Secrets in the Stone (32 page)

“Couldn’t sleep?” Adrian asked when she discovered Rooke sitting on the sofa in the living room, her chiseled profile cast in moonlight. She didn’t know what had awakened her from a dense heavy sleep, but she’d opened her eyes and was instantly on guard. Her skin tingled in warning, but when she listened for sounds of danger, she heard only deep silence. Still uneasy, she’d gotten up to search and had been drawn to Rooke, as surely as if Rooke had called her name aloud.

“Did I wake you?” Rooke said, her tone dull and flat. “I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Adrian sat down next to her, aware for the first time that Rooke wore only boxers and a sleeveless T-shirt. She felt even more exposed in a tank and panties. But she couldn’t worry about that now. “What’s wrong?”

“I had the dream again. The one with the gravestone. I was so cold, so cold, and it was so dark.”

Adrian caught her breath at the confused, almost forlorn note in Rooke’s voice. She stroked her arm to comfort her and a surge of soul-numbing cold instantly suffused her. The moonlight disappeared and the air around her became murky, as if she were underwater. Her chest constricted and when she tried to take a deep breath, nothing happened. Panic threatened to consume her, but before she succumbed, she focused all her will on the one thing she trusted more than any other. Rooke. She drew on that remembered strength and tenderness, and dragged herself free of the suffocating vision. Quickly, she knelt on the sofa and pulled Rooke into her arms, cradling Rooke’s head against her breasts.

“You’re all right, baby,” Adrian murmured, caressing Rooke’s icy cheek. “You’re all right.”

“They were touching me, touching me, and I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t get away.” Rooke shivered. “I was drowning, Adrian.”

“No. That’s not going to happen. Do you hear me?” Adrian grasped Rooke’s face between her hands and forced Rooke to look at her. “No one is going to hurt you. You’re not going to drown, baby. I promise.”

Rooke blinked and shuddered. “Jesus. What was that? Adrian?”

“Just a bad dream,” Adrian murmured, hugging Rooke tightly again. She kissed the top of her head. “Just a dream.”

“You feel so warm,” Rooke murmured. “So good.”

Adrian held her fiercely, wanting to protect her and just
wanting
her so badly she physically hurt. Now wasn’t the time to give in to that desire, not when Rooke was so vulnerable. Only two days before, Rooke had barely escaped serious injury and that, added to the stress of being suddenly immersed in a metropolis she could barely comprehend, must have her completely off balance.

“Does your head hurt, baby?” Adrian settled back on the sofa and guided Rooke’s head to her shoulder.

“No. Just tired.”

“Think you can sleep?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, why don’t we try. Come to bed with me.”

“Not a good idea,” Rooke mumbled. “Want you.”

Adrian nearly cried out when her sex seized, one forceful contraction that made her crave more. She wouldn’t be able to lie next to Rooke like this. “Me too.”

With a sigh, Rooke sat up and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry about this. I used to have nightmares about being trapped in a cold, dark place when I was really little, but then they went away. I’m not usually like this.”

“It’s okay.” Adrian took Rooke’s hand. “I’ve been having really crazy dreams myself lately. I keep dreaming of fire and… Well, let’s just say you’re not the only one dreaming of people touching you and taking you places you don’t want to go.”

Rooke kissed Adrian gently. “I think you chased my bad guys away.”

Adrian laughed, her heart so full she feared it might spill out of her chest. “I’m so glad.”

“Want to try the sleeping thing again?”

“I’ll walk you to your room.” Adrian stood and held out her hand.

When they reached the guest room, Rooke whispered, “’Night.”

“See you in the morning.”

Adrian lay awake for a long time, worrying about what demons haunted Rooke’s dreams and how she could protect her.

*

“So, I don’t know how long this is all going to take,” Rooke said, standing by the door a few minutes before ten with her jacket in her hand. Adrian had been quiet during breakfast, distracted and distant. Rooke could sense her struggling. On impulse, she handed Adrian her cell phone. “Would you program your number in here and tell me what the speed dial code is for it? I have the keypad pattern memorized, so I’ll call you if I’m going to be late.”

