Her body still resonated with the connection she’d enjoyed for a brief while earlier with the woman on the train. The promise of something quite extraordinary had been there. Melinda swirled the cognac, then lifted the glass and drained it in one long swallow. The exquisite burn only reminded her of her unrequited hunger. Adrian Oakes fascinated her. She sensed power, and knew the feast of her flesh would be exquisite. I would drink you, taste you. I would satisfy you in ways you never dreamed.

Melinda stalked to the window and glared out into the snow, as if the storm itself were her enemy. In a way, it was. The wind and precipitation had been the interloper, destroying the first tendrils of intimacy she’d established with her traveling companion. Adrian would have accepted the dinner invitation, because she too had been tempted by the energy that had flowed between them. Melinda had almost succeeded in enjoying her, if only in a dream, but even that small triumph had been denied her. She’d awakened just as she was about to ignite, dragged alert by a distant pounding—loose shutters or trees lashing against her

• 39 •

RADcLY fFe

window. Now her anger and frustration simmered close to the surface, her body still vibrating with the urgency to discharge that exquisite tension. She wanted Adrian, certain their joining would surpass that of mere flesh, but that was not to be tonight. Like so many other nights, she would have to settle for less than she desired.

“Can I get you another?” the young woman cleaning up behind the bar asked.

Turning, Melinda walked back into the bar. “I’m sorry to take you away from your desk duty”—she casually glanced at the small brass nametag pinned above the redhead’s left breast—“Becky. I know the bar is supposed to be closed. Thank you for getting me the drink. The storm…I was having trouble sleeping.”

“Believe me, I don’t mind.” The pretty young woman, in her early twenties and dressed informally in black slacks and a long-sleeved white blouse, joined Melinda. She gestured to the empty bar and lobby beyond. “The desk is always quiet this time of night, and no one’s going to complain if we pour a drink after hours for one of our guests.”

“Were you studying?” Melinda touched the hand resting on the table near her own. There was no special connection, no pulse of power as there had been with Adrian, but her skin was soft and her lips full and appealing. “I saw you with a textbook through the door to the office.”

“Oh. Yes. I’m on break for another couple of weeks. Just trying to get a jump on the semester.”

Melinda trailed her fingers up and down the young woman’s arm, holding her surprised gaze. “Would you mind company for a few moments? I’m not looking forward to going back to my room alone.”

Becky’s lips parted and her eyes grew liquid and soft. “There’s no one down here except me. No one will need me.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Melinda whispered, watching the young woman’s breasts rise and fall rapidly as her breath quickened. I need you. I need the scent of your pleasure and the taste of your passion.

I need to feel your blood rush and your flesh tremble. She rubbed her thumb in a slow circle over the top of her companion’s hand, waiting patiently, already certain of the outcome.

“Come with me,” Becky murmured.

Melinda smiled. The invitation had been given and, although not everything she hungered for, was sweet nevertheless. “I’d love to.”

• 40 •

SecretS in the Stone

v

“Where are you going?” Adrian asked.

Rooke set her empty teacup on the drain board and shrugged into her jacket. “Out to the truck to get my toolbox. I need a flashlight if I’m going up into the attic.”

“I’m sure there’s a flashlight around here somewhere. You just got warmed up. I don’t want you going back outside again in the storm.”

Rooke stared, confused by her concern. Her grandfather, a solitary, stoic man, never treated her any differently than the men who worked in his crews, even when she’d been small. If she got hurt, he ignored her tears and tended to the damage, expecting her to be strong. He might have worried about her, but he never let his worry hold her back. He was always there for her, and that was enough. “I’ll just be a second.

It’s not that cold.”

“Must you be so stubborn?” Adrian said. “Just let me look in the pantry. I’m sure there’s a flashlight in there.”

Crazy. Rude. Stubborn. So far, this woman who didn’t know anything about her had decided she was all these things. Rooke wasn’t sure why it bothered her what a stranger should think of her. She’d stopped caring what people thought at about the same time she’d understood she was different. She leaned back against the counter and put her hands in the pockets of her jeans. Some things weren’t worth fighting over.

“There’s a couple in here,” Adrian called from the walk-in pantry.

