Overprotected, Page 4

  And when it was all over, he dared me to ride again, even as I fought to hold back gurgling nausea.

  Finally, we reached the top floor of the townhouse. The long hall, lined with closed doors, spanned the width of the building. I stopped at the middle door and opened it. A small, narrow staircase awaited us.

  “Wow,” he said.

  Everyone was impressed with the early Gothic architectural detail adorning the townhouse. The building—nestled between modern apartment buildings—was on the New York Historical List.

  I climbed the narrow stair first and he followed. The space seemed to squeeze us together.

  At the top of the stairs I tapped in the security code and opened the door. We came out on the flat, brick rooftop fenced by scrolling black wrought iron that edged the roof line in a lacy pattern, each post topped with spikes. Potted trees and winter-hushed plants were scattered here and there, and a heavily scrolled patio set sat near the edge for viewing the city.

  Colin went to the railing and looked out. In spite of my frazzled nerves, the cold air, the view of scuttling cars on Park Avenue was exhilarating.

  He turned to face me, and I stepped back. “This is incredible. Do you come up here much?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you okay?” His dark brows knit over concerned eyes.

  I heard sincerity in his question, but didn’t trust it. “I’m fine.” I’d learned to say, in spite of what I really felt.

  My cage closed tighter.

  Leaning his back against the rail, Colin eyed me instead of the view. I remained fixed by the door. Moonlight showered him in extreme blacks and bluish white. I was reminded of the night he’d locked me in the Brennen pool house, swearing the cloistered building was haunted by the soul of the previous resident who’d supposedly hung himself inside the place. I shuddered away the memory.

  His eyes sharpened. “I could have sworn I bumped into you downtown earlier this week.”

  “I’m rarely downtown.” I looked away. A long, chilly moment passed.

  “Tell me about you,” he said. “You’re what, a senior this year?”

  I turned, pretending to examine the brick walls of the townhouse so he couldn’t see my flushed face. The rough, cold blocks scratched my fingertips. “Yes.”

  “What are your plans after? Have you got your eye on any colleges?”

  College? Julliard was Mother and Daddy’s first choice. I’d secretly wanted to go back to California—my birthplace—and far away from New York, but Daddy had only approved of me sending applications to colleges in the city. “Yes, I have.”

  “Which ones?”

  I shot him a glare. His bottomless brown eyes held mine without excuse for inquiring. Cold silence whipped the air between us. He started my direction, and my heart stuttered. I stepped back, feeling cold brick press into my spine.

  He stopped so close the citrus scent of his cologne wafted through my head. Blood shivered in my veins. I couldn’t answer him or snap at him if I wanted to, too stunned he still had paralyzing power over me.

  “Ashlyn?” His voice lanced through my paralysis.

  I swallowed. Opened my mouth. I wanted to slap myself for not having more composure. The heroines in my books had composure.

  Why couldn’t I say something sassy? I closed my eyes a moment, hoping that by not looking into his eyes I could come up with some quippy remark.

  When I finally looked at him, his brows tightened across his forehead. “Aren’t you going to school? Fiona mentioned Julliard.”

  “Yes. Of course,” I sputtered. “Everyone goes to college.” I just hadn’t decided because in my heart of hearts, I’d only focused on one next step—freedom.

  “You going to major in music?”

  His closeness was almost unbearable, causing my knees to go numb. “Yes, probably. Maybe.”

  He laughed, tossing his head back. “You sound like the typical anxious senior with the world at her feet.” He shoved his hands in his front pockets and strolled to the edge of the patio to take in the view again. “You shouldn’t ignore any possibility.”

  I gulped in a breath, stealing the moment to study him. Only scant resemblances remained of the boy I’d known. His eyes no longer seemed to dance with mischief; his wicked grin was just a smile. He was taller and lean under his suburbanesque clothes. How Mother had overlooked his mega-department store ensemble was laughable, except to say she was willing to ignore his poor taste in clothing—for the time being.

  Trailing the black rail with my fingers, I inched in his direction, the cold metal making me shiver, my breath blowing plumes into the air.

  With each step closer to him, I breathed deeper, wondering if his aura would sink into me. Testing my heart for its new reaction to him.

  “Take your time figuring out where you want to go and what you want to do. That’s what this time of life is about.” He glanced my way, and his eyes remained fastened to mine. “You sure you weren’t downtown earlier this week?”

  I shook my head. Pleasure trickled through me. He had noticed.

  “It’s cold,” he said, moving toward me. “Let’s go inside.”

  We ventured back down the tapered stair and once again were in the darkened hall of the top floor.

  “This is where the help stays,” I said. Where you would stay.