Adrian took the phone and some of the tension in her face disappeared. She worked through the menu on the phone and after a few minutes, handed it back to Rooke. “Seven.”

Rooke smiled. “Lucky seven.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Have Melinda give you a printed copy of your itinerary so I can see it. That way I can help you plan for the rest of the week.”

“Okay.”

“You have the copy of the contract?”

Rooke patted her jacket. “Right here. Thanks for checking on the details.”

“I’m going to be here working all day. So if you need anything…”

“I promise I’ll call.”

Adrian nodded, hesitated, then smoothed her hands over Rooke’s shoulders and kissed her. “For the record, I think you look fabulous in exactly what you’re wearing. If you looked any better, you might not be safe out in public.”

“Thanks.” Rooke hadn’t known what to expect of the day, so she’d dressed up as much as she ever did, in a black V-neck sweater, black jeans, and boots. Rooke cupped Adrian’s face and brushed her thumb over Adrian’s lower lip. “Be back soon.”

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Adrian murmured. Then she pushed her out the door before she could beg her not to go.

*

The Town Car was idling at the curb, and when Rooke climbed into the back, Melinda was waiting.

“At last.” Melinda leaned across the seat and kissed Rooke on the cheek. “How are you, Rooke love?”

“Fine. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Melinda’s eyebrow arched. “What would that be?”

“The clothes thing?”

“Oh, most definitely. What could be more enjoyable than spending the day admiring you.”

Rooke laughed. “I could think of a million things.”

Melinda ran a fingertip along the edge of Rooke’s jaw. “That’s because you haven’t the slightest idea how incredible you are.”

“You’re confusing me with my work.”

“No,” Melinda said softly. “I’m not.” She tilted Rooke’s face toward her, fixing on the Steri-strips above Rooke’s right eyebrow. “How badly were you really hurt?”

“It’s nothing.” Rooke eased free of Melinda’s grip and watched the city as the car moved slowly through traffic. She tried to pick out landmarks, hoping to get a general sense of where they were going. Being in such completely foreign territory was disorienting, and her headache was back.

First they stopped at the gallery, which was larger than she expected but also more intimate. The bilevel space was carefully lighted to create a warm, welcoming atmosphere with individual spots highlighting the eclectic array of sculptures on the podia scattered throughout the main floor. Artwork hung on the walls, illuminated by individual brass sconces. She’d never seen so many pieces in one place before, and all of them amazing.

“I’m not so sure my work measures up,” Rooke said.

“Oh. Believe me, it does.”

“Where will you put them?”

“I’ll show you the planned layout in a moment. They’re in the storeroom right now. We won’t bring them out until the week of the show.” Melinda took Rooke into a small office in the rear. Two leather chairs faced a large granite pedestal desk. Rooke sat while Melinda went behind the desk. She handed Rooke a single piece of paper. “Here’s what we have scheduled so far.”

Rooke glanced at the list, then rested the paper on her knee as Melinda reviewed the highlights. Rooke carefully memorized the dates. “So I can go home this weekend and you won’t need me again until closer to the opening.”

Melinda leaned forward and cupped her chin in her hand. “So eager to leave?”

“I told you, I have work.”

“Well, perhaps you’ll change your mind after you discover all the city has to offer.”

Silently, Rooke handed her the signed contract.

“Wonderful, then we’re official.” Melinda dropped the contract into a drawer without looking at it. After showing Rooke the floor plan for her show, Melinda rose from her desk and took Rooke’s hand. “Let’s go get you dressed.”

Melinda led Rooke back to the car where Valencia waited. When they arrived at the store, a discreet Fifth Avenue boutique, Rooke was surprised to discover that shopping meant being shown into a room appointed with plush sofas and chairs, a credenza bearing fresh coffee and pastries, and a very beautiful brunette of about forty who announced that she would be Rooke’s personal assistant. Rooke glanced at Melinda, who smiled indulgently.

