Chapter Six
It wasn’t difficult in a house the size of The Towers to avoid someone for a day or two. Max noted that Lilah had effortlessly stayed out of his way for that amount of time. He couldn’t blame her, not after how badly he had botched things.
Still, it irked him that she wouldn’t accept a simple and sincere apology. Instead she’d turned it into... damned if he knew what she’d turned it into. The only thing he was sure of was that she’d twisted his words, and their meaning, then had stalked off in a snit.
And he missed her like crazy.
The idea of talking to someone who had known Bianca, who had seen her—and the necklace—excited him. A servant would remember The Towers as it had been, would have knowledge of their employers’ habits. And, he had no doubt, would know their secrets.
Confident in the notion, Max bent over his lists.
“Hard at work, I see.”
He glanced up, blinking, to see Lilah in the doorway of the storeroom. She didn’t have to be told she’d dragged him out of the past. The blank, owlish look he gave her made her want to hug him. Instead she leaned lazily against the jamb.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Yes—no.” Damn it, his mouth was watering. “I was just, ah, making a list.”
“I have a sister with the same problem.” She was wearing a full-skirted sundress in sheer white cotton, her gypsy hair like cables of flames against it. Long chunks of malachite swung at her ears when she crossed the room.
“Amanda.” Because the pencil had gone damp in his hand, he set it aside. “She did a terrific job of cataloging all this information.”
“She’s a fiend for organization.” Casually she rested a hip on the card table he was using. “I like your shirt.”
It was the one she’d chosen for him, with the cartoon lobster. “Thanks. I thought you’d be at work.”
“It’s my day off.” She slid off the table to round it and lean over his shoulder. “Do you ever take one?”
Though he knew it was ridiculous, he felt his muscles bunch up. “Take what?”
“A day off.” Brushing her hair aside, she turned her face toward his. “To play.”
She was doing it deliberately, there could be no doubt.
Maybe she enjoyed watching him make a fool out of himself.
“I’m busy.” He managed to tear his gaze away from her mouth and stared down at the list he was making.
He couldn’t read a word. “Really busy,” he said almost desperately.
“I’m trying to note down all the names of the people who worked here the summer Bianca died. ”
“That’s quite an undertaking.” She leaned closer, delighted with his reaction to her. It had to be more than lust. A man didn’t fight so hard against basic lust. “Do you want some help?”
“No, no, it’s a one-man job.” And he wanted her to go away before he started to whimper.
“It must have been a terrible time here, after she died. Even worse for Christian, hearing about it, reading about it, and not being able to do anything. I think he loved her very much. Have you ever been in love?”
Once again, she drew his eyes back to hers. She wasn’t smiling now. There was no teasing light in her eyes. For some reason he thought it was the most serious question she had ever asked him.
“No.”
“Neither have I. What do you think it’s like?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you must have an opinion.” She leaned a little closer. “A theory. A thought.”
He was all but hypnotized. “It must be like having your own private world. Like a dream, where everything’s intensified, a bit off balance and completely yours.”
“I like that.” He watched her lips curve, could almost taste them. “Would you like to take a walk, Max?”
“A walk?”
“Yes, with me. Along the cliffs.”
He wasn’t even sure he could stand. “A walk would be good.”
Saying nothing, she offered him her hand. When he rose, she led him through the terrace doors.
The wind was up, pushing the clouds across a blue sky. It tore at Lilah’s skirts and sent her hair flying. Unconcerned, she strolled into it, her hand lightly clasped in his. They crossed the lawn and left the busy sounds of building behind.
“I’m not much on hiking,” she told him, “since I spend most days doing just that, but I like to go to the cliffs. There are very strong, very beautiful memories there.”
He thought again of all the men who must have loved her. “Yours?”
“No, Bianca’s, I think. And if you don’t choose to believe in such things, the view’s worth the trip.”
He started down the slope beside her. It felt easy, simple, even friendly. “You’re not angry with me anymore.”
“Angry?” Deliberately she lifted a brow. She had no intention of making things too simple. “About what?”
“The other night. I know I upset you.”
“Oh, that.”
When she added nothing else, he tried again. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Have you?” Her eyes, mysterious with secrets, lifted to his.
“Yes. I realize I probably didn’t handle it very well.”
“Would you like another chance?”
