“I don't know.” His fingers, light as a feather, trailed down to where her pulse thudded at the base of her throat. “I wish you wouldn't.”
“Wouldn't what?” “Touch me.”
He slid his hand down her sleeve to her bandaged hand, then lifted it to his lips. “Why?”
“Because you make me nervous.”
Something lit in his eyes, turning them almost black. “You don't even mean to be provocative, do you?”
“I wouldn't know how.” Her eyes fluttered closed on a strangled moan when he brushed his lips over her jawline.
“Honeysuckle,” he murmured, drawing her closer. He'd once thought it such a common flower. “I can all but taste it on you. Wild and sweet.”
Her muscles turned to water as his mouth cruised over hers. So much lighter, so much gentler than the first time. It wasn't right that he could do this to her. The part of her mind that was still rational all but shouted it. But even that was drowned out by the flood of longing.
“Catherine.” He had her face framed between his hands now as he nipped seductively at her lips. “Kiss me back.”
She wanted to shake her head, to pull away and walk casually, even callously out of the room. Instead she flowed into his arms, her mouth lifting to his, meeting his.
His fingers tightened before he could prevent it, then slipped down to pull her more truly against him.
He could think of nothing, wanted to think of nothing—no consequences, no rules, no code of behavior. For the first time in his memory, he wanted only to feel. Those sharp and sweet sensations she had racing through him were more than enough for any man.
She was strong—had always been strong—but not enough to prevent time from standing still. It was this one moment, she realized, that she had been waiting for all of her life. As her hands slid up his back, she held the moment to her as completely as she held him.
The fire crackled in the grate. The rain pattered. There was the light, spicy scent of the potpourri Lilah set everywhere about the house. His arms were so strong and sure, yet with a gentleness she hadn't expected from him.
She would remember it all, every small detail, along with the dark excitement of his mouth and the sound of her name as he whispered it against hers.
He drew her away, slowly this time, more shaken than he cared to admit. As he watched, she ran her tongue over her lips as if to savor a last taste. That small, unconscious gesture nearly brought him to his knees.
“No apology this time,” he told her, and his voice wasn't steady. “No.”
He touched his lips to hers again. “I want you. I want to make love with you.”
“Yes.” It was a glorious kind of release. Her lips curved against his. “Yes.” “When?” He buried his face in her hair. “Where?”
“I don't know.” She shut her eyes on the wonder of it. “I can't think.”
“Don't.” He kissed her temple, her cheekbone, her mouth. “This isn't the time for thinking.”
“It has to be perfect.”
“It will be.” He framed her face again. “Let me show you.”
She believed him—the words and what she saw in his eyes. “I can't believe it's going to be you.” Laughing, she threw her arms around him, holding him close. “That I've waited all my life to be with someone. And it's you.”
His hand paused on its way to her hair. “All of your life?”
Dreamily in love, she hugged him tighter. “I thought I'd be afraid the first time, but I'm not. Not with you.”
“The first time.” He shut his eyes. Her first time. How could he have been so stupid? He'd recognized the inexperience, but he hadn't thought, hadn't believed she was completely innocent. And he'd all but seduced her in her own kitchen. “C.C.”
“I'm thirsty,” Alex complained from the doorway, and had them springing apart like guilty children. He eyed them suspiciously. “What are you doing that stuff for? It's disgusting.” He sent Trent a pained look, man-to-man. “I don't get why anybody wants to go around kissing girls.”
“It's an acquired taste,” Trent told him. “Why don't we get you a drink, then I need to talk to your aunt a minute. Privately.”
“More mush stuff.”
“What mush stuff?” Amanda wanted to know as she breezed in. “Nothing.” C.C. reached for the coffeepot.
“Lord, did I have a day,” Amanda began, and grabbed a cookie.
Suzanna walked in two seconds later, followed by Lilah. As the kitchen filled with feminine laughter and scent, Trent knew his moment was lost.
When C.C. smiled at him across the room, he was afraid his head would be lost with it.
Chapter Six
It was Trent's first séance. He sincerely hoped it would be his last. There was simply no gracious way to decline attending. When he suggested that perhaps this was a family evening, Coco merely laughed and patted his cheek.
“My dear, we wouldn't think of excluding you. Who knows, it may be you the restless spirits choose to speak through.”
The possibility did very little to cheer him up. Once the children were tucked into bed for the evening, the rest of the family, along with the reluctant Trent, gathered around the dining room table. The stage had been set.
A dozen candles flickered atop the buffet. Dime-store holders cheek by jowl with Meissen and Baccarat. Another trio of white tapers glowed in the center of the table. Even nature seemed to have gotten into the spirit of things—so to speak.
Outside, the rain had turned into a wet fitful snow, blown about by a rising wind. As warm and cold air collided, thunder boomed and lightning flickered.
It was a dark and stormy night, Trent thought fatalistically as he took his seat.
Coco had not, as he'd secretly feared, worn a turban and a fringed shawl. As always, she was meticulously groomed. Around her neck, she did wear a large amethyst crystal, which she toyed with constantly.
“Now, children,” she instructed. “Take hands and form the circle.”
The wind knocked at the windows as C.C. slipped her hand into Trent's. Coco took his other. Directly across from him Amanda grinned, the amusement and sympathy obvious as she linked with her aunt and Suzanna.
“Don't worry, Trent,” she told him. “The Calhoun ghosts are always well behaved around company.”
“Concentration is essential,” Lilah explained as she closed the gap between her eldest and youngest sister. “And very basic, really. All you have to do is clear your mind, particularly of any cynicism.” She winked at Trent. “Astrologically, it's an excellent night for a séance.”
C.C. gave his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze as Coco took over.
“We must all clear our minds and open our hearts.” She spoke in a soothing monotone. “For some time I've felt that my grandmother, the unhappy Bianca, has wanted to contact me. This was her summer home for the last
years of her young life. The place where she spent her most joyous and most tragic moments. The place where she met the man she loved, and lost.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “We are here, Grandmama, waiting for you. We know your spirit is troubled.”
“Does a spirit have a spirit?” Amanda wanted to know and earned a glare from her aunt. “It's a reasonable question.”
“Behave,” Suzanna murmured, and smothered a smile. “Go ahead, Aunt Coco.”
They sat in silence, with only Coco's voice murmuring over the crackle of the fire and the moan of the wind. Trent's mind wasn't clear. It was filled with the way C.C. had fit in his arms, with the sweet and generous way her mouth had opened to his. The way she had looked at him, her eyes clouded and warm with emotions. Emotions he had recklessly stirred in her.
Guilt almost smothered him.