The Raven Master Page 11

  “That’s an interesting hypothesis, considering that the riddle of the Pathétique has been the bane of musical theologians for over a century.” Enveloped by his musky scent, Janine felt slightly dizzy. Somehow she managed to locate and extract the proper disc. “I once read that although Tchaikovsky wanted the piece to be heard by the entire world, he intended for it to be understood by himself alone.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that, too.” Quinn seemed pleased, and somewhat surprised, by the depth of her knowledge on the subject. His gaze warmed. “You really are an extraordinary woman, Janine.”

  The unexpected praise startled her. “Because I’ve studied the classics?”

  “No, because you are yourself.” He touched her cheek—a sensual caress that sent shivers down her spine. “The more I know about you, the more amazed I am at the depths lurking just behind those guileless eyes.”

  Completely nonplussed, she fiddled with the flat plastic case in her hand. “Even a hollow tube has a certain amount of depth.”

  He took hold of her chin, turning her face firmly, almost roughly. “Never do that.”

  She was stunned by the anger in his eyes. “Do what?”

  “Put yourself down.” His fingers slid sensually down her throat. “You are a very special woman. You deserve to be valued and cherished. Whoever told you otherwise was a fool.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “How…did you know?”

  After a lingering look, he averted his gaze downward and removed the CD from her convulsive grip. “People tend to view their own worth through the eyes of others. The result is a self-esteem that has either been nourished or completely destroyed.”

  Massively relieved that the observation had not been based on personal knowledge, Janine exhaled slowly. “Psych 101, right?”

  “But nonetheless true.” Extracting the silver disc from its plastic case, Quinn slid the CD into the stereo unit. He eyed the impressive array of buttons and frowned.

  “Everything is set up,” Janine said. “Just press play.”

  “Ah.” He did so.

  As the room was shrouded by the dulcet strains of the first movement, Quinn closed his eyes to relish the impact. He was utterly still, except for the hand resting on his thigh and the index finger twitching like a maestro’s baton.

  Since he was engrossed in experiencing the symphony, Janine took the opportunity to examine him more closely and was struck by how relaxation had softened his sharp features. He was entranced by the music, entirely at ease. There seemed nothing fearsome about him now. In fact, he was suddenly so appealing that it was all she could do to keep from reaching out and stroking the fine stubble along his jawline.

  Lord, but he was a beautiful man.

  Yet he was also a paradox, a person who seemed capable of either expressing great tenderness or exacting a harsh revenge with unsettling equanimity. And she was helplessly drawn to him. That shocked and frightened her.

  As the passage throbbed to a crescendo, Quinn’s head nodded in cadence with each mournful chord. His hand rose, forcefully conducting the fevered finale of the music—and Janine’s pulsing heart.

  The tempo quickened. The blood throbbed in her veins. Her ears rang, the floor vibrated, goose bumps slid down her spine.

  Suddenly the room was silent and Quinn was staring straight at her. The power of that gaze affected her more deeply than any symphony ever written. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe and was only vaguely aware that the gentle strains of the second movement had begun.

  The atmosphere thickened, charged with sexual static that raised the hairs on her arms. He reached out slowly, enticingly. She closed her eyes, shivering as his knuckle brushed her cheek. Then something tickled her lashes.

  When she looked at him again, he was smiling. He lightly touched the sensitive skin just above her eye. “What’s this?”

  She blushed without response.

  He traced the contour of her brow. “You don’t need makeup to be beautiful.”

  Curling her fingers, she averted her gaze, embarrassed that she’d yielded to a sudden urge to experiment with mascara and eye shadow. “It makes me look silly, doesn’t it?”

  “You could never look silly.” His fingertip rested at the corner of her glossed mouth. “The colors are lovely, and your eyes seem even brighter than usual.”

  She peeked up shyly. “Really?”

  “Really,” he murmured. “In fact, I find you almost irresistible.”

  A shocking boldness surged from some spot hidden deep inside. She met his gaze directly. “Only almost?”