“If you don’t like what Sophia brings you, just tell her and she’ll choose another selection.” Melinda gestured toward a curtained area. “The dressing room is in there…unless, of course, you prefer to change out here.”

“Melinda,” Rooke said, shaking her head.

“Mmm, I do so enjoy a challenge.”

Sophia approached with a tape measure. “If I might have your jacket, Ms. Tyler.”

Rooke handed it to her and stood self-consciously while Sophia slowly and methodically measured the width of her shoulders, the circumference of her chest, and the length of her arms. The entire time Sophia moved around her, she touched her fleetingly on her shoulder, her flank, her lower back. Valencia stood against the closed door to the room, as if on guard, and Melinda reclined on the sofa. Both of them watched intently.

Melinda appeared almost sedate in a tapered taupe skirt, matching fitted jacket, and black shell until she crossed her legs and the skirt slid upward, revealing a long expanse of creamy bare thigh. Valencia was in uniform again, although Rooke noticed that a sheer, nearly translucent shimmering pale silk shirt replaced the white broadcloth one she’d worn the day before. She wasn’t wearing a bra and the rosy hue of her hard nipples was obvious when she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over one shoulder. Rooke looked away, but not before she saw the mocking smile on Valencia’s lips. Rooke jerked when Sophia skimmed one hand down the center of her back and then reached around her waist with the measuring tape, her fingers trailing over her abdomen. When Sophia knelt and pressed the flexible tape to the inside of her leg, drawing it slowly along her inseam to her crotch, Rooke shifted uneasily.

Melinda chuckled softly and poured champagne from a standing sterling silver ice bucket into two etched crystal flutes on a low table in front of the sofa. “Relax, darling, and have some champagne. I think you’ll find this quite enjoyable.”

“No thanks,” Rooke said, even though her throat was dry.

Sophia left and returned a few minutes later with an assortment of clothes draped over her arm.

“If you’ll come with me,” Sophia said softly.

Rooke followed her into the dressing room.

“Start wherever you like.” Sophia held up a charcoal gray suit with a silk shirt that matched the subtle black pinstripe. She extended one hand but stopped just short of touching Rooke’s face. “This would look stunning with your coloring. I’ll bring you shoes. Nine?”

“Yes, thanks.” Rooke took a step back.

“Come out when you’re changed. Ms. Singer will want to see you.”

Melinda stood when Rooke emerged, her expression avid. She circled Rooke wordlessly, then ran her hands over Rooke’s shoulders and down her sides. “Something with a little more flair, I think, Sophia.”

“Very well,” Sophia said.

Rooke had never before experienced anything like this disconcertingly personal attention from strangers. She wasn’t entirely certain how long the process went on, with Sophia tending to her and Melinda studying her as if she were one of her art works, all the while running her hands over the fabrics, over her. Finally, Melinda announced that she was satisfied with the selections. By then, Rooke was feeling even more disoriented than she had during the car ride. When Melinda offered her the champagne flute, she took it without thinking. She realized for the first time she was cold, and the champagne warmed her. She accepted another glass, welcoming the way each swallow dulled the hollow ache in her stomach.

When they left the boutique, it seemed like it might be late afternoon, but she didn’t know how that could be. Her entire sense of time and place had become confusingly distorted.

“Are we done?” Rooke asked once back in the car.

“Not just yet.” Melinda ran her fingers through the errant strands of hair brushing the collar of Rooke’s shirt. “I adore the wild look, but I think a little trim will make you look even more handsome.” She flicked a button on the panel set into the partition separating them from the driver. “Valencia. Take us to Marguerite’s.”

“Yes ma’am. Should I call her to let her know we’re coming?”

“Mmm,” Melinda said as she idly stroked Rooke’s thigh. “Tell her I’m bringing someone special for her attention.”