Now she saw that the house was small, and in need of a paint job. She smiled, thinking that she could take care of that little chore while she was here. The grass was knee-high, and the swing, hanging from a thick branch of the huge oak, had come down on one side. Thea steeled herself and quickly glanced in the direction of the lake. The dock was in need of repair, too, and she tried to concentrate on that, but the expanse of blue water stretching out beyond the dock brought a sheen of sweat to her forehead. Nausea roiled in her stomach and she swallowed convulsively as she jerked her gaze back to the house and concentrated instead on the peeling paint of the front porch.
Last night, he had killed her. The expression in those aquamarine eyes had been calm and terrifyingly remote as he held her beneath the cool lake water, his arms like steel as her panicked struggles decreased in strength, until her tortured lungs had given up their last precious bit of oxygen and she had inhaled her own death.
She had awakened in the early dawn, sweating and trembling, and known that she couldn’t go on like this much longer without having a nervous breakdown. She had gotten up, put on a pot of coffee, and spent the next several hours overloading on caffeine while she made her plans. She had no work going on right now, so mapping out free time for herself was easy. It probably wasn’t smart, since summer was when she made the bulk of her income, but it was easy. At an hour when she could reasonably expect her parents to be awake, she’d called and asked their permission to spend a couple of weeks at the lake. As she had expected, they were delighted that she was finally going to take a vacation. Thea’s brothers and their families regularly made use of the summer house, but for one reason or another, Thea hadn’t been back to the lake since she was eighteen. Eleven years was a long time, but life had somehow gotten in the way. First there had been college and the need to work in the summer to finance it, then a couple of boring jobs in her chosen field that told her she had chosen the wrong field.
She had stumbled onto her career as a house-painter by accident, when she had been out of a job and desperate for anything that would bring in some money. To her surprise, despite the hot, hard work, she had liked painting houses. As time went on, more and more jobs came her way. During the winters she got some inside jobs, but she usually worked like a fiend during the summers, and simply hadn’t been able to get away to join the family at any of their outings to the lake.
“But what about your birthday?” her mother asked, suddenly remembering the upcoming event. “Aren’t you going to be here?”
Thea hesitated. Her family was big on birthdays. Now that her brothers were married and had children, with their wives and kids thrown into the mix, there wasn’t a single month in the year when someone’s birthday wasn’t being celebrated. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I’m tired, Mom. I really need a rest.” That wasn’t why she wanted to go to the lake, but neither was it a lie. She hadn’t slept well for almost a month, and fatigue was pulling at her. “How would a delayed party sit with you?”
“Well, I suppose that would be okay,” her mother said doubtfully. “I’ll have to let the boys know.”
“Yeah, I’d hate for them to pull a birthday prank on the wrong day,” Thea replied in a dry tone. “If they’ve already ordered a load of chicken manure to be delivered to me, they’ll just have to hold it for a few days.”
Her mother chuckled. “They’ve never gone quite that far.”
“Only because they know I’d do something twice as bad to them.”
“Have fun up at the lake, honey, but be careful. I don’t know if I like the idea of you being there all alone.”
“I’ll be careful,” Thea promised. “Are there any supplies in the house?”
“I think there are a few cans of soup in the pantry, but that’s about it. Check in when you get there, okay?”
“Check in” was code for what her father called Pick Up The Phone And Let Your Mother Know You’re ALL Right So She Won’t Call Missing Persons. Mrs. Marlow normally let her children get on with their lives, but when she said “check in” they all knew that she was a little anxious.
“I’ll call as soon as I get to the grocery store.”
Thea had kept her promise, calling in as soon as she arrived at the small grocery store where they’d always bought their supplies for the summer house. Now she sat in her car in front of the house, frozen with fear at the nearness of the lake, while bags of perishables slowly thawed in the backseat.
She forced herself to breathe deeply, beating down the fear. All right, so she couldn’t look at the water. She would keep her eyes averted as she unloaded the car.
