Siren's Call

“Nope. Don’t see that happening. She’s not the marrying sort.” After his father’s numerous affairs, his mother had soured on marriage.

They reached the front door, and Nash opened it, beckoning her out with a grand sweep of one arm. She slowly, reluctantly stepped outside.

Another twenty yards and he’d be rid of her and her questions. She made him uncomfortable and want things he had no right to want anymore. Time to turn Twenty Questions on her. “Did your mother ever remarry?”

“No. She’s not interested in marriage, just like your mom.”

Lily’s reply was quick enough, but he’d always sensed there was much left unsaid, even when they were young. She’d been an open book about most everything except her family. When they weren’t outside, they were at the cabin listening to his grandfather’s stories.

But he had met her family a few times. Lily had grown into her mother’s beauty. He remembered going into their house was like stepping into fairyland. Their huge home had an old-world, rich vibe with carelessly cluttered gold coins, heirloom pottery and solid pieces of antique furniture.

A pair of elliptical beams pierced the twilight. Nash wanted to groan. He was only a few feet away from escaping in his truck. But his grandfather would disapprove at the lack of hospitality. The old man was bound to invite Lily for dinner.

“Your grandfather,” Lily squealed. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”

Sam Bowman exited his truck and approached, eyes focused on Lily. “We have a guest tonight,” his baritone boomed, half statement, half question. “Hope you’re staying for dinner.”

“She was leaving. Maybe next—”

“Why yes, that would be lovely,” Lily interrupted, cutting mischievous eyes at him.

Nash stifled a groan. The more he was around Lily, the more she seemed determined to snag him. And the greater his temptation to let her.

His grandfather raised an eyebrow. “You’re the little Lily that used to run around here in pigtails with my grandson?”

“The one and only.”

“Please, come inside,” he invited. Even dressed in worn khakis and an old University of Alabama T-shirt proclaiming national championship number 12, Samuel Bowman garnered respect.

As a kid, he might have sassed his parents all day long, but when his grandfather laid down the law, he unquestioningly obeyed. Not from threat of punishment, but because of his grandfather’s unfailing politeness and show of respect to everyone, including smartass kids.

“This will be like old times.” She had a hop in her step that took Nash by surprise. Such a contrast to her guarded nature at the grocery store this morning when he’d asked about her paintings. There was something mystical about her, like she was fae or one of Grandfather’s mystical creatures come to life. For the first time he noticed her voice held a musical quality—as if several voices were harmonized into one melody. A bell tone of fairies singing in the woods, beckoning small children and the unwary to enter their realm.

Nash shook his head at the fanciful images. He wanted no part of anything that smacked of otherworldly. He had enough weirdness on his own without adding more to the mix.

If he wasn’t careful, Lily Bosarge could be trouble.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_c109e99d-7d6a-5756-b7c4-fc9f84baaccb)

Ugly.

Hideous.

Monstrous.

Opal scrubbed the wet washcloth against her right cheek, leaving a skid of pigmented foundation on the yellow terrycloth. With the tip of her left index finger, she traced the white scar that ran from under her right ear to the corner of her mouth. Three plastic surgeries had smoothed the ridge of keloid tissue, yet the white pigmentation of dead skin would always remain.

Scarred for life. If she could only get the last of it gone... But the doctors assured her this was as good as it would get.

She threw the washcloth against the shower wall. The abomination was a curse. A person as perfect as Nash deserved so much more. Opal pictured his smooth, unmarred olive skin and grimaced at her reflection.

It’s okay, love, Nash whispered in her mind, the way he did every night. Soon I can declare my love for you in person.

The moist heat from the shower was like his hot breath caressing her skin with endearments. You’re all I ever wanted, Opal. The others meant nothing to me. It was always you I secretly wanted. Always you.

Opal’s fury evaporated, the scent of soap morphed to Nash’s scent of sandalwood and musk. He was here, caressing her. Opal cupped her breasts and moaned. Yes. Yes! One hand sank lower and the wet heat between her thighs was as scalding as the hot water pounding her skin.

