Нора Робертс - Suzanna’s Surrender

Nerves skittered along her spine. “Just because I find you attractive, physically, doesn't mean I'm going to jump into bed with you.”

“I don't much care whether you jump, crawl or have to be dragged. We can decide on the method later.” Before she could think of a name to call him, he grinned, kissed her then stepped back. “Now that that's settled, I'll take you up and show you the portrait.”

“If you think it's settled because you – what portrait?” “You take a look, then tell me.”

He led the way up into the loft. Torn between curiosity and fury, Suzanna followed him. The only thing she was certain of at the moment was that since she'd met Holt Bradford again, her emotions had been on a roller coaster. All she wanted out of life was a nice smooth, uneventful ride.

“He worked up here.”

The simple statement captured her attention and her interest. “Did you know him well?”

“I don't think anyone did.” Holt moved over to open a tilt – out window. “He came and went pretty much as he pleased. He'd come back here for a few days, or a few months. I'd sit up here sometimes and watch him work. If he got tired of me hanging around, he'd send me out with the dog, or into the village for ice cream.”

“There's still paint on the floor.” Unable to resist, Suzanna bent down to touch. She glanced up, met Holt's eyes and understood.

He'd loved his grandfather. These splotches of paint, more than the cabin itself, were memories. She reached a hand out for his, rising when their fingers linked. Then she saw the portrait.

The canvas was tilted against the wall, its frame old and ornate. The woman looked back at her, with eyes full of secrets and sadness and love.

“Bianca,” Suzanna said, and let her own tears come. “I knew he must have painted her. He'd have had to.”

“I wasn't certain until I saw Lilah yesterday.”

“He never sold it,” Suzanna murmured. “He kept it, because it was all he had left of her.”

“Maybe.” He wasn't entirely comfortable that the exact thought had occurred to him. “I've got to figure there was something between them. I don't see how that helps you get any closer to the emeralds.”

“But you'll help.” “I said I would.”

“Thank you.” She turned to face him. Yes, he would help, she thought. He wouldn't break his word no matter how much it annoyed him to keep it.

“The first thing I have to ask you, is if you'll bring the portrait to The Towers so my family can see it. It would mean a great deal to them.”

At Suzanna's insistence, they took Sadie as well. She rode in the back of the pickup, grinning into the wind. When they arrived at The Towers, they saw Lilah and Max sitting out on the lawn. Fred, spotting the truck, tore across the yard, then came to a stumbling halt when Sadie leaped nimbly out of the back.

Body aquiver, he approached her. The dogs gave each other a thorough sniffing over. With a flick of her tail, Sadie pranced across the yard. She sent Fred one come – hither look over her shoulder that had him scrambling after her.

“Looks like love at first sight for old Fred,” Lilah commented as she walked with Max to the truck. “We wondered where you'd gone.” She ran a hand down Suzanna's arm, letting her know without words that she knew about the call from Bax.

“Are the kids around?”

“No, they went into the village with Megan and her parents to help Kevin pick out some souvenirs before they leave.”

With a nod, Suzanna took her hand. “There's something you have to see.”

Stepping back, she gestured. Through the open door of the truck, Lila saw the painting. Her fingers tightened on her sister's.

“Oh, Suze.” “I know.”

“Max, can you see?”

“Yes.” Gently he kissed the top of her head and looked at the portrait of a woman who was the double for the one he loved. “She was beautiful. This is a Bradford.” He glanced at Holt with a shrug. “I've been studying your grandfather's work for the past couple of weeks.”

“You've had this all along,” Lilah began.

Holt let the accusation in the tone roll off him. “I didn't know it was Bianca until I saw you yesterday.”

She subsided, studying his face. “You're not as nasty as you'd like people to think. Your aura's much too clear.”

“Leave Holt's aura alone, Lilah,” Suzanna said with a laugh. “I want Aunt Coco to see this. Oh, I wish Sloan and Mandy hadn't left on their honeymoon.”

“They'll only be gone two weeks,” Lilah reminded her.

Two weeks. Suzanna struggled to keep the smile in place as Holt carried the portrait inside.

The moment she saw it, Coco wept. But that was only to be expected. Holt had propped the painting on the love seat in the parlor, and Coco sat in the wing chair, drenching her handkerchief.