The screen door creaked as she opened it, a familiar sound that eased the strain in her expression. The screened front porch ran all the way across the front of the house, and in her childhood had been occupied by a collection of mismatched Adirondack, wicker, and lawn chairs. Her mother had often sat on the porch for hours, sewing or reading, and keeping an eye on Thea and the boys as they frolicked in the lake. The porch was bare now; the Adirondacks and wickers were long gone, and she’d heard her mother say that the lawn chairs were stored in the shed out back. Thea didn’t know if she would bother to get them out; she certainly wouldn’t be looking at the lake if she could help it.
No, that wasn’t true. She had come up here to face the fear the dreams had caused. If that meant forcing herself to stare at the water for hours, then that’s what she would do. She wouldn’t let this nighttime madness rob her of a lifetime of enjoyment.
When she unlocked the front door, the heat and mustiness of a closed house hit her in the face. She wrinkled her nose and plunged inside, unlocking and opening every window to let in fresh air. By the time she had carried in the groceries and stored the perishables in the refrigerator, the light breeze had gone a long way toward sweetening the air.
Out of habit, Thea started to put her clothes in the same bedroom she’d always used, but halted as soon as she opened the door. Her old iron-frame bed had been replaced by two twin beds. The room was much tinier than she remembered. A slight frown knit her brow as she looked around. The bare wood floors were the same, but the walls were painted a different color now, and blinds covered the window, rather than the ruffled curtains she’d preferred as a young girl.
The boys’ room had always had twin beds—three of them, in fact—and she checked inside to see if that still held true. It did, though the number of beds had dwindled to two. Thea sighed. She would have liked to sleep in her old room, but probably her parents’ room was the only one with a double bed, and she knew she’d appreciate the comfort even more. She had a queen-size bed in her apartment.
She felt like Goldilocks as she opened the door to the third bedroom, and she burst out laughing. Sure enough, here was the bed that was just right. The double bed was no more. In its place was a king-size bed that took up the majority of the floor space, leaving only enough room on either side to maneuver while making up the bed. A long double dresser occupied most of the remaining space. She would have to be careful about stubbing her toes in here, but she would definitely sleep in comfort.
As she hung her clothes in the closet, she heard the unmistakable creak of the screen door, heavy footsteps on the porch, and then two short, hard knocks on the frame of the open front door. Startled, Thea stood very still. A cold knot of fear began to form in her stomach. She had no idea who could be at the door. She had never been afraid here before—the crime rate was so low that it was almost nonexistent—but abruptly she was terrified. What if a vagrant had watched her unload the car, and knew she was here alone? She had already checked in with her mother, to let her know she’d arrived safely, so no one would expect to hear from her for another week or so. She’d told her mother that she intended to stay about two weeks. She could be murdered or kidnapped, and it might be two weeks or longer before anyone knew she was missing.
There were other houses on the lake, of course, but none within sight. The closest one, a rental, was about half a mil
e away, hidden behind a finger of land that jutted into the lake. Sammy What’s-his-name’s family had rented it that summer when she was fourteen, she remembered. Who knew who was renting it now, or if someone hadn’t bothered with renting and had simply broken in.
She hadn’t heard another car or a boat, so that meant whoever was on the porch had walked. Only the rental house was within realistic walking distance. That meant he was a stranger, rather than someone belonging to the families they had met here every summer.
Her imagination had run away with her, she thought, but she couldn’t control her rapid, shallow breathing, or the hard pounding of her heartbeat. All she could do was stand there in the bedroom, like a small animal paralyzed by the approach of a predator.
The front door was open. There was another screen door there, but it wasn’t latched. There was nothing to stop him, whoever he was, from simply walking in.
If she was in danger, then she was trapped. She had no weapon, other than one of the kitchen knives, but she couldn’t get to them without being seen. She cast an agonized glance at the window. What were her chances of getting it open and climbing out without being heard? Given the silence in the house, she realized, not very good.
