"Go on, get into your car. I'll follow you out to Aunt Martha's."
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do."
She shrugged. "Okay."
"And don't worry; I'm not staying. I actually have something of a promise to fulfill this evening."
"Oh? Anything I should know about?" she asked. A tickle of jealousy found root in her heart. Was she falling for something incredibly stupid right now? Was his appointment with Sara, or even the blatantly head-over-heels Gayle Sawyer?
"A promise—and an investigation," he said, grimacing ruefully.
"What are you talking about?"
"I saw the kids earlier this evening, and they were alarmed by something they found old Fallon doing."
"Really? What?"
"Cooking up spells in a pot, or something like that Anyway, I intend to snoop around the house during the wee hours."
"Finn… should you be doing that?"
"Definitely. What if the old fellow does think that he can cook up some evil for Halloween? He could be dangerous, and there are those two children in the house."
"Finn, you've got to be careful," she warned uneasily. "Fallon doesn't like you to begin with."
"Guess what? I'm not so fond of him."
"But still…"
"Don't worry about it. If I come across him doing anything weird, I'll simply ask him what he's up to.
Maybe he has some perfectly rational explanation for whatever it is."
"Why didn't the kids go to their parents?"
"They did."
"And?"
"They're kids—they got in trouble for sneaking around at night."
Megan hesitated. "Maybe I should go back with you. You're kind of like a big kid sometimes. I may have to keep you out of trouble."
He shook his head, observing her gravely. "Megan, you haven't even told me what I did—or supposedly did."
"Finn, there was no supposed. You nearly strangled me. You woke in the night like a sex-starved ex-con, and then… at the end… nearly strangled me."
He stared back at her, spine rigid, jaw hard, eyes almost as shadowy as the strange blue fog that too often came at night.
"There are no bruises on your neck, Megan," he said coldly.
"Finn, I may be the one who wakes up screaming, but you're having some mean dreams, too. I think. I can't figure out what else could make you behave so bizarrely in your sleep."
"Megan, perhaps it was your dream."
"No… Finn, I was really terrified of you!"
"As I said, there are no bruises on your neck."
"Finn—"
"Megan, it's all right. I'll follow you back to Martha's, see that you get there safely."
She lowered her head. "All right. Thanks," she murmured softly.
He walked with her to Martha's car, where she determined to drive him to his. When they reached it, she told him miserably, "The oddest thing is, it's sleeping together that's so scary."
"Well, that's great to hear," he said dryly.
She laughed. "I didn't say sex itself. Just sleeping together."
"But it's sex when we're sleeping together," he said.
"We could meet in the afternoon," she said lightly. To her surprise and dismay, he didn't reply right away, but stared out the front window. And as she watched him, she was dismayed by the sudden surge of arousal that raced through her just because he was there. She was far too accustomed to him being hers, knowing the scent of him, the strengths of his profile, the look and feel of his hands, the length of him, flesh and sinew, even the way that he breathed…
"I'm going to see some folks tomorrow."
"Oh? Who?"
"The people who gave us that great review and got us national coverage. They're from New Orleans you know, but they're on their way up here for Halloween, covering more of the goings-on. Anyway, we're going to meet for coffee."
"Don't you want me to come?"
"You'll see them tomorrow night, I imagine. They're going to stick around a while."
No, he didn't want her to come!
"How curious," she said, studying him.
"Why?"
"Did they get in touch with you somehow?"
"Um, no. I called them."
"You did? Why?"
"Remember the book I accidentally lifted from Morwenna's shop? I still have to pay her for that, come to think of it. Anyway, there was a number in back of the book. I called it—"
"Whatever made you do that?"
"I wanted to say thanks."
Megan wondered if he had hesitated a split second before answering.
"Thanks?"
"National coverage, Megan. Remember?"
"Yes, of course. And naturally, I'd like to thank them as well."
"They're going to be around," he repeated, then exited the car. She felt completely rebuffed, frustrated, and uneasy.
