Melinda imagined her lounging poolside at a resort or country club.

She indulged herself with the pleasurable vision of the striking blonde

• 14 •

SecretS in the Stone

in several even more interesting scenarios, all of which involved very little clothing, champagne and caviar, and an assortment of playthings.

Melinda crossed her legs, escalating the tension between her thighs, enjoying the thrum of arousal. She’d been working too hard lately and had neglected her more personal appetites for far too long.

“I was just working on some notes,” Adrian said, hastily turning the smeared pages over to a blank sheet.

“Are you a college student?”

Adrian flushed under the scrutiny. She wasn’t a stranger to the attentions of women, or men, but this woman’s gaze bordered on avaricious. Reflexively, she edged closer to the window side of her seat, putting a few inches between her leg and Melinda’s warm thigh.

Business-class train seats were hardly roomy, and even though she’d gotten used to close proximity with strangers through her constant travel, she still was never completely comfortable with anyone in her personal space. This afternoon, for some reason, she was even more sensitive. She had no idea why she sensed danger from Melinda Singer, because the woman had done nothing other than appraise her with candid interest. Adrian didn’t enjoy game playing in her relationships or any other aspect of her life, so she wasn’t quite sure why Melinda’s direct approach should bother her.

“College was quite a while ago.” Adrian smiled ruefully. She knew she looked young, especially without makeup and with her hair carelessly tethered into a loose ponytail by a plain blue scrunchie. Still, at thirty-three, she also knew when she was being flattered. She didn’t want to be pleased by the attention, but her breath came a little faster nevertheless.

“Let me guess, then,” Melinda mused. “Lawyer.” She tapped her chin with a manicured nail. “No. Not uptight enough.”

Adrian chuckled, drawn in despite herself.

“Doctor.” Melinda tilted her head, her gaze drifting down Adrian’s body, then back to her face. “I don’t think so. Not arrogant enough.”

She lifted Adrian’s hand again and turned it over, palm up, and stroked a single fingertip down the center. “Not a painter or sculptor.”

“How can you tell?” Adrian asked, her fingers trembling. Melinda’s hand was warmer than it had been a few minutes ago and her touch had changed from soothing to seductive. Adrian had discovered at a very early age that she could almost read a person’s thoughts from physical

• 15 •

RADcLY fFe

contact. She’d once heard a paranormal psychologist refer to it as touch telepathy. She wasn’t certain she believed in that, but she’d learned to rely on intuition. And right now her instincts were telling her that Melinda Singer was a powerful, complex, and unpredictable woman.

And a very sexual one. A heavy, engorged sensation churned in the pit of her stomach and her thighs tightened. The signs were unmistakable and completely out of character. She rarely responded so quickly even when she was a willing participant, and certainly never to a virtual stranger.

Smiling, Melinda traced her index finger the length of Adrian’s.

“No nicks or scars. You don’t sculpt.” She turned Adrian’s hand over and brushed her thumb over Adrian’s fingernail. “Not even the faintest hint of pigment, and I’ve never seen a painter without a little streak of color left behind somewhere.” She placed Adrian’s hand back on Adrian’s thigh, pressing lightly for just a second before withdrawing her hand.

Despite her relief at being released, Adrian sensed a surge of disappointment, as if her body yearned for the return of that seductive caress. Oh yes, Melinda Singer was dangerous.

Adrian forced a light note into her voice. “You are very perceptive.”

“It’s an occupational habit,” Melinda said. “I’m an art dealer.

Perception is my business.”

“Image is everything?”

“Not necessarily, but it’s never wise to underestimate it.” Melinda unbuttoned the top two buttons of her jacket, revealing a thin cream shell hugging the swell of her full breasts. “You write, don’t you?”

Adrian caught her breath. Melinda’s intense attention was almost as compelling as her touch. “Very good.”

“A novelist, then.”

“No. I freelance. Articles and exposés.”

“Ah. An adventurous spirit.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Adrian said, unable to keep the irony and bitterness from her voice.

Her parents had viewed her career choice in a somewhat less complimentary light. When she’d decided to study journalism instead of business, they’d pronounced her action adolescent rebellion. After

• 16 •

SecretS in the Stone

graduation when she’d refused to join her brother and sister in the family banking industry, her father had called it stubborn resistance while her mother merely deemed her foolish. Now, ten years later, her father made no secret that he believed she was wasting her talent, and her mother was convinced she had ruined her life. After all, Claire Oakes bemoaned, what man wanted to marry a woman who traipsed all over the world at a moment’s notice, chasing some wild idea?

