Last of the Ravens
Linda Winstead Jones
A last chance for love?Bren is unique: the last of the raven-kind. He long ago accepted there was no future – no wife or children – for him. But when he sees the petite blonde woman entering the only other cabin on his mountain, something stirs inside him. Miranda speaks with ghosts, helping those in need of solace.The last thing she expects is to meet a man who speaks to something deep inside her. But her joy is touched with danger – an organisation wants to free the world of freaks like Bren and Miranda. And they will stop at nothing to ensure that he is the last of his kind…
She was the one…
As soon as his flesh touched hers, Bren felt as if an electric current had been set loose within him.
No wonder he had been so strongly called to her. No wonder the very sight of her damn near made him crazy.
Miranda Lynch was the only woman in this world he could bond with, the only woman in existence who could save him from being the last of his kind. He’d thought this special woman his mother had always told him would come one day was a myth, and yet here she was, standing before him with her hand in his.
There was no place in this world for the Korbinians, not any more. Their time had passed. Logically he could dismiss Miranda Lynch; rationally he knew what she promised would never work. But a primitive instinct he could not deny now accepted this woman as his, and he wanted her so sharply that he could think of nothing else.
Last of the Ravens
Linda Winstead Jones
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LINDA WINSTEAD JONES is a New York Times bestselling author of more than fifty romance books in several subgenres – historical, fairy tale, paranormal and, of course, romantic suspense. She’s won a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence twice. She is also a three-time RITA® Award finalist and (writing as Linda Fallon) winner of the 2004 RITA® Award for paranormal romance.
Linda lives in north Alabama with her husband of thirty-four years. She can be reached via www.eHarlequin.com or her own website, www.lindawinsteadjones.com.
Available in September 2010 from Mills & Boon® Nocturne™
Moon Kissed by Michele Hauf
Last of the Ravens by Linda Winstead Jones
Touch of Surrender by Rhyannon Byrd
With thanks to all my Heart of Dixie friends for the
laughter, the support and the camaraderie.
My life would not be the same without plotluck,
retreats and squeees.
Prologue
“Don’t you trust me?” Jessica asked.
“Behind the wheel of a car? Never.”
Miranda gripped the padded handle of the passenger door and held her breath as the car took a sharp curve too fast. The rolling north Georgia mountains were brilliant green with the coming of summer, and the rock formation just beyond the passenger window sped by much too close for safety or comfort. Miranda didn’t say anything about Jessica’s driving—she’d given up that futile task years ago—and still her older sister laughed at her reaction.
The setting sun dipped lower on the horizon, coloring the sky pink and yellow and orange on this beautiful April evening. Flowering plants on either side of the road screamed of life that fought to survive in an unfriendly environment, while hearty evergreens on the hills above seemed ancient and indestructible. Soon it would be dark, but this fleeting moment was breathtakingly beautiful.
Miranda’s design degree had been newly awarded. She and Jessica—her only family—had plans for a new and exciting interior design business in Atlanta, and even if they did have terrible luck with men—the Lynch love curse, Jessica called it—Miranda knew she should be happy. She should be content. This was a good time in her life.
But an inexplicable discontent gnawed at her, the way it sometimes did. For the past few days she’d occasionally caught herself holding her breath for no reason at all, and now and then she got the oddest feeling that someone was watching her. She’d even turned around a couple of times, thinking she’d catch someone spying on her. Not that anyone had reason to spy on an ordinary girl like her!
Miranda had had good instincts since she’d been a little girl, and she’d learned to trust her first impressions when it came to the people she met. Her initial reaction to a person was usually strong and unmistakable; at first sight, she liked or disliked those she met. On the few occasions she’d ignored those instincts she’d later regretted it.
There was something beyond ordinary instincts within her, something she tried very hard to dismiss. Jessica knew about her little sister’s uncanny intuition, but not even she knew about the other little oddity.
On rare occasions Miranda got butterflies and chills and knots, as well as a peculiar feeling that all was not well when outwardly it appeared that everything was fine. It had been years since she’d suffered a deep sensation of unidentifiable discontent like the one she was experiencing now; a week after that last troubling incident, her seemingly perfectly healthy mother had passed away suddenly, her kind heart failing without warning.
This time it was just nerves making her feel odd, Miranda told herself. Graduation. A new business. Life! Her future was bright, and nothing would get in the way of her plans.
Jessica took a corner too fast and again Miranda instinctively tightened her grip on the armrest. The bright lights of the truck that had crept into the wrong lane blinded her, much as the sun had not so long ago. The sisters barely had time to scream.
Bren awoke with a start. Something was wrong. Not just a little wrong, but very wrong. Disastrously wrong. In spite of the intense sensation of doom, the fire crackled in the fireplace, and the television played on at a low volume. All was as he’d left it in this half-finished mountaintop house he called home.
It had been a tiring day, as usual, and he’d fallen asleep on the couch shortly after grabbing a bite to eat. He was like the cobbler who had no shoes; he spent all day building vacation and retirement houses for other people, and he never had time to finish his own place. His mountainside house, which was finished and impressive on the outside, was habitable within, but still needed trim, paint, interior doors and a hundred finishing touches that would one day make this a home.
Unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, he jumped off the couch and walked out onto the deck, running his fingers through black hair that was long past due for a trim. A burst of late-evening spring air woke him fully, filled his lungs, made him hungry for something he couldn’t name. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the world had shifted.
The life Bren had made for himself was simple, and to be honest there was little that could happen to shake it. His parents were gone, and he had no one else of importance in his life. No brothers. No cousins. Certainly no wife or children. Brennus Korbinian loved his life, made the best of every day, but he knew full well that he was the last of a dying breed. The time for his kind had passed, long ago. He accepted that fact, had accepted it years ago. What choice did he have but to accept?
In the shadows he stripped off his shirt and glanced beyond the deck, down the steep curve of the mountain. There was nothing to see but the tops of trees—and one structure with an annoying red rooftop. He scowled at the cabin that was situated farther down the mountain, a little ways down the winding road that led to the highway below. Bren had offered the owner twice as much as the place was worth, but the stubborn man refused to sell. Thank goodness the cabin was rarely used. Bren needed privacy; it was all he required of life.
All was dark at the intrusive cabin tonight. No lights shone from the windows, and Bren hadn’t seen a car in the drive as he’d made his way home hours earlier. Even if someone was there, they’d have to have binoculars or a telescope to see anything they shouldn’t.
And still, he wanted that cabin. Once he had it, this entire mountain would be his. Like his father before him, he’d spent years snatching up pieces of property in order to make it so. When he had that plot of land down the hill, the privacy he required would be his, finally and completely.
Bren stripped to his skin, then easily stepped up onto the railing that surrounded the large, deep deck. He glanced down into the vast space beneath, felt the sweep of evening air against his skin, held his breath as deep inside he acknowledged the certainty that yes, something in the world had shifted. He also accepted that he did not know what that something was—and did not need to know. His world was small. Everything he needed was right here.
He dropped, catching air against his bare skin for a moment and then erupting into freedom. If anyone had been watching, they would’ve seen a man one moment and a flock of black birds the next. They would watch as those birds swept down the mountainside, moving in concert, flying as one, until they convinced themselves that they could not have possibly seen what they thought they’d seen.
The last of the ravens flew into the darkness, and in this form, which was as natural to him as human flesh and bone, Bren knew that somewhere in the world all was not as it should be.
But that did not concern him. Not at all. He caught a fierce wind and a cacophony of caws echoed down the mountain he called his own.
Miranda awoke slowly, wondering where she was and how she’d gotten here. What day was it? Where the hell was she? It didn’t take her long to realize that she was in a hospital. The shocking memory of the accident came back to her in a flash. She didn’t remember the collision itself, but she recalled vividly the headlights on the semi that had crossed into the wrong lane, and she remembered screaming.
Jessica!
“You’re awake.”
Miranda’s head snapped to the side. Not a good move. Her head was wrapped in a thick bandage and she had a headache that made her skull pound furiously. Still, she was relieved to see Jessica standing there, untouched, wearing the same pink sweater and jeans she’d been wearing when she’d picked up Miranda.
The bright sunlight shining through the window behind Jessica made her look less than substantial. It had been just after sunset, last Miranda remembered, so the light meant she’d been unconscious all night…
“I love you,” Jessica said, not coming any closer.
She must feel horribly guilty to get so emotional. Jessica didn’t do emotion, not so blatantly. The love was there but it remained unspoken, except in the worst of times. “I love you, too,” Miranda said, and she lifted a hand, motioning with her fingers for her sister to come closer. Jessica didn’t budge; she stayed in the bright sunlight.
Miranda’s arm was bandaged, as well as her aching head, and she couldn’t help but wonder why she’d been hurt so badly while Jessica didn’t have a scratch on her. The light shifted and Miranda found herself blinking hard to clear her unsteady vision. The sounds of hospital activity continued in the hallway. Footsteps passed by quickly, as did squeaking carts and whispering voices. It all sounded so far away, so unimportant.
“Jessica?”
“You’re awake!”
Miranda moved her head more slowly this time, as she looked toward the door and the excited voice. Her friend and roommate, Autumn, rushed in, tears in her eyes…“Thank goodness. I was so worried!”
Miranda attempted a smile, which didn’t seem to work very well. “I’m fine, really. Just a bump on the head, I think.” She lifted the hand that didn’t have an IV connected to it and patted the thick bandage. “What are you doing here? Did Jessica call you?”
Autumn paled, and she bit her bottom lip. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, honey.”
“What?” Miranda looked toward Jessica to ask what was going on, but there was no one standing in front of the sunny window. Miranda blinked hard, then craned her neck to see where Jessica might’ve gone.
