Return To Me. Shannon McKenna
forward, he could wrap his hands around her slender waist.
The memory opened up in his mind. The smoke, the dew, the dawn. The sensual promise in El’s eyes, the tight clasp of her virginal body. She’d almost convinced him to stay, but he’d known even then that whoever he got close to would end up caught in the crossfire of his bizarre bad luck. El had been the one good thing in his screwed-up life, and the kindest thing he could do for her was to stay away.
Seventeen years later, he had no reason to think that anything had changed, and yet here he was. His nose was just inches from her fragrant hair, his hands right on the verge of sliding around her waist to press that sumptuous golden softness hard against his body.
“Um, Ellen?” A light, wispy voice spoke above them.
The two of them jerked apart as though they’d been kissing.
“Yes, Missy, I’m right here.” El’s voice was admirably steady.
“Um, there was this guy here? And I think he wanted a room but I hadn’t cleaned the tower room yet, and the bathroom was still messy, so I just cleaned it now. Maybe he went away, though.” Her voice sounded hopeful as she pattered down the stairs on light, diffident feet.
“No, he didn’t go away.” El’s voice was gentle and patient. “He’s right here. Missy, meet Mr. Simon Riley.”
Missy squeaked and retreated to the landing. El shook her head and heaved a tiny, silent sigh. “It’s OK, Missy,” she soothed. “You could’ve checked him in. I showed you how to use the credit-card machine, remember? You’re very good at it.”
Missy cowered behind the banister. She was a skinny girl in a denim jumper. Mouse-brown hair was scraped tightly back from a wan face that might have been pretty if it hadn’t been so anxious.
“Hi, Missy.” Simon tried to sound non-threatening.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“It’s excellent that you prepared the room,” El encouraged. “Why don’t you go rinse the blueberries? I’ll show Mr. Riley to his room.”
Missy nodded and scuttled past them as quickly as a mouse, eyes down. Simon gave El a questioning look.
She threw up her hands. “So? I keep hoping she’ll loosen up, but it hasn’t happened yet. Big deal. Things take time.” She sidled past him, careful not to touch his body, and started up the stairs.
“Still trying to save the universe, I see,” he said. “You always were a sucker for lost causes.”
El shot a cool glance back over her shoulder. “Not at all. I’m very practical now. Not nearly as sentimental as I used to be.” She took an audible breath, huffed it out, and launched into her hostess routine.
“The front bedrooms look out over the river, but your room is the only bedroom that also has a good view of Mount Hood…” Her voice was brisk and practiced. He let his attention drift, his gaze wandering down her heavy cascade of wavy, sun-streaked bronze hair. The curling wisps that kissed the top of her ass were bleached to silver-gilt.
“—and this is the library, as you can see. Lots of books and magazines for browsing, but we ask, as a courtesy to other guests, that this be a quiet room. If you wish to converse, there’s the sunroom, the salon, the dining room, the parlor, and the porch.”
“It’s going to feel strange to put my feet up and read a newspaper in Frank Kent’s inner sanctum,” Simon remarked.
El paused at the door that led up to the tower room. “I’m sure he wouldn’t begrudge you the pleasure,” she said. “He died six years ago.”
Simon cursed himself silently. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “Up these stairs is the—”
“I’ve been here before, remember? Please, El, would you relax?”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, her voice tightly controlled. “Here is the tower room. I’m afraid that the room wasn’t large enough for a queen-sized bed—” she unlocked the door and pushed it open, “—so I hope a full size will do.” She gestured for him to enter.
Simon looked around, disoriented. Gone was the twin bed with the ruffled pink-and-white spread, the white vanity piled high with books, the poster of the sultry-eyed maiden riding a unicorn.
Now the room was pretty, tasteful, neutral. An old-fashioned four-poster was covered by a colorful quilt. The wallpaper was a delicate, understated floral pattern. There was a washstand, a cheval mirror, a wooden bureau, a braided rag rug.
He felt bereft. “It’s not you anymore.”
“I took the master bedroom suite for myself when I remodeled.”
“I see.” He stared forlornly out the window at the oak tree. At least that was more or less the same. Just bigger.
“The bathroom is right at the foot of the stairs,” she informed him. “I’ll make sure that Missy left you fresh towels and washcloths, and—”
“Stop it!” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, and she flinched. He stopped, and sought to put his lost, groping feeling into words. “We were friends,” he said helplessly. “Don’t freeze me out. Can’t we pick up where we left off?”
El let her hair fall forward to veil her face. “Do you remember where we were when we left off, Simon?”
Hell, yeah. Fire and smoke. Adrenaline racing through his body, screams of terrified horses echoing in his head. The slender girl twining herself around him, the bewildering flare of heat and need. Like he could ever forget. He cleared his throat carefully. “I remember.”
El backed towards the door. “Then you understand why we can’t pick up, just like that. Look, it’s almost teatime, and I have to—”
“El, please don’t,” he persisted.
“—to get things organized. Missy can’t manage alone. If you like, you can join us all for coffee, tea and scones in a half hour in the dining room.” She hesitated, her eyes brimming with emotion, and shook her head, dismissing it, and him. Her hair swirled as she spun around.
The door clicked shut. Light footsteps tapped down the stairs, pausing to make sure that his bathroom had towels and washcloths. Ever the perfect hostess. Her quick, light footsteps faded.
Simon wrenched off his boots and flung himself onto the bed. He bounced on the orthopedic mattress. Just like the Kents. Nothing but the best. He’d surprised himself as much as her by the impulse to stay here. For the first time, he realized that the harm he could do here in LaRue might not only be to himself. And he was unprepared for how outrageously pretty she was. That was unfair. A dirty, nasty trick.
El had been so good to him. He’d launched himself into the world with nothing but her pillowcase of food and money to sustain him. She’d become a symbol of home and safety in his mind, but it wasn’t fair to think of El that way. She’d just been a needy, affectionate kid.
A total sweetheart. And he’d taken advantage of that sweetness. He’d nailed her the night that he left, right in her mother’s flowerbed.
He’d had lots of sex since then, but even the very hottest of it—and some of it had been very, very hot—hadn’t come close to the emotional intensity of that fumbling explosion in the flowers with El.
Simon closed his eyes, and rolled onto his belly. He was an opportunistic prick, in the privacy of his own dirty mind. He had no business in the Kent mansion, having erotic fantasies about the golden princess. Domestic bliss looked warm and cuddly from the outside, but it was beyond his reach. He knew exactly how that script would play.
It started out small, breaking eggs and smashing teacups. It got progressively worse from there. Once El figured out that he was more trouble than he was worth, he’d be out on his ass.
He