room. “I’ll explain our policies. Payment is in advance, cash or major credit cards. I prefer to avoid out-of-town checks. Continental breakfast is served from seven-thirty to ten on week-days, and a full brunch on Saturdays and Sundays from nine to twelve. Early risers will find tea and coffee in the dining room from six-thirty A.M. Coffee, tea and light refreshment is served in the dining room at five—”
“Light refreshment?” he echoed. “Fancy.”
“Yes, scones, or biscuits, or fresh pastry,” she said, flashing a glance over her shoulder that dared him to make fun of her. “And of course, you are encouraged to join me with all the guests in the salon for a glass of sherry in the evening before retiring.”
He followed her out of the kitchen, gazing at the graceful lines of her back. “A glass of sherry. Wow. Aren’t we refined.”
“You are also free to skulk alone in your room, if you prefer. I personally could care less.” She slid behind a desk in the foyer and pulled out a credit-card machine. “The room I have available is one hundred and twenty dollars a night. Will that be cash or charge?”
“Charge, I guess,” he said, bemused.
“Very well.” She plucked a charge slip from a cubbyhole in the credenza and slapped it into place. “How long do you plan on staying?”
“Let’s start with a week, and take it from there.”
She held out her hand for his card. He fished it out of his wallet and slapped it into her palm. “Cut it out, El.”
Her eyes slid away, and her professional smile slipped a notch. She fit the card into the machine. “Cut what out?”
“The professional song and dance. This is me, Simon. Remember? Hello! Anybody home in there?”
She dragged the press over his card and dialed the authorization code, fingers stabbing at the number pad. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Seventeen years without a peep from you. No way of knowing if you were starving, or sick, or dead in a ditch somewhere—”
He held up his hands. “Hey, one thing at a time, OK?”
“And when you finally do get around to coming to see me, it’s just because you need a place to crash. Just like old times. Good old El. So useful and convenient.” The code finally appeared on the screen. She scribbled the number down and threw his card back at him. “What the hell do you want from me, Simon?”
He planted his hands on the desk, and leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want to use you. I never did. Not then, and not now. If you want me to leave, I will.” He bit out each word.
She made a furious huffing sound, and wrenched a drawer open. She plucked out a long, old-fashioned key and tossed it across the desk at him. “You’ll be staying in the tower room.”
“Your old bedroom, huh?” He took the key. “I remember. You let me sleep there whenever Gus was too drunk for me to deal with. You brought me cookies and cocoa and leftovers. I don’t think I’ve ever entered that room through the door, though. I always came up the tree.”
Her eyes dropped, and the pink on her cheeks deepened. She shoved the credit-card slip and a pen across the desk.
He signed it and shoved it back. “El, let me explain something.”
“No. There’s nothing to explain, and I’ve already said too much.” She scrambled out from behind the desk. “I’ll show you up to your room now, if you’d like. I hope Missy got around to cleaning it.”
“El, let me—”
“You have your own bathroom,” she said, backing towards the stairs. “I remodeled the place. All the rooms have private baths.”
“Thank God,” he said. “I need one. I can’t face Mrs. Muriel Kent without a shower and a shave.”
She cleared her throat. “My mother doesn’t live here anymore. She moved down to California some years ago. I bought the house from her. So you’re, um, safe.”
“I see.” He stared at the curve of her cheek and wondered if her skin was as soft to the touch as it looked. He tried not to look into her eyes—oh, hell. They were incredible. Hypnotic. Splashes of forest green in the midst of the sensual, liquid golden brown, and the endless black of her pupils dilated and contracted with delicate pulsations.
Sunlight slanted through the stained-glass window over the staircase, illuminating her eyes, her hair. They picked out her gilt accents: the tips of her lashes, the sun-bleached down on her arms. Her rumpled hair shimmered like an angel’s halo in an ancient fresco.
She’d been dusted with gold powder.
“Simon?” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
He was so close to her. Her breasts almost grazed his chest. If he swayed forward, he could wrap his hands around her slender waist.
The memory opened up in his mind. The smoke, the dew, the dawn. The sensual promise in El’s eyes, the tight clasp of her virginal body. She’d almost convinced him to stay, but he’d known even then that whoever he got close to would end up caught in the crossfire of his bizarre bad luck. El had been the one good thing in his screwed-up life, and the kindest thing he could do for her was to stay away.
Seventeen years later, he had no reason to think that anything had changed, and yet here he was. His nose was just inches from her fragrant hair, his hands right on the verge of sliding around her waist to press that sumptuous golden softness hard against his body.
“Um, Ellen?” A light, wispy voice spoke above them.
The two of them jerked apart as though they’d been kissing.
“Yes, Missy, I’m right here.” El’s voice was admirably steady.
“Um, there was this guy here? And I think he wanted a room but I hadn’t cleaned the tower room yet, and the bathroom was still messy, so I just cleaned it now. Maybe he went away, though.” Her voice sounded hopeful as she pattered down the stairs on light, diffident feet.
“No, he didn’t go away.” El’s voice was gentle and patient. “He’s right here. Missy, meet Mr. Simon Riley.”
Missy squeaked and retreated to the landing. El shook her head and heaved a tiny, silent sigh. “It’s OK, Missy,” she soothed. “You could’ve checked him in. I showed you how to use the credit-card machine, remember? You’re very good at it.”
Missy cowered behind the banister. She was a skinny girl in a denim jumper. Mouse-brown hair was scraped tightly back from a wan face that might have been pretty if it hadn’t been so anxious.
“Hi, Missy.” Simon tried to sound non-threatening.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“It’s excellent that you prepared the room,” El encouraged. “Why don’t you go rinse the blueberries? I’ll show Mr. Riley to his room.”
Missy nodded and scuttled past them as quickly as a mouse, eyes down. Simon gave El a questioning look.
She
