Always in My Dreams (31 page)

Skye's voice was just a whisper now and Walker was straining to hear her. She shivered. "I was blindfolded and gagged. And with no way to see, I didn't know where his touch would come next. In my room the other night, it was like that again. I don't know reality from the memory anymore. I don't understand about the touching, but it seems different with you." With visible effort she drew herself out of her reverie. She wondered if she should have told Walker at all.

Walker correctly read the question in her eyes. "You should have told me about it before now." But even he didn't know when would have been a good time. To hide some of his confusion and work off some of his anger, Walker got up and stirred the flames. After he had added more firewood, he went to the armoire and took out Skye's nightgown. He handed it to her, then went about preparing for bed himself. "I would have understood your fear better." At least, he hoped he would have. It wouldn't have stopped him from wanting her. Or probably from taking her. But he would have liked to have known. "I can understand an intruder better than a ghost."

Skye shrugged into her nightgown, and as she had the night before, removed her clothes from under cover of it.

Walker noted her actions and smiled to himself. It was a bit like closing the stable door after the horses were out, but he didn't raise the issue. Skye wasn't looking too pleased by his comment about the ghost. He turned back the lamp and picked up the fallen covers, snapping them smartly across the bed. Skye helped make the bed from inside it, tucking the covers between the mattress and frame. When they were finished, she raised one corner and invited Walker to slip between the blankets and sheet. She lay on her back while he rolled on his side and raised himself up on one elbow.

Firelight touched her profile. He wanted to run his index finger along the bridge of her nose, pass it lightly across her lips. He refrained. "Tell me about the intruder," he said instead.

"There's not much to tell."

"You said he broke into your home. Where was that?"

Skye hadn't realized she'd made that slip. She rectified it now. "I meant the Marshalls. That was my home then."

Walker simply accepted the information. "How did you happen to run into him? Or did he run into you?"

"I ran into him," she said. "It was after midnight. I heard a noise and went to investigate."

Walker had no difficulty believing that. "It didn't occur to you to wake someone?"

"No," she said simply. "It didn't occur to me. It could have been anything."

Walker could hear the edge of anger in her voice. She didn't like defending herself to him. He brushed a lock of hair from her temple with his knuckle. "But it wasn't anything," he said. "I don't like to think I might never have met you." She glanced sideways at him, passing judgment on his sincerity. When he saw that she was guarded but somewhat mollified, he asked, "How did you get away?"

"He let me go. He never found what he was looking for there. I think he decided it would be in my—in Mr. Marshall's offices."

"Then he wasn't looking to steal the silver or Mrs. Marshall's jewelry."

"Heavens, no. He was rifling through Mr. Marshall's desk when I came around. I could hear him going through the papers."

A muscle worked in Walker's jaw. "When you came around?" he repeated.

She nodded. "There was a struggle initially. Not much of one, though. He got the knife almost immediately, and when he clamped a hand over my mouth, I just couldn't breathe. I wasn't smart enough then to pretend to faint, like I did today with Parnell. That night I actually fainted."

Walker leaned over her. "Knife?" he asked.

"You don't think I'd go to investigate a noise empty-handed," she said. "It could have been anything."

He shook his head and silently gave thanks to her overworked, underappreciated guardian angel. "You used that same argument to explain why you hadn't wakened anyone," he told her drily. "I don't think you can use it twice."

A slight smile hovered on her lips. "Is that a rule?"

He remembered she liked the kissing, and he very much wanted to do it. Walker pressed his mouth to hers and let it linger just a fraction too long to be a peck. "It should be," he said. He wanted to hear more of her story. "What happened when he let you go?"

"He only untied my hands. I suppose I should have pulled the blindfold off or taken away the gag to scream, but I wasn't thinking about either of those things. All I could think about was wanting to hurt him for taking those liberties with me. I drew back my hand and slapped his face. I don't think he was expecting it, because I found my mark."

Walker heard the satisfaction in her voice. "I could teach you to do a little more damage with the flat of your hand," he said, "than simply deliver a slap."

Skye remembered the blows he had struck to the men in the park and how he had disarmed Parnell. "You'd teach me that?" she asked.

He nodded.

"When?"

The question caught him off guard. "Someday."

She turned her head a little toward him, wondering if he meant it. It didn't matter. Skye had sworn to herself she wouldn't ask for anything beyond the hours they had remaining. His agreement to teach her "some day" held the promise of a future, or perhaps it meant nothing at all. "I'd like to learn," was what she said.

He imagined her completing Tai-Chi's Great Circle. She would be graceful, every gesture flowing into the next, her body lithe and supple. In the beginning she would want to rush the movements, hurrying to Touch the South Wind or Take the Blossom. She would have to cultivate patience and let her spirit flow in harmony with her surroundings, rather than in opposition to it. And in the end, she would be the stronger for it. "Someday," he said again.

Walker's hand rested lightly on her shoulder. His thumb massaged the curve of her arm. "Did the intruder ever come back?" he asked.

She wished he would kiss her again. "Not that I know of," she said. "Not while I was there."

"Did it have something to do with why you left the Marshalls'?"

"Some," she said. Her mouth flattened a little and signaled her refusal to answer more questions. It wasn't fair, she thought, that he was able to ask so many and she could barely get one in edgewise. "What time do I leave tomorrow?"

"The train leaves at ten. That's something else I did in Baileyboro today." When she looked at him questioningly, he explained, "Purchased your ticket." He didn't add that he had bought a fare for himself. Her seat was with the other passengers. He had had to make special arrangements to ride in the mail car. He couldn't risk her moving through the cars and running into him.

"Then I owe you some money," she said.

