Нора Робертс - Courting Catherine

She was strong—had always been strong—but not enough to prevent time from standing still. It was this one moment, she realized, that she had been waiting for all of her life. As her hands slid up his back, she held the moment to her as completely as she held him.

The fire crackled in the grate. The rain pattered. There was the light, spicy scent of the potpourri Lilah set everywhere about the house. His arms were so strong and sure, yet with a gentleness she hadn't expected from him.

She would remember it all, every small detail, along with the dark excitement of his mouth and the sound of her name as he whispered it against hers.

He drew her away, slowly this time, more shaken than he cared to admit. As he watched, she ran her tongue over her lips as if to savor a last taste. That small, unconscious gesture nearly brought him to his knees.

“No apology this time,” he told her, and his voice wasn't steady. “No.”

He touched his lips to hers again. “I want you. I want to make love with you.”

“Yes.” It was a glorious kind of release. Her lips curved against his. “Yes.” “When?” He buried his face in her hair. “Where?”

“I don't know.” She shut her eyes on the wonder of it. “I can't think.”

“Don't.” He kissed her temple, her cheekbone, her mouth. “This isn't the time for thinking.”

“It has to be perfect.”

“It will be.” He framed her face again. “Let me show you.”

She believed him—the words and what she saw in his eyes. “I can't believe it's going to be you.” Laughing, she threw her arms around him, holding him close. “That I've waited all my life to be with someone. And it's you.”

His hand paused on its way to her hair. “All of your life?”

Dreamily in love, she hugged him tighter. “I thought I'd be afraid the first time, but I'm not. Not with you.”

“The first time.” He shut his eyes. Her first time. How could he have been so stupid? He'd recognized the inexperience, but he hadn't thought, hadn't believed she was completely innocent. And he'd all but seduced her in her own kitchen. “C.C.”

“I'm thirsty,” Alex complained from the doorway, and had them springing apart like guilty children. He eyed them suspiciously. “What are you doing that stuff for? It's disgusting.” He sent Trent a pained look, man-to-man. “I don't get why anybody wants to go around kissing girls.”

“It's an acquired taste,” Trent told him. “Why don't we get you a drink, then I need to talk to your aunt a minute. Privately.”

“More mush stuff.”

“What mush stuff?” Amanda wanted to know as she breezed in. “Nothing.” C.C. reached for the coffeepot.

“Lord, did I have a day,” Amanda began, and grabbed a cookie.

Suzanna walked in two seconds later, followed by Lilah. As the kitchen filled with feminine laughter and scent, Trent knew his moment was lost.

When C.C. smiled at him across the room, he was afraid his head would be lost with it.

It was Trent's first séance. He sincerely hoped it would be his last. There was simply no gracious way to decline attending. When he suggested that perhaps this was a family evening, Coco merely laughed and patted his cheek.

“My dear, we wouldn't think of excluding you. Who knows, it may be you the restless spirits choose to speak through.”

The possibility did very little to cheer him up. Once the children were tucked into bed for the evening, the rest of the family, along with the reluctant Trent, gathered around the dining room table. The stage had been set.

A dozen candles flickered atop the buffet. Dime-store holders cheek by jowl with Meissen and Baccarat. Another trio of white tapers glowed in the center of the table. Even nature seemed to have gotten into the spirit of things—so to speak.

Outside, the rain had turned into a wet fitful snow, blown about by a rising wind. As warm and cold air collided, thunder boomed and lightning flickered.

It was a dark and stormy night, Trent thought fatalistically as he took his seat.

Coco had not, as he'd secretly feared, worn a turban and a fringed shawl. As always, she was meticulously groomed. Around her neck, she did wear a large amethyst crystal, which she toyed with constantly.

“Now, children,” she instructed. “Take hands and form the circle.”

The wind knocked at the windows as C.C. slipped her hand into Trent's. Coco took his other. Directly across from him Amanda grinned, the amusement and sympathy obvious as she linked with her aunt and Suzanna.

“Don't worry, Trent,” she told him. “The Calhoun ghosts are always well behaved around company.”

“Concentration is essential,” Lilah explained as she closed the gap between her eldest and youngest sister. “And very basic, really. All you have to do is clear your mind, particularly of any cynicism.” She winked at Trent. “Astrologically, it's an excellent night for a séance.”

