Always in My Dreams (25 page)

"It's called the Great Circle," he said after a moment. He padded softly to the washstand and poured fresh water into the basin.

"You knew I was watching?"

"Only in the end. Tai-Chi demands concentration. It's difficult to be aware of someone else."

Skye pushed herself upright. The strap of her nightgown slipped over one shoulder. Before she could bring it up, Walker was leaning toward her and hooking it with his index finger. The back of his knuckle lightly brushed her skin. He withdrew immediately, taking up the washcloth, dipping it in the water, then running it over his face, arms, and chest. He glanced in Skye's direction once and when she realized she was staring she turned away, embarrassed.

"Tai-Chi?" she asked. As if her flushed face were not evidence enough that she was flustered, the pitch of her voice was a bit too high. Skye wanted to pull the covers over her head. She forced herself to brazen it out. "I thought you said it was the Great Circle."

"It's just a way of practicing Tai-Chi. If you were watching for a while, then you know that some of the movements are repeated."

She had been watching from the very beginning, but she didn't tell him that. "It's lovely," she said, a shade wistfully. Each gesture had been sweeping, yet gentle. Walker had moved slowly, as if through water, dipping and floating. "You've been doing it for a very long time, haven't you?"

"Years."

"Tai-Chi," she said again, testing the unfamiliar words.

"It's Chinese."

"I thought it might be. Where did you learn it?"

"From a master."

That wasn't the answer Skye had expected to hear. "I meant, where did—"

"You're asking a lot of questions," Walker pointed out. The observation silenced Skye for a few seconds.

"You use it to fight," she said.

Walker smiled to himself. He finished with the washcloth, wrung it out, and laid it over the edge of the basin. His robe was lying at the foot of the bed. He picked it up, shrugged into it, and stretched out in the chair that angled away from the fireplace.

"I recognized the movements," Skye went on. She pushed a pillow behind the small of her back and raised her knees, curving her arms around them as she drew them close to her chest. Although she could hear the ticking of the clock, she couldn't make out the time. She couldn't imagine herself falling asleep again, even if it were only the middle of the night. "When you knocked the gun from Mr. Parnell's hand it was the same."

"Was it?"

"Faster," she said. "Although it didn't seem so then. I remember thinking it was as if you were moving through water. I noticed it again just now."

"You're very observant," he said. His brown-and-gold-flecked eyes regarded her frankly. She was pressed against the headboard, curled in the cocoon of her own cotton nightshift. Her eyelids still had a heavy, hooded look to them, sleepy and sensual. Her bright hair hung loosely about her shoulders. The line of her lower lip was full and faintly damp where she had touched it with the tip of her tongue. In that moment she was a temptress. In the next, when she drew in that lip and worried it gently, she was an innocent.

Two sides of the same coin, he thought, shifting in his chair. He pulled at the sides of his robe, covering the smooth breadth of his chest and belted it.

"I
am
observant," she said. "And curious. And intrepid."

He smiled again. "All the things that get you into trouble, Mary Schyler."

Staring at her hands which were folded on her knees, Skye sighed. "I suppose so." She looked at him suddenly, her expression forthright. "Are you really protecting me?" she asked.

"Yes."

A small vertical line appeared between her feathered brows as she considered his answer and weighed the truthfulness. "Did someone ask you to?"

Now Walker frowned. "Ask me to?"

"Yes, were you asked to protect me? Perhaps even hired."

It was a very odd question for a housekeeper to pose, and Walker filed it away instead of taking issue with it now. "No one's asked me and no one's offered me any money for it. If ever there was someone who needed a keeper, it's you."

Her chin came up. "That's insulting."

"That's the truth."

Skye ducked her head again, resting her chin on knees. She supposed she hadn't given him much reason to think otherwise. "I know who you are," she said after a while.

"What?"

She was aware that Walker's relaxed posture was more pretense than real. It was his very stillness that gave him away. She didn't have to see his eyes to know that they were sharper now, the gold flecks splinters of light. "I know who you are," she repeated. "Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that we've met before."

"Is that right?"

She nodded, sparing him a glance. "I doubt that you'd remember," she said. To herself she could admit that she would never forget. "You had other things on your mind that night."

Walker leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows against his knees. Intrigued by the notion that he had made Skye's acquaintance before, he studied her face hard. The smile that edged her mouth had taken a decidedly impish turn. The slant of her eyes could only be described as mischievous. The light color stealing into her cheeks was a telltale sign that she was uncomfortable with his scrutiny. She pulled her hair to one side and twisted it in a single thick braid to keep her hands busy.

He wouldn't have forgotten that face, he thought. Not those clear green eyes, not the fiery hair. If she couldn't strictly be called beautiful, she was, at the very least, arresting. He couldn't imagine the situation where he might not have noticed her. Whether inadvertently or by design, she drew attention to herself. He clearly remembered her waiting in the foyer for her interview, leaning over the bench, her bustle and her behind pointed in the air.

She drew attention to herself, he thought again, even if it wasn't to her face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked. She rubbed the tip of her nose self-consciously. "Do I have a-"

"It's nothing," he said. "My mind went off in an entirely different direction for a moment." He held up his hands briefly. "I'm afraid you have the advantage. I don't recall seeing you before."

