gallery had never seemed so long, and never had she been so filled with mingled desire and dread. Cole Whittier could break her heart, but her heart didn't seem to care.
Her hand slipped into his like a homecoming, a perfect fit, the warmth of him surrounding her. She saw his smile, a glinting temptation in the faint light, and joy bubbled up in her. She loved Cole's smile. He didn't look like himself without it.
Taking her hand, he drew her down the steps and away from the driveway, into the junglelike grounds of Oakleigh.
"Where are we—?"
"Shh," he hushed her, weaving his fingers more snugly with hers.
He had to have cat eyes, she thought as he led her down a path she could hardly detect. At first, she walked hesitantly, not wanting to be tripped up as her sandals caught in stray vines. But gradually she grew less cautious. Cole seemed to know the path as if he'd walked it his whole life.
They crossed what had once been
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