  The thought of him relegated to the status of help sent a delicious trickle of power through me. I made it halfway down the flight of stairs before he paused in front of my life-sized portrait. Stuart had drooled over the painting, the look in his eye causing my stomach to roll. Colin’s head tilted and his gaze swept the painting but I didn’t see any lust in his eyes. More study. A warm sensation flooded me from head to toe, almost as though I stood under his inspection, rather than an oil paint likeness.

  I cleared my throat.

  “This is beautiful,” he said. “When was it done?”

  Why did I tremble inside when he looked at me? I took a deep breath. “Two years ago.” I started down the stairs.

  He didn’t move.

  I continued on, clearing my throat again.

  When he finally caught up to me, we were on the main floor, heading back to the dining room. His fingers grazed my elbow.

  “How do you feel about me working for your father?”

  My elbow singed as if burned. I tried to steady my frantic heart.

  “Well, I… you… it’s you’re decision. It’s your life.” I turned. At that moment, I was relieved Mother and Daddy were only a few feet away.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Up and down the piano keys my fingers pounded scales, a habitual exercise I engaged in for therapeutic reasons as well as for fine tuning my craft. I let out a slow breath. When I’d exhausted myself, my gaze lifted from the ivory and black keys. Daddy stood quietly by the door. I slammed out the rest of the exercise, too angry to acknowledge him.

  He crossed to me, a cigar in one hand; the other he kept tucked in the front pocket of his slacks. “Was that display your way of telling me that you don’t want Colin here?” He remained standing, shooting his stare down at me. Sucking in some smoke, he held it. “He’s always been harmless.” He blew the gray plume out the side of his lips.

  My fingers played with the keys, creating a soft, light melody. I said what he wanted to hear: “Of course Daddy.”

  Listening to the strains in my head, feeling waves of emotion lightly stroking my heart, I let the melody take me to another place—a place of solace and privacy, of relief from the overbearing attention focused on me. The tune was romantic and sweet, though it was Colin’s face drifting through my mind.

  “The fact is you should have outgrown this dislike of Colin a long time ago.”

  “Of course.”

  “Will you work on this?” Daddy stepped closer.

  I nodded, my fingers continuing to glide along the keys, the melody deepening with haunting tones.

  “I’ve hired him. He’s perfect for the job.”

&nbs
p; Perfect? I detested him. And how was he perfect for the job? He was a student, interested in the FBI. If I argued with Daddy about his decision, he’d think I wasn’t mature enough to move on and handle the situation. To quell the storm inside of me, I continued playing the melody taunting my head. Daddy watched my hands move over ivory keys I used to speak a language he could never understand. I ignored him.

  Finally, he strolled out of the room and shut the door behind him. I fanned the bitter smoke out of range and continued to play.

  The melody had taken over, was growing and swelling within me. I heard notes yet to be played as well as those that simultaneously came from the tips of my fingers. In my mind I saw Colin— the way he’d looked at me across the room when I’d first walked in. His eyes—the color of rich espresso, smiling and sparkling at the same time.

  With yearning fingers, the song reached deep into my soul. I thought of when his arms had wrapped around me. The memory sent a pleasant yet unfamiliar stirring through me, causing the tune to take a dramatic turn.

  I yanked my hands from the keys.

  Irritated with the fluttering, I pushed away from the piano. How could I create such a beautiful piece with thoughts of someone who had been the source of such misery?

  I jerked to my feet, rubbing my arms to ward off a chill. But the chill wasn’t real. Underneath the bumps covering my flesh, warmth flurried.

  The window beckoned, and I crossed to it. Often, the view of the city calmed and comforted me. Alive even at the late hour, the neighborhood trickled with people whose lives I could observe and wish for their freedom.

  Colin was out there. He would become a part of my life again.

  With a finger I traced the outline of a pane. In spite of fears, the melody echoed inside, crying from within the recesses of my soul. Billowing, wave after wave; it became a force I couldn’t ignore.

  I paced next to the piano until my creative side won out and, afraid of losing the tune, I sat down and scribbled the notes and chords on paper.

  I hadn’t been this enthused about a piece in a long time. Every cell bubbled and burst. The race of instruments began, mingled, and peaked in my head, the melody traveling through every cell of my body before shooting out of my fingers in harmonious strain.

  Whatever else became of the evening, whatever the future held even though the past we shared was tumultuous, opposition created the most beautiful masterpieces.

  From the moment Colin entered the townhouse, the air, the mood, the scent of home became infused with his magnetic aura.

  As if one of the bright signs on Times Square had been dropped into our living quarters, its light penetrating and lightening every hall and room with enthusiastic color you couldn’t ignore. Part of me was annoyed by his charisma. Another part of me was jealous I wasn’t the same way—drawing people to me for reasons they didn’t understand.

  The following afternoon, I heard the front door shut, followed by Daddy’s charming tone, then Colin’s melted crème voice. The sound wound up the stairs, slipped under my closed door, and swirled around my body, causing a tingling sensation to sparkle from my head to my toes.