"You didn't really see me."

He frowned. "But we met?"

She nodded. "We spoke."

"It's a riddle," he said, coming to his feet. "And I'm afraid I don't know the answer."

The lilting cadence of her mother's Irish accents came out as Skye responded. "Sure, and you're not givin' up so quickly, are you? It can't be that much of a quizzle for a smart man like yourself."

For just a second Walker felt himself rooted to the floor. Had she noticed? "I must not be as smart as you think. Nothing's coming to mind."

Skye was disappointed. Either he didn't remember or he was pretending not to. "It's all right," she said. It was impossible for her voice not to indicate that the opposite was true.

"Are you going to tell me where it was?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It's not important." Again the lie was in her voice.

"Perhaps you've mistaken me for someone else."

"Perhaps I have," she agreed softly. But she hadn't. She was certain of it.

Walker approached the bed. He sat down on the edge near where she was curled and contemplative. He placed one hand over hers. She watched him, but she didn't shy away from his touch. "Trust should be mutual," he said.

Her eyes were solemn. "I've always thought so."

His slow exhalation had the sound of resignation in it. He withdrew his hand, his decision made. "It was in the park," he said. "Central Park. You were hiding along one of the paths, in the pines. You called out to your friends to give me time to get away."

"They weren't my friends."

"I didn't go far. They knew you."

Skye wondered what he had heard. She remembered they had kept walking, so unless he had trailed them, she and the others would have been out of earshot quickly. "And I knew them," she said. "But except for Daniel, they weren't my friends."

The distinction seemed important to her, and Walker let it pass.

"Why didn't you want to tell me that you remembered?" Skye asked.

"I have more practice keeping secrets than sharing them."

"I can keep secrets, too."

"You'll have to." His tone was flat. His eyes were serious. He leaned toward her. "Otherwise you'll be dead."

A slip of air passed between Skye's parted lips. The centers of her eyes darkened, widened. He was going to kiss her, and this time she welcomed it.

His mouth moved gently over hers, sipping, tasting. Skye's hands unfolded on her knees and lifted to the level of Walker's shoulders. They hovered there, fluttered, then alighted. She gripped the lapels of his robe between her thumbs and forefingers. The fabric was soft. The warmth was Walker's heat.

The damp edge of his tongue touched her mouth. She opened to it. Her body unfolded beside his as he stretched out on the bed. They were on their sides, mouths cleaving. He explored her mouth, the fullness of her lower lip, the peaked curves of her upper one. He kissed the corner of her mouth and traced the edge of her jaw. He nuzzled her ear and his teeth caught her lobe and tugged. His fingers threaded in her hair, tangling in the silken flames. The fragrance of her drew him closer. There would be a tiny mark on her skin later where he sipped at the curve of her neck.

He felt the pulse in her temple against his mouth, the thrumming of her heart in the sensitive cord of her throat. She made a tiny sound of wanting when his lips traced the rounded neckline of her gown. Where his tongue dampened it, it clung to her skin. He nudged it aside and kissed her. She was warm, supple. The entire length of her body was pliant.

He palmed the inward curves of her waist and twisted until he was under her. Skye's slight weight pinned him to the mattress.

She raised her head a fraction, breaking the kiss. Walker's hands stilled on her waist. "What is it?" he asked. The grip of his hands was warm and solid.

"I thought I would be afraid," she whispered. "But I'm not."

"Good," he said. "Because I'm terrified."

His lie made her smile and the firelight gave it warmth. It washed over Walker. Skye bent her head and this time it was she who initiated the kiss. Her nose nudged his as she found the comfortable slant. She pressed her lips against his. They shared the same breath. At the small of her back his thumbs brushed back and forth against the fabric of her nightgown. She could feel the rubbing pressure on her skin and knew an urgency to thrust herself against him. Her thighs cradled the hard, rigid length of him. It was the most natural thing in the world to deepen the kiss and accept the soft groan at the back of his throat.

Walker tugged at Skye's nightgown, raising the hem past her calves, the backs of her knees, her thighs. The rise of the fabric, the flimsy, insubstantial brush of it against her skin, caused Skye to shudder. Her short gasp was unlike Walker's, tinged with alarm, not desire. She raised her head and pushed at his shoulders in the same motion, twisting away from him with her entire body.

Walker made no attempt to pursue her. His breathing was short and ragged. The struggle was to steady it. He raked his hair with his fingers and exhaled slowly. Skye was sitting up on the edge of the bed, hugging her midriff, her shoulders hunched.

"This was a bad idea," he said finally. His voice was husky, gritty with his efforts at denial. "I shouldn't have—"

"No," she said quickly. Her voice was raspy as well. "It's not your fault." She straightened and pressed her fists against her middle. It helped her take a breath. "It's something about me. Something that's wrong with me."

Wondering if she could put it into words, Walker waited for her to tell him. He let the silence stretch between them for so long that he was certain she wouldn't explain herself. He was ready to say she didn't have to when she turned her head to look at him. Her warring thoughts were etched in the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She pressed again on her middle with her fists and the words spilled out.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Chapter 8