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“I think it’s exciting. And a nice opportunity to reunite the family.”
Sinclair shrugged. “I’ve never heard much good about the other Drummonds. We’re all surly sorts who keep to ourselves.” He raised a dark brow.
“You’re not surly.” She immediately regretted her pointless comment. The last thing she needed was for him to know she was smitten with him. “Well, not all the time, anyway.” Now she was blushing. She hurried to a darker corner of the attic and pulled at a drawer. “Where do the others live?”
“One brother became a privateer raiding the East Coast and the Caribbean.”
“A pirate?”
Sinclair nodded. “So the legend goes. His ancestors are still down there—or one of them, anyway—living on an island off the Florida coast. Since Jack Drummond’s a professional treasure hunter I hardly think he’ll help us find the cup.”
“He might be interested in the family angle.”
“I doubt it. The third Drummond brother got rich up in Canada, then went back to Scotland and bought back the family estate. His descendant lives there now. My mother hasn’t been able to even get James Drummond to reply to her emails. She’s tireless, however, so I’m sure she’ll get through to him eventually, once she has her strength back.” He lifted a box down from the top of an old armoire. “There aren’t a lot of Drummond descendants out there. They don’t seem to have had many children and a lot have died young over the years. Makes you wonder if the curse is real.”
Was Sinclair cursed? If anything, he seemed to live a charmed life, dividing his time between his Manhattan penthouse and his other fabulous houses. She saw him for only a few weekends of each year, and maybe a couple of weeks in the summer. Just enough time to gaze dreamily at him but not enough to know his secrets. Did he have secrets? Passions and longings?
She tried to shake the thought from her mind. His inner life was none of her business.
“Some of this stuff really shouldn’t be moldering away up here.” Annie lifted a porcelain serving platter from its perch underneath another coil of rope. “I bet you could take this on Antiques Roadshow.”
Sinclair chuckled. “And have them tell you someone bought it at Woolworth’s in the 1950s.” He stood over a big wood trunk, larger and obviously older than the steamer trunks piled high in several places. The inside appeared to be filled with folded clothing.
“Wow, look at that lace.” Annie moved beside him, trying to ignore his rich masculine scent. She reached into the trunk and fondled the snowy cotton. “It doesn’t look like it’s ever been worn.” She lifted the garment, which unfolded in a single soft movement, revealing itself as a delicate nightgown or petticoat. “Who did this belong to?”
“I have no idea. I confess to only ever rifling through the boxes with firearms and other guy stuff in them.” Again his mischievous grin made her heart quicken. “I never touched the girlie stuff.”
“Would you look at that.” Setting the petticoat aside, she peered into the large wooden chest to examine a richly worked bodice of green satin with red-and-gold edging. The needlework was exquisite and the material shone as if it had been woven yesterday. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Sinclair pulled the garment from the trunk and held it up. Low-cut at the neck and with a tiny waist, the dress was an extravagant ball gown.
“It’s stunning. And that blue one underneath it looks spectacular.” She reached in and fondled a striking peacock-blue silk garment with tiny pearl bead accents. “These should be in a museum.” It seemed a crime to leave them unseen in the dusty attic even a minute longer. “Let’s bring them down into the house and hang them properly.”
“If you like.” Sinclair looked skeptical. Of course he probably only cared about finding the cup. “Sure, let’s do it.”
Had her face betrayed her disappointment so readily? His sudden change of heart touched her. She smiled. “Great! I’ll carry as many as I can.”
Sinclair strode down the narrow, rickety stairs without a moment’s hesitation, despite his arms being filled with clothes. Annie teetered behind him, the heavy garments weighing her down and making her worry about missing her footing. “We can put them in the big wardrobes in the yellow bedroom. They’re empty since your mom gave away those old fur coats.”
She followed Sinclair back into the house and they laid the garments on the wide double bed. “I can’t believe how beautiful this gray silk dress is. How on earth did they weave the silver and blue into the fabric?”
“Probably took someone years. Things were done differently back then. Each item was a handmade work of art.”
“I suppose ordinary people never even touched anything like this.” She fingered the delicate fabric with its intricate ribbon detailing. “Unless they were helping madam fasten her corset, of course.” That’s what she would have been doing back then. Hey, she was still more or less doing it now, in a time when most women her age sat in plastic cubicles talking on the phone all day. She let her fingers roam inside the deep pleats at the waist and sighed. “What a stunning dress. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Why don’t you try it on?” Sinclair’s deep voice surprised her. She’d almost forgotten he was there.
“Me? I couldn’t possibly. They’re museum pieces, and my waist isn’t nearly that small.”
