Phantom Lover. Rebecca York
His skin must have heated in response to her because the wonderful scent of his body had intensified.
She was enveloped in the sensual spell he was weaving. She wanted more from him.
As if he knew her desires, his hands slipped lower, playing with the edge of her gown where it rested against the tops of her breasts.
The kiss had started like a whisper of sensation against her lips. His touch was like that now. Light and playful. Teasing, even.
She responded with a flood of tingling warmth spreading downward through her body to the hollow place that had opened up inside her.
She could imagine her face, the dazed, drugged look. She no longer felt the bed beneath her body. Instead she seemed to float on the surface of a deep, warm pool of sensuality. But down in the far depths she felt doubt stirring. In some part of her mind she knew that this was wrong. It had to be wrong. Whether this man was Troy or not, he had come to her in the night without announcing his name or his intentions. He had come to her bed like a phantom lover.
The dark image was powerful in its dampening effect. The fear that had momentarily receded into the background leaped to the front of her mind again.
All at once, she felt as if she’d been under an evil, sensual spell. And through her own will, she had been released. Her eyes flew open. It was still dark in the room and she couldn’t see the man who hovered over her. But her hands moved swiftly and surely as they came up to push him away.
For a millisecond she thought she felt the resistance of his warm flesh, of muscle and bone. Then her hands pressed upward through chilled, empty air. He was gone. Vanished, as silently and as swiftly as he had come to her.
Chapter Three
For several heartbeats the room remained in the clutches of darkness. Then, perhaps in response to her urgent need, the clouds moved away from the moon and once again a sliver of radiance seeped through the crack at the edge of the drapes. In the cold, dim light that streamed across the room, Bree saw that she was alone.
Her midnight visitor had vanished—along with the mist that had rippled across the floor. Or had the mist just been the product of her overheated imagination?
Her heart was still pounding as she pushed herself up, pressed her back against the pillows and looked around the chamber.
“Troy?” she questioned, her voice no more than a breathy whisper. Once more there was no answer.
And no proof that the man who had come to her bed was Troy London, she thought, goose bumps blooming on her skin. In the darkness she hadn’t seen him, only felt his touch and his scorching kiss as he’d woven his erotic spell around her.
Her skin heated at the memory. Her gaze flew to the door, but it was shut, the way she’d left it.
Now that she was alone, the whole experience seemed cloaked in unreality. The mist, the man, her reaction that was so totally unlike her normal response.
Her visitor had come to her in the dead of night and coaxed a totally sensual response from her. Then, when she’d regained her senses, the rational part of her mind had been terrified.
At the same time, there was no way that she could deny the sexual pull toward her midnight caller. Raising her fingers, she touched them lightly to her lips, brushing them back and forth, feeling a small tingling afterburn of the sensations he’d generated.
Oh, yes, she remembered his touch. But she remembered other sensations, too. She’d felt strange, drugged, compelled, as if she’d been under some kind of evil magic spell.
Even as thoughts of black magic formed, her mind rejected the explanation—and jumped to a more acceptable alternative. Maybe the whole experience had simply been a dream, a very vivid dream brought on by her exhaustion and her own sexual needs. She’d been thinking about Troy, remembering him just before she’d gone to bed. And she’d been hoping to encounter him. So it made sense that she had conjured him up in the dark of the night. And conjured up the sensuality, too, if she were honest.
Because she’d never given up her secret dream of getting back together with Troy, and she’d never stopped wanting him.
She’d been a virgin seven years ago when she’d first met him, and she was pretty sure he’d known it. He’d been careful of her, going slowly, awakening her sensuality with touches and kisses that had become more intimate over time. She remembered that first thrilling moment when he’d cupped her breast then played with her beaded nipple through the fabric of her blouse and bra.
They’d been dancing on the porch then, their bodies swaying in slow, provocative rhythm. When he’d slid his hands down her body and pulled her against his arousal, her own need had leaped to meet his.
She’d been exhilarated with the knowledge that they’d been on the verge of making love. Then her mother had gotten sick and she’d gone rushing back to North Carolina. Mom’s health was fragile, and she couldn’t be left alone, so they’d moved to Baltimore, where Aunt Martha could take care of her while Bree was in school.
She’d lost track of Troy in the flurry of activity surrounding the move. Later, she’d told herself it was for the best. Still, she’d been shocked and hurt when she’d heard that he’d gotten married so soon after she’d left.
Then, because he’d taken a wife, she’d told herself it was wrong to still want him. And mostly she’d managed to keep him out of her thoughts. But Helen’s call had changed everything.
Maybe the real reason, the secret reason, she’d come rushing to Ravencrest was that she wanted to take up where they’d left off.
Unbidden, more scenes came winging back to her from the summer of her sophomore year in college—when she’d been head over heels in love with Troy. It wasn’t just sex. The two of them had seemed so right for each other. They’d gotten into long discussions about all sorts of topics from world politics to the running of the family cattle ranch. They’d gone for rides in the mountains, carried along a picnic lunch so they wouldn’t have to come back for hours. He’d taken her to the barn where she’d been entranced by a newborn foal.
She’d thought their relationship was heading somewhere important. And then it had all been snatched away from her.
As those memories from the past flooded through her mind and body, it was impossible to stay in the bed where he’d come to her. Throwing aside the covers, she swung her legs over the edge, thumping her feet onto the floor as she looked around.
Weaving slightly, she crossed the room. First she tried the door, just to make sure. It was locked—the way she’d left it.
With a sigh, she backtracked to the window. When she opened the curtains and pushed at the bottom sash, it slid upward with only minimal resistance.
The cold outside air sent a shiver rippling over her skin, but she didn’t step back. Cautiously, she stuck her head out and took in the scene. The stars and moon gleamed in a black velvet sky. A path of moonlight wavered on the dark surface of the restless ocean below her.
Dragging her gaze away from the mesmerizing sky and the water, she inspected the wall of the building. It rose above her for two more floors like a man-made extension of the cliff. And like the cliff, there were rough stones that an agile climber might be able to use for hand-and footholds. But could anyone climbing the wall have gotten away so quickly?
Maybe, if he’d slipped inside another room. Or if he was a mountain climber, like Troy. That summer, she’d watched with her heart in her throat as he’d scaled sheer cliffs. There was no reason he couldn’t do the same thing now.
Suddenly feeling dizzy, she pulled her head back inside, then shut the window and sprung the latch.
Her next stop was the bathroom, where she felt around for the light switch. It was in the off position, and the light came on as soon as she flipped it up. Blinking in the yellow glow, she waited for several seconds then checked her watch. It was one in the morning. She’d gone