Charmed: Gowns & Crowns, Book 6 Read online

  The bell rang again and he hauled himself up to peer over the rooftop. He couldn’t see who was at the front door, of course, but a bicycle from Pearl Island’s lone bike rental shop now leaned up against the light post. So clearly it was a tourist of some sort, probably told in town that Pinnacle hosted overnight guests. The locals never could get it through their heads that those days were gone.

  Simon thought about shimmying down the back of the roof, but he was a sweaty mess and he suspected he’d shock the collection of senior citizens far more than an unsuspecting tourist. He cared more about his grandparents and their friends, too. Not so much about someone who’d biked up here without invitation, simply expecting to be served.

  As that thought struck him, irritation came on its heels. The tourist season would go on for another month or so, but the bulk of the summer crowd had already left to return to their jobs and school schedules. Who vacationed in September? Shouldn’t she be at her job? And it was almost certainly a she. In his experience, men didn’t travel to tiny little resort islands and rent bicycles on their own, unless they were intent on finding some quiet corner to keep to themselves and study or paint or read. They didn’t go out of their way to annoy him, certainly.

  He grimaced. His reclusiveness was getting worse, he knew, but it simply was who he was. The stranger would learn that soon enough.

  Crab walking down the side of roof to where his ladder stood, hidden in the lee of the turret, Simon winced as the bell rang again. Didn’t the woman know when to give up? If he didn’t head down now, however, she might be brazen enough to wander to the back yard, and that would spell the end of his grandparents enjoying their bridge game. They’d insist on showing the newcomer the entire blasted house. He needed that like a hole in the head.

  No. Better that he headed this off at the pass. He could hear the woman’s expelled, irritated breath and the scrape of her rubber-soled shoes on the painted planks of the front porch. Time to go.

  He swung off the roof and onto the ladder. Its metal bracings clanked against the gutter, and the footsteps on the porch stopped. A moment later, a voice rang out.

  “Hello?”

  Simon froze for a second on the third step, momentarily arrested. He knew that voice. Not well, but he’d heard it recently, very recently—except not exactly the same. The tone had been huskier, the accent more pronounced…

  In a flash it hit him, and he grinned beneath the baking sun, before clattering with loud emphasis the rest of the way down the ladder. It was the woman from the other night, the one who’d interrupted his talk at the college and had heralded the onslaught of a dozen questions before he could get everyone back on track again. She’d left well before she could see the impact of her petulant question, and now she was here—on his literal doorstep? To do what, apologize?

  Somehow, he doubted it.

  Well, if she thought she was going to take him further to task, he was more than happy to disabuse her of that idea.

  He dropped the last few feet to the ground, wiping his hand over his face and shoving his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. Then he sauntered around the corner.

  “Ma’am?” he drawled.

  “Oh! Thank heavens, I…” the woman’s voice dwindled to nothing as she took in the full sight of him. “Doctor—Blake?”

  Chapter Three

  Caroline Andromeda Marie Saleri had spent thousands of hours studying how to be graceful, noble, polite, and refined in the face of every circumstance. She knew basic conversation in half a dozen languages, had spoken with kings, queens and princes, had entertained ambassadors and their families from nearly every European country and had faced spoiled, surly, entitled and even downright unendurable houseguests in her unofficial role of family hostess over the years.

  But she’d never faced a half-naked man in the full light of day, staring at her like he was going to swallow her whole.

  “Dr. Blake?” she tried again, and this time her voice sounded stronger, though it still broke in the middle of the man’s name. This was not the disheveled but elitist lecturer who’d so sweepingly dismissed her family three days earlier. This was an earthy, sun-baked, hard-bodied male whose dark, flashing eyes were pinned on her, whose hair was roughly swept back from his angular face, and whose body—

  She snapped her gaze up to his face as he spoke.

  “We’re not taking in guests at present,” he said gruffly. “You should have called.”