  He hesitated, probing her eyes for what seemed an eternity, then he slowly, exquisitely, brushed his lips over her mouth in a touch so delicate she wondered if it had been real. His hand slid down her throat, paused, then moved to cup the back of her head. “You are the most incredible woman,” he whispered. Before she could even think to breathe, his mouth covered hers in a kiss that shook her to the soles of her feet.

  If her brain was numb, her body was not and she responded with an instinctive fervor that was both shocking and thrilling. She melted against him, her breasts seeming to fuse with the sculpted muscles of his hard chest. Without conscious command her trembling fingers clutched his shoulders, frantic to hold him closer—and closer still.

  When he urged her lips apart and tasted her deeply, something inside her cracked. Something was happening, something she didn’t completely understand, but for the first time in her adult life, she realized that she wasn’t dead inside. Part of her cherished that knowledge; part of her recoiled from it.

  A frightened whimper bubbled from her throat. Quinn swallowed the tiny cry, then slowly, almost painfully, released her. Gasping for air, she crossed her arms like a shield, staggered by the stunning force of what had just happened.

  Cursing himself for having lost control, Quinn laid a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded but appeared pale and shaken.

  He reluctantly took his hand away. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”

  A strand of hair fell across her cheek. She pushed it away and laughed nervously. “That symphony is more powerful than I remembered.”

  “It had nothing to do with music, Janine. You’re a desirable woman.” He managed a thin smile. “But I had no right to take advantage of you.”

  “You didn’t take advantage. We were both—” she wiped her palms on her skirt “—affected.”

  Quinn took a deep breath. Affected. That was certainly an understatement, considering the fact that his hands were still shaking. The weakness annoyed him.

  Suddenly Janine stood and brushed her skirt. “It’s getting late,” she announced.

  “Of course.” Somehow Quinn got to his feet, but as he reached to turn off the stereo, she stopped him.

  “Please, feel free to stay and enjoy the music.”

  “I don’t want to disturb you.”

  “You won’t.” She rubbed her upper arms, looking so vulnerable that he wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Then she forced a bright smile, bade him good-night and was gone.

  After her footsteps had faded, Quinn muttered a sharp oath as his fingers furrowed the top of his head. He was furious. Kissing her hadn’t simply been a matter of giving in to temptation. That implied that one had a choice in the matter, and Quinn couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d wanted to. Which he hadn’t. Janine’s haunted eyes had touched something deep inside him, a secret place he hadn’t allowed anyone to see in a very long time.

  But he simply couldn’t permit it to happen again. Emotional entanglements turned a man into a pawn of his own heart, blinded by love and ripe for betrayal. Love exposed weakness, and weakness exposed was weakness exploited. That had been a crushing lesson but Quinn had learned it well.

  Now he rubbed his face and tried to get a grip on himself. He had to proceed cautiously. No distraction—no matter how sweet—could be allowed to jeopardize the mis
sion. There was too much at stake.

  The thunderous crack would have awakened Janine had she not already been watching the advancing storm from her window. Rain came in torrential sheets that pelted the glass with projectile force. Tongues of lightning licked the ground, illuminating the turbulent clouds with brilliant bursts that made her eyes ache.

  As the storm grew closer, the wind screamed like a terrified child. Beside her window, oak branches whipped and bowed, frantically scratching the glass with leafy fingers. The raspy sound grated on her nerves.

  She stepped over the curled binding of the braided throw rug, slid between her mussed covers and stared into the darkness. Three hours ago she’d left Quinn in the parlor. Within moments, the music downstairs had ceased and he, too, had returned to his room. Since that time she’d done nothing but toss, pace and memorize shadows.

  Before the storm moved in she’d been aware of every sound, every minute whisper outside her door. After Edna and Jules had returned from church, they’d spent a few minutes in the kitchen before coming upstairs. A bit later, Althea had stumbled through the front door. Everyone was home now. Everyone was asleep.

  Everyone except Janine.