Nash wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her hands were his hands, touching the soft folds of her womanhood. A finger slipped inside and she clenched as it went in and out. Harder, faster. An orgasm violently racked her body and she slid down the shower stall, weak and sated. Only he could do this, make her crazy in dreams.

Dreams that would soon be reality. He spoke to her like this, and more frequently since she’d taken care of Rebecca and Connie. He hadn’t been with a woman in almost a year now.

Now it was her turn. Her time to show Nash that she was his one true love. He’d open his eyes. The veil would lift. Oh, Opal. How could I not see it? How you must have suffered. No more, my darling. From now on, you are mine. I’ll adore you forever.

Opal rose unsteadily and shut off the water. The signs all pointed to this island assignment as the right time to make her move. And when she did, Nash would remember every conversation, every murmur of endearment he’d been whispering in her brain for the past five years.

He’d never loved those other women, or so he claimed. But she didn’t believe Nash and couldn’t stand the thought of another woman in his arms. So she’d done them both a favor getting rid of Rebecca and Connie. No one could love him as much as she did. She alone knew his secret, had watched him meld into nature and mesmerize wild beasts with a whisper. Nash was extraordinary, otherworldly, and she wanted him to tame the wild storms of her internal landscape. No other man could understand the violent, explosive yearnings in her soul. No one else could save her from this crushing isolation. Only one other man had ever come close.

And he was dead.

Opal dried off, caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror and drew in a sharp breath. That slightly overweight woman—with muddy-red hair plastered like rotten seaweed around her head and neck and that hideous scar—wasn’t the real Opal. The real Opal, the one Nash would see, was impeccable. Like...that Lily woman.

She scowled in the mirror—making her image that much more repulsive. The ghost of an old nursery rhyme skittered through her brain.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?

Lily. The slut bitch.

She was the most beautiful woman Opal had ever seen. That hair, with its pastel strands and silver-blond shine; creamy skin unmarred by any scar; and lush body all combined into an irresistible package. Worse, something about Lily’s voice was almost...magical.

It wasn’t fair.

And the looks that had passed between her and Nash. You could feel a sensual alchemy brewing between them. Plus, they were old childhood friends—which meant they had a history together, an old bond to explore.

This was supposed to be her time. He should be here at the island cabin with her instead of spending so much time in the bayou with his grandfather. She’d taken care of Nash’s old girlfriends, had undergone all that plastic surgery, arranged and finagled assignments so they worked alone together on a beautiful, practically deserted island, and then this Lily had come along, upsetting her careful plans.

Opal tried to resist, but the compulsive need to again scrub the facial scar festered in her fingers. They twitched and tingled until she caved, soaping up yet another washcloth and scrubbing at the old wound. If only she could get rid of it, her problems would be solved. But no, the damn thing would haunt her forever. Opal flung the washcloth against the mirror and soapy water dripped down, distorting her scar into a mélange of distorted pixels.

Bet Lily had been brought up like a little adorable princess while she’d been shuffled around in foster care. Just when she’d gotten used to one place, she’d be uprooted. The only childhood constant was the fantasy Norman Rockwell world in her mind. A safe retreat.

At least she’d had a little luck today. What a coup to catch that woman keying the car with the “Lily” vanity tag. How convenient that Lily already had an enemy. If it became necessary to kill the blond whore, a suspect was ready for framing. Opal hoped it didn’t come to that, hoped that Nash would have no time or inclination for a dalliance. She’d gotten away with two eliminations; a third might be pushing it.

Still, sluts needed to be warned and punished. As the woman and her brat-in-arms tore it out of the parking lot, Opal had dashed over and carved “Die Slut” alongside the gash the other woman had made. In a burst of inspiration, she’d run into the nearby pet store, bought a rat and disemboweled it by Lily’s car.

A cache of stainless-steel razor blades were always stashed in her purse.

Cutting open the rat’s tender flesh had relieved some of the tension and anxiety from seeing Nash and Lily together. Just like cutting her arms and wrists eased pain in those moments when memories clamored and gnawed.

She’d have to find out more about this Lily. This time, unlike the others, there wouldn’t be weeks of warnings and warfare. Time was precious. This assignment was only for a month or so and Nash would be hers by the time it was through. Nobody would stand in her way.