“After all this time. To have part of her back in this house.”

Lilah touched her aunt's shoulder. “Part of her has always been in the house.”

“Oh, I know, but to be able to look at her.” She sniffled. “And see you.”

“He must have loved her so much.” Damp eyed, C.C. rested her head on Trent's shoulder. “She looks just as I imagined her, just as I knew she looked that night when I felt her.”

Holt kept his hands in his pocket “Look, sentiment and séances aside, it's the emeralds you need. If you want my help, then I need to know everything.”

“Seance.” Coco dried her eyes. “We should hold another one. We'll hang the portrait in the dining room. With that to focus on we're bound to be successful. I've got to check the astrological charts.” She got up and hurried out of the room.

“And she's off and running,” Suzanna murmured.

Trent nodded. “Not to discredit Coco, but it might be best if I filled in Holt in a more conventional way.”

“I'll make some coffee.” Suzanna sent one last glance at the portrait before heading for the kitchen.

There wasn't so very much Trent could tell him, she thought as she ground beans. Holt already knew about the legend, the research they'd done, the danger her sisters had faced. It was possible that he might make more of it, with his training, than they had. But would he care, even a fraction of the amount her family did?

She understood that emotional motivation could change lives. And that without it, nothing worthwhile could be accomplished.

He had passion. But could his passions run deeper than a physical need? Not for her, she assured herself, measuring the coffee carefully. She'd meant what she'd said about not wanting to become involved. She couldn't afford to love again.

She was afraid he was right about an affair. If she couldn't be strong enough to resist him, she hoped she could be strong enough to hold her heart and her body separate. It couldn't be wrong to need to be touched and wanted. Perhaps by giving herself to him, in a physical way, she could prove to herself that she wasn't a failure as a woman.

God, she wanted to feel like a woman again, to experience that rush of pleasure and release. She was nearly thirty, she thought, and the only man with whom she'd been intimate had found her wanting. How much longer could she go on wondering if he was right?

She jolted when hands came down on her shoulders.

Slowly, aware of how easily she paled, Holt turned her to face him. “Where were you?”

“Oh. Up to my ears weeding pachysandra.”

“That's a pretty good lie if you'd put more flare into it.” But he let it go. “I'm going to run down and talk with Lieutenant Koogar. Rain check the coffee.”

“All right, I'll drive you down.”

“I'm hitching a ride with Max and Trent.” Her brow lifted. “Men only, I take it”

“Sometimes it works better that way.” He rubbed a thumb over the line between her brows in a gentle gesture that surprised them both. Catching himself, he dropped his hand again. “You worry too much. I'll be in touch.” “Thank you. I won't forget what you're doing for us.”

“Forget it.” He hauled her against him and kissed her until she went limp. “I'd rather you remember that” He strode out, and she sank weakly into a chair.

She wouldn't have any choice but to remember it.

He wasn't playing good Samaritan, Holt assured himself. After getting a clearer handle on the situation, he was doing what he felt was best. Somebody had to keep an eye on her until Livingston was under wraps. The best way to keep an eye on her was to stick close.

Swinging into the graveled lot, he pulled up next to her pickup. He saw that she was outside the shop with customers, so amused himself by roaming around.

He'd driven by Island Gardens before but had never stopped in. There hadn't been any reason to. There were a lot of thriving blossoms crowded on wooden tables or sitting in ornamental pots. Though he couldn't tell one from the other, he could appreciate their appeal. Or maybe it was the fact that the air smelled like Suzanna.

It was obvious she knew what she was doing here, he reflected. There was a tidiness to the place, enhanced by a breezy informality that invited browsers to browse even as it tempted them to buy.

Colorful pictures were set up here and there, describing certain flowers, their planting instructions and maintenance. Along the side of the main building were stacks of fifty – and hundred – pound bags of planting medium and mulch.

He was looking over a tray of snapdragons when he heard a rustle in the bush behind him. He tensed automatically, and his fingers jerked once toward the weapon he no longer wore. Letting out a quiet breath, he cursed himself. He had to get over this reaction. He wasn't a cop anymore, and no one was likely to spring at his back with an eight – inch buck knife.