Devour Me. Lydia Parks
ahead, which gave the illusion of his eyes following Star as she moved closer. She read the inscription at the base of the painting: Captain Benjamin J. Bartlett. So was this the man whose log book lay open on the desk? He had wild black hair that brushed his shoulders, black eyes, and dark, heavy eyebrows. The only thing delicate about his face was his mouth. He looked so much like the current owner of the house that he had to be an ancestor. Obviously Benjamin had even been named for him. Both Benjamins looked like someone you wouldn’t want to piss off. Or, if you did, you wouldn’t want to turn your back on either of them.
A small flame of jealousy flared in Star’s chest. What could it possibly be like to know exactly where you came from? And not just who your parents were, but your family back dozens of generations. It must be wonderfully stabilizing and comforting.
If the log book date really was 1691, the two Benjamins had been born about three hundred years apart. Was this house that old? She glanced around for some clue, but found nothing obvious.
The only light in the room came from above the narrow staircase. Star climbed it and found that it opened into one of the towers she’d seen from outside.
The tower room, about ten feet wide and round, had windows on three sides facing the inland forest. Trees displayed spectacular fall colors that danced in a breeze, and she saw no signs of another house anywhere. Far below to her left, she spotted the van, barely visible between tree branches.
The back of the room held a small, wooden door that opened to the roof of the house. A narrow walkway with a handrail on one side connected this tower to the one in front.
After testing the doorknob to be sure she could get back in, she started down the walkway. Although the roof was fairly wide at this point, the height still made her heart race and tightened her grip on the railing.
As soon as she made it to the front tower and stepped inside, she relaxed and enjoyed the unbelievable view. The smaller tower room had thick glass all the way around that reached almost from ceiling to floor, reminding her of a lighthouse without the light. She pulled one of two wooden chairs from the edge to the middle of the space, sat, and soaked it all in.
In front of her was the ocean. Waves crested in whitecaps and surfed into the shore. The sky, perfectly blue, stretched forever, drawing her imagination toward it. She pictured windswept islands and European castles defending the far shore.
Closer in, she could see a hint of the bar they’d driven past the night before, and the road appeared as dark spots among the trees. Birds flew past, some even below her, and a few chirped at the unfamiliar observer.
She’d never been in such a perfect spot, and found herself relishing the beauty and peace. All memories of Atlanta, her asshole boyfriend, Jones, and long hours at the Kitty Klub mixing drinks for horny old men slipped away. For the first time, she truly felt as if she were starting over. This was it, day one.
Smiling, she watched a large wave make its way inland, crashing against the shore somewhere out of her vision.
She should be able to see or hear Wendy and the guys coming back up the street, or any sign of Benjamin returning. Stretching her legs and crossing her feet, she leaned back and folded her arms across her chest.
As she watched, clouds grew on the horizon, broke loose, and blew by. The sky brightened to spectacular shades of orange, red, and yellow, and then darkened as the sun set behind her.
With a start, she realized she must have been sitting in the tower for hours.
Moving the chair back to the edge of the room, she turned and hurried along the walkway in the dusky light to the back tower, and eased the door shut behind her.
Wendy and the guys must have gotten past her. They had to be back by now. They could have gone halfway to Boston and still had time to return. Hopefully, they’d fixed the van and were waiting on her.
She descended the narrow staircase and started toward the door to the hallway when movement caught her eye.
Benjamin rose in front of the fireplace and spun to face her. The fire he’d just lit sparkled and spattered behind him. He looked ferocious with his hands balled into fists at his sides.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
4
Star stood frozen in place as if she’d stepped in Super Glue. She couldn’t have moved if the house had been burning down around her.
Fighting a suddenly dry mouth, she managed to get out, “I, uh, didn’t mean any harm.”
He took a step toward her, filling more space than he should. The top of his head seemed less than an inch from the ceiling. “You were told to stay on the first floor, were you not?”
Anger swelled inside her, bursting her bubble of terror. She dropped one fist to a hip and purposely slid her gaze around the room. “Yeah, I was told.”
“And do you always have difficulty following orders?”
She shrugged and cut her gaze up to his. “Most of the time.”
He stared at her for several long minutes, but didn’t make a move forward.
“I was just looking around,” she said. “That’s all.”
“Get out.” He pointed toward the door.
Anger flamed into rage. If he thought she was going to take off running because he was a big bad-ass with a deep voice, he was wrong. She didn’t back down from bullies.
“Hey!” She closed the distance between them and poked a finger into the middle of his chest. “You need to back off, Jack.”
She might as well have poked her finger into a steel plate.
He continued to stare, his brows thickened by a frown.
“Benjamin,” he said.
“Huh?”
“My name is Benjamin.”
She narrowed her eyes and dropped her arm to her side. Was he screwing with her? He actually sounded serious. “I know.”
“You called me Jack.”
He was serious.
“You don’t get out much, do you?”
Unsure if he was about to bellow another order or physically toss her out, Star watched, prepared to yell back or defend herself. Instead, he took several steps backward and returned to his position before the fire.
She stared at his wide back for a few moments, dazed, then turned and ambled toward the paintings. She’d leave the room in her own sweet time. Stopping in front of the oval portrait, she asked, “Who is this?”
He glanced over his shoulder and spoke with his back to her as he moved logs around. “One of my ancestors.”
“Looks just like you.”
“So I’ve been told.” He rose, picked up a pipe from the mantle, and packed it with tobacco from a leather pouch. He watched her from the corner of his eye.
“Who painted these?”
He struck a match and held it to his pipe. “Another ancestor.”
God, he looked like a duke or something standing in front of the fireplace wearing a coat from another century and kneehigh black boots. She’d never met anyone quite like him. Again, her belly quivered, and she wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t actually afraid of him. At least, not much.
“So this is like your family home, huh?”
He nodded as he drew on his pipe and puffed, filling the room with the sweet smell of pipe tobacco.
“You stay here all by yourself?” She couldn’t imagine living in a place the size of a hotel and not having it stuffed with people.
“At times.”
“A