“They all need batteries. I think there are some in the plastic storage bins under the counter by the sink. They should be labeled—my grandmother is a great categorizer. Can you check?”

Stomach tightening, Rooke squatted down and opened the cabinet drawer. In addition to cleaning supplies, she found a stack of containers with blue plastic lids. She couldn’t see inside them, so she lifted the first one out and opened the lid. Ten-inch fireplace matches, assorted candles, and a bottle of lamp oil. She put the top back on.

“Did you find any?” Adrian rested her hand on Rooke’s shoulder as she leaned down to peer into the cabinet. “What about the one on the bottom? Doesn’t that say batteries?”

Adrian’s warm breath wafted against her neck, and Rooke flinched.

• 41 •

RADcLY fFe

The sensation was so unfamiliar, as was the tremor that rippled down her spine. Forcing the disquieting reaction aside, she lifted the upper containers and slid out the bottom one. When she pried off the lid, she found several unopened packages of batteries. Quickly, she turned them over to look at the size. “What do you need?”

“The Cs.”

Rooke stayed very still until Adrian moved away, then straightened and carried the batteries to the table where Adrian had lined up three flashlights. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Adrian said, unsettled and confused. When she’d rested her hand on Rooke’s back just now, she’d had the physical sensation of a door slamming closed. The abrupt absence of the intensity she’d experienced during their earlier touch left her feeling unexpectedly hollow, as if she’d lost something critical. She shook her head. She’d been hypersensitive the entire day, and she could only imagine it was because she’d been so barricaded against her family’s emotional and verbal barrage that now she was rebounding—letting every stimulus in. That she’d allowed two women in the same day past her defenses was like a warning clarion ringing in her mind. She felt vulnerable and exposed, and she automatically threw up a shield.

“Let’s get this over with,” Adrian said sharply.

“Where’s the attic access?” Rooke was anxious to finish up so she could get back to the safety and security of her shop. Being around Adrian reminded her of just how much she hated interacting with strangers. Usually she didn’t care what kind of impression she made. She was used to being dismissed, or worse. But from the instant she’d seen Adrian emerging from the snow, coming after her as if she mattered, she’d cared what Adrian thought of her. And that was just a setup for disappointment, because she knew what Adrian’s reaction would be when she knew the truth.

“There’s a staircase at the end of the hall on the second floor,”

Adrian said. “I’ll take you up.”

“I’ll find it.”

“I’m not going to let you go wandering around up there by yourself.” As much as she wanted to stay downstairs in the brightly lit, warm kitchen rather than climb around in the frigid, dark, cobweb-ridden attic, Adrian couldn’t just let someone else take care of her problems.

• 42 •

SecretS in the Stone

“What? You think I’m going to steal the silver?” Rooke cursed herself for momentarily forgetting the sharp divide between the extremely wealthy members of the community, many of whom only summered in Ford’s Crossing, and the locals like her grandfather and her, who lived in the village year-round. Many of the year-rounders worked as domestic or grounds staff for the rich New York City families, and the villagers were grateful for the work. But the social classes did not mingle, as Adrian had just reminded her. How she could have forgotten, considering her family history, was just another sign of how off balance she really was. Ever since she’d first heard the message from Adrian Oakes, she’d been acting and thinking completely unlike herself.

“Right,” Adrian scoffed, certain Rooke was joking. “My grandmother never throws anything away. The attic is crammed with God knows what. I don’t want you tripping and breaking your neck up there.”

Rooke wasn’t certain what bothered her most—that Adrian didn’t trust her or that she didn’t think she was competent. Either one was an affront to everything she prided herself on. Stung, she shot back, “You might think it’s a national tragedy if you break a nail, but a few bumps and bruises won’t even register for me.”

“Break a nail?” Adrian exclaimed. “Why you arrogant, condescending…” She poked a finger at Rooke. “Let me tell you something, Ms. Macho Stonemason. I just spent two months dodging IEDs and suicide bombers in the middle of a…” Adrian clamped down on her anger. She couldn’t believe she’d let Rooke get under her skin so much that she lost her temper. She never lost her temper. Not since she’d discovered that the way to win an argument—to win anything—