  The harshness of his tone stiffened Caroline’s spine, and she tightened her hand on her purse. But as she dropped her gaze again it had nowhere to go but to the man’s impressive, tanned, and very uncovered chest. Sweat glistened on his broad shoulders and down the hard planes of his pecs, and she’d never—well she’d never—

  Stop that right now. Caroline refocused again to meet Blake’s challenging stare. “I’m not interested in spending the night with you,” she snapped.

  The man’s brows shot up, a smile instantly curling his lips. The expression transformed his face into one of almost startling beauty. “You sure about that?” he drawled.

  She was staring at him—staring! Caroline instinctively backed up a step, her heart thumping as she felt the blood rush into her face. Thank God she’d managed to convince Cindy Marks that she didn’t need her body guarded for this jaunt to Pearl Island. To have a witness to her embarrassment would have made this moment a million times worse.

  Time to regroup.

  Caroline flashed the man a bright, competent smile. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’ve caught me unawares. I need to talk with the owners of the, um,” she faltered, tearing her gaze away from the suddenly wolfish-looking professor to the stately old home. A sign announcing it as Pinnacle House swung lazily in the soft breeze, but it wasn’t at all like she was expecting. “There is a museum here, correct?”

  In response, Dr. Blake hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his pants. The movement drew her attention further down his body, to his abs. They were…very nice abs. Hard without being too cut, also tanned. The man clearly spent a lot of time without his shirt on.

  The man should spend a lot of time without his shirt on, frankly.

  Did he recognize her, Caroline wondered? He had to. The lights hadn’t been that dim in the lecture hall, and she’d asked several questions. Either way, if he didn’t recognize her, she’d certainly recognized him. There was no point in treating him like he was a handyman, even if he didn’t make any move to put clothes on like a civilized adult.

  His voice drew her attention back to his insufferable smirk as he spoke again.

  “There is,” Blake said, but he appeared no less welcoming. “But it’s currently closed. Private party.”

  “Ah.” She straightened, trying to salvage what was left of her dignity. “Which I would have known if I’d called. Will it be closed for the rest of the day?”

  “Probably.”

  “Probably but not definitely? I really do need to speak with the owners.”

  He rocked back on his heels, studying her. “Why don’t you tell me what you need to speak to them about, and I can pass along the information?”

  His tone implied that her likelihood of success with that avenue was slim to none, and Caroline’s temper flared. She ruthlessly forced a cheerful expression to her face. “That would be very kind of you, but I’m afraid it’s a private matter. It involves a donation to the museum.”

  Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “A donation. Of what?”

  “As I said, that’s a conversation I can only have with the owners of the museum, I’m sure you understand, yes?” She glanced around the grounds pointedly. A veritable forest of oak trees stretched off to the right of the property, at least moderately cleared of underlying brush, and to the left an army of dunes seemed to swell up toward the property. She could spend hours poking around these grounds. “This is a beautiful house. I do hope it will be open while I’m in South Carolina. I can’t believe I haven’t made it here so
far.”

  Dr. Blake’s eyes held their intensity as he stared at her. “How long will you be staying?”

  The question startled Caroline, its brusque curiosity the first positive emotion she’d sensed from the man. Be charming, she implored herself.

  She gave him her most winning smile. “Hopefully another few weeks at the very least. I’m so enjoying visiting the low country. It’s very different from my home.”

  She held out a hand. “Well, thank you so much for your time, Dr. Blake,” she said. “I appreciate your help today.”

  Another quite real smile played about Blake’s lips, and he held out his hand as well. He apparently remained completely unfazed that he was standing nearly naked in front of her, and she shook his large, warm hand then dropped it with what she hoped wasn’t too obvious embarrassment.

  “You recognized me right away. Sometimes context is difficult,” he said, and though the statement didn’t relate to what she’d said, Caroline simply nodded.

  “I’ll admit, it took a moment to recover at seeing you here. But I do hope I rallied sufficiently.”

  “And you are?”

  “Caroline.” She smiled, not bothering to give her last name. She didn’t want a repeat of his derision from the other evening. Instead she pointed at his chest, because, well, she couldn’t not point at it. “Do you typically work half-dressed? Or did I merely happen along at a fortunate time?”

  The professor’s grin broadened, but he made no move to leave—though she would have much preferred to have this conversation with the man clothed, she was nearly certain.