“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.” Autumn hiccupped and sniffled.
“Tell me what?” Miranda asked. There was a knot in her stomach. “Where’s Jessica?”
Autumn shook her head and wiped away a tear. “It was a truck…head-on, the state trooper said.” She took a deep breath and finally whispered, “Honey, I’m so sorry. Jessica didn’t make it. She died instantly, so there was no pain. She probably never even knew…” Autumn’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t go on.
Miranda tried to sit up but couldn’t. Every bone and muscle in her body ached. “What do you mean she didn’t make it? Jessica was just here. She was standing right over there!” She pointed at the window on the empty side of the stark hospital room. Autumn shook her head and more silent tears slipped from her eyes as a voice whispered in Miranda’s ear. I love you.
Chapter One
Four years later
There were those who could not be allowed to mingle with the innocent. Monsters, some would call them. Evil, the leaders of the Order of Cahir proclaimed. Or so she’d heard in her time in this dark, dank place.
Roxanna sat on a narrow cot, her knees drawn up, her chin down in an instinctively protective manner. She was hungry. The old man fed her now and then, biscuits and cookies and fried chicken, but she wasn’t hungry for food. In the past year she’d seduced a dozen men and taken their souls, strengthening herself, building an unimaginable power. But now she was hungry again. She was weaker than she’d been when they brought her here, which was likely just as they had planned. Even if she hadn’t been chained to the cot, she wouldn’t have been able to make it very far if she tried to run.
She’d be easier to kill now.
Roxanna lifted her head and looked at the redheaded one. At the moment they were alone, just one weakened sorceress and one guard. Even though he had taken part in her torture as they tried to discover if she was working alone or with a coven, there was a part of him that desired her. Another part was afraid of her and what she could do. If she could call him to her, if she could take his soul, she’d be strong enough to escape. This time she wouldn’t be so easily found.
“I could use some water,” she whispered.
“Later…” the redhead began.
“Please.”
He hesitated, scowled, then poured water from a jug into a paper cup and carried it to her. If their hands touched, if she could use all she had learned on him…
Their hands did touch; he did react, with a gasp and a widening of his eyes. She stared into those eyes and stroked with one finger. A moment more and he’d be hers.
“Kill her,” the old man said. She hadn’t heard him come down the stairs but he was there, behind the redhead. “She’s weakened enough now that it won’t be difficult.” The man before Roxanna didn’t immediately do as he was told; he was close to being hers. “Kill her now, or I kill you.”
At those words, the redhead reacted quickly. Water splashed over Roxanna’s dress, the same stained dress she’d been wearing for almost a month. He drew a knife from a leather sheath at his waist, and without hesitation he drove the blade into her chest. Once, and again, and then again.
Roxanna fell back on the cot, her chains rattling. She’d known she’d die a violent death, had dreamed of it, tried to heed the warnings. And yet now she was dead. With her last ragged breath, she decided that no matter what she’d done, no matter what they said, she was not a monster.
“I don’t need a vacation,” Miranda insisted stubbornly.
“You do,” three voices responded in concert.
She pursed her lips, but arguing with this bunch was a waste of time. Autumn and her husband of two years, Jared Sidwell, stood side by side and glared at her over sweet iced tea. Cheryl Talbot smiled and nodded.
FBI Agent Roger Talbot flipped a burger on the grill and belatedly he agreed with the other three. “This last job was a doozy. It drained me, and I didn’t have to do what you do. You’re pale and you’ve lost weight and there are dark circles under your eyes. Let’s be honest here. You look like crap.”
“Roger!” Cheryl chastised. “There’s no need to be so…so…”
“Honest?” he said, lifting his head to look at his wife with undeniable love.
Miranda had met Roger Talbot three years ago in the line of work she’d taken up a year after the accident that had killed her sister and in return given her what some called a “gift.” Some gift. No one wanted an interior decorator who saw ghosts in the rooms they wished to adorn. No one wanted to walk into a room and find the woman they had hired to bring together paintings and curtains and upholstery fabrics talking to Grandma—who’d been dead seven years. Miranda knew that to be true. She’d been there. She’d tried so hard to live a normal life—but the spirits she’d begun to see after the accident continued to haunt her. The only way she could find any peace was to help them.
When she’d first heard from a murder victim, she’d tried to ignore the bothersome specter. The man—the ghost of a man—had been annoyingly persistent and would not leave Miranda alone. After a few days she’d given up and gone to the police. Naturally they’d dismissed her as a nut and sent her on her way, but the ghost did not take the hint and get lost. Instead, the spirit of the murder victim had stuck to her like glue, an unrelenting stalker no one could see, a dead man insisting on a justice only Miranda could deliver.
The only way she could get rid of him was to hand him off to someone else. The man wanted his murderer caught and punished—naturally. It had taken a while, but eventually Miranda had found someone who would listen to her. That someone had been FBI Agent Roger Talbot. They’d been working together—more or less under the table, when it came to official business—for years. For the first couple of years she’d been able to keep her ability secret, but eventually word had gotten out. There were plenty of people who thought she was a nut, or worse, a con artist, but there were also more than enough people out there who wanted her services.
Jessica had been right. Less than five years after that fateful night Miranda had clients lined up out the door. She was very much in demand. In some circles she might even be called famous. Miranda Lynch, who’d discovered an uncanny ability to talk to ghosts after the horrific car accident that had taken the life of her sister, was a hot commodity.
These days when she felt like someone was watching her, she was probably right.
Roger and Cheryl were several years older than Miranda, but they had become like family to her. Roger was a big brother, protective and sometimes teasing, and Cheryl had become almost a surrogate mother, even though she was only ten years older than Miranda. Cheryl cooked healthy meals; she introduced her young friend to shoes that were comfortable and cute, insisting both qualities were essential; she made sure Miranda went to the doctor when she was sick. Their three kids felt like family, as well, especially fifteen-year-old Jackson, who looked so much like Roger he might as well be a younger, thinner clone. They were the center of Miranda’s personal life, pretty much the only personal life she had. The Lynch love curse seemed to be fully in effect, since every unattached man Miranda met was either repulsed by her ability or else wanted to make a profit from it.
Autumn and Jared had met the Talbots through Miranda, and in the past year or so there had been occasional cookouts and birthday parties like this one. Jared and Roger weren’t exactly close friends—they didn’t have much in common, since Roger was in law enforcement and Jared was in computers, and Roger liked to hunt and fish and Jared’s idea of fun involved computer games or paint-ball fights—but Autumn adored Cheryl as much as Miranda did. These four people had become the only family Miranda had left and at this rate they were the only family she would ever have. The last attempt at having a significant other in her life had ended so badly she’d sworn off men. She was twenty-six years old and a determined old maid who devoted more of her life to the dead than she did to the living.
Not exactly the life she’d planned for herself.
She really should listen to these people when they told her she needed time off, but she had clients waiting, meetings to make and obligations to fill. Sure, beyond law-enforcement consultations most of her clients just wanted to know that their loved ones still lived on, somehow and somewhere, or else they wanted to know where the will or the family jewelry had been hidden.
“I have a cabin in Tennessee,” Roger said.
“I know.” He’d been trying to get her to take advantage of the place for the past two years, but she was usually too busy to take an entire weekend off, much less go on a real vacation. There was always so much to do! People died every day. Most of them traveled directly to their place in the afterlife, but some of them reached out for her after they should’ve passed on.
“I don’t get to use it nearly often enough,” he continued, studying the burgers, instead of her. “Cheryl doesn’t like the cabin much.”
“I like the outlet malls, which are only forty-five minutes or so away,” Cheryl responded with a wide smile. “I don’t like the single bathroom that’s the size of the hall closet, and I hate that my cell phone doesn’t get a signal there. It’s medieval to be so out of touch. It doesn’t help that the man who owns the only other house on the mountain glares daggers at us every time we cross paths. I swear that psycho wants the damn mountain all to himself. I don’t know what he’s doing up there that he can’t stand the idea of neighbors, but there must be some kind of nefarious dealings going on. The man has to be hiding something.”
Miranda looked at Cheryl, hoping for support from that quarter. “There’s a psycho on the mountain and your husband wants to send me there for a vacation?”
“A psycho and outlet malls,” Cheryl said with a wide grin. “Sounds like a fair enough deal to me.”
“You don’t like it,” Miranda argued.
Cheryl shrugged. “Not all that much, but it is nice and quiet there, and Roger’s right. You look like you could use a little nice and quiet. A couple of weeks—”
“A couple of weeks?” Miranda interrupted shrilly. “I was thinking of maybe a long weekend.”
“So you were thinking of taking a few days off?” Autumn asked, a hint of hope in her gentle voice.
“I said maybe.” Did she look that bad? Could everyone around her see that the work of talking to ghosts was draining her, robbing her of sleep, making her feel much too old for her twenty-six years?
That was certainly possible. It was as though she didn’t only understand the emotions of the spirits she talked to, she experienced them. She didn’t only hear and see how they died, she felt their pain. She was tired all the time, and lately if she got four hours of sleep it was a good night. It wasn’t all that unusual that those closest to her might see the effects of the strain.
“Maybe is a start,” Roger said. He took the burgers off the grill and put them on a platter. “We should’ve done steaks,” he said beneath his breath.
Thank goodness, a change of topic. “It’s my birthday and I wanted your burgers,” Miranda said.
“And chocolate cake!” Jackson called, walking out of the kitchen door and into the backyard bearing a huge birthday cake complete with fudge icing and decorative yellow roses.
“What more could a girl ask for?” Miranda said, her eyes flitting from Autumn and Jared to Roger and Cheryl. Two couples, each so different, each so close—each a part of something intimate and special that Miranda had given up on ever knowing. She finally pinned her eyes on Roger and sighed. “Fine. A long weekend will be enough, though.”
