Free Banish Misfortune by Anne Stuart

that held such warmth, stroking the side of her face, and his voice was very sad. "You really wouldn't have known the difference between me and Lincoln, would you? If he hadn't been drinking Scotch you'd be doing your little act right now, writhing underneath him while your mind was a thousand miles away—"
    "Don't!" She thought it would come out in a scream, but instead it was barely audible. "Please, leave me alone. Go away."
    He continued to stare at her, and then he rose to his feet. For a moment Jessica thought he really would leave her, abandon her on this empty stretch of midnight beach. But as his words ripped her apart, his hands healed her as they reached down and pulled her gently to her feet.
    "Come back to the house, Jessie," he said softly. "I won't let the demons get you. Not tonight."
    She looked way, way up at him, the beginnings of a question in her haunted eyes. But she could read no answers. Letting her slight hand rest in his large, capable one, she followed him into the house.
    Chapter Seven
    The house had once more regained its silent stillness, almost as if Jessica's hysteria had never ripped apart the thick velvet texture of the night. No lights had been left burning to guide them back—even Peter's bedroom light was extinguished. The hand that enveloped her slighter, trembling one led her past Peter's closed door, past her own darkened room, down the silent, carpeted hallway. She made a token effort at pulling away, just slight enough to tell herself she tried, but his grip only tightened. And then they were in his room, the sliding glass doors open onto the windy beach, the salty air filling the darkened confines of the back guest bedroom. Springer didn't turn on the light, just pulled her in and shut the door behind them, but Jessica knew the room very well. They had put her in it the first time she'd visited the Kinseys, long before she and Peter became involved, when old Jasper was still having occasional lustful thoughts in her direction. It had been sheer luck that nothing had come of it, nothing that would interfere with her plans for Jasper's son.
    At the sudden memory of her almost-fiance she looked up at the dark, silent figure standing motionless beside her. She was slowly regaining her equilibrium, and this time when she pulled her hand away he let it go, leaning back against the door with a lazy grace accentuated by the darkness of the room.
    "So what do we do now?" she queried, and was pleased to hear her voice come out brittle and composed.
    He said nothing, leaning against that door as if he had all the time in the world, and Jessica could feel her regained composure begin to slip once more.
    "I should thank you for rescuing me," she managed with a bright laugh. "I really don't know what got into me—probably just a little too much to drink tonight."
    "You didn't drink anything." His slow, deep voice broke the darkness.
    "What?" The interruption unnerved her.
    "I said you didn't drink anything tonight but Perrier and lime. I was watching you."
    Somehow the thought of those dark, unreadable eyes following her every move was even more unnerving. "Why?" she asked abruptly, the brittle composure shattering.
    She could see his teeth flash in the moonlit bedroom, and his eyes glittered. He was so close, yet not close enough. His warmth was tantalizing, his scent intoxicating—of warm flesh and the ocean and the faint, pleasant smell of brandy, not Scotch, on his breath. "Why do you think?" he countered, raising a hand to gently stroke the side of her face.
    Before his flesh could touch hers she flinched, trying to pull away from him. But she was backed into a corner, with no way to get past him, and he followed her, holding her still with his imprisoning body, forcing her to accept his gentling hand on the chilled skin of her face. "What are you afraid of, Jessie?" Springer whispered against her skin.
    The trembling began in her ankles, sweeping upward over her chilled body, racking her