Julianna Morris - Family of Three

“She isn’t my ghost. For God’s sake, we’re talking about rumor and superstition. I don’t want to discuss it.” But Alysia did—he could see it in her face.

Damn, he thought, she really was like a cat, curious and unpredictable. And she had their sensuality—stretching, gliding, licking the herb sauce from her lips. Jacob could almost feel her tongue, the rough velvet texture of it, tasting him. He shifted, trying to quell his swift, involuntary reaction. Even his wife had never affected him so much with a look or a gesture, and now he was lusting after an unkempt tomboy.

“Your grandparents weren’t happy?” she asked after a moment.

“My—” Jacob paused, trying to think of a way to describe the taciturn Marcus Reynolds. “My grandfather wasn’t an easy man to live with. He was stern, very quiet and kept to himself.”

She traced the pattern on the linen tablecloth with her finger. “I thought the house was built out of love,” she said, sounding oddly wistful.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember that Alysia knew little of the tragic affairs of his family. Her curiosity was natural under the circumstances. “Love doesn’t always mean happiness.”

No longer hungry, Jacob pushed his plate away. He recalled his father’s and grandfather’s lectures about not allowing the heart to rule the head and never letting a woman have control. He’d never completely understood their warnings until he met Alysia McKenna. She awakened something deep and powerful inside of him, something that clamored for attention. Something dangerous.

“When I first moved in,” Alysia said hesitantly. “I had nightmares. It must have been the stress…you know, from making such a big change in my life.”

Jacob leaned forward. For the first time since they’d met she looked vulnerable and he felt an irrational surge of protectiveness. Alysia McKenna didn’t seem the type to suffer from nightmares. “Tell me.”

She shivered. “I…I would wake up with images of a dark and damp place. There’d be a horrible pain in my chest. And I felt…terrified,” she said finally. “Anxious, like there was something I had to do—or tell someone—that was more important than anything else in the world. But I’m not afraid of the house, I feel it welcomed me. Silly, right? I know you don’t approve.”

“I doubt if you care,” he murmured.

Regret flitted across Alysia’s face, but she shrugged. “I don’t live by other people’s opinions, if that’s what you mean. Especially ones who don’t care about me.”

Don’t care? There was a hollow, brittle sound to the words. Jacob frowned, wondering what kind of life she’d led, to settle so far away from family. The protectiveness he hadn’t been able to control before came stronger now. Which was absurd. Alysia McKenna needed protection the way a drowning man needed a cup of water.

“Anyway,” she continued, “life’s too short for conformity. I’d be miserable doing what was expected of me.”

“And what was expected?”

Leaning back, Alysia gave him a determined smile. “It doesn’t matter. I know what I want. and where I belong.”

“Yeah, my house.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

“I don’t agree,” Jacob exploded before he caught the gleam in her eyes. Hell, she knew exactly which of his buttons to push. And she enjoyed pushing them. “Tell me, when did you start rebelling, or have you always been this way?”

Alysia raised her eyebrows. “About the same time everyone does—when I was a teenager. You’ll find out with Tracy.”

He stared, appalled by the idea that Tracy might rebel, might become like the wild teens he’d heard about and sooner or later he’d have to face it all.

“Hey, take it easy, Jacob,” Alysia murmured sympathetically. “You’ll handle it. Besides, a little rebellion is healthy.”

Jacob wanted to be reassured, but his confidence had been shaken. A father was supposed to protect his children, yet Tracy had nearly died in an accident. What kind of man let such a thing happen? He was responsible for his daughter’s safety—he should have prevented it. The thought nagged at Jacob, keeping him silent as he paid for their lunch, then drove Alysia to the estate sale she wanted to visit.

He’d barely brought the Mercedes to a halt before she threw off her seat belt and jumped out of the car. Jacob shook his head. How could someone get so excited about old junk? Sighing, he locked the car and hurried after her. The sight of her tight, denim-clad bottom was screwing familiar knots in his gut…familiar since meeting Alysia, that is.

“Hold up,” he called.

“Come on,” she said, fairly glowing with excitement. “I’ve got a feeling about this place.”

Her “feeling” turned out to be several sets of extremely greasy pottery bakeware and four iron Dutch ovens—not really antiques, she explained, but popular with collectors—and a large, dusty sea chest with rusty fittings. When she looked at him, smiled and innocently asked if the chest would fit on the back seat of the Mercedes, Jacob knew he’d been right about impending doom. This was Alysia’s way of getting back at him. His leather seats would never be the same.

“You’re not planning to go to another sale, I hope,” he said, sliding into the car.

She appeared to consider the matter. “I guess not.”

Jacob grunted and stuck his key in the ignition. Turning it, there was a curious whining noise, then a ticking sound. He held his breath and tried the key again. This time nothing happened.

“Problem with the engine?” Alysia asked, her voice choked.

“You might as well say it,” he growled, sneaking a look at her mouth. She was having a terrible time keeping the laughter inside and he could see it bubbling in her irreverent soul.

“S-say what?”

“Say we should have taken your truck.”

“Uh, no…I think the Mercedes is very nice. Not terribly reliable, but it beats my pickup in the comfort department.”

Almost, but not quite, an “I told you so.” All of a sudden Jacob wasn’t angry or even embarrassed. He had to admit it was funny, really funny. Turning, he looked at Alysia squarely. He didn’t trust her, but he wanted her. Badly. And he felt intensely alive whenever she smiled or teased him—or even when she made him angry.

A moment later his amusement faded as he contemplated her expression. Alysia McKenna was dangerous. He didn’t understand why he wanted her so much; she had none of the qualities he normally found attractive—she was too damned independent and unpredictable.

“I’ll call a tow truck,” he said. “Stay here.”

Alysia’s jaw dropped. For a moment Jacob had looked human, ready to smile, even relaxed, then in the space of a breath he’d switched back to cold and arrogant.

“Fine,” she muttered. She poked at the worn fabric over her knee. The spot was wearing through. Slipping her finger between the threads Alysia yanked, and within a few moments both her knees were uncovered. She was immediately sorry. The action was nothing more than mutiny against her own emotions. One half of her still thought Jacob was obnoxious, the other half responded to the deep wounds he seemed to carry inside.

Problem was, which half would win?

“You have an electrical problem,” the service manager of the Mercedes dealership explained. “We should have it fixed by morning.”

Alysia grinned when Jacob frowned. He wasn’t the kind of man who dealt well with delays or changes to his plans. She, of course, was a big change in his plans.

“Bill, I’ll need a loaner,” he said in a tight voice. “I have to drive Miss McKenna back to Astoria, but I’ll return tomorrow.”