“Two weeks would be better,” he countered. “Fresh air, complete quiet, outlet malls…”
“A psycho,” Miranda added.
“Korbinian’s not a psycho,” Roger argued with a sharp and slightly censuring glance to his wife. “He’s just odd as hell, and he’s pissed because I won’t sell him the cabin. You leave him alone, and he won’t bother you. I’ll run you up on Saturday.”
“Can I go?” Jackson asked, his voice bright and his eyes lighting on Miranda briefly. Fifteen-year-olds were not particularly good at hiding their emotions, especially where women were concerned. Roger’s son had had a crush on Miranda for the past several months.
A living being liked her for herself, and he was really cute. Too bad he was a starry-eyed kid.
“We’re not going to stay long,” Roger warned his eldest son.
“That’s okay,” Jackson responded.
Roger nodded. “Sure, you can ride with us.”
“What about you, Cheryl?” Miranda asked.
“No thanks,” she answered quickly. “I’ll leave it to the Talbot men to see you there. The girls have dance class on Saturday, and besides, I suspect we won’t be in Tennessee long enough to make a visit to Pigeon Forge and the outlet malls.” She sighed in feigned distress. “Another time. Now, let’s eat!”
With the window to his four-wheel drive truck rolled down to let in the cool mountain air, Bren heard the chatter of change on his mountain. Birds flew; critters scrambled. Either some tourist had taken a wrong turn and was horribly lost, or Talbot was at his cabin. Damned, stubborn man. Sure enough, there was a familiar car parked in the drive of the small, red-roofed cabin that marred the side of Bren’s mountain. He drove by slowly, and as he did the front door opened to frame the big man who owned the place—and refused to sell. Bren’s last offer had been ridiculously high, and still Talbot had turned him down without even taking time to consider selling.
Bren braked a bit when he caught sight of a smallish woman standing behind Talbot. That was not Mrs. Talbot, who was a tall, thin brunette. This woman was a short, shapely blonde. Was she a mistress? A new wife? Hell, a cabin this isolated would be the perfect place to carry on an affair. No wonder Talbot wouldn’t sell!
Spotting the truck, Talbot stepped onto the porch and waved, almost as if he wanted Bren to stop. Bren kept his eyes on the curving road ahead as he drove up the mountain road. No way would Talbot be able to drive all the way to the house at the top of the mountain, not without four-wheel drive—not that he’d ever been all that social.
It was no mistake that getting to the Korbinian house was such an effort. Bren didn’t want visitors; he didn’t like surprises.
He glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see the blonde woman step onto the porch. She had long, straight hair that was as pale as Bren’s was dark, and she was smallish without being frail-looking. She had a womanly shape he could appreciate even from this distance. Nice. He couldn’t see her face well, and still he felt something unexpected. A pulling, almost. A draw that made him consider turning around and driving back down the hill just to see her better. He fought the urge and kept going, slowly.
Behind her was a teenager Bren recognized as having been here before. If Talbot had brought his son along, the blonde wasn’t a girlfriend. For some reason that hit him with a rush of relief. Maybe she was entirely unattached. Maybe she was free. He shook off the thought. When the sight of a passably pretty stranger made his thoughts wander this way, it was time to get laid.
With that realization, his thoughts returned to the woman down the hill. If the pretty blonde wasn’t with Talbot, then why was she here? Not that he cared.
Unless Talbot planned to sell the cabin to her, in spite of his refusals of Bren’s generous offers. These days many people made permanent homes in the mountains, rather than just vacation homes they visited a few times a year. What if the woman planned to stay? Attractive and shapely or not, that would be a disaster.
Miranda settled in after Roger and Jackson left. There was more than enough food for the week in the cupboard and the fridge, and while she didn’t have a vehicle of her own—she didn’t care much for driving since the accident, especially on winding mountain roads—Roger had made arrangements with Duncan Archard, who owned the gas station at the foot of the mountain.
The cabin was small, and it was furnished with a collection of mismatched pieces that had been discarded from the Talbot household over the years—and perhaps, she suspected, picked up off the side of the road. Many of the pieces were in rough shape, though they were still usable. There was no style to speak of, and Miranda’s design sensibilities itched. She couldn’t help but look at the small rooms with an eye to possibilities. There were four rooms and one horrendously small bath. The two bedrooms were utilitarian at best. The main room was comfortable but sparsely decorated. A bookcase stuffed with old books had a figurine of a black bear sitting atop it, and there was a chipped bowl sitting in the center of the coffee table. The kitchen was small and was stocked with the barest of necessities, as well as the groceries she had bought on the way into town. The curtains in the kitchen window were made of a fabric that sported a repeated image of ducks. Shudder.
Perhaps the cabin was too small to ever be grand and impressive, but with a little imagination and some work it could be attractive and cozy, an adorable cottage in the Tennessee woods.
But bad taste aside, the place was completely quiet. The bed and the couch were both quite comfortable. As Cheryl had warned, there was no cell signal here. With more than a touch of relief, Miranda turned off her cell and stored it in a bedroom drawer. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to get away until she’d walked into the isolated cabin and felt a rush of something like peace. Her friends had recognized her need for rest before she had, but she could no longer deny it. She probably wouldn’t need to call on a driver at all this week. She was going to sleep late and nap and read and go to bed early. There was no television, so she wouldn’t be inundated with the bad news of the world. No politics, no disasters, no sad stories—as long as she could ignore the bits of news that would be sure to pop up when she checked her e-mail on the laptop. For one week, everything beyond this mountain could wait.
She wasn’t even worried about the psycho up the road. Roger had explained that Brennus Korbinian owned a real estate brokerage and his own construction company. Her brief glimpse of him as he’d driven by in his expensive truck had soothed her somewhat. Korbinian was younger than she’d expected a crotchety loner to be, and though she had not gotten a really good look at his face she’d seen longish black hair and one sharply defined jaw. He was just a rich guy with a weird name who was annoyed that he couldn’t own this entire mountain. He wasn’t a psycho, though he was a spoiled brat, and he wouldn’t ruin her week of rest. She probably wouldn’t see him again, unless she happened to be sitting on the small front porch as he drove by. As there was absolutely no reason for her to sit on the tiny front porch when out back there was a large deck with a fabulous view, she was quite sure she’d had her first and last glimpse of him.
Since ghosts usually remained near the site where they’d died, perhaps she’d even have a quiet week where her ability was concerned. This place was isolated, not all that easy to get to and sparsely inhabited. She needed a rest from the ghosts she spoke to much more than she needed a rest from people. The spirits she spoke to had no sense of time and were likely to pop in at any time, usually at two or three in the morning while she was trying to sleep, if she happened to be within a few miles of the site of their deaths. Their emotions and demands drained her. Maybe here, so far from any highly populated area—
“I thought you would never get here!”
Miranda spun around and found an older woman sitting in the rocking chair near the cold fireplace. Ghosts were not usually so substantial that they looked real; not since Jessica’s appearance after death had Miranda seen a spirit so solid. “Who are you?” Best to find out what the ghost wanted and send her on her way. Otherwise, the plan for a week of rest had just gone out the window. Miranda waited to be assaulted with anger or sadness or confusion, which was normal in these instances. The ghosts who came to her always wanted something from her.
Instead, she was surprised to feel awash in love and peace, in spite of the harsh words. The dark-haired woman sitting in the rocking chair smiled. “He has been waiting for you. He just doesn’t realize it.”
“Who…?” Miranda began, but before she could continue the ghost disappeared. The sensations of love and peace were gone in an instant, just as the ghost was gone.
Miranda swore under her breath. So much for her week of rest! “You’d better let me sleep tonight,” she mumbled, staring at the empty chair.
It was well after dark when Bren climbed onto the deck railing, naked and curious and a little annoyed. Behind him the house was unlit. No lamps shone to illuminate and reveal his secret to any who might be watching. There was only the moon above, and its light was not enough to fight against the complete and deep darkness of his mountain.
Down the hill bright lights burned in the cabin that was a blight on his life. Who was the woman? Why was she here? Was she there alone or had Talbot and his son remained, too? Bren found that even now, hours after he had glimpsed her, he wanted a thorough look at her face. More than that, he’d been thinking of her and wondering why she was here since he’d walked into the house, annoyed after seeing Talbot at the cabin.
Perhaps he would see and know more with the senses of the raven than he did as a man. In the form he hid from the world he would fly around the cabin, peer through the windows with 154 eyes, and maybe he would finally understand why he had not been able to get the blonde out of his mind.
Maybe he’d get a close look at her and realize she was not so pretty and tempting, after all.
Bren dropped from the railing and burst, and as a flock of ravens he swooped toward the cabin. He caught the wind with his wings, he became a part of the night air and he flew. There was no other freedom like this one, no feeling to compare to gliding through the sky.
The lights of the cabin appeared to be brighter than they had through human eyes, and he felt the woman’s presence more strongly than before. Even in this form, he was pulled toward her as if by a powerful magnet. She was alone in the cabin; he knew it long before he swooped down and saw that Talbot’s car was gone from the driveway. He felt the presence of the woman in a way he had never felt another; her heartbeat was in tune with his. He could feel and hear her breath even from here, and if he could he would gladly fly through her window and encompass her, caressing her with the tips of silky black wings and studying her face with many eyes.
The flock swooped down and circled the cabin, and Bren glimpsed the interior through the cabin windows. Some of the curtains were closed, but the large sliding glass door that looked over the mountain was uncovered, for who could possibly see into the cabin from that vantage point?
