High Intensity (19 page)
Without preamble, he slid to his knees in front of her. Strong hands clasped her thighs to bring her to him. Molten lips immediately trailed down her naked legs in a passionate love-sweep. Teasing. Playing. Tasting.
Possessing.
Zanita s breathing sped up considerably at the sultry touches that somehow were hot-dry and damp-wet at the same time. "Tyber." Her voice came out as a thready whisper of sound.
"Mmm?" He rubbed his face against her lower belly, the roughness of his beard-shadow a luscious abrading.
A small moan came from her lips.
"Unbutton my shirt." He inhaled her scent deeply, then placed his lips on her navel. There he flicked the depression with his tongue.
Zanita reached down and undid his buttons, opening his shirt. But when she tried to remove it, he stopped her. "Uh-uh. I want to feel you just like this…" He slid his chest back and forth, brushing against her nether curls and lower belly. Sensitizing her everywhere he grazed.
Zanita felt every muscle under his golden skin bunch and ripple.
"You're driving me wild, baby." He stared up at her; his pupils were hazy, dilated. Zanita answered silently, her violet eyes also clouded with wanting. Wanting him.
Only him.
Tyber had had that effect on her since the first time she had seen him, and she suspected he always would. He had often joked that they had the perfect "spin" together, and she knew he was equating them in his way to some weird subatomic particle thing; but she preferred to think of it as good old-fashioned chemistry.
They cooked on every level.
Right now, they were smoking.
Tyber's short fingernails languidly scraped down the back of her thighs. His white teeth grazed the tender underside of her belly. He placed a damp kiss just above her hairline, near the pubic bone. Zanita's sob of sheer, too-sweet pleasure rent the air.
He gazed up at her, giving her such a look of utter love that Zanita felt tears rush to her eyes. The expression was so pure and so intense that it scared her with its sheer beauty.
"Don't, Tyber," she pleaded, softly running her hand over the back of his head, over the heavy fall of chestnut hair.
"Why?" he whispered softly. He slid his finger back and forth over her nether lips. In an instant he was dew-covered and slick. Still, he watched her.
"Why?" he repeated as he brought his finger to his lips and suckled hungrily on the wet tip. "I could live on the taste of you." Zanita's face flamed.
"Did I shock you?" Low and deep in his throat, a rough sound of satisfaction rolled.
She knew then what the rogue was implying. Their challenge. Tyber was the cleverest of opponents. But she could be just as clever in this regard.
The hand at the back of his head tugged his hair back so that his face tilted up to hers. She had hoisted her own Jolly Roger. And would give no quarter.
"You meant to." Zanita bent over him and moved her mouth delicately over his in the barest of killer kisses. Cannon kisses. Short fuse—big impact.
Tyber moaned helplessly into her mouth—a prisoner of love.
Then he seized her face and commandingly brought her to him. Tight.
She smiled against such a fierce plunder. A prisoner of love, yes.
But always a pirate of passion.
Spent, Zanita fell asleep in his arms. They had both been rather energetic.
Tyber picked her up and gently placed her on the turned-down bed. Before he covered her, he lightly kissed her forehead so as not to awaken her. Getting dressed as quietly as he could, he slipped on his socks, grabbed his boots, and softly closed the door behind him. She needed some sleep.
Something brushed against her face.
Zanita wiggled her nose.
Again.
Her hand slapped the air in front of her. She was too tired to open her eyes. And she was going to kill him. Where did that man get his energy?
"Tyber, if you even think of dragging me under this bed again, I swear I will murder you," she mumbled sleepily.
The annoyance was persistent.
"That does it!" She opened her eyes, ready to do battle. A hazy light morphed in front of her.
"What…?" It wafted in the darkened room, which was lit only by the waning flames in the fireplace. She sat up.
"Oh my god… Tyber," she whispered fervently. "Tyber, wake up! It's the ghost!"
When there was no response, her hand slid out to her side and felt around the covers. Empty.
Terrific.
The one time her husband had decided to leave and the ghost made an appearance! She swallowed, amazed at what she was seeing. It was as if there were two Zanitas. The sane, rational Zanita who was wondering how she was going to convince her scientist lover that this had really happened, and the other, less rational Zanita who wasn't sure if she should be screaming or not.
The hazy light wafted along the carpet and traveled up the bookcase-lined wall. A strong scent of herbs filled the room. It was a pleasant scent; not like that other one they had smelled in the library. Was this a different spirit? Whatever Tyber was intent on investigating, she was certain this would add a new twist to it.
As she watched, spellbound, the light hovered over a section of the bookcase. Suddenly the light went out and a heavy book flew out of the case to crash on the hard wood floor. It landed spine side up, its sides tented out slightly, supporting the weight.
Everything was silent as the dust motes settled.
Zanita blinked. All was stationary.
Whatever had been in this room with her was now gone. She switched on a bedside light. Gingerly she pushed the covers off and padded carefully across the floor to the edge of the hand-hooked rug, glancing behind her frequently.
Kneeling down, she examined the title of the book. Prominent Homes of
Nantucket
(1930-1965).
Zanita's brow furrowed. What significance did this have? Somehow, she didn't think this book was a random toss on the ghost's part. She believed the entire scene had been enacted to get her attention, the focal point being this tome on the floor.
Still kneeling, she glanced up at the wide bookcase above her, briefly noting the empty slot in the otherwise full case. Then she picked up the heavy leather-bound book.
