"In a way. We were one once, but centuries of separation changed us. "
I found myself fascinated by the information, as well as the silky roll of his voice. I should go inside, although the only things waiting for me there were my television and an ancient calico cat. I'd rather learn more about Gypsies.
"What are the Irish Gypsies called?"
"Travelers. " The gaze he turned on my house was oddly wistful. "We do not like to stay in one place very long. "
Grace would say that was because they were running from something or perhaps had something to hide. But maybe they just liked to see the world. It wasn't a crime.
The sharp yip-yahoooo of a coyote to the west was answered by several more to the east. We remained silent until the last vestige of sound died away.
"That wasn't a wolf," Cartwright murmured, "but a coyote. "
"I've listened to a hundred coyotes sing to these hills. What I heard earlier was nothing I'd ever heard before. "
"It could not have been a wolf," he insisted. "Wolves don't tolerate coyotes in their territory. Where you find one, you will not find the other. " The coyotes began to yip again, much closer than before. "If there was a wolf anywhere near here, all the coyotes would flee. "
"How do you know so much about them?" I repeated.
His smile was lazy, sexy, and when he reached out, I started so badly I banged my elbow on the fence.
But all he did was take my hand and brush his lips across the surface. Then he glanced into my face, his dark eyes even darker this far from the light.
"I know so much about so many things, Mayor Kennedy," he whispered, and put his mouth against me once more.
This time I felt the scrape of his teeth, the pull of his lips, the flick of his tongue, and a bolt of awareness ran the length of my ar
m, tightening my nipples and causing a tingle in places that hadn't tingled in a very long time.
Chapter 5
He released me before I could pull away - would I have pulled away? - then sketched a quick bow and strolled back in the direction we'd come. In seconds he'd disappeared around the bend; I continued to stand in the street staring after him like a fool.
You'd think I'd never been kissed before. Of course I hadn't been kissed like this.
I lifted my hand, which glistened in the silvery moonlight - moist from his tongue, a slight scrape from his teeth, a darker mark where he'd pulled the skin into his mouth and sucked. Before I knew what I meant to do I put my own mouth where his had been, my lips moving against my skin, capturing the dampness he'd left behind.
A car went by, the harsh lights washing over me, making me drop my arm and hurry through the gate to the front door. I found my key and let myself in, moving through the front hall and into the kitchen without bothering to turn on a light.
I'd lived in this house all of my life - excluding the four years I'd spent at college and the four years I'd lived in Atlanta. Dad had never changed a thing, leaving it exactly the same as it had been on the day my mother died. If I stayed I was going to have to do something - at least paint, perhaps gut the place.
Tossing my purse onto the counter, I stood in the darkness and thought about dinner in an attempt to keep myself from thinking about Malachi Cartwright. I gave up on both. I wasn't hungry, and I couldn't stop thinking about him.
What kind of man kisses a woman's hand? A gentleman in a historical romance novel.
What kind of gentleman uses his tongue and teeth to arouse during such a kiss? None I'd ever read about.
Perhaps that was because life wasn't a romance novel. I'd learned that the hard way in Atlanta. I couldn't forget it just because I'd returned to Lake Bluff.
Exhausted and deep down horribly lonely, I climbed the steps to my room. I flicked on the light and got an offended meow from the dappled cat that had been sleeping on my pillow.
Oprah - who'd arrived one sunny Christmas morning during my talk-show-host phase - blinked at me in disdain, then shot her back leg up and began to clean her butt.
"Hey, not on my pillow. " I crossed the room and yanked the thing out from under her. She tumbled onto the floor and walked away haughtily as if she'd meant to do that.
The two of us shared the house, although sometimes I got the feeling she was only tolerating me until someone better came along, then I'd be out on my ear.
Though I knew I should eat, watch television, read a book, do something other than work and sleep or I'd be falling back into the same pattern that had contributed to the host of bad decisions I'd made in Atlanta, I threw off my clothes and tumbled into bed, not even bothering with pajamas.