to her ear, where he nibbled on her lobe before sucking gently.
She vaguely recalled a novel where the author wrote, “The
heroine felt devoured.” She had laughed at the time, but now
understood, as his lips scorched a path back to her mouth to
communicate his desire once more.
Her body melted into a puddle of heat. She ached with
pleasure so intense it hurt. Her fingers curled into his shirtfront
as her legs threatened to turn to jelly. She could feel his heart
beat against her breasts, pounding in answer to her own erratic
beat.
“What is your name, midnight minx?” His husky whisper
reached her through a haze.
“Mica.” She moaned as he rained kisses against her closed
eyes.
“Mica? That’s too masculine a name for one so delicate. Is
there more?” Each word was punctuated with butterfly kisses
along her brow and nose.
“Michaela Marie.” His kisses were driving her crazy;
otherwise, she would never have told him her middle name.
“Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” His kiss
stopped any reply she would have made, the heat from his lips
traveling through her to turn her blood to fire. She stood on
tiptoe to get closer.
“Come to bed with me,” he whispered, pulling her tighter
against him.
His suggestion brought Mica to her senses, astounded that
the man’s sensuality had carried her away.
“No!”
She pushed away from him, and his arms dropped to his
sides, but he remained close enough to block her escape. He
no longer touched her, but Mica could feel his heat and passion
as though he did.
“I don’t think...I really shouldn’t be here.” It was all she
could think of in way of explanation.
“I know that, sweet thing, for this is Indigo Bay, and I
know all who belong here.” His full lips lifted in a sensuous
smile. “But that is of no consequence, for tonight, if you will
allow it, you will be my guest.”
He executed a bow, and Mica felt the urge to curtsy as a
lady would when a gentleman asked for a dance. It only
deepened her chagrin to glance down and realize she was not
wearing a dress, but silk pajamas. She needed to get out of
here before she lost the rest of her dignity and begged him for
something she had thought she no longer needed. She glanced
around for an excuse, her gaze settling on the drink decanters
he had reached for earlier.
“May I have a glass of...water, please?” She gave him what
she hoped was an enticing smile.
“Water? I have sherry and brandy, but no water.” He now
seemed in no hurry to continue his seduction, and that made
Mica more nervous. When he moved towards the table, all fluid
grace like a wild animal on the prowl, she knew she was in
trouble.
Except for his kisses, which she couldn’t blame entirely
on him, he appeared to have the integrity of a gentleman. She
used that to her advantage and allowed her Southern drawl to
slip into her words, aware of its effect on men. “I really would
like water, please. Sherry and brandy will make me wilt right
on the spot, I assure you.”
He gave her a sideways glance, and she fluttered her lashes.
“Well, if you insist on water, I’ll have to fetch it, for all the
help are beyond hearing in their beds at this hour.” He stopped
to whisper close to her ear. “As we shall be, just as soon as I
return.”
Mica sagged against the desk and gave him a weak smile
before he turned and walked out of the room. In the next instant,
she sprinted to the library door. When a quick glance assured
her he was nowhere in sight, she raced down the hall to the
door through which she had come.
In her haste, it slammed behind her, but she didn’t care as
she twisted the key in the lock. Heart pounding and knees weak,
she rested her head against the wood’s cool surface. What in
the world had come over her to make her act the way she had?
And with a perfect stranger no less! She could only blame it on
his overwhelming sensuality. She’d never met a man with such
seductive power.
As she made her way down the stairs to her rooms, she
recalled just how perfect he had been. He had a lean, muscular
body, silky hair and laughing eyes. The best part had been his
searing kisses—hot, sweet and more than adequate to send even
the most sensible woman into ecstasy.
She fell into bed exhausted, but determined to find out the
next day exactly what kind of rooms Sea Crest’s second floor
contained. More importantly, she wanted the name of the
stranger who not only inhabited those rooms but also had
managed to breach all the defenses she had so carefully
constructed since her divorce.
Two
Mica woke the next morning tangled up in the sheets and
feeling disoriented. It took a few minutes to remember she was
in Aunt Theo’s bed at Sea Crest. As she lay staring at the ceiling,
she recalled her strange dream. At least she thought it was a
dream. Her body immediately tingled, and her lips throbbed as
though the kisses had been real.
“Hogwash!” she muttered, sliding from bed. As she walked
to the kitchen, she recalled Katie’s wish that Mica would meet
a man while on vacation. That must have been the impetus for
her dream. A tour of the inn would dispel any imaginings of
handsome men who lived upstairs.