That hard double knock sounded again. At least he was still on the porch.
Maybe she was crazy. How did she know it was even a man? By the heaviness of the footsteps? Maybe it was just a large woman.
No. It was a man. She was certain of it. Even his knocks had sounded masculine, too hard to have been made by a woman’s softer hand.
“Hello? Is anyone home?”
Thea shuddered as the deep voice reverberated through the house, through her very bones. It was definitely a man’s voice, and it sounded oddly familiar, even though she knew she’d never heard it before.
My God, she suddenly thought, disgusted with herself. What was wrong with her? If the man on the porch meant her any harm, cowering here in the bedroom wouldn’t do her any good. And besides, a criminal would simply open the door and come on in, would already have done so. This was probably a perfectly nice man who was out for a walk and had seen a new neighbor arrive. Maybe he hadn’t seen her at all, but noticed the car in the driveway. She was maiding a fool out of herself with these stupid suspicions, this panic.
Still, logic could only go so far in calming her fears. It took a lot of self-control to straighten her shoulders and forcibly regulate her breathing, and even more to force her feet to move toward the bedroom door. She stopped once more, still just out of sight, to get an even firmer grip on her courage. Then she stepped out of the bedroom into the living room, and into the view of the man on the porch.
She looked at the open door, and her heart almost failed her. He was silhouetted against the bright light beyond and she couldn’t make out his features, but he was big. Six-three, at least, with shoulders that filled the doorframe. It was only her imagination, it had to be, but there seemed to be an indefinable tension in the set of those shoulders, something at once wary and menacing.
There was no way she could make herself go any closer. If he made a move to open the screen, she would bolt for the back door in the kitchen. Her purse was in the bedroom behind her and she wouldn’t be able to grab it, but her car keys were in her jeans pocket, so she should be able to dive into the car and lock the doors before he could reach her, then drive for help.
She cleared her throat. “Yes?” she managed to say. “May I help you?” Despite her effort, her voice came out low and husky. To her dismay, she sounded almost … inviting. Maybe that was better than terrified, but she was doubtful. Which was more likely to trigger an approach by a predator, fear or a perceived sexual invitation?
Stop it! she fiercely told herself. Her visitor hadn’t said or done anything to warrant this kind of paranoia.
“I’m Richard Chance,” the man said, his deep voice once again sinking through her skin, going all the way to her bones. “I’m renting the house next door for the summer. I saw your car in the driveway and stopped by to introduce myself.”
Relief was almost as debilitating as terror, Thea realized as her muscles loosened and threatened to collapse altogether. She reached out an unsteady hand to brace herself against the wall.
“I—I’m glad to meet you. I’m Thea Marlow.”
“Thea,” he repeated softly. There was a subtle sensuality in the way he formed her name, almost as if he were tasting it. “Glad to meet you, Thea Marlow. I know you’re probably still unpacking, so I won’t keep you. See you tomorrow.”
He turned to go, and Thea took a hasty step toward the door, then another. By the time he reached out to open the screen, she was at the doorway. “How do you know I’m still unpacking?” she blurted, tensing again.
He paused, though he didn’t turn around. “Well, I take a long walk in the mornings, and your car wasn’t here this morning. When I touched your car hood just now, it was still warm, so you haven’t been here long. It was a reasonable assumption.”
It was. Reasonable, logical. But why had he checked her car hood to see how hot it was? Suspicion kept her silent.
Then, slowly, he turned to face her. The bright sunlight glinted on the glossy darkness of his hair, thick and as lustrous as a mink’s pelt, and clearly revealed every strong line of his face. His eyes met hers through the fine mesh of the screens, and a slow, unreadable smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “See you tomorrow, Thea Marlow.”
Motionless again, Thea watched him walk away. Blood drained from her head and she thought she might faint. There was a buzzing in her ears, and her lips felt numb. Darkness began edging into her field of vision and she realized that she really was going to faint. Clumsily she dropped to her hands and knees and let her head hang forward until the dizziness began to fade.
