Free Secret Garden by Cathryn Parry Page B

kidnapped,” she mused aloud.
    Malcolm made a strangled noise.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. She and her brother rarely spoke of the kidnapping; it was their unspoken pact. Malcolm had never forgiven himself for what he thought he’d let happen to her when she was eight years old. “It’s not your fault,” she reassured him. “It never was. You were ten years old. You were traumatized yourself.”
    “I wasn’t left alone with those monsters for all that time,” Malcolm bit out. “You were.”
    She shook her head, closing her eyes briefly to banish the memory. “Never mind,” she said quietly. “It’s finished. But I have to talk with Colin because I have to say something about his dad. He’s obviously quite broken up.”
    She didn’t have a choice about facing him. Once, he’d been her friend. And even if he hadn’t been, wouldn’t her mother have done so, too, if she were here?
    That was what the lady of the manor did .
    Her hands shaking, she took a deep breath and headed for the stairs, descending with as much grace as she could muster.
    When he saw her, Colin rose to his feet. Her cat jumped from his lap and crouched beneath the table, staring warily at Rhiannon. But he’d had his reward—an empty, licked-clean saucer on the floor told the tale of Colin’s generosity to his namesake.
    Rhiannon would have laughed if not for Colin’s presence. He stood with a looming charisma that she couldn’t ignore; he had a tall, rangy body, with a rugged masculinity about him that destroyed her composure.
    “Rhiannon,” he murmured, in a deep, husky voice.
    Nobody spoke her name that way. A long, lazy breath of longing, of desire.
    She didn’t know how she dared to keep her gaze on him. She wished she could have studied him from behind a one-way mirror. That way she could look at him to her heart’s content, without worrying about being touched or seen.
    He smiled at her, seemingly entranced. His lips moved. So...erotic...and so dangerous, and yet she couldn’t turn away. She’d forgotten that she was wearing her painting smock. Well-worn denim, old and comfortable—it was essentially a halter top that she didn’t need to wear a bra with. It was a weird quirk of hers—she had so many weird quirks, it seemed—but Rhiannon hated wearing a bra when she painted; she preferred to be comfortable. Usually, no one saw her, so she wasn’t concerned about the fact that she showed...well, cleavage. Possibly the outlines of everything she had.
    Her face felt warm, and she imagined she’d turned a conspicuous shade of crimson. But she managed to calmly fold her hands and speak gently. “Hello, Colin. Thank you for the roses and the note. They were lovely, though not necessary.”
    “Yeah, they were.” Colin dragged his hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry about this morning. I won’t let that happen again.” He gazed into her eyes, directly.
    He had such remarkable eyes—she’d forgotten how light they were, more blue or gray depending on the shirt he wore. He wasn’t the blond towhead he’d been as a boy. Now his hair was a rich medium brown streaked slightly with gold.
    “Do you forgive me?” he asked.
    She gave him a smile, though her heart was hammering. “Yes. Of course I do.”
    “Good. I’m glad.” He exhaled. “It, uh, feels good to see you again.” His gaze darted to the top of the stairs, and he licked his lips as he tore his attention from her, glancing around at the castle furnishings. “I missed this place. It meant a lot to me as a boy, and I never forgot it.” He looked back at her, pleading with his eyes. “I couldn’t come back. It got too difficult with my father.”
    “You don’t have to tell me,” she said gently. “I know.”
    Behind her the floor creaked, and she realized that Malcolm was standing there, monitoring their every word. Paul stood quietly by, as well, her sentry.
    Colin subtly shook his head at her. He was bothered by the other men’s presence.