As she fixed her coffee, she noticed that two buttons on
her pajamas had fallen off.
“That’s weird.” She plucked at the fabric. She knew she
had tossed and turned most of the night because of the condition
of the sheets, but to have torn off the buttons on her favorite
pj’s?
More disturbed by her dream than by two missing plastic
buttons, Mica showered and dressed. She wanted Anna to give
her a tour before breakfast, where she hoped for the opportunity
to meet the guests.
Anna sat at the reception desk just inside the main door.
“We’ve only got one guest this morning, but we’re expecting
another couple tomorrow,” she replied cheerfully when Mica
asked about the guests. She provided a running dialogue as
they climbed the steps to the second floor, the polished wood
railing gleaming in the early morning light.
“It appears you keep a tight rein on the housecleaning staff,”
Mica commented.
“Yes, I try. Since we only have five guest rooms, it’s not
hard to keep things clean with two regular maids. I help when
I can get away from the desk. Ah, here we are.”
Mica experienced a sense of déjà vu when they reached
the top of the stairs. It appeared exactly as it had in her dream.
Even the silk flower arrangements on the wall tables were the
same colors. She hadn’t been upstairs since she was a little
girl. Could a person remember such small details from that
long ago?
The stairway divided the hall in half, and a person could
go left or right along the corridors that flanked the stairwell. A
beautiful, scrolled-wood railing enclosed the stairwell to
prevent accidents.
Each of the doorways had ornately carved door frames, all
alike. “These lead to guest rooms,” Anna stated, pointing to
the doors directly in front of them at the top of the stairs. She
moved along the east corridor, where there were two doors
similar to the west side. “Not all of these are guest rooms. As
you know, South Carolina law limits the number of guest rooms
a small inn such as this can maintain. One room at the end of
the corridor is a reading room available to the guests.”
Mica noted the small lights on the walls that cast the
hallway in a warm, mellow light. Their design replicated the
earlier gaslights that had been popular before the advent of
electricity and gave the hallway a turn-of-the-twentieth-century
air. Odd, but she recalled the lights in part of the inn flickering
like real candles, not burning with the steady glow of electricity.
Why would she dream about a time before electricity?
“What about these two?” Mica asked about the doors at
the end of the hall.
Pointing to the right, Anna stated, “This opens to a large
linen closet. I can show you how we keep it if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary. From what I’ve seen, you keep
everything spotless.” Mica was curious what the housekeeper
had to say about the rest of the inn. “What about this door?”
“Oh, that doesn’t go anywhere.”
Mica cocked her head to the side and glanced at Anna to
see if she were teasing. It would appear the answer to her dream
lay in this woman’s knowledge. “Why on earth would there be
a door that goes nowhere?”
Anna laughed lightly. “I asked your aunt the very same
question when I began working here. She simply stated,
‘Because it’s the Georgian style, that’s why.’”
Mica arched her brow, but before she could respond, Anna
said, “That’s all your aunt would tell me, but Cook gave me
the whole story. Seems there was a fire generations ago, and
the manor house, which was connected to this section by a
hallway past that door, burned beyond repair. It was never
rebuilt.”
“But the door wasn’t taken out?”
Anna nodded in confirmation. “The way I understand my
history, the Georgian style meant everything had to be balanced.
Notice the rest of the upstairs—the stairs are right in the middle.
There are two doors on each side, each doorway is exactly the
same in height and style, and there’s a table right in the middle
of each wall. Your aunt was a stickler for tradition and
preserving the past.”
Mica could surely attest to that. However, it seemed odd
to have a door that led nowhere. Glancing down, she saw an
old-fashioned skeleton key inserted in the lock. “Why is the
key still there?”
Anna shrugged. “The key turns, but the door won’t open. I
assume it’s been welded shut somehow.”
Mica reached down to turn the knob, just to see for herself.
The same tingle she remembered from last night immediately
shot up her arm, this time even stronger. She jerked her hand
away from the knob and stepped back, colliding with the railing
that circled the stairwell.
Obviously, Mrs. Harris didn’t notice Mica’s astonishment
because when a chime sounded from below, she turned and
walked to the top of the stairs. “Coming?”
“Where?” Mica asked as she rubbed her hand up and down
her jeans leg, still feeling the strange tingles from her contact
with the doorknob. She swore she heard the rasp of a voice
beyond the solid wood barrier.
“Why, to breakfast, of course. We have a fascinating guest
you’ll enjoy meeting.”