  I took one last look in the mirror. My pale skin had pinked at the sound of his voice. A grin tried to work its way onto my mouth, twisting my lips upward. Why are you reacting like this to him? The white velour workout outfit I wore only made me look paler, but I didn’t care. I wanted to soak up some sun. I grabbed my romance novel and opened my bedroom door, headed to the rooftop patio.

  Daddy’s voice and Colin’s foreign presence—invisible yet strong as a waft of seductive cologne—greeted me in the hallway. Daddy was dressed in casual khaki slacks and a designer plaid shirt in Christmas greens.

  Colin wore jeans and a light blue shirt and had a jacket tucked under his arm. His arms weren’t as hairy as Stuart’s. I disliked excess body hair on men—I’d always told Daddy so.

  “Colin’s here, Princess,” Daddy said.

  Colin’s brown eyes sparkled. “Hey, Ashlyn.”

  Daddy’s gaze gleamed with pleasure. He leaned and kissed my cheek. “Ashlyn isn’t fond of my insistence that she be protected,” he explained.

  Colin’s hands wrapped tighter around the two suitcases he held.

  “I can understand that.” He rocked back on his heels. “Don’t worry, Ash, I won’t crowd you.”

  Heat flashed to my cheeks. “Oh.” My gaze went to my feet. My brain stumbled over words when I was in Colin’s presence.

  “Ashlyn, why don’t you to show him around? Give you two a chance to get to know each other again.”

  “Uh…” I swallowed. “I was just on my way up to the patio to read.”

  “It’s cold outside.” Daddy’s gaze skimmed my clothing. “I’d appreciate it if you could show Colin the house.” In other words, stay in.

  I hardened my gaze. “Okay. But afterwards, I’m going to read on the patio.”

  “Is that Colin I hear?” Mother blustered across the hall from the her bedroom. Her Chanel running suit warmed her wrinkleless complexion to silk against her auburn hair. Her arms extended, she fastened her eyes on Colin and wrapped him in a hug.

  “Fiona. Nice to see you again.”

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Mother drew back, her hands remaining on Colin’s arms. “That color is fabulous on you, dear boy.” Her scan slowly swept him in an appraisal that left Colin shifting feet. “We might have to do a bit of clothes shopping.”

  Colin swallowed. He glanced at me as if to verify Mother’s comment. I kept my face void of confirmation.

  “Ashlyn’s going to show Colin the house.” Daddy produced a cigar, broke off the tip and held the cigar ready at his lips. “I’ll be in the library. Colin, after you’ve unpacked, come down and we’ll talk.”

  Colin nodded.

  Daddy excused himself and headed downstairs.

  “If there is anything you need, let me know.” Mother’s right hand remained glued to Colin’s bicep, her other floated expressively in the air around her as she spoke. “I’ve had the room cleaned and everything is like new. Make yourself at home.”

  Colin’s contagious smile flashed. “I will, thank you.”

  Mother’s hand slid slowly down Colin’s arm to his wrist and lingered. “And I’d be happy to have Gavin pick up a few of your staples for the kitchen. Anything you like to eat, just give me a list. All right?”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  Why a twinge of discomfort lodged in my stomach, I didn’t know. Mother had been friendly with Stuart at first, but over the years had come to practically ignore him. Colin accepted her cordial hostessing and Mother excused herself.

  Colin’s bright smile met my gaze. “So, where to from here?”

  I turned, relieved that his enigmatic aura was out of my line of vision, even if only temporarily, and led him up the next flight of stairs. Was he watching me? Examining my hair? My butt? How close was he? My nerves jangled.

  I escorted him to Stuart’s old room, which Mother had had our cleaning service scour from floor to ceiling. The room had a single dormer window that kept the space in perpetual shade, but what did he expect? He still had a nice view of Park Avenue. The room was furnished with a queen sized bed, dresser, oversized chair, and tasteful lamps. A few silk plants and a wide-screen TV made the room homey.

  I stepped inside. “This is it.”

  He crossed to the bed, and a soft clean scent breezed by me.

  He plopped the suitcases and his jacket on the mattress and went to the window, the A-frame of the dormer barely tall enough for him to stand in. “Another great view.”

  He turned, his gaze meeting mine. “This is nice.” Hands on his hips, he moved to the center of the room, surveying. “So, the other guy stayed here? What was his name, Stuart?”

  I nodded, suppressing a cringe.

  “You were glad to see him go, I take it?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The look on your face just now. You two didn’t ge
t along?”

  I took in a deep breath. “Not really.”

  His piercing gaze was so tight on my face, I had to look away.

  “Anyway, this is the room,” I said. “The bathroom is down the hall. If you’ll follow me.”

  He chuckled. I started out the door, the hair on the back of my neck standing upright because he was so very close.