The blonde sat on the couch with a book in her hand, legs drawn up beneath her, hair falling over half her face, a crocheted afghan across her lap. As he watched she lifted her head, alerted by the sound of wings that caught the air, or else by the same instinct that called him here. She looked into the night, into him, and Bren felt as if he’d been pierced by blue eyes.
The woman dropped her book to the couch and stood, and wrapping the afghan around her shoulders, she walked to the sliding glass door. Bren did not make a hasty escape but remained where he was, circling the cabin, watching her through ravens’ eyes, unable to tear himself away. What was it about her that called to him so strongly? It was more than her beauty, more than his curiosity, more than the fact that he’d been too long without a woman in his bed.
She was curious, too. Hearing him but surely unable to see much in the dark of night, she opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside. The deck was accessible only from the house so she felt safe enough, he imagined. She’d heard something, perhaps felt something, and had come outside to explore.
She stepped to the railing and looked into the night sky, catching sight of the assemblage of birds, which moved in unison, which moved as one. Instead of being alarmed by their number and their closeness, she smiled.
Miranda watched the big black birds fly before the brilliant orb that was the moon. The mountains, the moon, the birds. Before her was a heart-stopping picture unlike any she had ever seen before, beautiful and unexpected. She was a city girl, and sights like this one were unknown to her.
She had no pets at home, and if she ever did decide to get one, she wouldn’t choose anything as exotic as a bird. But she did have a soft spot for ravens, always had. Maybe a story or poem she’d read long ago had stuck with her, maybe some past image had been planted in her brain, because she couldn’t resist the rare knickknack or book where ravens were concerned. Over the years her collection had grown. It was no wonder she was fascinated with the birds. They were dangerous and elegant, impressive and puzzling, intelligent and savage. And beautiful.
Soon she’d make her way to bed, but for now she found herself enjoying the night air and the ravens, the peace and quiet and the absence of ghosts—the one who had appeared so briefly earlier in the evening had not shown herself again. She leaned casually against the deck railing. Why didn’t Roger and Cheryl come here more often? There was something special about these mountains. They touched her soul in a way she could not explain, and though she was not ready to admit it aloud, she was deeply grateful to her friends for all but forcing her to come here.
The birds she’d been watching changed direction and swooped away from her, disappearing into the wooded land just beside and beneath the cabin, this sturdy structure that looked to be perilously built onto the side of the mountain but felt solid enough. Miranda walked to the side of the deck and looked down, but it was too dark to see much of anything below. She did hear the rustle of wings and the crackling movement of birds in the underbrush for a moment, and then all went still. She strained, listening closely, but the birds were completely silent.
And then she heard another sound, one that was not at all birdlike. It might’ve been the movements of a large animal. Or a man. “Who’s there?” she called sharply, almost hoping to be answered by a growl or a bark. All went silent but she knew something, or someone, was down there. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” she said sharply, “and then I’m going to get my gun.” She did wish she’d thought to ask Roger for a pistol or a rifle! Not that she knew how to use a firearm. “Who’s there?”
After a short pause and another rustle of underbrush, a voice answered. “I’m your neighbor from up the hill.”
Korbinian, the psycho real estate agent. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“It’s my mountain,” he said, just a little bit testily.
“Not all of it,” she responded, shaking a finger at the darkness. “Wait right there.”
Miranda ran into the house, dropped her afghan and grabbed the flashlight that was sitting on the coffee table close at hand. Power outages must be common here, because the cabin was lousy with flashlights and candles. She could only imagine how complete the darkness would be here where no city light could reach.
She ran onto the deck and turned on the powerful flashlight, shining it down to the place where she’d heard movement and that voice. At first she saw nothing, and then her light found him.
Korbinian stood far below, partially sheltered by the thick growth on the slope that cut down the side of the mountain. What she could see was that longish, straight black hair, the solemn face and a bare chest. It wasn’t cold, but it was certainly much too cool for anyone to be out bare-chested—even if that chest was as nicely muscled as his was. The exposed arms were not too shabby, either.
A barely dressed stranger who had no business being here was talking to her, and she was taking the time to admire his muscles? She’d lost what was left of her mind.
“Come closer,” she commanded harshly, using the light to gesture into a clearing below her and just a few feet from where Korbinian stood.
“I’d rather not,” he responded.
“Why not?” She shone the light on his face and he shaded his eyes with one lifted hand.
“I’m naked.”
Miranda did not have an immediate vocal response for that, though her heart skipped a beat and her temperature rose slightly. Eventually she asked, “Why?”
“I’m a naturalist,” he said.
“A what?”
“A nudist,” he clarified. “I like to hike naked.”
Miranda studied the brambles below and wondered why on earth anyone would tramp through the brush bare-assed, without the protection of clothing. The night was chilly and she thought about making a joke about naked men, cold weather and shrinkage, but she didn’t know Korbinian nearly well enough to do so. Still, the thought crossed her mind.
“What are you doing here?” Korbinian asked.
She kept the light trained on his face as she leaned into the deck railing. Maybe he was naked, but he was far below and thought she had a gun. “I’m a friend of the Talbots. They offered me the use of their cabin and I took them up on it.”
“You’re on vacation,” he said.
“Yes.”
“For the weekend?”
“For the week,” she said. It really hadn’t taken much effort for her friends to convince her that a long weekend wasn’t long enough. His jaw hardened in obvious displeasure, so she added, “Maybe two. It’s so peaceful here I might call Roger and tell him I’m going to stay a while longer.”
“You’ll get bored,” Korbinian argued.
She should be annoyed with him, or frightened, or at the very least concerned. But she wasn’t. “I don’t think so. I understand there are kicking outlet malls not too far away.”
“I didn’t see a car.”
Why was Korbinian arguing with her? Why didn’t he just slink back into the woods, embarrassed at getting caught out and about without a stitch of clothing? She should be the one to end this strange conversation. All she had to do was turn off the flashlight and go inside, making sure all the doors and windows were locked.
But she didn’t. “Roger gave me the name and number of a man who will drive me wherever I want to go.”
“I’ll drive you,” he said quickly, almost as if he wanted to get the words out of his mouth before he changed his mind.
This was just too odd. Miranda very briefly shone the light onto the man’s chest and shoulders and nice arms. Once again she noted that he had a fine physique, and she imagined he spent more time building houses than selling them. With a body like that, no wonder he wasn’t embarrassed!
“No, thanks,” she said cautiously. “I’ll probably stay right here, after all.” Sleeping, reading, doing nothing at all.
“Do you have a name?” he asked brusquely.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said. “It would just be nice to be able to call you something besides the blonde.”
“Why are you calling me anything at all?”
“You’re on my mountain.”
“Our mountain,” she countered. “For this week, at least.” She leaned over the deck railing a little, secretly wishing for a better look. It wasn’t like her to be so bold and so curious, but there was something about Korbinian that appealed to her. Her instincts had been sharpened since the accident, and at this moment she was quite certain that there was no reason to be afraid of Brennus Korbinian. “My name’s Miranda. Miranda Lynch.”
“Call me if you change your mind about that ride, Miranda Lynch. The name’s Korbinian. I’m in the book.” Korbinian stepped back into the darkness of the forest, moving into the shadows and away from the beam of her flashlight. Too bad. He must’ve startled the birds because suddenly she heard them again. They rustled and cawed, and soon burst from the trees and took flight.
Miranda moved her flashlight slowly back and forth, the light cutting through trees and brush but only to a certain point before darkness took over. Unable to see any sign of Korbinian, she said in a soft voice, “You scared the birds.”
Alone in the darkness, Miranda’s stomach clenched and flipped. She grasped the deck railing and took a deep, calming breath. Before her conversation with Korbinian she’d been perfectly content, but suddenly she was keenly aware of her solitude.
Chapter Two
It was Sunday and he didn’t have to be anywhere early, but years of habit had Bren up at dawn. While it was still early he headed down the mountain, driving slowly even though he knew the road. His eyes strayed toward the Talbot cabin as he approached, and he wondered what on earth had possessed him when he’d told Miranda Lynch to call him if she needed a ride. His days were more than full, and he wasn’t running a taxi service for the woman who’d intruded on his mountain.
Still, he slowed as he passed the cabin, and when he caught sight of her on the deck, sitting there admiring the view with a cup cradled in her hands and a blanket across her lap, he stopped. He sat there for a moment, then he cursed and backed up so he could pull into the driveway. He turned off the engine and pushed open the door, angry with himself for stopping but unable to stifle the urge to get a good up-close look at the woman who had all but lured him to this cabin last night.
He couldn’t get onto the deck from here, not without a few acrobatic tricks, so he stopped near the spot in the very small excuse for a front yard where the ground sloped sharply. The deck was solidly built onto pillars that were buried deep into the side of the mountain. He could transform and be on that deck in a matter of seconds, but since he’d spent a lifetime hiding what he could do that wouldn’t be a smart move, tempted though he was. So he called the woman’s name, perhaps a bit more sharply than was necessary.
Miranda Lynch walked to the railing, much as she had last night. This time she had that afghan around her shoulders and she continued to hug the cup against a morning chill. Her fair hair was slightly mussed; she hadn’t bothered to comb it yet, he imagined. There was an interesting flush to her cheeks, one caused by the crisp morning air. He couldn’t discern her shape beneath that blanket, but he had seen it well enough last night. She was petite and finely formed. Her heart-shaped face was framed by a mop of pale hair, and her blue eyes were almost too large for her face. Standing so close, he could tell that there was a light sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose. Miranda Lynch had a girl-next-door look. She was cute, not gorgeous, and still he felt an incredible draw to her that was anything but natural.
“Mr. Korbinian,” she said, smiling gently and then taking a sip from the blue mug. “This is a surprise.”
