Phantom Lover

As she played the beam over the walls, she saw that they were made of the same paneling as the back of the closet. The floor, however, was stone.

Spiderwebs blurred the line where the ceiling met the walls, and she braced for musty air. But it had an unexpected freshness, as though there were some access to the outside. When she licked her finger and held it up, she detected a faint breeze.

Some part of her thought it might not be a dumb idea to turn around and go back. At the same time another part of her wondered if she was being compelled to sneak down this tunnel by some outside force. The same force that had held her captive in bed when she’d first awakened.

Just to prove she could, she stopped in her tracks and thought about what she was doing. It made sense that the man who’d come to her room was long gone. But if he’d gotten into her bedroom through this tunnel, she wanted to know what lay at the other end.

“Troy?” she called.

He didn’t answer, and she hadn’t expected him to. Still, calling out to him made her pulse beat faster.

Gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, she moved along the passage, feeling the floor slope slightly downward as she went. She stayed close to the right-hand wall, and about ten feet into the tunnel, the surface changed from paneling to stone.

After about twenty paces, the tunnel curved to the right, abruptly turning a corner so that when she swiveled back, she could no longer see the closet where she’d entered.

If she turned off the flashlight, she knew she would be in total darkness. A jolt of claustrophobia grabbed her by the throat and she had to pause and press her arm against the rough stone. Closing her eyes, she took several deep, steadying breaths. When she felt more in control, she started moving forward again, still counting the paces.

She had taken perhaps ten more steps when disaster struck, overtaking her so suddenly that she had no preparation. One moment she was standing on solid ground, the next, the floor of the tunnel fell out from under her feet.

A scream tore from her throat as she dropped the flashlight and the gun, clawing at the wall with both hands. But there was no way she could stop herself from tumbling into space like a rag doll tossed over the edge of a cliff.

The gun clattered to the stone floor. The flashlight plummeted farther downward, the glass smashing and the light going dark as it hit something solid far below her.

The world seemed to slow, so that she felt trapped in a bubble. She had time to think, time to consider her fate. She would follow the flashlight down, her mind screamed as she braced for the impact of her body striking rock far below.

But it never happened. A man’s strong arms caught her, stopping her downward plunge in midfall. For a heart-stopping moment it felt as if she were standing on nothing but air, her legs dangling helplessly as he held her upper body in his grasp.

Rocks continued to tumble over the precipice into some black, bottomless pit, the impact reverberating in the confined space.

Her breath came hard and fast as she clung to him. Pressing her face against his chest, she struggled to make sense of what had happened.

Just as in the bedroom, she couldn’t see him in the darkness, only feel the solid shape of his body and the soft fabric of his flannel shirt as he folded her close.

It was him, the man who had come to her bed, she thought, leaning into his strength as the scent of soap and spice enveloped her.

In the darkness, she let him drag her a few steps back, away from the place where the floor had dropped out from under her feet. For long moments she was happy to simply nestle in his arms, eyes closed.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for being there when I needed you.”

She felt his head nod, his chin brushing the top of her hair, felt his large hands slide possessively up and down her back, stroking, soothing, keeping her close in the circle of his arms. Clasping her more tightly, he turned his head so that he could press his lips against her hair, while his hands trailed over her back, along her spine.

It was tempting to simply drift, wrapped in his comfort and care. But finally she roused herself. “Tell me who you are,” she said.

As before, he didn’t speak.

She had been feeling calm and protected, but suddenly a flare of anger overtook her.

“Are you Troy? Answer me, damn you! What kind of games are you playing with me?” As she spoke, she angled her head up, trying to see him in the blackness. But she was just as frustrated as she had been in the bedroom. Without the flashlight, the tunnel was like the inside of a whale’s belly.

He took advantage of her upturned face and open lips. Instead of speaking, he brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that took her by surprise.

There was a charged moment when she tried to tell him what she thought of his evasive maneuvers. But he didn’t give her the opportunity. Instead he took her by storm, his lips demanding, insisting, commanding as his hands clamped over her shoulders, holding her to him.

She might have tried to pull away, except that below the surface of his assault, she sensed a need that tugged at her with a desperation that made her heart turn over.

Without giving herself time to consider the wisdom of her actions, she allowed her lips to soften against his. It was only the barest signal of surrender, but he reacted immediately.

The kiss changed from a ravishment to a meeting of two equal forces. On a sigh, she gave herself over to it, experimenting with the sensations he was generating within her, rubbing her mouth back and forth against his, then taking his lower lip between her teeth the way he’d done in the bedroom, staking a claim on his flesh.

It was then that she heard a deep, throaty sound well in him. The sound was the first he had made since he’d come to her in the bedroom, one part of her mind realized. That thought fled as he took back dominance of the kiss, angling his head, moving his lips against hers, sipping from her, inciting her, then soothing with masterful control.

She heard wind roaring in her ears, a cyclone brewing. Somehow he was the only safe refuge. She felt fire sweep her up, fire that came from him and kindled a roar of heat in her belly.

The kiss tasted of dark needs and the wild heather clinging to the cliffs.

When he silently asked her to open her mouth, she did his bidding, then shivered as his tongue swept along the sensitive tissue of her lips.

She felt his hunger, felt her own hunger leap up to match his. He pressed her back so that she was trapped between the rock wall and the solid barrier of his body.

The cold stone might have chilled her if the heat of his body hadn’t seeped into her flesh and bone. It was like being caught in the blast from an open furnace. And she might burn to a cinder if she wasn’t careful. That thought brought back a measure of sanity.

It took a tremendous act of will, but she managed to raise her hands, pushing gently against his chest. “Don’t. We have to talk. You were in my room. Then you came here—and saved me from that pit.”

In the dark, the air stirred, and she thought he had nodded again. But he didn’t volunteer any words of agreement.

The silence made her boil with frustration and she grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Dammit, I don’t even know if you’re Troy! I think you must be Troy. But it’s been so long.” The wistful sound of her own voice made her stop and drag in a calming breath. Slowly, deliberately, she let it ease out again. “Every time I try to have a conversation with you, you kiss me. What’s wrong with you? Have you lost the ability to talk?”

Her heart thumped in her chest as she waited for an answer, half afraid that it was actually true—that somehow he’d been struck mute.

“I can speak to you,” he said, sounding surprised and relieved, as though he’d just discovered that he possessed the ability.

“Thank God!” she breathed. “Helen is worried about you. She said she got e-mails from you that sounded strange.”

“She got e-mails from me?”

“Yes!” Her hands tightened on his arms. “Troy, what happened to you? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer the question. Instead he said very clearly and distinctly, “I didn’t send her any e-mails. She’s lying.”

Chapter Four

“Helen is lying? About what?” she demanded, her fingers digging into the tense muscles of Troy’s arms. If it was Troy. She didn’t even know the answer to that question yet. Not for sure.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as though the topic made him uncomfortable.

“Please. You can’t just come out with a statement like that. You have to tell me what you mean.”

When he remained silent, she struggled to contain her frustration and she heard the strident note in her own voice when she said, “Helen sent me to find out what’s wrong at Ravencrest. What’s wrong with you!”