Bethany Campbell - One True Secret

They waited a full minute, Merriman still gazing at the sea and lost in silent concentration. Eli was about to hit the bell a third time, giving it all he had, when the door swung open.

There she stood. Emerson Roth.

Eli went blind to everything else. His ears buzzed, his forehead turned numb and a rush of excitement surged through his veins.

She was tall and— Great God, he was a writer, and he couldn’t think of a word for her. Yes, he could. Ravishing. She ravished him. She overwhelmed and bewitched him—for an eon that lasted fully a second. He yanked himself back to sanity.

Everything about her face was good, the rounded cheekbones, the straight nose and the intriguing mouth with its hint of a smile. Her hair fell in a dark, lush cascade. But it was her eyes that struck him. Depthless, exotic, they reminded him that her grandmother, too, was an exotic woman.

Emerson wore a long plain gown of something crinkly and silky. It was a vivid turquoise blue with full sleeves that came almost to her fingertips. The garment covered her from collarbone to ankle. It only hinted at the curve of her breasts, but the hint was excellent.

“Hello,” she said in a voice that was surprisingly human.

“You must be the people from Mondragon.”

She thrust out her hand with an air of stoic resignation. “I’m Emerson Roth.”

He took her hand and was relieved that it didn’t shoot sparks and lightning bolts through his system. It was a medium-size hand, firm and strong.

“Eli Garner,” he said gruffly. “And this is the photographer, Merriman.”

He actually had to elbow Merriman, who’d kept staring at the ocean. “Oh,” Merriman said. “Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand and went back to taking imaginary pictures of the sea.

“I won’t ask you to come in,” she said. “Not today. We’ll sit by the pool. Follow me.”

She passed him and descended the stairs. He smelled the fleeting scent of sandalwood. The wind lifted and tumbled her long mane of hair, fluttered her sleeves.

As she’d passed, he’d noticed a small dark spot on her gown, over the left breast. It was hard to pull his gaze away. Didn’t she know the spot was there? Or did she think so little of her visitors that she didn’t care?

HEAD HIGH, Emerson led the way to the patio’s gate and unlocked it. She did not so much as glance at the two men behind her, but her heart beat a herky-jerky rhythm.

Merriman, the photographer, didn’t alarm her. He seemed to have surrendered completely to the visual charms of Mandevilla.

But she sensed a menacing edge in Eli Garner. He had what she thought of as gunfighter’s eyes, keen and permanently narrowed in watchfulness.

Yet he was handsome, as well. Nana was right; this was a man with sex appeal, possibly more than should be legal. She must be on guard against it.

She let the men enter the patio, then followed, closing the gate behind her. She turned to face them. They both stood by the pool, whose water glittered and quivered like a live blue gem.

She walked to the white wrought-iron table and stood behind the master chair, setting her hands on its back to claim it for her own. It was the largest of the four chairs, thronelike. It would give her the air of command.

“Sit,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “Please.”

Merriman, busy gawking at the foliage and flowers, mechanically sat in one of the smaller chairs. Giving her a calculating glance, Eli Garner took another.

He was lean with strongly carved features. His high cheekbones seemed sharp enough to cut diamonds. His dark hair waved nearly to his collar, and he was so tanned that he looked more like an outdoorsman than a writer.

She gave each man a cool smile. Merriman, gazing entranced at the hibiscus tree, didn’t notice. Eli returned the smile but made it several degrees cooler than hers.

Before they’d arrived, she’d placed a silver tray on the table. On it were a carafe of turquoise crystal and three matching goblets.

“Lemonade?” she asked. She meant to be hospitable, but only minimally.

“No, thanks,” murmured Merriman. He was absorbed by the garden’s flowers.

“Please,” said Eli, not taking his eyes from her.

She filled two of the goblets and handed him one. A gold pocket watch lay on the tray beside the remaining glass. She opened it and set it on the table so both he and she could see its face.

“I said I’d talk to you for an hour today. I’ll begin by stating the ground rules.” She turned to Merriman. “You can take all the exterior shots of the house and grounds you want. On your other visits, you may take pictures of the paintings, the studio and some of the more interesting family pieces. No pictures of the family itself.”

Merriman seemed to jerk back into reality. He blinked his cobalt blue eyes. “Not even you?”

“No pictures of the family,” she repeated.

He shrugged amiably and went back to contemplating the flora.

She faced Eli Garner, whose gaze stayed fastened on her with unnerving steadiness. “I’ll be the main person you’ll talk to. Day after tomorrow, my grandmother will speak with you for half an hour. No more.”

One of Eli’s brows lifted, just a trace. “I hope she’s not unwell.”

“No. Her health is fine.”

“Will I talk with your sister?”

“No. She doesn’t choose to speak with you.”

He sat back in his chair and sipped from the goblet. She noticed that he had a tattoo on one sinewy forearm. It was a picture of a dancing Hindu god with four arms and an elephant’s head.

Emerson recognized it—Ganesh. The sight unsettled her, for she had an expensive figurine of Ganesh in her bedroom. He was the deity invoked to help overcome obstacles. She’d bought the figurine when she’d made her first solo trip to New York to take over her father’s job.

It agitated her to see a symbol she’d chosen for herself etched on the arm of a man she thought of as an opponent. She pulled her gaze away. Don’t think about it.

He ran a knuckle over his chin thoughtfully. “Your sister is shy, perhaps. Maybe she’s picked up a reclusive gene from your grandfather.”

This was close enough to what Emerson feared about Claire that she blinked in irritation. “No. She doesn’t choose to speak to you. That’s all.”

His mouth crooked in a mocking smile. “This isn’t going to be much of an interview if you just keep repeating yourself.”

Don’t let him control this conversation, she told herself sternly. She tilted her head, gave him a flirtatious glance. “Why don’t you ask me questions that don’t force me to repeat myself?”

He nodded as if he were humoring a troublesome child. “All right. Your father was your grandfather’s agent. He knew he was a very sick man. He trained you to take his place. Did you know how sick he was?”

“Yes,” she lied. She hadn’t known. He’d always had a weak heart, but his decline had come swiftly and inexorably. Learning he was doomed had made her feel as if she were dying, too. But she would not tell that to this stranger, this intruder.

She was saved from elaborating on the lie by Merriman. “There’re some interesting cloud formations blowing in. If you don’t mind, I’d like to start those exterior shots. Go down and take a few from the beach. You’ll excuse me?”

“Of course,” she said and gave him her most dazzling smile. He didn’t seem to notice. He stood and pulled his camera from its case as he went out the gate.

She turned her attention back to Eli, who was still watching her as a cat watches a particularly tricky mouse. She smiled at him, hoping coquettishness might make him forget that she was journalistic prey.