Sitting in the large chair by the fireplace, she opened the book and began flipping through the pages, looking for some connection to everything going in this house.
She couldn't find it. At first. There was no mention of the Sparklings or the Florencia Inn. No relatives, no second
Nantucket
home, nothing. Then she realized something.
"
Nan
… tucket!" That was the message written in blood in the passageway! Whoever (or whatever) was leaving the messages, was trying to lead them to
"What is so special about this book?" she muttered to herself. "I've gone through it twice and there is no connection to anything. If you hear me, spirit, please help me here!"
She had begun flipping through the pages again when the photos in the center of the book caught her eye. She hadn't studied them very carefully, except to glance at the names. Now she looked at them more closely.
The typical island estates were pictured, as well as some fishing boats with images of the catch of the day surrounded by proud fishermen. One picture on the pier showed a great white shark mugging it up in a very dead way for the camera—along with the guy who'd caught him. Some blueblood who was convinced his manhood was attached to that trophy of a catch.
There was a small quote from him under the picture which said that even the best fisherman on the island would have a hard time topping this one. "Not even Sasenfras could catch this big boy. We had a bet going and I won. He cooks dinner tonight!" the young man quipped.
Zanita inhaled a rush of air. Sasenfras. But it couldn't have been Todd's Sasenfras. Could it?
Had this other Sasenfras also worked for Todd's family? Maybe this fisherman was the ghost? But why was he haunting this inn? What did Todd's grandfather have to do with it? And what had so terrified the present Sasenfras when he had gone into that wing?
It was time to find the Doc. He might not buy the ghost thing, but he'd figure it out.
Physicists couldn't help themselves when it came to that.
"I just don't figure it that way."
Tyber closed his eyes and rested his head against the couch back. It was all he could do not to groan. The Barracuda was grilling him.
So far the Attitude Queen was not accepting his reasoning. He sighed. In-laws. They came with a marriage like some symbiotic life form you wanted to get rid of but knew you couldn't, not if the organism was to survive!
He didn't think Zanita would forgive him if he offed her aunt. It would make for an uncomfortable atmosphere at the breakfast table. Especially during the holidays. He exhaled heavily.
"I simply don't understand how you can possibly think she would not have a clue as to what you think she would think to do!" Auntie said.
Tyber opened one eye and squinted at her. Yep. Definitely runs in the family.
"I never said that." Having long ago lost the thread of the conversation he deemed that to be an answer that would keep her going for a while.
"Tyber, really." The lock-jawed voice dragged out the words as if they had a hundred syllables. "This one's going to come back and bite you on those mar-r-rvelous buns of yours."
He frowned down at her. "No, it will not."
Aunties eyes twinkled behind her rhinestone wing-shaped glasses. "What shall we bet?"
Tyber arched his eyebrow. "Hmmm." He folded his hands behind his head and stretched his long legs out. "A case of Wild Turkey if I lose."
"Done. And"—she gave him a sly look—"that special Harley Davidson oil gauge you've been trying to locate but can't."
He sat up. "How'd you know about that?"
"I am a wonder in three hats. Do we have a deal, my dear?"
He rubbed his jaw. "You'll never be able to produce that part. Gregor and I have tried every place we can think of—"
Auntie snorted. "That explains it, then."
Tyber's eyes flamed fire.
Auntie brushed the impending system crash away. "Of course, if you're so concerned about losing that you can't take a simple bet…"
His lips firmed. "Done. And don't say you weren't warned.
Auntie snorted.
Tyber just smiled.
"She'll be on to you, you'll see. She's more analytical than you think—"
"Tyber, I've seen the ghost!" Zanita came rushing into the library, eyes alight with wonder. She was haphazardly dressed in jeans and a misbuttoned shirt, and her feet were still bare. Clutched tightly to her chest was an old leather-bound book.
This had all the earmarks of the popcorn brain incident.
Tyber nonchalantly turned to Auntie. "Who were you calling analytical?"
Auntie viewed her niece askance and sighed deeply.
Auntie's Elton-Marilyn glasses slid halfway down her nose. Then, like a true Masterson, she rallied behind the Bohemian Code of Battle. "I will remind you of the road less taken." She pushed the words through narrow lips like slivers of shaved ice.
"Ah, yes, I know." Tybers face revealed his fondness for the "obscure road" as he watched his wife come to a screeching halt in front of him. "It does make all the difference."
"The ghost gave me this book!" Zanita beamed at him. "Isn't that incredible!" Her pretty face glowed with excitement.
Tyber glanced down at the title, his long, dark lashes obscuring his reaction. Slowly his gaze rose to hers. "Tell me all about it, baby," he intoned softly while patting his thigh for her to come sit on his lap.
"We don't have time for that now!" At her comment, several of the guests in the library tittered. Realizing what she had just blurted out, Zanita blushed slightly.
Tyber's lips lifted in amusement. Zanita was and always would be his primary enjoyment in life. Not a day went by that he was not thankful she had taken up the cause of entropy and blundered into his classroom.
"What happened, Zanita? Tell us!" Mark came forward, almost leaping to her side in his enthusiasm.
"Well, I was taking a nap in bed after we…" She paused, her gaze meeting Tyber's.
The Doc gave her a lazy wink.
She cleared her throat.
"Um, after… bathing. The next thing I knew, it felt as if someone was brushing something across my face!" Excitement overtook her again. She bounced forward on the pads of her bare feet. "Naturally, I thought it was Tyber trying to drag me under the bed again—"
Tyber coughed, alerting her.