“I’m going to the grocery store, and since you don’t have a car I thought I’d see if you needed anything.” His offer was voiced more sharply and abruptly than was necessary, he supposed, but since he wasn’t exactly sure why he was making it at all he didn’t feel guilty.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I didn’t have you pegged as the neighborly type.”
“You don’t know me, so why am I ‘pegged’ at all?” He could only imagine what Talbot had told her about him. They hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms in the past few years.
She didn’t have an answer for that, so she took another sip, a slow one this time as if she was savoring the warmth and the taste rather than trying to come up with a response. He imagined the liquid—tea? coffee?—on her tongue, the way she would taste it, savor it, swallow it. A woman drinking coffee should not make him hard!
“I don’t need a thing,” Miranda said, “but thanks for asking. It was very sweet of you, Mr. Korbinian.”
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called him sweet. Maybe never. “Call me Bren.”
Miranda’s head snapped away from him and to the side, as if she’d been alarmed by a loud noise to her right. His hearing was quite good, and he hadn’t heard a sound. She whispered low, mouthing something he couldn’t hear, then a moment later she said in a slightly louder voice, “I will not!” Then she looked at him, and her eyes were bigger than before, her face paler. “It really was nice of you to stop by but I have everything I need and I’ve come here for peace and quiet so…”
“So thanks but no thanks and get lost,” Bren said, taking a step back.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but yeah,” she said, and then again her head snapped around and she whispered so low that a man with ordinary senses would not have been able to hear, “Go away!”
Bren got into his truck, happy to make his escape. Miranda Lynch was pretty and he was most definitely drawn to her in a way he could not explain, but she was also a nut who talked to herself. It had been a while since he’d been seriously involved with any woman. His perplexing attraction to the stranger proved that he was in bad need of female companionship, but the last thing he needed in his life was a blonde with a screw loose.
“You’ve scared him away!” the ghost said. “Call him back, it’s not too late!” The ghost waved a slender hand as if Miranda should jump off the deck and chase Korbinian down the mountain.
Miranda waited until she heard the truck moving away from the cabin before she turned to the spirit. She’d seen a lot in the past four years. Murder victims. Distraught mothers who’d left their living children too soon. Ghosts who didn’t realize they were dead. Those who came back one last time to tell a loved one goodbye. This was her first actual matchmaking ghost.
“I’m on vacation,” Miranda said calmly. “Come back next week and we’ll talk.”
“Not next week,” the woman said. “Good heavens, I’ve waited for you all this time and now you want me to wait another week?” She put hands on slender hips and struck a defiant and elegant pose. “You have to get close enough to touch Bren. Once you touch him he’ll know that you’re the one. Once you touch him…”
“I have no intention of ever touching Brennus Korbinian,” Miranda said as she turned away from the ghost and headed back to her chair. The view from the deck was breathtaking, but it was difficult to enjoy with a ghost at her elbow. Still, she tried. She ignored the woman who chattered away, but she could not help but hear.
“He’s really not so gruff once you get to know him. He is quite handsome, don’t you think?”
Of course he was, but while Miranda couldn’t lie to the ghost she wasn’t about to agree aloud. She certainly didn’t want to encourage the specter in her blatant matchmaking attempt.
“I do wish he would shave more often and get an occasional haircut,” the woman said, perching on the deck railing as if she needed the support, when in fact she could just as easily have hovered on air. “But all in all he’s quite a catch.” She ticked off Korbinian’s selling points. “He’s rich, he’s handsome and he’s very attentive and kind once you get to know him.”
Miranda shooed the woman away with one hand, encouraging her to move out of the way. Her too-solid ghostly image was blocking the view.
“He’s lonely, you know, that’s why he’s occasionally gruff.”
“Move,” Miranda said simply.
The ghost smiled at her, as real and solid as any living person could be. “Tell me that you think Bren is handsome and I’ll depart to let you enjoy the scenery for a while.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“And it must be the truth,” the ghost added. “I will know if you’re trying to pacify me.”
“If I tell you with honesty that I find Brennus Korbinian handsome you’ll leave me alone?”
“For a while.”
Miranda pursed her lips. She really should not allow herself to be blackmailed by a ghost; it set a bad precedent. Still, she wanted her peace and quiet. She wanted an unobstructed view of the distant and magnificent mountains. “Fine. He’s attractive.”
“Very attractive.”
Miranda hesitated only a moment before responding. “Yes, he’s very attractive.”
“What do you find most appealing?”
“Go!” Miranda said, and at last, the ghost obeyed, leaving Miranda with an unobstructed view of a vast green paradise and a niggling sensation in her gut that robbed her of the peace that view should afford.
Since he obviously needed to get laid, as his reaction Miranda Lynch proved, Bren pondered the possibilities as he walked through the familiar grocery store aisles, mindlessly tossing staples into his cart. He hadn’t exactly been a monk, but he’d always avoided keeping a woman too long or promising more than he could give. The downside to being the last Korbinian was accepting that he would never find the one woman he could bond with, the one who could give him children and share his life. She did not exist.
He could marry, he supposed, but there would be no children, and he had never before met a woman he felt he could share his secret with. His body, yes; his secrets, never.
In order to keep his life as he wanted it—solitary—he had to keep his intimate relationships shallow and short-lived. He didn’t want any woman in his house; he didn’t want any woman thinking he could offer more than a night or two. In the past he’d had a couple of relationships that had lasted a few months, but a few months had always turned out to be too long.
Bren had almost finished checking out when he realized that the cashier was flirting with him. She smiled, she commented on each of his purchases, she leaned forward, breasts shown to their best advantage. He hadn’t seen her here before. She had the face and body a man would remember, and thick, long dark hair that had been pulled back into a massive ponytail. Tammy, according to her name tag, was the perfect solution to his current dilemma. He needed a woman who wouldn’t drive him to distraction. One he could have a little fun with and then walk away from without guilt or second thoughts. One who didn’t talk to herself and get under his skin and vacation at the cabin that was a blight on his mountain.
The problem was, this beautiful woman who was flirting outrageously did nothing for him. Nothing at all. Miranda Lynch takes a sip of coffee and he gets hard. Tammy thrusts her boobs in his direction and slowly licks her lips and looks him in the eye with an unmistakable come-hither expression—and nothing. Nada. Shit.
It was a long hike down the winding road to the gas station and convenience store at the foot of the mountain, but it was a pretty, mild spring day, and after just a few hours in the cabin Miranda found she was tired of sitting. She could only take so much vacation, apparently. Her restlessness had nothing to do with Korbinian’s morning visit, she told herself. Nothing at all.
As she walked carefully along the side of the road, Miranda admitted to herself that her friends had been right when they’d insisted that she needed some time off. She constantly pushed herself hard, feeling that with every murderer she helped to catch she was honoring Jessica’s memory. With every burden of grief she eased, she felt as if a bit of her own grief was released. The death of a beloved sister was not in vain if Miranda put the abilities that had been awakened in that accident to good use.
That didn’t mean she enjoyed reliving violent deaths and soothing the tears of those left behind. It was simply what she had to do to honor Jessica’s memory. This was not the life she had planned, but in the end it was the life she’d made. What choice did she have?
Suddenly Miranda realized she was not alone on the winding tree-lined road.
“You’re sad,” the ghost said as she kept pace with Miranda’s easy, cautious stride.
“I thought you were going away,” Miranda said without so much as altering her step. “In fact, you promised that you would.”
“Your sadness called me back,” the woman said. “We don’t have to talk about Bren if that makes you feel any better.”
Miranda sighed. “It does, actually.” She glanced at the amazingly solid-looking specter at her side. The woman appeared to be maybe fifty or so, and her dark hair had a few strands of silver-gray shot through it. She was pretty; perhaps had once been a great beauty. Unlike Miranda she was tall; she was elegant and commanding in a way a woman of five-two could never manage. “Do you have a name?”
“Of course,” the ghost answered simply. “Doesn’t everyone?” It was the same flippant answer Miranda had given Korbinian last night. Had this meddling ghost been listening in? Probably.
“What should I call you?” Miranda persisted. If the woman was going to insist on hanging around, she should call her something.
“My friends call me Dee.” The ghost looked pointedly at Miranda, her eyes amazingly alive and bright. “I believe I can call you a friend, and I promise you that you can call me the same.”
“You’re haunting me,” Miranda argued, though she had to admit that Dee had been less than tormenting. Maybe she’d been a matchmaker in life and had carried that proclivity into the afterlife. Most spirits remained earthbound for more pressing reasons, but anything was possible, she supposed. “Friends don’t haunt friends.”
“I’m only haunting you a little,” Dee said, and then she laughed lightly. “I would not feel pressed for time if you had not been so late!”
“How could I be late?” Miranda asked.
“Two years I’ve been waiting. Two years!” She didn’t sound angry, just frustrated. Dee took a deep breath. Odd, since ghosts really didn’t have to breathe. “But we’re not going to talk about that now. We’re going to talk about why you’re so sad.”
There was no use in arguing the point. “I miss my sister.”
“That’s only natural,” Dee said with sympathy.
Miranda didn’t allow herself to share her feelings openly, not anymore, but since no one else could see or hear Dee, what difference did it make? Ghosts frequently spilled their guts to her. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with her doing the same. “Jessica was my only family, and her death was sudden and unnecessary and…” Miranda fought back tears. “I miss her,” she said again. “Even years later some days I feel so alone. I have some wonderful friends, but still, I feel like I’m isolated from everyone, like I’m separate. Does that make sense?”
“You will have another family one day,” Dee said. “You won’t always be alone.”