"No. Parnell paid for it."

Under the circumstances, it was the very least he could have done, Skye thought. She was silent, considering what her father would say when she arrived on the doorstep. He would be pleased about the engine, of course, and probably surprised that she had accomplished the thing so swiftly. He would be disappointed that she didn't have it with her and perhaps even a little frustrated that her success had not been at the price of sheer boredom. She sighed. There was no predicting Jay Mac's response. When he discovered she was not returning to school, he was likely to consider his grand scheme one of his few personal failures. He wouldn't thank her for that.

Walker watched the play of emotions on Skye's face. "What is it?" he asked, wondering at her troubled expression.

"Hmm?"

He repeated his question.

"Just thinking," she said, shrugging a little. "Just because you have lived in my pockets doesn't mean I will let you live in my thoughts."

He knew what she meant, but there was a deeper meaning to her words that she wasn't denying, either. It was as if she was planning intentionally to wipe him from her memory. Was he so forgettable, or would she have to work at it?

Walker's fingers shifted from the curve of her arm to her collarbone. Tugging at the fabric of her gown, he was able to pull it aside to sweep his fingertips along her bare skin. He felt her small shiver and recognized it wasn't one of pleasure. "Does this bother you?" he asked.

It did. "A little," she said.

Walker's fingers stopped their light trailing across her skin. Twisting away he lighted the lamp at their bedside. When he returned he laid the back of his hand against her cheek. His caress was soft, barely a touch at all, and he watched Skye's reaction. She turned into him like a kitten. He didn't have to ask if the light made it better for her. His answer came in the way she responded to his touch.

His knuckles brushed the line of her jaw, the underside of her chin, and dipped to the base of her throat. He bent his head, his mouth hovering just above hers, but when he kissed her, it wasn't on the lips. She made a small sound of distress and desire as he ducked his head and touched her neck with his mouth, just below her ear. The heady fragrance of her hair mixed with the fragrance of her skin.

His lips trailed along her throat, rested in the curve, and sipped gently, tasting and teasing. Her fingers moved restlessly through his hair, hesitating only once as his attention shifted lower.

At the open collar of her nightgown, Walker tracked kisses between her breasts. He didn't work the gown off her shoulders to kiss her breasts. When his mouth closed over her nipple, it was through the fabric, his tongue laving a damp circle over the rose tip and the material causing its own unique sensation of pleasure against her skin. She moved restlessly under him, impatient for the suck of his mouth on her other breast. Her fingers curled harder in his hair and her breath caught when his lips closed over the distended rosebud.

The bedclothes tangled in their legs again and were pushed aside. She rubbed her leg along the length of his and he laid his hands on her hips, raising her nightgown while his mouth moved to the underside of her breast. He paused there briefly, then moved lower still, trailing down across her abdomen, making a small indentation in the fabric of her gown at her navel. Her flat belly contracted in anticipation of his touch. Her fingers drifted from his hair to her sides and caught the sheet beneath her, twisting it hard when he laid his mouth on the soft, sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

He raised his head as he felt sensation jolt her. "Open for me, Skye." She was tense and tight and not sure she wanted him to do this thing to her. Watching her, gauging her reaction, he stroked her thigh with soft, sweet insistence. "Open for me," he said again. He raised himself up and kissed her breast, then her throat. His hand slipped between her thighs as his mouth brushed her lips. "Open."

Her mouth parted and she accepted his kiss. Her legs parted and she accepted the caress of his fingers. And later she accepted the caress of his mouth, the stroking of his tongue, and the pleasure that came with this new intimacy.

He held her while she shuddered in his arms, liking the flush that stole across her skin and the dark, sleepy arousal that widened the centers of her eyes. When she was aware that he was staring at her, she turned away and pushed down her nightgown, embarrassed by her abandon, a bit shamed that she had let him do the things he had. He touched her chin and drew her face back to him. "You didn't do anything wrong," he said, lifting the blankets over them.

The expression in her green eyes was anxious. She worried her lower lip wondering how to explain it to him. "I'm not certain I should enjoy it quite so much," she finally blurted out. "And I have no idea what to call it."

He blinked. After a moment, repressed laughter became a pressure in his chest and a wide, wicked smile deepened his single dimple. He kissed her hard on the mouth. "It's part of making love, and you can call it that." He laid his mouth near her ear. "Or you can call it this." He whispered in her ear, then raised his head to watch her expression. She was screwing up her face with a charming lack of guile.

"I can't say I like the sound of that," she said.

"I didn't think you would," he said gravely. "I simply offered it as an alternative."

Skye knew he was laughing at her, but she found she didn't mind. She had never taken herself quite so seriously as Mary Michael or Mary Renee. She was also more likely to see the humor in everyday situations than either Mary Margaret or Mary Francis.

"What are you thinking?"

Skye wondered why he asked. Then she realized she was smiling. "About my sisters," she said.

"Sisters," he repeated. "Perhaps I should be worried about your brothers. Do you have any of those?"

"No. And that's the last thing I'm telling you." She snuggled against him, curving her body to his. "Besides, you should be
very
worried about what the Marys will do to you." She brought his arm around her waist and held it there. Skye closed her eyes.

The Marys. He wondered what she meant by that.

* * *

In the morning, Walker left Skye alone while she prepared to leave. Annie brought her breakfast, but most of it remained uneaten on the tray. The ache in Skye's throat made it difficult to swallow, and the knot in her stomach, like a fist clenched around her middle, made her think she couldn't have held food down anyway.

No one else came to see her, not that Skye expected it. She was rather surprised Walker had entrusted Annie with the key to their room. She doubted he was going to give it to anyone else.