He stopped dead in his tracks and made her laugh.
“Relax, Max.” She gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek.
“Just give it some thought. Look, the mountain cranberry’s blooming.
” She bent to touch a spray of pink bell-shaped flowers that clung to the rocks.
Touch, but not pick, he noted. “It’s a wonderful time for wildflowers up here.
” Straightening, she tossed her hair back. “See those?”
“The weeds?”
“Oh, and I thought you were a poet.” With a shake of her head, she had her hand tucked back in his. “Lesson number one,” she began.
As they walked, she pointed out tiny clumps of flowers that pushed out of crevices or thrived in the thin, rocky soil.
She showed him how to recognize the wild blueberry that would be ripe and ready the following month.
There was the flutter of butterfly wings and the drone of bees deep in the grass. With her, the common became exotic.
She snipped off a thin leaf, crushing it to release a pungent fragrance that reminded him of her skin.
He stood with her on a precipice thrown out over the water. Far below, spray fumed on the rock, beating them smooth in a timeless war. She helped him spot the nests, worked cleverly onto narrow ridges and clinging tenaciously to faults in the rocks.
It was what she did every day for groups of strangers, and for herself.
There was a new kind of pleasure in sharing it all with him, showing him something as simple and special as the tiny white sandwort or the wild roses that grew as tall as a man.
The air was like wine, freshened by the wind, so that she sat on a huddle of rock to drink it with each breath.
“It’s incredible here.” He couldn’t sit. There was too much to see, too much to feel.
“I know.” She was enjoying his pleasure as much as the sun on her face and the wind in her hair.
It was in his as well, streaming through the shaggy locks.
There was fascination in his eyes, darkening them to indigo as the faint smile curved his lips.
The wound on his temple was healing, but she thought it would leave a slight scar that would add something rakish to the intelligent face.
As a thrush began to trill, she circled her knee with her arms. “You look good, Max.”
Distracted, he glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting easily on the rocks, as relaxed as she would have been on a cushy sofa. “What?”
“I said you look good. Very good.” She laughed as his jaw dropped. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you you’re attractive?”
What game was she playing now? he wondered, and shrugged uncomfortably. “Not that I remember.”
“No starstruck undergraduate, no clever English Lit professor? That’s very remiss. I imagine more than one of them tried to catch your eye—and a bit more than that—but you were too buried in books to notice.”
His brows drew together. “I haven’t been a monk.”
“No.” She smiled. “I’m already aware of that.”
Her words reminded him vividly of what had happened between them two nights before.
He had touched her, tasted her, had managed, barely, to pull himself back before taking her right there on the grass.
And she had rushed off, he remembered, furious and hurt.
Now she was taunting him, all but daring him to repeat the mistake.
“I never know what to expect from you.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Even better.” Her eyes slanted, half-closed now against the sun. When she spoke, her voice was almost a purr. “But you like predictability, don’t you, Professor? Knowing what happens next.”
“Probably as much as you like irritating me.”
Laughing, she held out a hand. “Sorry, Max, sometimes it’s irresistible. Come on, sit down. I promise to behave.”
Wary, he sat on the rock beside her. Her skirts fluttered teasingly around her legs. In a gesture he felt was almost maternal, she patted his thigh.
“Want to be pals?” she asked him.
“Pals?”
“Sure.” Her eyes danced with amusement. “I like you. The serious mind, the honest soul.” He shifted, making her laugh. “The way you shuffle around when you’re embarrassed.”
“I do not shuffle.”
“The authoritative tone when you’re annoyed. Now you’re supposed to tell me what you like about me.”
“I’m thinking.”
“I should have added your dry wit.”
He had to smile. “You’re the most self-possessed person I’ve ever met.” He glanced at her. “And you’re kind, without making a fuss about it. You’re smart, but you don’t make a fuss about that, either. I guess you don’t make a fuss about anything.”
“Too tiring.” But his words had a glow spreading around her heart. “It’s safe to say we’re friends then?”
“Safe enough.”
“That’s good.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I think it’s important for us to be friends before we’re lovers.”
He nearly fell off the rock. “Excuse me?”
“We both know we want to make love.” When he began to stammer she gave him a patient smile. She’d thought it through very carefully and was sure—well, nearly sure—this was right for both of them. “Relax, it isn’t a crime in this state.”