The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [130]
Jamie watched the way her eyes narrowed. Her fury was palpable, like a dark cloud gathering overhead, filling the little room with an amazing, fiery energy.
“The news just kept getting darker and more horrifying. I started getting phone calls from creditors. It turned out that Barclay had squandered all our money. No wonder he’d refused to give me a home. All that I’d saved from my years in the hotel business, and all his inheritance, had gone for his gambling debts and his lavish lifestyle. When I learned that before his death he’d contacted an investor about selling this estate, I decided to see it for myself. And on the flight here, it occurred to me that Ravenswood might be my salvation. I need to work, and what better way than by doing what I’ve been trained to do?”
“Have you no other means of supporting yourself?”
She shook her head. “I’ve run out of options. Barclay left enormous debts, and his creditors are demanding payment. Unless I can find a way to keep them at bay, they could be tempted to try to gain control of this property to satisfy that debt.”
Jamie could see that she was dangerously close to tears.
“Aren’t we a pair of fools?” He crossed the room, caught her hands in his and helped her to her feet before drawing her into the circle of his arms.
Even in the warmth of his embrace, Bree held herself stiffly. They stayed that way for the longest time while Bree struggled to control her raging emotions. Despite her will to resist, the strong arms holding her, Jamie’s quiet, steady heartbeat, his calm demeanor in the eye of such a storm, were like a soothing balm to her ravaged system. Gradually he felt her relax against him.
Finally he stepped back and caught her hand.
She arched a brow. “What are you . . . ?”
“Shhh.” He put a finger to her lips to still any questions.
Still holding her hand, he led her toward the bedroom.
Once there he gathered her close and kissed her with a reverence that had her sighing, as, for the moment, the last of her anger slipped away.
Without a word they offered each other comfort in the only way they could.
EIGHT
From her position in bed, Bree watched as Jamie walked to the window of the bedroom to stare out at the vista of Highlands and heather. Since their lovemaking, he’d fallen into a pensive mood.
She was in a strange mood herself. She was beginning to question her sanity. How was it possible that she trusted the spirit of a long-dead Highland warrior more than she could bring herself to place her trust in any flesh-and-blood man?
But there it was. The truth of the matter was that she would probably never trust another man. Whatever hope she’d had of finding true and lasting love had died in the fiery wreckage of Barclay’s car.
At least she would have her work to fill her days, and a ghostly lover to fill her nights.
She glanced at her watch and realized that it was time to get back to the manor house.
After a quick shower, she dressed and ran a brush through her hair.
Jamie tore himself away from the window to walk with her to the door of the cottage.
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “You’re in a strange mood.”
“ Aye.”
“If you’d like some company, you could walk with me to the manor house.”
He shook his head. “I’ve some heavy thinking to do.”
“About what?”
He stared down into her eyes, and once again she had the feeling that he could see into her soul.
“About the meaning of life.”
She touched a hand to his cheek. Just a touch, but she felt a sudden chill. “Jamie . . .”
He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Go. You’ve your work to see to, and I have mine.”
She