Miranda shook her head. Her abilities were a complication, she had found, and romantic relationships didn’t work. The Lynch love curse remained in effect.
“You will,” the ghost insisted in response to the silent reaction.
They continued to walk, both of them silent. Miranda’s steps were short ones to accommodate the steepness of the hill, and Dee simply kept stride, always directly beside. When they hit a stretch of road that was not so steep their speed increased, then as it dipped down they slowed again. Miranda found she was oddly glad of the company, even if her only friend in Tennessee was an interfering ghost who thought the local grump was the catch of the decade. Maybe Korbinian wasn’t a psycho, but he wasn’t exactly dream date material, either. Who was these days?
The road that led to the cabin and then farther up the mountain to Korbinian’s place was narrow. She couldn’t imagine two cars of a normal size passing without tires leaving the road and easing onto the perilously crumbling shoulder. The narrow strip of dirt along the sides of the road was uneven and narrow, and beyond the edge was a slope that varied in height from a few feet to a frightening vast drop. Miranda found it best to stay on the pavement. It wasn’t as if there was any traffic along the road to deal with.
At least, not much traffic. When she heard the approaching vehicle she knew it had to be Korbinian. He’d been gone for hours, so he must’ve done more than grocery shopping while he was out. Not that she cared where he had gone or what he had done. Miranda moved to the shoulder as far as was safe, glancing down to the tangled green and brown growth on the slope below. She took small, cautious steps, waiting for the vehicle to come around the corner and pass. If she was lucky her neighbor wouldn’t feel he had to stop and offer her a ride.
She caught sight of the front of Korbinian’s massive black truck. As soon as he rounded the corner he’d see her and move to the other side of the road, and even if he didn’t, as long as he kept his tires on the pavement she’d be fine. Too close for comfort maybe, but safe enough. The driver came into her line of vision, and she caught sight of his shaggy dark head and stern face. A cell phone was pressed to his ear and he was talking with animation and passion to whomever was on the other end of the line. Passion for work, she imagined, unless that was a girlfriend and they were arguing. It was definitely not a happy conversation.
How come he got a cell signal and she didn’t? Talk about unfair. That was Miranda’s last thought before Dee shouted, “Look out!” and pushed. A ghost should not be able to gather the strength to physically disrupt the living, but this one did. Miranda felt the force against her shoulder as she lost her balance and scrambled wildly to regain her footing. Korbinian’s head snapped up and he spotted her, and he quickly swerved his vehicle to the side. But it was too late. Miranda tumbled off the side of the road.
Bren ended the call without warning, put the truck into Park and set the brake, then threw the door open and jumped out, running to the side of the road and leaving his truck crossways in the narrow roadway with the door standing open. He’d been trying to finish up his business call before he hit the next curve, where cell service ended, and he hadn’t been paying attention, here where he never saw another car much less a pedestrian.
He looked over the precipice where Miranda Lynch had stumbled and disappeared, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her sprawled on the ground just a couple of feet below. She’d been winded and there were leaves and twigs caught in her long hair and on her pale pink sweater, but other than that she appeared to be unhurt.
“What the hell were you doing walking on this road?” he snapped.
Blue eyes looked up at him. He had never known that eyes could actually shoot daggers, but hers did. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said coldly, still not moving.
Properly chastised, he took a couple of steps down the steep slope so he could help her. Loose dirt and fallen leaves made his footing uncertain, so each step was cautious. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Thank you for your concern, but it comes too late,” she said, struggling to sit up. The ground here was not too steep, so she should have been able to manage on her own in spite of the loose dirt and leaves. Still, he offered a hand. A hand she ignored as she struggled to stand without assistance. As she had this morning, her head snapped to the side and she whispered, as if there was someone there, “I will not take his hand! The idiot ran me off the road!”
Obviously she’d scrambled her brains, though he wasn’t sure that had happened when she’d fallen. They’d been pretty much scrambled when he’d met her. And still, his body responded to the very sight of her.
She worked her way to her feet without assistance, even though righting herself on the uneven ground would’ve been much easier with a hand to hold on to. So, she was stubborn, as well as scrambled. After a moment Bren found himself working to restrain a smile. The woman would go to any lengths to avoid touching him, apparently. A twig with a few leaves attached had wound itself snugly in a tangled length of blonde hair. One lucky leaf had landed on a tempting swell of pink sweater. He remained steady, hand offered, in case she changed her mind about accepting help, but she was determined to make it on her own.
When she had regained her footing, she shooed him out of the way so she could climb back up to the road. He obliged, taking two long strides up the slope to the shoulder of the road, then turning to watch her try to do the same on her short legs. After taking a couple of steps only to stumble back down the hill a bit, then failing in her attempt once more, she looked up at him—ah, there were those daggers again—and shot out her hand in a silent and decidedly surly request for help. Bren reached out and clasped her hand, taking it firmly in his own.
As soon as his flesh touched hers, Bren felt as if an electrical current had been set loose within him. Before he had the chance to explain away the phenomenon, again the unexpected happened. Clear as day, Bren saw his ancestors, the Korbinians who’d lived thousands of years ago, breaking from human form to a flock of birds so massive they blocked out the sun. As if he were there, he saw a time when his kind was prevalent and united and powerful, when they ruled the skies and the night.
Then he felt and saw this woman beneath him, a part of him as she was meant to be, as she had been born to be. She smiled, a lover’s smile. Her body took him in, and together they found pleasure like none other he had ever known.
He saw himself on the deck of the house where he now lived alone, but in the very real vision he stood there with his sons who, like him, were human and yet more than human. They all transformed to take to the skies together, blocking out the moon as they took flight across this mountain they called home.
She was the one. She was Kademair. No wonder he had been so strongly called to her. No wonder the very sight of her damn near made him crazy. Miranda Lynch was the only woman in this world he could bond with; the only woman who could save him from being the last of his kind as he had always accepted he would be. He’d thought this special woman, who his mother had always told him would come one day, to be a myth, and yet here she was, standing before him with her hand in his.
“A little help?” she said in frustration, and only then did Bren realize he’d been standing there holding on to her for a too-long moment.
He gave Miranda’s hand a tug, pulling her gently up the hill until she was once again standing on the narrow shoulder of the road. She released his hand as soon as she was able, shaking her head mightily, a move that dislodged a few leaves but did little to right the effects of the fall. Bren reached out and gently pulled the largest twig from her hair. She found the move too personal, too intimate, and slapped his hand away.
“You should watch where you’re going,” she said sharply.
His voice was much calmer as he responded, “You shouldn’t be walking on this road. It’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? How about talking on the cell phone while driving a monster truck up a narrow winding road? That’s dangerous. What carrier do you have?” she asked, picking that lucky leaf from the swell of her breast. “I can’t get a signal at all.”
“There’s nothing past the next curve,” he said, trying not to see this woman in an all new light, trying to forget the mental image of her beneath him. The vision had been so real he could still feel her; he could smell her; he knew how her flesh felt against his, how her body gave and took. Forgetting was impossible, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted what she could offer.
There was no place in this world for the Korbinians, not anymore. Their time had passed. Logically he could dismiss Miranda Lynch; rationally he knew what she promised would never work. But a primitive instinct he could not deny now accepted this woman as being his, and he wanted her so sharply that he could think of nothing else.
Chapter There
Bren insisted on driving her back to the cabin, and Miranda only protested once, quite mildly. She no longer felt like walking to the store and then making her way back up this mountain road. The fall hadn’t been dramatic by any means, but it had shaken her, just as standing there with Bren’s hand clutching hers, his dark brown eyes boring into her as if he saw something new and striking on her face, had shaken her.
At least Dee was gone. The meddling ghost had better not show her face again, after pushing Miranda off the road. Miranda squirmed in the passenger seat of Bren’s truck, disturbed on many levels. Dee must be quite powerful to be able to move earthly objects. It wasn’t easy for a spirit to physically affect anything at all, much less generate a push vigorous enough to move a living being. If Dee decided to stick around, there was likely nothing Miranda could do to stop her. What if Dee was actually strong enough to tag along back to Atlanta and even to jobs across the country? What if she could never get rid of the matchmaker? Scary thought.
Bren pulled sharply into the short driveway in front of the Talbot cabin, and then he turned to Miranda with accusing eyes and a firmly set mouth. She couldn’t help but notice—again—that grumpy or not, he was very good-looking. Good-looking but not pretty. There was nothing soft about the man, not in his facial expression or the cut of his jaw or the fire in his eyes—eyes that were the color of dark chocolate, she noted as she stared into them for a moment. What she could see—and had seen—of his body was definitely not at all soft. He had a workingman’s body, sculpted and impressive and hard. If she’d met him years ago, before her life had changed so dramatically, maybe she’d be attracted to him. Maybe.
Who was she kidding? If noticing the precise color of his eyes and admiring his body wasn’t attraction, what was?
“Why were you walking down the road?” he asked sharply.
“Exercise,” she said. “And I thought I’d pick up a couple of cans of soda at the gas station.”
His expression was accusing, as sharp and hard as everything else about him. “I offered to buy you anything you needed while I was out.”
She glanced at the collection of grocery bags in the backseat. They’d been jostled when he’d stopped so suddenly, and his purchases were now in a state of disarray. A few cans had escaped the plastic bags, and a box of cereal had turned upside down onto the floorboard. Oh, my. The tough guy ate Froot Loops. “I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Obviously you’re not,” he interrupted harshly. “I’ll be back in an hour to drive you to the store.”
“I really don’t need—”
Again he interrupted her. “I’ll be back in an hour. I can either take you shopping or I can sit in the driveway and wait right here in case you change your mind and decide to take off on foot again.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Try me.”
