Joanna Wayne - Behind The Veil

David let the last of the roses slip from his hands and onto the potting table as he watched Rebecca Smith walk down the cobbled path, her hips swaying in a full cotton skirt that swished around her calves. Hair the color of cornsilk bounced along the collar of a tailored white blouse, and a soft heather cardigan was tied around her narrow shoulders. Feminine, with an understated sexuality that clung like an invisible but intoxicating aura.

Old feelings stirred inside him, and his hands grew clammy. He took one step backward, suddenly painfully aware of his limp and the jagged edges of the scar that ran its freakish path down his face. Picking up a clay pot half filled with dirt, he added water and splattered the muddy concoction over the one window, all but blocking the sunlight from the back of the small, angular structure.

He’d been a fool to seek Becca out and invite her into his world—a fool to bring any woman into his life. Had he not been outwardly disfigured, he’d still have nothing to offer. The unseen scars that cut a barbed swath clear across his heart and soul had proved to be the most destructive wounds of all.

She paused at the door, staring tentatively inside.

He stayed in the back shadows but turned to the right in an attempt to shield her as much as possible from the disgusting sight of the damaged side of his face. “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Smith?”

“Please, call me Becca. Everyone does. And, yes, there is something you can do.”

“If it’s about the house, Richard has the authority to make any decisions necessary based on what you tell him. I trust your judgment.”

“To be quite honest with you, Dr. Bryson, I’m not certain my judgment is worth much in this situation.”

“I’m sure you underestimate your ability.”

“No. If you want a party dress, I’m your woman. I’ve even made drapes and slipcovers before, but I’ve always done it according to the wishes of the owner or a professional decorator. I’ve never taken on an entire remodeling job on my own.”

Her manner of speaking caught him off guard. He’d expected her to be softer, more reticent. A big mistake on his part. She was forthright and spunky as hell. “Are you refusing my offer, Becca?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then I don’t see a problem. I trust you, and Richard is authorized to handle this project. I will meet with you from time to time, but in the future, I will choose the time and the place.” He was coming on too strong. If he wasn’t careful, he’d frighten her away, and now that he was so close to her, he wanted her here at the Bluffs even more than he’d wanted her before.

And knowing that filled him with a choking wave of guilt that defied all reason. Guilt and the knowledge that having her on the premises was a dreadful mistake. And still he wanted her.

ANGER SURFACED, SWELLED, shook Becca to the core. The man had some nerve, but she would not be treated like a second-rate servant of his, dismissed with a nod of his head. “I haven’t agreed to take this job yet, but I won’t even consider tackling it without your full cooperation.”

He turned the left side of his face toward her and met her gaze. His eyes were dark, piercing, totally unnerving. “Exactly what do you mean by my cooperation?”

“I’d like for you to walk with me through the rooms that you’d like updated. You can tell me what colors you like, what style you prefer, the function of each room in your everyday life.”

“You want me to walk with you?” He made it sound like an incredible request, as if she’d asked him to sleep with her or father her unborn children.

“Walk and talk, Dr. Bryson. It’s really not all that difficult. I’m an intelligent and quite charming woman, once you get to know me.”

“Your intelligence was never in question.”

“If this is because of your face, I can assure you that your staying in the shadows is not necessary.”

His eyes grew hard, the muscles in his face rigid. “How I handle my deformity is actually none of your concern.”

Poor guy. Had Moriah’s Landing done that to him, made him think of himself as a monster? Or did the feeling come from something far deeper than his physical wounds? When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. “A man is more than the way he looks.”

“True. And you must trust me the way I trust you. I want you to do the work at the Bluffs, but I can only deal with you on my terms. You will be safe here, and I will pay you whatever you ask.”

“Even if the amount is unreasonable?”

“It won’t be.”

“How do you know?

“Because I know you, Becca.”

His voice crawled inside her, then spread through her like fingers of fire. She could turn and walk away right now, never come to this place again, never see David again. But even if she did, she knew she’d still hear his voice at night. He’d still stalk the corners of her consciousness. The only way she would ever get over him would be to get to know him, to realize he was just a man and that he held no paranormal powers over her.

Besides, the job would pay well, help her start saving money so that she could eventually buy Threads. It would also keep her busy over the long winter months when other work would be scarce. Once the Fall Extravaganza and the Christmas ball were over, life in Moriah’s Landing would settle back into the routine of daily living, and the need for party dresses would come to an abrupt end.

The decision-making was over. She would take the job. David Bryson was not your average citizen of Moriah’s Landing, but then neither was she.

“I’ll take the job,” she said.

“I’m glad.”

And that was it. A few seconds later, she turned, left the stone gardening building and started back to the house. Alone.

THE BEACHWAY DINER WAS noisy and filled with the odors of grease, onions and fishermen in nubby, worn sweaters and rubber boots. Not the classiest spot in town, but the food was always good. Shamus McManus sat at a back table, only half listening to the ranting of Marley Glasglow and Kevin Pinelle. His cod sandwich and bowl of chowder would have gone down a lot easier in better company than either one of them, but when the diner was this crowded, a man had to share with whoever needed a seat.

Marley had lived in Moriah’s Landing all his life—probably close to thirty-five years. He didn’t do any kind of work too regularly, but he hired on with a boat captain often enough to keep his beer belly and his sour disposition. Shamus was sixty-eight, and he’d seen Marley grow more surly and disagreeable with every passing year. This one was no exception.

Kevin was a young fly-by-night, who was working the boats for the summer, signing up with first one fisherman and then another. He was way too sociable for Shamus’s taste, hung out in the wharf bars every night he wasn’t out on a boat, usually with some sweet, young looker on his arm. Obviously, the women went for his physique and boyish charm. Of course, if one of them showed up pregnant and claiming he was the father, he’d probably be out of town before the sun set.

“I think we should march up to the Bluffs and tell that murderer to keep his hands off our women,” Marley said, talking with his mouth full—a thoroughly disgusting sight.

“I didn’t know you had any women,” Kevin joked. “The way you complain about the fairer sex, I’m surprised you’re not glad to let Bryson or the ghost of Leary have his pick.”

Marley sneered and stuffed a few more French fries into his mouth. “I like them fine. Wouldn’t trust one as far as I can spit, but they’re all right in their place.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “I feel the same way, except I’ll take them in their place or mine.”