Adrian had made it perfectly clear that marrying a man was not in her future, regardless of her career choice, but that had little impact on her mother’s angst. The issue of her sexuality was quietly and unrelentingly ignored.

“And what about you?” Adrian asked, hoping to divert attention from herself and her own disquieting thoughts. “You have a gallery in the city?”

“Yes. On the Lower East Side. The Osare Gallery.”

Adrian knew it. Upscale, exclusive. The place every young artist wanted to be seen. A showing at Osare was practically guaranteed to launch an artist’s career. “Great name. Daring. ”

Melinda raised a brow. “You speak Italian. What else?”

“Oh, I’ve picked up a smattering of a few other languages in my travels.”

“Beautiful and accomplished.”

“Are you traveling on business?” Adrian asked, ignoring the compliment. She was very glad they weren’t touching at the moment, because she didn’t need extrasensory perception to tell her exactly what was in Melinda Singer’s mind. She was no blushing virgin and no stranger to an enjoyable sexual encounter between consenting adults, but she wasn’t used to her body responding completely against her will.

She was used to controlling when and how she gave in to desire, and exactly how much. Now Melinda was plucking her sexual strings and she was powerless to stop her. She knew she was overreacting, but the spiraling tension between her thighs was hard to ignore.

“Hopefully,” Melinda said, her tone speculative, “both business and pleasure. I’m on my way to a little town on the Hudson you’ve probably never heard of. A place called Ford’s Crossing.”

Adrian’s throat tightened and she shivered with a quick flash of unease. “I have heard of it. In fact, that’s where I’m headed.”

• 17 •

RADcLY fFe

“Really.” Melinda’s eyes flashed, and for a heartbeat she looked like a great hungry cat. “How very fortunate.”

v

“Would you like to share a cab?” Melinda asked as the train pulled into the station an hour and a half north of New York City and fifteen miles from Ford’s Crossing. Although it was only a few minutes after five p.m., the sky was completely dark with so much cloud cover even the half-moon was obscured. A heavy snow was predicted, and a few flakes floated past the windows.

“Sure,” Adrian said, seeing no reason to be unfriendly. They hadn’t talked much for the rest of the journey, each of them engrossed in work. Nevertheless, she had been hyperaware of Melinda just a few inches away for the entire trip. Her scent was unlike any perfume she’d ever encountered, a subtle, simmering blend of woody fragrances tempered by an undercurrent of burning leaves. When she drew in a breath and absorbed the heady aroma, her skin tingled with a subtle wave of excitement. Still, she was determined to ignore her inexplicable reactions.

“Wonderful,” Melinda said. “I’m staying at a hotel…the…”

“Heritage House,” Adrian finished for her. “It’s the only hotel in the village.”

“That’s the one.”

They didn’t speak for a few minutes while they gathered their luggage and made their way onto the platform with the one other departing passenger. As they approached the front of the stone station, Melinda asked, “Are you at the hotel also? Perhaps you would join me for dinner tonight.”

“Thanks,” Adrian said, “but I am actually staying at my grandmother’s. House sitting, really. She decided on New Year’s Eve that the winter had gone on quite long enough and she would flee south until it’s warmer. I volunteered to look after the place.”

“For how long?”

“Pretty much as long as I want to. My grandmother’s definition of warm weather generally means July.” Adrian waved to the single cab idling in the lot and after several seconds, it chugged toward them.

“I’ve got deadlines and a few new ideas for upcoming projects I need

• 18 •

SecretS in the Stone

to pull together. But my track record for staying in one place for four or five months isn’t great.”

“Well, you’re not far from the city.” Melinda nonchalantly brushed a hand down Adrian’s arm. “In case you have a yen for excitement.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Adrian said. She had a condo in Chelsea that she’d owned since shortly after college, but it was really more of a place to land than home. Her parents lived on the Upper East Side and her brother and sister hadn’t migrated far from them. Adrian had returned in November after having spent eight weeks with a photographer friend in the Middle East, writing copy to accompany the images of women and children displaced by the war. She hadn’t been back in the country for more than two weeks and her mother was arranging her social schedule. After suffering through a dinner party seated next to the son of one of her father’s business associates who apparently thought he was her date, thanks to her mother, she’d jumped at the opportunity to escape to her grandmother’s.