Miranda sighed as she opened the passenger door and took the long step down to the driveway. She was still a bit shaky, but when she looked back into the truck and once again Bren’s powerful eyes caught hers, she allowed herself to listen to the instincts that had so seldom disappointed her. Brennus Korbinian was a grumpy, annoying, nudist in a place where to be in a state of undress was not at all wise. He didn’t watch where he was going when he drove. He was definitely bossy.
But deep down he was a good person, and yes, whether she wanted to admit it or not, he was attractive, as Dee insisted he was. It had been a long time since Miranda had allowed a man to take her anywhere on anything that might resemble a date, and like it or not, she thought that he considered his offer to run her to the grocery store a date of sorts.
She’d only be here a few more days, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let a good-looking man take her to the grocery store. It wasn’t as if a week was time enough for what might be a casual interaction to turn into anything more serious. “Fine,” she said. “One hour.” And then she slammed the passenger door and walked toward the front porch, digging the keys to the cabin out of her jeans pocket.
Korbinian stayed in the driveway until she had the door closed behind her. She didn’t look out the front window, tempted as she was to do so, but she did listen as he drove away. Miranda glanced around the main room of the cabin as she brushed a spot of dirt from her jeans. “Dee, show yourself.” The specter had some explaining to do.
In spite of Miranda’s command, the main room remained quiet and ghost-free. As she headed for the bathroom to make repairs to her appearance, she decided if getting pushed off the side of a mountain was the price for peace and quiet, she’d take it.
Fifty-eight minutes after he’d dropped Miranda at the Talbot cabin, Bren was back in her driveway. At home he’d called the plumber who’d been cut off when Bren had tossed his cell aside, put away his groceries and unsuccessfully tried to wipe away or even explain away the visions that had come to his mind so strongly when he’d taken Miranda’s hand.
He sat in the driveway and waited, wondering if he should go to the door and ring the bell like a proper gentleman caller. Was Miranda sitting in the cabin waiting for him to collect her? Would she expect him to open the passenger door for her and carry her grocery bags and make nice? His fingers tapped nervously against the steering wheel; his eyes remained fixed on the front door. He wasn’t known for making nice. Being a loner had its costs, and a lack of social skills was one of them.
Surprised as he was, the woman’s appearance should not be entirely unexpected. Bren’s father had long considered himself the last of the Korbinians, but he’d been wrong. The old man had been nearly sixty when he’d met Denise Brown, a childless divorced woman more than twenty years his junior. They’d married three weeks after meeting, and Bren had been born less than two years later. Maybe if they’d met earlier Bren would’ve had brothers, but they hadn’t, and he’d been an only child, just as his father had been.
According to Joseph Korbinian, as the population of their kind diminished, so did that of the women they were meant to be mated to. In ancient times when the Korbinians had flourished, so had the Kademair, those women with whom they could bond and mate, those women who had the genetic ability to nurture and give birth to Korbinian children. The decline was simply nature, Joseph had explained to his only son. There was no longer a place in the world for those who could walk as men and also take flight, no place for a rare species that had once served as revered messengers and warriors. In ancient times the Korbinians had been honored, but a thousand years or so ago those they served had turned against them in jealousy and mistrust. After a bloody war the species that walked as man and flew as ravens had lost, and those who’d survived had gone into hiding.
And now all that was left of what had once been a fine and special race was one man. Bren was the end of it, unless he followed his instincts and took Miranda as his mate; unless he made this woman the mother of his children—the mother of the Korbinians. The savior of an entire race. But if there was no longer a place for them in the modern world, should the race be saved? Or should it be allowed to die, as nature so obviously intended?
He couldn’t deny the doubts that warred with these new thoughts. Maybe Miranda wasn’t Kademair, after all. Maybe his father had been right. Bren wondered if he craved what he could not have so much that he’d created this scenario with a convenient and attractive woman.
She didn’t make him wait long. Miranda stepped onto the front porch, displaying no sign of her earlier accident or of annoyance that he had remained in the truck, instead of going to her door. She’d changed clothes and now wore black jeans, short black boots, a deep-teal sweater and a simple but strange little black hat that was slightly quirky and somehow suited her. The narrow brim framed her face, along with that blonde hair, which he now knew was not one shade but a hundred or so, golden and ash and pale brown all woven together. A red purse on a long chain dangled from one shoulder. She’d put on makeup, he noted as she walked toward the truck. Not a lot, but her lips were soft and pale pink, and her eyelashes were darker than they’d been an hour ago. There were no longer any leaves or twigs in her long hair, which had been brushed into a golden sheen.
Bren leaned across and opened the door for her from the inside, and she stepped onto the running board and then climbed in, hair swinging, pink lips seductive, jeans hugging her legs and fine ass just so. The way he felt right now, she could’ve come out in baggy flannel and he’d be turned on.
No, what he was experiencing went well beyond turned on. He’d never felt an attraction like this one—and he still didn’t know if it was a pull he’d follow. Destiny or not, he would not be led by biology or mythology or whatever the hell this was. His life—and hers—was in his hands, and the decisions to be made could not be made lightly.
“Do you need anything besides groceries?” he asked as Miranda closed the passenger door and he backed onto the road.
She sighed. It was a very nice sigh, indeed. “Is there a decent antique or furniture store nearby?”
“There are a couple of them along the highway.”
“I’d like to thank the Talbots for letting me stay here by buying them something for the cabin.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Maybe a couple of lamps,” she responded. “Something decorative, or maybe a small end table. The cabin is very nice, but it’s pretty, uh, sparsely furnished.”
She almost choked on the words sparsely furnished, which gave him an idea of what she was up against. Bren smiled. “Are there ducks and bears?”
Her head snapped around. “Yes! How did you know?”
“The cute-animal theme is a common decorating mistake in these parts.”
She relaxed. He could feel, as well as see, her response. “You sound as if you don’t approve. What, you don’t have dancing black bears and cavorting ducks at your place?”
“No,” he answered decisively. “There are also no deer heads or stuffed bass, no geese in frilly white hats and, while we’re on the subject, no wax fruit in the kitchen.”
“You must have had an enlightened decorator,” she teased.
“No decorator. I did it all myself.”
She studied him critically; he could feel her gaze on him. “Most men are very utilitarian when it comes to decorating.”
Bren shrugged. “You’ll have to see my house and judge for yourself, I guess.”
She clammed up, perhaps no more comfortable with the idea of visiting his home than he was at the idea of inviting her there.
They hadn’t been gone more than fifteen minutes before Miranda knew agreeing to let Brennus Korbinian take her anywhere was a huge mistake. Their simple trip felt too much like a date, even though the antique store he took her to was definitely not a normal stop on any courtship route. The long warehouse was dusty and overstuffed, filled to the brim with a mixture of new and old pieces, some of them treasures, most of them junk.
She loved the crowded, dusty store, and strangely enough Bren seemed comfortable there. He knew the woman who owned and ran the place, an older lady he called Mabel, and the greetings they’d exchanged had been simple and cordial. With the owner of the antique store he was anything but grumpy, though he wasn’t exuberant in his interactions, either. Mabel was helping another couple look for something specific, leaving Miranda and Bren to wander through the lovely mess alone.
They hadn’t been browsing long when Bren asked almost casually, “So, how do you know Roger Talbot?”
It was an innocent enough question, she supposed. In the Atlanta area Miranda had gotten a lot of press, some of it praising, more of it denigrating, the occasional bit meant to be amusing, she supposed. Even though her work often took her out of state, away from home Roger always managed to keep her involvement under wraps. He had not been so lucky at home base. Locally, word of her talents had been out for a while now.
Obviously no one around here would be reading the Atlanta papers, so she was tempted to make up a believable story for Bren, something that had nothing to do with seeing ghosts or solving crimes. He would probably believe whatever she told him, unless he happened to do a Google search on her. Some days she hated the Internet! Nothing was secret anymore. Nothing was private.
Besides, she’d been here before, she’d played that game. She meets a man. She likes him and he likes her. Why spoil it right off the bat with the truth? All goes well and then he finds out what she can do and it all goes to hell.
Miranda picked up a small glass bowl and studied it carefully, afraid to look directly at Bren. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t like him all that much, anyway. If she scared him off here and now, what had she lost? Nothing. “I talk to the ghosts of murder victims at crime scenes and pass the information on to Roger, who uses what I find out from the departed to collect the evidence he needs to arrest and convict the guilty.”
All was silent. Miranda listened intently to the horrendously loud ticking of a nearby ancient clock as she studied the light from the front window breaking through the glass bowl in her hand. Bren didn’t laugh, he didn’t gasp, and unless he moved soundlessly he hadn’t stepped away from her in horror, either.
“Sounds like tough work,” he finally said in a lowered voice. “No wonder you needed a vacation.”
Miranda twisted her head slightly and looked into Bren’s face. No, he wasn’t kidding her. He wasn’t scared or repulsed, either. There was a touch of sympathy in his eyes, but not so much that she thought he felt sorry for her. She hated pity as much as she did disbelief. Maybe more.
He shook a finger at her, and she noted that he had a workingman’s hands, long-fingered and callused and rough and beautiful. “You weren’t talking to yourself this morning or after you fell off the road. You were talking to a ghost.”
“I was. You don’t seem at all surprised,” she observed.
“It takes a lot to surprise me.” He smiled. For a man who didn’t smile often, he did so very nicely. “To be honest, I’m relieved. For a while there I thought you might be a little bit off your rocker, talking to yourself and all.”
“I do sometimes talk to myself,” she said, experiencing the strongest rush of ease she’d felt in a long time.
“Yes, but you probably don’t tell yourself to go away.”