Mica turned and followed the housekeeper. Maybe it wasn’t
a dream at all. Regardless of what Anna thought about the door,
last night’s incident was too vivid for Mica to put the door, and
whatever might lie beyond it, from her mind. As a good
homeowner, she felt it her duty to investigate any strange and
odd occurrences.
Mica revised her definition of strange and odd upon
meeting Dr. Joseph Bigley, a professor from Columbia
University. His bright blue eyes, set in a deeply tanned face,
twinkled when he introduced himself. An abundance of fuzzy
gray hair and bushy gray eyebrows contradicted his youthful
face. Gray sweats completed the picture. However, his strong
grip when she shook his hand conveyed the impression that all
the gray didn’t mean the man was old.
“I hope you’ll excuse my casual attire,” the professor said.
“I thought I would forego breakfast and jog my daily five miles
up and down the beach, but when I heard you’d arrived I wanted
to introduce myself.”
“I am impressed, Professor Bigley. On a good day, I can
only jog three.” Mica allowed him to seat her, and since they
were the only residents at the moment, she nodded for Mrs.
Harris to commence serving.
“Please call me Joseph. I’ve been vacationing at Sea Crest
my condolences.” Before Mica could answer, his next words
sent her head spinning. “I hope to speak with your Aunt Theo
again quite soon.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mica’s eyebrows arched. Her coffee
cup clattered back onto the saucer.
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. You have no idea on Earth who I am
or why I’m here, or do you?” The last words were stated in a
hopeful voice, as though the explanation would be difficult
and he hoped to avoid it.
“Professor Bigley, I only arrived yesterday, and I’m afraid
I don’t know anything about you. But I do know my aunt died
over two weeks ago, so I’m afraid it would be impossible for
you to speak with her.”
“Tsk, tsk, another skeptic,” he said. “Here, have some eggs,
my dear, and try this delicious sausage. You’re entirely too
skinny. It’s no wonder you can only jog three miles.”
The professor continued eating his hearty breakfast in
silence as Mica stared at him, her curiosity aroused by his abrupt
change of subject. After several sighs and two cups of coffee,
he finally acknowledged her presence again.
“Ms Chadwick, do you believe in the paranormal?” His
blue eyes glowed with a serious light, and Mica dared not laugh.
“Do you mean ghosts?”
“Yes, among other beings trapped in the netherworld
between life and death—or between lives.”
“Professor, I’m an attorney. I deal in fact—evidence and
provable, material objects. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have gotten
where I am by believing in ghosts.”
His eyes twinkled as he laughed. “And I, Ms Chadwick,
am a professor of psychology who has spent his l
ife studying
people. I’d say from the slight quiver in your voice, and your
nervous plucking of the tablecloth, that you might not want to
believe in them, but perhaps you’re not quite sure.”
The image of a dark-haired, handsome man flashed across
Mica’s mind. His warm, firm lips touching hers across the
distance of her dream sent shivers down her spine. She reminded
herself she was twenty-nine years old. Far too old to believe in
dreams, much less ghosts.
“Professor Bigley, I’m well aware of the legacy in the South
to believe in legendary heroic ghosts from the past, but that
doesn’t mean I believe in them,” she said, but to convince the
professor or herself? “Please feel free to conduct your research
at Sea Crest, but I’d prefer you do it in such a manner that you
don’t disturb the house or grounds, or any other guests who
might arrive.”
His mysterious smile was back, as though he alone knew a
secret. “I don’t intend to dig up old bones, if that’s what you’re
thinking. The object of my research doesn’t lie buried beneath
the earth we live on.”
Mica eyed him, unsure how to respond. With his fuzzy
hair and spectacles that kept slipping down his nose, he seemed
to be an ordinary, harmless old man, but Mica shivered as
though someone had just walked across her grave. Why did
she have the distinct impression life would never be quite the
same around Sea Crest?
***
Early that evening Mica strolled the beach fronting Sea
Crest. She stretched as she walked, rolling her shoulders to
relieve the tension. The day had been spent with Anna going
over the inn’s books and reassuring the woman that she had a
permanent job for as long as she so desired. While Mica enjoyed
the ocean and the restful atmosphere surrounding the resort, a
lucrative law practice awaited her in Charleston. The time
would come when she would have to resume her life.
“What life?” She scoffed as she plopped down on the sand
and stared out over the blue expanse of water. Part of a top-
notch law firm, she had great job security, considering her father
and uncle had promised her a full partnership when she turned
thirty. But was that what she really wanted—a nice, secure,