  Frustrated, she wondered if she would ever sleep again. Her lips still tingled from Quinn’s kiss. The man had invaded every nerve, every cell in her body. She ached. She throbbed. She was on fire.

  With a muffled cry she threw off the covers, swung her feet to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed feeling empty. When she closed her eyes, Quinn’s image floated through her mind. She could feel his body heat permeating her flesh, smell the dizzying scent of his lush hair. And her mouth still savored the taste of him.

  The man was driving her insane. She rubbed her eyes. Maybe hot milk would help—anything to get Quinn Coulliard out of her mind.

  Slipping her feet into her terry scuffs, she pulled on her robe and loosely tied it as she descended the stairs. When she reached the foyer, a flash of lightning guided her before a blanket of darkness again smothered the room. As Janine felt her way through the dining area she heard a muffled clunk in the kitchen.

  She froze, suddenly feeling exposed, as though silent eyes were watching. Touching the pounding pulse point at the base of her throat, she listened. Rain pounded on the cedar roof, all but obscuring the wailing of the wind. She exhaled slowly. It was the storm, she told herself. Only the storm.

  But as she reached the doorway a hushed scuffling emanated from the other side. Frightened now, she glanced down and saw no light spilling from beneath the kitchen door; yet undeniably someone or something was in there.

  She licked her parched lips. Quinn was right. The house was infested with rodents. The mere thought made her shudder.

  Mustering her courage, she slowly pushed open the door and cautiously peered into the darkened kitchen. She saw nothing, not even a dim shadow—which was to be expected on a stormy, moonless night.

  As she stepped inside, her heart beat like a frantic drum. She touched the wall, groping for the switch. Lightning flashed. A silhouette loomed by the table.

  With a terrified gasp, she flipped the switch and almost fainted in relief. “Jules. You nearly scared me to death.” Her shoulders sagged and she took several shallow breaths before realizing that he hadn’t responded. She regarded him cautiously, suddenly aware that he looked rather strange. “It’s very late. What are you doing down here?”

  He stared at the cleavage exposed by her thin gown. “Waiting for you.”

  Stiffening, Janine clutched her robe at the throat, unnerved by the peculiar glow in his black eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He took a step forward. “You wanted to be alone with me, didn’t you?”

  “That’s absurd.” The wall pressed against her back. “I thought you were upstairs asleep, which is exactly where you should be.”

  Jules licked his lips, his glittery gaze sliding the length of her body. “You look pretty,” he murmured. “And you smell good.”

  Somehow she managed not to flinch. “Please return to your room before you wake the other tenants.”

  He seemed confused by the request. “I don’t want to.”

  “I insist. It’s late, and you must return to your room immediately.”

  His perplexed expression dissipated and was replaced by one that raised goose bumps on her spine. His mouth warped into a twisted line and his eyes flashed with sudden rage. In less than a heartbeat, he grabbed hold of her arm, his furious face only inches from her own. “You’re trying to seduce me.”

  “W-What?”

  “You’re just like the rest of them,” he hissed. “Flaunting yourself, tempting men into your bed.”

  She twisted against his cruel grip. “Jules…you’re hurting me.”

  “My mother is a whore, too. Did you know that?” He laughed unpleasantly. “I saw her bring men into her bed. I watched what she did with them.”

  The pain of his bruising fingers nearly brought Janine to her knees. When he hauled her back up, she bounced off his chest and barely managed to turn her face away from Jules’s sloppy kiss.

  His wet mouth moved to her ear. “I thought you were different, but you’re not. You’re evil just like she is, and you’ll both suffer the damnation of eternal hell—”

  “Jules!” Edna rushed through the doorway and soundly slapped her grandson’s shoulder. “Let go of her this instant!”

  Releasing his grasp, Jules stumbled backward, blinking at his grandmother as if she were an unwelcome mirage.

  Obviously distressed, Edna addressed Janine anxiously. “Are you all right, dear?”