She drew back a little. “You heard that?” This morning when she’d tried to order Dee to go she’d whispered so softly and Bren had been standing so far away…
“Yeah.” He motioned to one ear with one of those long, fine fingers. “I have the Korbinian hearing. You can’t pull anything over on me.”
Heaven above, she liked him. Cheryl’s psycho, Roger’s irate neighbor who was determined to own the entire mountain, a man who’d literally run her off the road and then chastised her for being there. She liked him much more than she should. He was alternately funny and pensive, grumpy and hospitable, and he did look fine in those worn jeans. And then an alarming thought occurred to her, a thought that wiped away all her ease.
“You’re being nice to me so I’ll convince Roger to sell you the cabin!” She put the glass bowl down too hard. “I should’ve known,” she muttered to herself.
“I am not,” he said without anger.
“You are. That’s why you offered to give me a ride, that’s why you stopped and helped me after you ran me off the road.” She threw her hands up in the air. “If you didn’t want me to help you get the cabin, you probably would’ve left me there to fend for myself. You probably would’ve gotten a good laugh and just kept on driving.”
Finely shaped eyebrows arched. “You don’t think much of me, do you?” he asked, calm as could be.
“No, I don’t.” Miranda defensively crossed her arms and took a pose that clearly said Keep away. Clear as it should’ve been, Bren wasn’t listening.
“Do you want to know why I offered you a ride?” He took a step closer and she backed away. “Do you really want to know why I found myself outside the cabin on your first night on the mountain?”
Naked, as she recalled.
Again he moved forward and she moved back, until she found herself trapped in a kind of hole fashioned from an antique wardrobe and a noisy clock. Tick tock, tick tock. “Do you really want to know why I didn’t run from you when you made it very clear that was what you wanted?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He leaned in, cupped her chin and lifted her face, and then he placed his mouth over hers. She was so surprised by the move that for a moment she didn’t react. She simply stood there and accepted; she experienced; she felt. Yes, it had been a long time since she’d been properly kissed, and this simple touch of mouth to mouth was more than proper. It was extraordinary. The kiss rocked her to her toes, it paralyzed her, it shook her to the center of her being and fired up a wave of desire that was strong and primitive and totally unexpected. She heard the ticking of the big clock and the beat of her own heart, she felt Bren’s lips and the wobbling of her knees and a tingle that shook her and took her to a place she had not been in a very long time.
Desire. She couldn’t say the sensation was entirely unknown to her, but it was something she’d denied herself for years, and she had never experienced it so fully, so deeply or so quickly. Bren’s lips moved gently and she shuddered. Her lips parted and so did his, and for a moment she was frozen, unable to breathe, unable to describe the connection and pleasure she experienced. When he removed his mouth from hers it took all the will she had not to grab the front of his shirt and pull him back.
“That’s why,” he said, and then he turned away and left her standing there, shaken and confused and very tempted to chase after him.
Bren helped Miranda carry her purchases into the cabin he had so long coveted. If he had his way he’d buy the place and raze it to the ground. A good look at the interior did nothing to change his mind about those plans.
A couple of decent lamps and a decorative bowl were hardly going to help matters. What the cabin that marred his mountain really needed was a good fire.
“Cozy,” he said beneath his breath as he surveyed the orange sofa and matching overstuffed chair. “Ugly as sin, but cozy.”
Miranda laughed. “Tell me what you really think, why don’t you?”
They had managed to ignore the kiss, at least openly. He couldn’t forget it and he knew she hadn’t forgotten, either. He could almost swear there was an electric current running between them, a current that repelled and attracted at the same time, a current that changed the smell and the feel of the air he breathed.
Bren had known at first touch that she was the one for him. Sexually, reproductively, to the soul and to the bone, Miranda was for him. From that moment he’d felt as if he was being led—hell, dragged—into a life that was predestined and he had no choice in the matter. But just because she was here and they had some kind of ancient connection didn’t mean they had to act on it. Her presence and his knowledge of the possibilities didn’t mean he had to follow his impulses. For a moment the kiss had chased his doubts away and he’d been ready to dive in, body and soul, but the doubts were back. He would not be led, not in a matter as important as this.
He wondered if Miranda felt anything out of the ordinary. She was Kademair, but that didn’t necessarily mean she knew, as he did. That didn’t mean she looked at him and realized he was meant, biologically at least, to be the father of her children. Did she struggle with the possibilities, as he did? Maybe she was blithely and wonderfully ignorant of how momentous their meeting was.
The father of the rebirth of a species or a childless bachelor and the last of his breed—that was his choice. It was not a choice to be made in an instant, no matter how natural one path seemed to him at this moment. The natural path would take him directly to Miranda Lynch’s bed, into her body. With everything he was, he wanted to peel those black jeans away from her skin, taste her, arouse her, claim her in a way he had never thought to claim any woman.
If he were an animal there would be no choice to be made. But he was not an animal, he was a man. Difficult as it was, he would attempt to think rationally. He would try to push back his natural attraction until he was sure of what he wanted.
His well-ordered life could change in an instant. Did he want the dramatic change this woman’s appearance offered?
Miranda showed him where to place the lamps, while she put her sodas and skim milk in the refrigerator, commenting on how rude the cashier at the grocery store had been. It was true. Tammy had not been happy to see Bren return with another woman. Bren had barely spared a glance for the cashier, unnaturally taken as he was with Miranda, but he’d noticed.
“So,” Miranda said while her head was in the refrigerator and she didn’t have to look him in the eye, “why do you want this place so badly, anyway?”
“It’s an eyesore.”
“This cabin might not be up to your standards, but it’s hardly an eyesore,” she said, closing the refrigerator and turning to face him. “Are you really such a loner that you want to have this entire mountain to yourself?”
He didn’t want to answer that question, not yet. Was he still a loner? “Why is your friend Talbot so determined to hang on to it? I’ve offered him more than enough to buy a better place elsewhere.”
“I suppose it has sentimental value,” she said as she left the galley kitchen. “It belonged to his father. Back in those days the cabin at the top of the mountain wasn’t much bigger than this one, he said.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Bren admitted, remembering his father’s cabin, the place where he’d spent most of his childhood. His mother had demanded more, for herself and for her son, and for many years they’d moved between a proper house in Townsend and the cabin on the mountain. The house in Townsend, nice as it had been, had never felt like home.
The conversation about this mountain and the cabin was small talk, but in the air something momentous lingered. A kiss and the electric energy in the air danced between them. Everything had changed, could change, and surely Miranda felt that on some level. Bren wasn’t good at romance; he didn’t know how to woo or chase or smoothly seduce, and he still wasn’t sure what he was going to do about this woman who had worked her way beneath his skin. The possibilities remained endless.
He was straightforward in everything he did, including sex, so he asked, “Do you have a boyfriend at home?”
“No,” she answered quickly.
She didn’t wear a ring, but that was less than conclusive. “A husband or fiancé?”
“No.” She didn’t ask him why he wanted to know. After the kiss she shouldn’t need to ask. “What about you? Is there a girlfriend out there wondering where you are on a beautiful Sunday afternoon?”
“No,” he responded as simply as she had.
“A Mrs. Korbinian?”
“Not yet,” he said, looking her squarely in the eye.
For some reason that answer brought a hint of color to Miranda’s cheeks. She tried to ease the tension in the room with a laugh that sounded all wrong, as she removed her hat and tossed it onto the couch as if it were a Frisbee. “What’s wrong with us? The ghost thing scares a lot of men away, but you…what’s your excuse, Korbinian? Why are you still single?”
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” If he stayed here much longer he wouldn’t be able to leave. He had the best of intentions, but if he stayed in Miranda’s company he’d soon be physically incapable of walking away, and the decision he wrestled with would be made. Bren headed for the door, but he did turn to look back at Miranda. She was a hard woman to leave. “Dinner tomorrow, my place, I’ll pick you up at six.”
He didn’t give her a chance to refuse his offer, but left quickly—while he still could.
Chapter Four
Miranda showered and put on her pajamas early in the evening, determined to get the rest that had brought her to the mountains. She would relax if it killed her! She made soup for supper—chicken noodle soup right out of the can, since real cooking wasn’t what she’d call restful. To be honest she wasn’t all that hungry, but she made herself eat a few spoonfuls.
After soup she sat on the deck for a while, enjoying the spectacle of near and distant vistas, but her eyes were drawn too often to the house at the top of the mountain. Korbinian’s house—in no way could it be called a cabin—had been built with an eye to fitting into the environment, so it didn’t exactly pop out. The roof was a dull, dark green; the deck, which ran the length of the house, seemed almost a part of the wooded landscape. If not for the little bit of light shining through large windows, which surely afforded Bren a stellar view, she could almost think his house was a part of the mountain he wanted to claim entirely as his own.
She couldn’t get a good handle on Brennus Korbinian. Yes, he looked at her like he wanted to eat her up, and they were both unattached and healthy in a world where in so many cases that was good enough for everyone involved. Miranda had never understood the appeal in a one-night-stand, but plenty of women—and men—her age did. If she was ever going to consider a casual sexual relationship, Bren would be perfect.
She understood her attraction to him, but why was he paying her so much attention? Korbinian was successful and good-looking, so he shouldn’t be exactly desperate for female companionship. Lack of social skills aside, he should have women lined up at his door, if that was what he wanted. He didn’t strike her as one of those men who had to conquer every woman they met, as if sex was a game and they thought themselves master players. She’d met guys like that, men who moved in too quickly, got too close, smiled too widely and too intimately. Bren wasn’t like that, not at all. In the beginning he had been anything but friendly, and he was very low on the smarmy meter—even though he had hiked to the cabin naked, which she surely would’ve taken as a warning sign if she didn’t instinctively like him at least a little bit.
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