Tami Hoag - Magic

“People actually pay you money to do that?” Rachel questioned in disbelief. The idea went completely against her innate sense of practicality. “You actually take money from people to do that?”

“A crime against humanity, isn’t it?” Bryan said sardonically. He was used to dealing with skeptics. When one made his living investigating things a great many people refused to acknowledge, one learned to handle criticism in a hurry. But he made no effort to argue his case to Rachel Lindquist.

Let her think what she liked, he told himself. He was going to be much better off simply leaving her alone. Between his involuntary attraction to her and his anger over the way she’d treated her mother, there was no telling what would happen if he let himself get involved. Not that he wanted to get involved, he amended hastily. Noninvolvement was his credo these days. He was just minding his own business, looking for ghosts.

“You play on the superstitions and fears of lonely old women,” Rachel said, her anger building. He was a con man. Thank God she had arrived when she had. There was no telling how much this handsome charlatan might have bilked Addie for. “You set up a lot of electronic gizmos, spout a bunch of scientific-sounding mumbo jumbo, and take money for it. I think that’s deplorable.”

Bryan’s shoulders stiffened, and his hands stilled on the light stand he had righted. He gave her a hard look, the expression in his warm blue eyes severe, “Yes, well, we all have our own ideas as to what amounts to deplorable behavior, don’t we, Ms. Lindquist?”

“Just what do you mean by that?”

“Oh, just nothing,” Bryan muttered, tearing his gaze away from her.

Dammit, how could he feel so drawn to her knowing what he did about her? Even as he stood there fuming with righteous anger, a part of him never once stopped assessing the gentle beauty, the exquisite femininity Rachel Lindquist possessed. This indiscriminating lust dawning inside him was a disconcerting new character flaw, to say the very least. With a considerable effort of will he attempted to block it from his consciousness.

Rachel could feel his disapproval of her like an icy rain, and it rankled. The man was little better than an out and out thief, and he was looking down his nose at her! What could he possibly know about her? Nothing. Unless… Addie had told him something. That idea irked her even more, that her mother would share family secrets with this stranger.

“I don’t know what my mother may have told you, Mr. Hennessy, but she is not a well woman. She has Alzheimer’s disease.”

“I’m aware of that, Ms. Lindquist,” Bryan said pointedly. “I’ve been dealing with Addie on a daily basis. I dare say, I know a hell of a lot more about her condition than you do.”

The blow was on target. Rachel flinched at his words and at the burning guilt that immediately flooded through her. Still, she pulled herself together and lifted her chin. “Dr. Moore wasn’t able to contact me until just last week.”

“Oh. Pardon me for thinking you might give your mother a call every once in a while,” Bryan said dryly. “You know, once a year or so.”

Tears stung the backs of Rachel’s eyes. She had called Addie over the years. She had tried to bridge the chasm that had divided them. Addie had hung up on her every single time. Every letter she’d sent had gone unanswered. Every overture of peace had been met with bitter, stony silence. But none of that was Bryan Hennessy’s business, and, despite all she had been through, Rachel had too much pride to enlighten him.

She pulled her shoulders back and gave him her haughtiest look. “You will pack your things and leave this house, Mr. Hennessy.”

“No, I won’t,” Bryan said evenly.

“I won’t have you taking advantage of my mother.”

Won’t have me taking advantage of her inheritance is more like it, Bryan thought. He gave her a black look that only darkened as he leaned over her and caught a whiff of her perfume, an elusive scent so delicate, he almost thought he’d imagined it, and yet it lured him closer.

Tempting fate, he bent his head so he was almost nose to nose with her-well within kissing distance. Her full, soft lips beckoned like a siren’s call. It was as if their bodies were communicating on a level of their own, impervious to opinions on character. His heart thumped hard, then slowed against his breastbone, and his lungs fought every shallow breath he tried to take. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

“Addie and I have a deal,” he said softly, straining to concentrate on the subject at hand. “More to the point, we have a contract. And most important to me, I gave her my word I’d find out what’s going on around here. That may not mean much to you, but I stand by my promises.”

Rachel barely heard his words. They were absorbed into her brain on one level while her conscious awareness dwelled on the man. She felt overwhelmed, enveloped by his masculinity, and she felt her body responding to it. A satiny warmth unfolded through her, down her arms and legs and into her breasts, making them feel heavy and full. Her gaze fastened on his mouth. In a way she couldn’t begin to explain or understand, she could almost taste his lips, could almost feel them on her own. The sensations were so vivid, they frightened her, and she took a step back from him in obvious retreat.

Bryan turned away and speared both hands back through his hair as he dragged in a deep, cleansing breath. Dammit, he swore inwardly, more shaken than angry at the moment. He’d never felt anything quite like the power that had held him in its grasp as he’d stared down at Rachel Lindquist’s petal-pink lips. He shook his head to clear it.

It must have had something to do with a combination of exhaustion and celibacy. Once he might have called it magic, but he couldn’t call it that now. Magic was what he had shared with Serena. All his magic had died with her. What he was feeling now-well, it was something he wanted no part of, certainly. He was there to do a job, that was all. That was all he could handle right now. That was all he wanted to handle.

“Hennessy?” an imperious voice sounded from the top of the stairs. “What in God’s name is going on down there?”

“I wish I knew,” Bryan mumbled to himself, shaking off the last of the sensation that had stunned him so. He planted his hands at his waist and looked up as Addie Lindquist descended the grand staircase.

Addie moved like a queen. She kept her thin shoulders square and her back straight. Age had shrunken her some, but she did not see that as an excuse for bad posture. Her hand skimmed the mahogany banister lightly. She held her head high. Her frazzled braid of silvery blond hair was draped over her shoulder. She looked like she should have been wearing a velvet cloak instead of a flannel nightgown.

“Who’s down there with you?” she demanded, squinting. “Is it Wimsey? The rascal. I haven’t seen him all day. I can’t imagine where he’s taken himself off to.”

“No, it isn’t Wimsey, Addie,” Bryan said, heartily wishing it were the elusive ghost of Drake House. He stepped to the left so Addie would have an unobstructed view of her visitor.

“Well, who is it, then? You’d better not be cavorting with the kitchen help again.”

“She sort of thinks I’m her butler,” Bryan whispered, tilting his head down so Rachel could hear him.

But Rachel wasn’t listening. She was seeing her mother for the first time in five years. When had Addie gotten so old? The beautiful, vital woman Rachel remembered had faded like a photograph left in the sun. Her hair was paler. The vibrant glow that had always radiated from Addie had dimmed. She seemed smaller, and, while she still had a beautiful complexion-something she had always taken great pride in-her face was deeply lined. In the time they had been apart Addie had slipped from middle age to old age. Suddenly the five years that had passed seemed even more of a waste.