C.C. gave his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze as Coco took over.

“We must all clear our minds and open our hearts.” She spoke in a soothing monotone. “For some time I've felt that my grandmother, the unhappy Bianca, has wanted to contact me. This was her summer home for the last

years of her young life. The place where she spent her most joyous and most tragic moments. The place where she met the man she loved, and lost.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “We are here, Grandmama, waiting for you. We know your spirit is troubled.”

“Does a spirit have a spirit?” Amanda wanted to know and earned a glare from her aunt. “It's a reasonable question.”

“Behave,” Suzanna murmured, and smothered a smile. “Go ahead, Aunt Coco.”

They sat in silence, with only Coco's voice murmuring over the crackle of the fire and the moan of the wind. Trent's mind wasn't clear. It was filled with the way C.C. had fit in his arms, with the sweet and generous way her mouth had opened to his. The way she had looked at him, her eyes clouded and warm with emotions. Emotions he had recklessly stirred in her.

Guilt almost smothered him.

She wasn't like Maria or any of the women he had coolly romanced over the years. She was innocent and open and, despite a strong will and a sharp tongue, achingly vulnerable. He had taken advantage of that, inexcusably.

Not that it was entirely his fault, he reminded himself. She was, after all, a beautiful, desirable woman. And he was human. The fact that he wanted her— strictly on a physical plane—was only natural.

He glanced over just as she turned her head and smiled at him. Trent had to fight down a foolish urge to lift her hand to his lips and taste her skin.

She touched something in him, damn it Something he was determined would remain untouched. When she smiled at him—even when she scowled at him—she made him feel more, want more, wish more, than any woman he'd ever known.

It was ridiculous. They were miles apart in every way. And yet, with her hand warm in his as it was now, he felt closer to her, more in tune with her, than he'd ever felt with anyone.

He could even see them sitting together on a sunny summer porch, watching children play on the grass. The sound of the sea was as soothing as a lullaby. The air smelled of roses climbing up the trellis. And of honeysuckle, growing wild where it chose.

He blinked, afraid his heart had stopped. The image had been so clear and so terrifying. It was the atmosphere, he assured himself. The candles flickering, the wind and lightning. It was playing games with his imagination.

He wasn't a man to sit on the porch with a woman and watch children. He had work, a business to run. The idea of him becoming involved with a bad-tempered auto mechanic was simply absurd.

Cold air seemed to slap him in the face. As he stiffened, he saw the flames of the candles lean dramatically to the left. A draft, he told himself, as the cold chilled him to the bone. The place was full of them.

He felt C.C.'s shudder. When he looked at her, her eyes were wide and dark. Her Angers curled tight around his.

“She's here!” There was both surprise and excitement in Coco's voice. “I'm sure of it.”

In her delight, she nearly pulled her hands free and broke the chain. She had believed—well, had wanted to believe—but she had never actually felt a presence so distinctly.

She beamed down the table at Lilah, but her niece had her eyes closed and a faint smile on her lips.

“A window must have come open,” Amanda said, and would have bolted up to check if Coco hadn't hissed at her.

“No such thing. Sit stilly everyone. Sit still. She's here. Can't you feel it?”

C.C. did, and wasn't sure whether she should feel foolish or frightened. Something was different. She was certain that Trent sensed it, as well.

It was as though someone had gently closed a hand over her and Trent's joined ones. The cold vanished, replaced by. a soothing, comforting warmth. So real was it that C.C. looked over her shoulder, certain she would see someone standing behind her.

Yet all she saw was the dance of fire and candlelight on the wall.

“She's so lost.” C.C. let out a gasp when she realized it was she herself who had spoken. All eyes fixed on hers. Even Lilah's lazily opened.

“Do you see her?” Coco demanded in a whisper, squeezing C.C.'s fingers.

“No. No, of course not It's just...” She couldn't explain. “It's so sad,” she murmured, unaware that tears glistened in her eyes. “Can't you feel it?”

Trent could, and it left him speechless. Heartbreak, and a longing so deep it was immeasurable. Imagination, he told himself. The power of suggestion.