“I disagree. About your waist, that is.” His eyes settled on her waistband for a moment, making her stomach clench. Had her boss ever glanced at her waist before? She didn’t think so.
Her heart pounded with excitement at the prospect of trying a dress on. Of course she could always wait until she was all alone in the house. But then someone would notice it had been worn, and she’d look foolish. What if this was her only chance? “Well …” She plucked gently at the peacock-blue evening gown. “I still don’t think they’ll fit, but …”
“That settles it. I’ll discreetly turn away until you need help with the fastenings.” He strolled to a tall arched window on the far side of the room.
Annie’s heart quickened. She had an odd sense that a line between them was about to be crossed. Sinclair wanted her to try on the dresses. What did that mean?
Nothing, silly. He thinks it would be fun for you and he’s humoring you. Don’t get carried away. Really. This was foolish. She’d end up ripping a seam. “I’m sure they’re supposed to be worn with all sorts of elaborate corsetry and I don’t think—”
“Do you want to go back up and hunt for the cup?” He lifted a dark brow.
She hesitated, her fingertips still pressed against the rich fabric. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe just one dress.”
Sinclair nodded, a smile in his eyes, and turned away.
How sweet of him to let her try on a family heirloom. But which one? Without hesitation, she chose the rich peacock-blue. She held it against herself for a moment—the length was about right—and though the waist was narrow, it wasn’t quite as tiny as she’d first thought. Maybe it would fit, after all.
She resisted the urge to turn and check on Sinclair as she unbuttoned her Oxford shirt. She knew him too well to imagine even for a second that he’d be sneaking a peek. He had women falling all over him wherever he went, and barely seemed to notice them.
She lowered her khakis and stepped into the crisp blue fabric. It was creased from being folded and smelled slightly of camphor, but otherwise looked fresh as if it were sewn yesterday. The tiny pearl beads tickled her arms as she pushed them into the short, puffed sleeves. The low-cut neck revealed a broad expanse of her white Cross Your Heart bra, so she quickly undid the bra and slipped it off through a sleeve. She had done up nearly half the tiny, fabric-covered buttons by the time Sinclair asked if she needed help.
“Just a few hundred more buttons.” She smiled, already feeling like a princess in the luxurious gown. It fell to the floor and gathered there slightly, suggesting she should wear heels.
“Wow.” Sinclair had turned and stood, staring at her. “Annie, you look spectacular.” His eyes widened slightly as he surveyed her, slowly, from head to toe. “Like a different person.” He crossed the room and fastened the last few buttons. “As I suspected, it fits.”
“Odd, isn’t it?” She fought the urge to giggle like a little girl playing dress-up. It didn’t help that Sinclair’s fingers were so near her skin that she felt giddy. “But why would we think people had different bodies two hundred years ago? They weren’t so different from us.”
“No, they weren’t.” Sinclair’s voice was lower than usual. Done with the buttons, he moved in front of her again. His gaze rose over her neck and cheek, and she self-consciously tucked away a loose curl that had escaped her bun.
He frowned slightly. “You look pretty with your hair up.”
“I always wear my hair up.” She reached self-consciously for her bun.
“Do you? I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before.” His gaze heated her skin.
“It’s the dress.”
“Maybe it is. You hide under your clothes and conceal the fact that you have a beautiful figure.”
Her breasts swelled inside the fitted bodice. The cut of the dress acted as a bra, lifting things front and center. “Funny, I’m not sure I’ve ever had cleavage before.” She tried to laugh, to hide her shock at her own bold statement, but the sound withered under Sinclair’s stern regard.
“It suits you,” he said gruffly. “You should dress up more often.”
“I don’t really get the chance.” She glanced across the room where she could see a partial reflection in the mirror on the large wardrobe. She looked imposing in the long dress, and the dramatic blue brought out red-gold highlights in her hair. Sinclair’s tall form blocked one half of the view, his broad shoulders concealing the cleavage he admired. From this angle they almost looked like a couple, the distance between them foreshortened as if they were pressed together.
Like that could ever happen.
She attempted another carefree laugh, and again it vanished in the air, which suddenly felt hot and oppressive. Sinclair’s frown deepened, and she shivered under his fierce stare. Words failed her as their gazes locked for a second, two seconds, three …
Sinclair’s lips met hers with sudden force as his arms gathered her close. She melted, her mouth welcoming his and kissing him back with six years of unspent passion.
His kiss was intoxicating as strong liquor. Annie’s legs wobbled and she clung to him as their tongues wound together. Her nipples thickened against the luxurious silk.
