Twelfth Sun. Mae Clair
for his own good, even if he does come off like a cocky adolescent. I’ve seen him pack lecture halls with men twice his age. What he lacks in social graces, he makes up in intellect. What I can’t figure out…” He shot her a sideways glance and his lips tipped in a crooked smile. “Is what he’s doing with you. My bet is you’re related to Gavin Cassidy.”
“My uncle.” She wasn’t certain why she volunteered the information, but guessed it would come out sooner or later. That Brody had already made the connection meant he really did move in collector circles.
“So you’re here on Gavin’s behalf,” Brody mused. “That still doesn’t explain Boy Wonder.”
Reagan sipped her drink, hiding a smile. She sent another glance in Elijah’s direction. He and Livy were seated on a low-backed sofa, quietly conversing. Alan had wandered away to talk with Earl Tarvick. Little space showed between Elijah and Livy. They sat close together, knees practically touching. Elijah’s back was turned, his body angled toward Livy, marking the conversation intimate and private. Observing their posture, Reagan felt a flush of anger. It had to be because Livy was a competitor for the journal. No way was there anything remotely personal in her feelings for Dr. Elijah Cross.
“I wonder if we’ve met somewhere before?”
Reagan whipped back to the present. Monica Holt had sauntered over to their corner, her slim hands wrapped around the delicate stem of a tulip-shaped glass. Earlier, Brody had introduced her as an archivist with the Shipwright Landing Historical Society. Tall and thin, with dark eyes and the kind of low, husky voice that turned men to mush, Monica looked more supermodel than record-keeper. Her hair was cut in a blunt bob, offsetting chiseled cheekbones and a long, slender neck.
“I don’t think so.” Something about the woman left her unbalanced. She couldn’t decide if it was the long elegant tips of Monica’s painted fingernails or the throaty way she talked like she’d downed a fifth of gin.
“But you know Dr. Cross?” A single eyebrow crept into the fringe of Monica’s coal-black hair. She toyed with the delicate links of a gold necklace clasped around her throat. Her eyes darted sideways, settling on Elijah. “I’ve heard his name bandied about in academic circles, but always figured he was older. Gray-haired and portly, like one of those stodgy old professors.”
“I really don’t know him,” Reagan said quickly. All she wanted to do was collect Rook’s journal and leave. The thought of spending the entire weekend at Sothern’s estate with this odd assortment of characters turned her stomach. “He’s doing my uncle a favor. We only met earlier today.”
That wasn’t entirely true. There’d been that mortifying encounter at the North Shore when she’d witnessed just how well endowed he was in areas other than his mind. Thinking about it brought heat to her cheeks. She ducked her head, hoping the hot flush would fade. Thankfully, Pellar returned before anyone could comment on her odd reaction.
“Mr. Sothern regrets he won’t be able to join you until dinner this evening, but wishes to assure all of you, he’ll answer your questions at that time.”
“What about Jeremiah Rook’s journal?” Earl Tarvick demanded.
Pellar held up a hand as if dealing with a slow-witted child. “Please, Mr. Tarvick. No questions until this evening.” He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and included the whole group in his next announcement. “Feel free to make use of any of the estate’s amenities. There is an indoor pool in the east wing, and should weather permit–” Again the staged smile, a little too practiced for Reagan’s taste. “A Jacuzzi and lighted pool on the roof deck. Your invitations should have included instructions on what clothing to bring. Hopefully, you were all astute enough to comply.”
Pellar flicked a hand over his pristine cuffs, a nervous twitch. “There are stables to the south and tennis courts to the west. You’ll find a full gymnasium, weight room and sauna on the lower level, plus a billiard room at the end of the hall. Dinner is at precisely eight PM in the circular dining room. I trust you’ll all come properly attired.” He cast a snotty sideways glance at Elijah’s battered deck shoes. “Ms. Cassidy, Dr. Cross, I’ve had the staff retrieve your luggage and place it in your rooms. If you’ll kindly follow me, I’ll show you the way.”
Brody leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Competent cuss, isn’t he? Five-to-one, Elijah decks him before the weekend is over.”
Reagan elbowed him in the ribs, unable to smother a smile. She looked in Elijah’s direction, but he appeared unfazed by Pellar’s attitude. Flashing Livy a dazzling parting grin, he sprinted after the older man.
Reagan set her drink down and hurried into the hallway, huffing to keep up. “I thought you’d wait for me,” she complained, falling in step beside Elijah.
He was still wearing his outer jacket and slid his hands into the pockets. “Why?”
“Because it’s the courteous thing to do.” She looked at Pellar’s rigid back, making sure their conversation didn’t carry. In true highbrow fashion, he appeared impervious to their discussion, stiffly leading them up the sweeping staircase she’d noted earlier.
Elijah shrugged. “I didn’t want to tear you away from Brody. You looked attached at the hip.” He sounded jealous, a crazy notion. His eyes slid to the side, blue and black-lashed, so incredibly striking, her heart jumped.
“What about you and Livy Franklin?” she countered. “From what I could see, you had a long, private powwow.” She cringed immediately, uncertain what had prompted the remark. She’d only just met this man, but was behaving like someone engaged in a popularity contest, vying for his attention.
It had to be the confusion…arriving at Sothern’s estate, planning to purchase the journal outright, only to find she was in competition. Nothing was going as planned. Nothing had gone as planned from the moment she’d stumbled on Elijah Cross utterly naked in his room. As much as she wished otherwise, she couldn’t shake the initial attraction she’d felt for him. If only he’d do something stupid and geeky to obliterate his appeal.
Elijah frowned. “Livy and I were discussing nautical superstitions. She’s minoring in maritime history.”
“Isn’t that convenient?” Dismissing him, Reagan looked straight ahead. They’d reached the top of the stairwell, giving her the opportunity to shoulder past him. It was in her best interest not to discuss anything further, unless it concerned Rook’s journal.
Elijah grew quiet.
Pellar led them across the loft and down a shorter hallway, eventually halting before side-by-side rooms. “I trust you’ll find everything acceptable.”
Both doors stood open. Reagan glanced inside, finding them near-mirror images with differing color schemes.
“Mr. Sothern calls them the twins,” Pellar explained, noticing her glance. “They share a Jack and Jill bath. For privacy, I suggest you make certain the opposite door is locked when you use the facility.” He departed with a slight incline of his head.
Elijah rolled his eyes. “The facility. Can you believe that guy?”
Reagan paled. The thought of sharing a bathroom with him, even one with locking doors, left her queasy. After the humiliating circumstances of their initial meeting, it was too much like tempting fate.
“What’s the matter?” Elijah propped a shoulder against the doorframe of his room. “Want help unpacking? I could color coordinate your lingerie. Pink and pink.”
She steeled herself, tempted to slap him. The return of his casual cockiness smothered her anxiety. Had she really felt an attraction to him? Good God! “You really are a despicable man, Dr. Cross.”
“Is that why you can’t keep your eyes off me?”
Slapping be damned. He needed to be drawn and quartered, then dumped headfirst into a vat of boiling oil. Reagan scrunched her hands into fists. “You arrogant, self-centered, egotistical–”