  Janine rubbed her sore wrist and managed a shaky nod. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  The woman’s blocky shoulders drooped. She squeezed her tiny eyes closed, opened them again and spoke quietly to her grandson. “Please go back to bed, Jules. Grand’mère will be up to tuck you in.”

  To Janine’s shock, the young man suddenly panicked. His pinched mouth flattened and his Adam’s apple bobbed frantically. When Edna reached up to caress his cheek, he flinched and shielded himself with his hands.

  “There, there,” Edna said soothingly and stroked Jules’s hair until the fear melted from his dark eyes. “That’s a good boy. Now go upstairs, dear, and wait for me.”

  Janine was amazed by the young man’s transformation. Plucking at his clothing, Jules seemed completely bewildered by the situation and incapable of the terrifying rage he’d displayed moments earlier. He looked at Janine with callow confusion, then bowed awkwardly and left the room.

  Instantly Edna grasped Janine’s hands and squeezed them painfully. “I’m so very sorry, dear. Sometimes he does things…in his sleep.”

  “He’s a somnambulist?”

  Edna brightened, just a little. “Yes, that’s it. Please forgive him, dear. He won’t remember any of this in the morning.”

  Somehow that information gave Janine little comfort. “Does this happen often?”

  “No, no.” The poodle curls vibrated with a vehement head shake. “Only when he’s extremely stressed.” Edna lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The fire, you know. Jules has been most upset.”

  “I, uh…” Extricating her hands from the woman’s compulsive grip, Janine nervously clutched her robe. “He seemed distraught about his mother.”

  Moisture swelled in the older woman’s eyes. “God in His infinite wisdom has given Jules a mighty cross to bear.”

  Janine cleared her throat. “Jules…spoke harshly of her.”

  With a sob, Edna crossed herself and gazed heavenward. When she faced Janine again, tears were sliding down her wrinkled cheeks. “It’s true. My daughter was—” she choked back a sob “—a loose woman.”

  Stunned by the woman’s emotional admission, Janine could only stammer, “I’m so sorry.”

  The sympathy was acknowledged with a weak nod. Edna dabbed her wet eyes and spoke in a quavering voice. “As a child, Jules was exposed to his mother’s sinful behavior.
It disturbed him deeply.”

  Janine exhaled slowly. “So it would seem.”

  “But he’s a good boy, truly he is.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Janine massaged her throbbing temples. “I realize that somnambulists have little control over their activities but his behavior tonight was…bizarre.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Edna, but I have other guests to consider—”

  “Oh, no. Please.” Edna clutched Janine’s arm. “My grandson will never bother you again. I know you were frightened but I swear on the blood of our Lord, Jules never would have harmed you. He’s not capable of violence.”

  Although the bruises on her wrist indicated otherwise, Janine was nonetheless moved by the woman’s poignant plea. She considered her options. After all, there had been no other incidents during the fifteen months that Jules and Edna had been tenants, and Janine had to admit that the entire town had been jittery since the night of the fire. Besides, evicting Jules meant evicting poor Edna and there simply was nowhere for either of them to go.

  Janine sighed. “All right, Edna, but if Jules’s nocturnal activities become a problem—”

  “They won’t, dear. I can promise you that.” Eyes shining with gratitude, Edna squeezed Janine’s hands, more gently this time. “Bless you. You are a saint.” With a damp smile, the older woman waddled out of the kitchen and headed upstairs.

  Janine sat heavily at the table, unable to shake the memory of Jules looking at her with such murderous rage. But a moment later he’d behaved like a perplexed child, which supported Edna’s contention that he hadn’t known what he was doing.

  Sighing, Janine propped her head on her hands and tried to be philosophical. Maybe Jules had fallen asleep watching an old James Cagney movie, and she should consider herself fortunate that he hadn’t shoved a grapefruit in her face. She hoped that this unpleasantness had been an isolated incident as Edna insisted and that she wouldn’t regret the decision to let them stay. At this point, the only thing she knew with any certainty was that she felt more like a sucker than a saint.