His scent was subtle, masculine and inviting. She’d never been this close to him before. His skin looked smooth, but now she could feel the roughness of his cheek as he nuzzled her. His fingers wound into her hair, loosing her bun, and a rough groan escaped his mouth.
A coil of lust unwound inside her. His desire, his need, was palpable. She could sense it vibrating in his thick muscles and heating his tanned skin. His breath grew hot on her cheek, further stirring the passion unfolding in her belly.
What are we doing?
The thought seemed very far away, as if someone else was thinking it. Her fingers climbed into his thick, dark hair. It was silky to the touch. She could feel his hands sinking lower, to cup her buttocks, and she arched against him as he squeezed her. His breath came hard and heavy, giving their kisses an air of fevered desperation.
I’m kissing Sinclair. The thought flashed in her brain like a power surge. But instead of setting off alarms of warning, it sent ripples of excitement dancing to her fingers and toes. How many nights had she lain awake imagining this moment?
His kisses were rougher and harder than she’d imagined, fueled by desire more powerful than she’d dared to dream of. His hands fisted into the delicate fabric of her dress, feeling for her body beneath. He pulled her closer and his thick erection jutted against her. She gasped at the sensation, such a bold sign of his desire—for her.
His name fell from her lips in a rasped whisper. She pulled his shirt loose from his pants and reached for the warm skin of his back. His muscles, thick and roping, moved beneath her hands. She’d seen him without a shirt more than once, but never imagined the feel of all that strength under her fingers.
He plucked at the buttons along the back of her dress that they’d only just fastened. Her skin tingled at the prospect of being bared by his hands.
Are you really going to let him undress you? Her entire body answered, yes. Sinclair must have been hiding feelings for her the same way she’d been hiding them for him. Which was odd. She’d had no idea.
She giggled as he slid a hand inside the back of her dress. She’d already removed her bra and his fingers felt risqué and sensual against the bare skin of her back. More so as he lowered the dress and bared her breasts to his appreciative gaze. A lock of dark hair hung uncharacteristically in his eyes as he carefully pushed the dress past her waist. It seemed a shame to take it off after only a few minutes, but apparently it had already worked some kind of magic.
She stepped from the dress while unbuttoning Sinclair’s shirt. She parted it and sighed when she saw his chest. Taut muscle with a slender trail of dark hair disappearing below his belt buckle.
Her nipples had stiffened to tight peaks, which bumped against his chest as she fumbled with the belt. The leather was stiff and Sinclair distracted her by nibbling on her ear. She could feel his fingers dipping below the waistband of her panties—if only she’d worn more sensual ones! She blushed at the thought of him seeing her oh-so-practical cotton granny briefs.
But Sinclair didn’t seem to notice. His breath came hot and hard against her neck, in between ravishing kisses that stole her breath. His erection interfered with her efforts to unfasten his pants. When she finally got the zipper down she could see him straining against his boxers.
Her own breathing was labored and unsteady. Heat licked at her insides and she longed to press her naked body against his. With effort, they both pushed his khakis down past his strong thighs and he stepped out of them. They stood facing each other, a few scant inches between them. His body was perfectly toned, his stomach flat and hard behind his fierce arousal.
Annie swallowed. Were they going to make love right now? All signs pointed in that direction. Sinclair’s eyes were closed, and his hands roamed over her body. Her skin stirred and sizzled under his touch. She felt the curve of his strong cheekbones and kissed him gently on the lips. How could such an ordinary day take such a wonderful and extraordinary turn? Maybe it was something to do with the mysterious cup.
Or was it the curse?
A dark shard of doubt cooled her skin like a sudden draft from a window. This man was her boss. On the other hand, the train had left the station. They stood naked in the fourth guest bedroom, the crumpled remains of their clothes at their feet. It was already too late to turn back and pretend that nothing had happened.
And she wanted nothing more than to take this surprising intimacy even further. She wondered if she should tell him she was already protected by the IUD she wore to ease her painful periods? She didn’t want to spoil the delicious moment, so instead she kissed him again on the mouth.
“Annie,” he groaned. “Oh, Annie.” She almost exploded at the sound of her name on his lips. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her body ached to mesh with his and soon they were on the bed, him entering her with exquisite tenderness, while feathering kisses over her lips and groaning with unconcealed pleasure.
Annie wasn’t a virgin. She wasn’t all that far from being one, but she had some idea what sex was all about. Still, she’d never experienced anything like the intense sensations that rocked her body. Sinclair’s fingertips pressed into her flesh as his mouth claimed her, licking and biting her with abandon until she gasped and squealed with pleasure.