My God. It was him!
There was no mistaking it. Though she’d never seen his face in her dreams, she recognized him. When he had turned to face her and those vivid aquamarine eyes had glinted at her, every cell in her body had tingled in recognition.
Richard Chance was the man in her dreams.
3
Thea was so shaken that she actually began loading all of her stuff back into the car, ready to flee back to White Plains and the dubious safety of her own apartment. In the end, though still trembling with reaction, she returned her supplies and clothes to the house and then resorted to her own time-honored remedy of coffee. What good would going home do? The problem was the dreams, which had her so on edge that she had panicked when a neighbor came to call and then had immediately decided, on the basis of his vivid eye color, that he was the man in her dreams.
Okay, time for a reality check, she sternly told herself as she nursed her third cup of coffee. She had never been able to see Marcus-Neill-Duncan’s face, because of the damn mist that always seemed to be between them. All she had been able to tell was that he had long, dark hair and aquamarine eyes. On the other hand, she knew his smell, his touch, every inch of his muscled body, the power with which he made love. What was she supposed to do, ask Richard Chance to strip down so she could inspect him for similarities?
A lot of people in the world had dark hair; most of them, as a matter of fact. A lot of dark-haired men had vivid eyes. It was merely chance that she had happened to meet Richard Chance at a time when she wasn’t exactly logical on the subject of eye color. She winced at the play on words, and got up to pour her fourth cup of coffee.
She had come here with a purpose. She refused to let a dream, no matter how disturbing and realistic, destroy her enjoyment of something she had always loved. It wasn’t just this new fear of water that she hated, but what the dreams were doing to her memories of the summers of her childhood. Losing that joy would be like losing the center of her being. Damn it, she would learn to love the water again. Maybe she couldn’t look at the lake just yet, but by the time she left here, she swore, she would be swimming in it again. She couldn’t let her stupid paranoia about Richard Chance frighten her away.
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It didn’t mean anything that he had said her name as if savoring it. Actually, it did mean something, but that something was connected to his sexual organs rather than to her dreams. Thea knew she wasn’t a raving beauty, but neither was she blind to her attractiveness to men. She was often dissatisfied with her mop of thick, curly, chestnut hair, despairing of ever taming it into any discernible style, but men, for reasons of their own, liked it. Her eyes were green, her features even and clean-cut, and the rigors of her job kept her lean and in shape. Now that her nerves were settling down, she realized that the gleam in those memorable eyes had been interested rather than threatening.
That could be difficult, considering that she had come up here to work through some problems rather than indulge in a summer fling with a new neighbor. She wasn’t in the mood for romance, even of the casual, two-week variety. She would be cool and uninterested in any invitations he might extend, he would get the hint, and that would be that.
“COME.”
She turned, and saw him standing under the willow tree, his hand outstretched. She didn’t want to go to him, every instinct shouted for her to run, but the compulsion to obey was a terrible need inside her, an ache and a hunger that he could satisfy.
“Come,” he said again, and her unwilling feet began moving her across the cool, dewy grass. Her white nightdress swirled around her legs, and she felt her nakedness beneath the thin fabric. No matter how many layers of clothing covered her, he always made her feel unclothed and vulnerable. She knew she shouldn’t be out here alone, especially with him, but she couldn’t make herself go back inside. She knew he was a dangerous man, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was being with him; the propriety that had ruled her life suddenly meant less to her than did the wet grass beneath her bare feet.
When she reached him, they stood facing each other like adversaries, neither moving nor speaking for a long moment that stretched out until she thought she would scream from the tension of it. Like the predator he was, he had been stalking her for weeks, and now he sensed, with unerring instinct, that she was within his grasp. He put his hand on her arm, his touch burning with vitality, and a smile lightly touched his hard mouth as he felt her betraying quiver. “Do you think I will hurt you?” he asked, his amusement evident.