But he paused before shutting the door.
"I love you, Megan," he said softly. "Don't ever doubt that."
The door closed. He walked over, and she heard the sound of the ignition catching in his car. She headed out of the parking lot.
A few minutes later, they reached Martha's. Megan parked the car, and Finn did the same. He came up behind her, saying, "I'll walk you to the door."
Martha had left the porch light on for her. It cast a glow of illumination well across the yard, but Finn was frowning.
"What's the matter?"
"There's nothing but woods behind this place," Finn said.
"A lot of New England is woods," she reminded him.
"She should have a big German shepherd, or a Rottweiler. "
Megan smiled. "We're not that far! Aunt Martha has neighbors—and you know yourself, the hotel is actually not far from here, either."
He nodded. She touched his arm. They were both getting ridiculously paranoid. "Do you want to come in
—check in the closets?" she asked softly, half teasing, half not.
He cocked his head, considering his reply. "I'll come in for a minute."
Ever considerate, Martha had left the kitchen light on as well. They walked through the shadows of the foyer and parlor where Finn hesitated. "Don't stay here," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"I think… it's the woods," he murmured.
She studied him. "Finn, it's Aunt Martha's house. Apple pie and the American flag."
"I don't… I don't know why, but something is bothering me. I think that I really don't like the fact that we're off the beaten track." He lifted his hands. "And there isn't even a great big dog. Or an alarm system."
"Because nothing happens here," she said. "Come in the kitchen. I'll make tea."
She walked through to the kitchen, aware that he was following her. There were early-American bar stools at an island counter. "Sit," she told him. When he did so, she filled the kettle and set it on the stove, then reached up into a cabinet for the tea bags.
"I don't want to wake Martha," he said quietly.
"We won't wake her. Her room is upstairs, on the other side of the house." She laughed softly and suddenly. "Finn! Look at this."
"What?"
Megan swept out a hand, indicating two mugs on the counter beneath the cabinet where she'd been rummaging. There was a note in front. Megan picked it up and read, "Just in case Finn sees you home.
Two very special hot chocolates. Add boiling water—and a touch of milk if you like."
"Bless the sweet old bird," Finn said.
The kettle began to whistle, and Megan filled the mugs with the water.
She started to walk by him to the refrigerator. He caught her arm as she walked by, spinning her back to him.
"And where is your room?"
"What?"
"Your room. Martha's is upstairs, and yours is… where?"
"This landing. Right behind the kitchen."
"Far away from Martha's, huh?"
She nodded gravely.
"Is there a fireplace?"
"There is."
"Hot chocolate in front of a fireplace. Doesn't that sound deliriously…"
She waited for him to go on, certain that he intended to say "sexy," or "sensual."
"Normal?" Finn murmured huskily.
"Normal?" she repeated. "Yes… let me put a little milk in them, cool them down. The bedroom is right through there. I guess it was originally a maid's room, or maybe even a pantry. It's charming, though."
"Good."
Megan put milk into the cups; Finn picked them up and indicated that Megan should open the door. She did so, turning on the light.
The room was old-fashioned and as charming as the rest of the house. The bed was a four-poster, the decor was in red, white, and blue, very New England, completely patriotic. The dresser, stand-up mirror, and night tables were the same heavy carved oak as the four-poster.
She watched as Finn set the cups down on the dresser and walked over to the fireplace. Modern day logs, purchased at the local Wal-Mart, were in a stack by the hearth, and Finn quickly set to creating a low blaze. Megan watched him as he did so. He was still so bronze, agile, sinuous in his movements. She found her breath catching, and she had to force herself to remember how he had looked that morning, red-eyed, fierce, the wiry power within his back and shoulders culminating in his hands, long musician's fingers filled with violence as they fell upon her…
Or had it been a dream?
Right now, she wanted it to be a dream. He glanced up at her, a lock of dark hair falling over a green eye, the bronze of his features exceptionally appealing as he grinned. "She buys good logs! Nice place.