She’d never imagined Sinclair having such an uninhibited side. He always seemed so straitlaced and conservative.
Sinclair moved with deft prowess, skilled at taking her to new heights of pleasure, and keeping her there until she was ready to burst into flames, then shifting position for an entirely new approach to ultimate sexual bliss. To see—and feel—him breathless with excitement and driven by obvious hunger for her, almost drove her insane with pleasure.
“Oh, Annie.” Again he murmured her name, licking her lips and burying himself so deep she thought they’d become one.
“Oh, Sin.” She’d imagined calling him that, fantasized about it being her pet name for him like he was some duke from one of her favorite novels. To hear the affectionate abbreviation on her lips, for it to sound so natural in the air, almost made her laugh with pleasure.
Sin. Surely that’s what this was. But it felt so good it couldn’t be entirely wrong. Sinclair claimed her mouth with a powerful kiss and her body burst into a convulsion of pleasure that left her shivering and gripping him.
Goodness. She’d never experienced that before. It must be the famous orgasm magazines loved to rave about. Sinclair released a deep, shuddering groan and fell against her, gasping for breath. Then, without a pause, he rolled them both over until she was on top and held her there, his arms fast around her and his eyelids shut tight.
“Damn,” he said at last. “Damn.”
Two (#ulink_0e3a760b-98bb-53b8-96cd-9fee0787cdc8)
Sinclair wrapped his arms tightly around his lovely companion. Her strawberry-blond hair fell across his face. Her pretty, pale blue eyes looked at him shyly behind long lashes. He kissed her mouth again, her lips so soft and wet.
The sense of relief was extraordinary. Apparently going through his second divorce could set a man way off balance. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed and at peace. He leaned forward and nuzzled her soft skin, with its pretty freckles. “You’re a miracle,” he whispered in her ear. Her cheek plumped against his as her lips formed a smile. The blissful weight of her body on his pushed him against the soft mattress, trapping him in the aftermath of such sweet pleasure.
He let out a long, deep sigh. Sometimes life could be so complicated, and you just needed to get back to basics. He let his fingers play in the silky red-gold hair waving softly about her cheeks.
“That was unexpected.” Her voice sounded like music.
“Yes.” His brain was too fogged for conversation. “And wonderful.”
“It was. Though I hope my pot roast is okay. I totally lost track of the time.”
Pot roast? Sinclair managed to find his wrist somewhere underneath her soft back and pulled it reluctantly out. “It’s nearly five.”
Sinclair’s muscles were tensing up all over. Five in the afternoon. Pot roast overcooking somewhere. Present-day reality crept, unwelcome, into his mind. This delicious sylph in his arms was not a pre-Raphaelite fantasy maiden come out of the mists to entertain him.
She was his longtime housekeeper, Annie Sullivan.
“What’s the matter?” Her soft voice filled with concern.
His stomach tightened as he lifted his arms from her. Had he really kissed her on the lips and pulled her into bed with him? His mind swam. He must have been in a psychosis of lust. His friends had warned him that going without sex for too long could do crazy things to a man’s brain.
And now he was naked, sweaty and breathless, weighed down by the unexpectedly curvaceous body of the woman who polished his silver.
His head crashed against the pillow. In a way this was very stereotypical. Just the kind of thing his unsavory ancestors probably did with their staff. Another damning proof that he was no better than all the lying, cheating, philandering Drummonds who came before him.
Annie had noticed his change of mood. She, too, had stiffened and now pulled away, moving off him and to the side, with the snowy matelassé coverlet wrapped around her. Sinclair tugged the sheet up over his exposed flesh.
It was his fault, of course. “I’m so sorry.”
Annie’s cheeks were stained with red. She tucked her tresses behind tiny pink ears. He burned with shame that he’d taken such a good woman to bed without, seemingly, a moment’s hesitation.
“Honestly, I’m not sure what came over me.” Still reeling, he sat up and held his head for a moment. Was he in the grip of madness? Perhaps the same tropical malady that kept his mother in a delirium for nearly a week?
Contraception. The grim thought stabbed at his already pounding brain. “I don’t suppose you’re … on the pill.” The unromantic utterance hung in the air like a poisonous cloud.
“Not the pill, but something similar. I won’t get pregnant.” Her silvery voice had shriveled to a tinkle. She climbed from the bed, back to him, still holding the coverlet about her naked body.
And what a body. He had no idea Annie was hiding such lush and inviting curves below her staid Oxford shirts and loose khakis. Desire snuck through him again, hot and unwelcome, and he pulled the sheet higher over his chest.