  No, really.

  “I had to sacrifice my shirt to the cause up on the roof,” Blake said. “Needed an additional tote bag, and didn’t feel like climbing back down.”

  He half pivoted toward the roof and pointed, but Caroline’s gaze didn’t follow upward. Instead it pinned to his back, his lats stretching smoothly under his skin, his waist tucked in. How was a professor this hot, exactly? Even one who worked on rooftops in his free time?

  “Why are you here, actually?” she blurted as he turned back, his gaze raking over her face. Was she blushing again? It was very hot today, and she’d left her hat in her bicycle basket with all the breezes blowing up off the water. Surely he’d suspect that she was merely sunburned. “It’s quite a distance from the College of Charleston.”

  He hesitated a moment, then shrugged, as if deciding she didn’t merit subterfuge. “My grandparents own Pinnacle House,” he said. “I help care for it when I can.”

  “Your…grandparents.” Caroline tried to parse this information in her mind. Would that make getting the jewelry collection easier or more difficult, she wondered? Somehow, she didn’t think it was going to make it easier. Nothing about this man screamed easy. “They’re the owners of Pinnacle House?”

  “It’s been in the family for generations, built by the family as well,” Blake nodded. He was back to standing in front of her with his thumbs hooked in his pants, rocking back on his heels. “Maybe I could help you with your question?”

  Caroline shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said firmly. “I’ll come back when they’re free.”

  He lifted a hand up, stretching his abs as he reached back to scratch the top of his shoulder. The movement was so unconsciously masculine she nearly stepped back, to could get more of his body in view. “Actually,” he said smoothly, “I’ve had a bit of a change of heart about that. I could show you around the place myself—even the museum—if we stay out of the way of the guests in back.”

  “Oh! Well, I don’t mean to impose…”

  He chuckled wryly, shaking his head. “Of course you do. And you’ll no doubt return every day if we don’t get this done now.” He held up a staying hand when she would have protested. “Give me five minutes. Unless you’d rather I remain shirtless.”

  Before the woman could say another word, Simon spun on his heel, striding to the corner of the house. Tucked behind the turret was an outdoor shower and cleaning table, a holdover from when the house had hosted fishing expeditions. He’d stashed a change of clothes in there earlier in anticipation of being a filthy mess after working on the roof, though he hadn’t expected to have an audience.

  An appreciative audience.

  He gritted his teeth as he stepped inside the shower and stripped off his clothes. His body had hardened from the first moment that “Caroline” had laid eyes on him, her gaze so startled and so frankly assessing that everything but his brain had reacted with instant readiness to throw himself at her.

  Fortunately, rational thought had kicked in quickly enough to keep him from touching the poor woman. He wasn’t a barbarian, for the love of God. And he’d been back in the States plenty long enough to start up a relationship if that’s what he’d wanted. But he hadn’t been willing to be distracted.

  Clearly, that was no longer the case.

  He cranked the water on full force, the jetting stream of ice cold water hitting his shoulders and head, making him gasp in shock as his blood flow changed direction with such abrupt force it almost made him dizzy. He arched beneath the water, getting control of his body again. Had Caroline noticed the erection that’d been straining against his work pants the entire time she’d been staring at him? He prayed not, and he didn’t think so. She’d been too fixated on his chest and shoulders…

  Okay, this wasn’t helping.

  Simon lifted his face to the punishing flow of water, then finished his quick shower and dried himself off roughly. The khakis he’d pulled out were frayed at the bottom but serviceable enough, and the thin tee shirt was worn but passable. He hadn’t expected anyone interrupting his grandparents’ bridge party, least of all a woman. Especially not that woman.

  She hadn’t given him her last name, but he wasn’t an idiot. Now that he’d seen her up close, there was no doubt that Caroline was related to the woman Vince Rallis had brought to the house a month earlier. Probably a sister, and given her age, a younger sister. That made her a Saleri. A Saleri, not a Contos.

  His grandparents had always insisted that the Contos collection featured in the Pinnacle House’s museum had a fantastic tale associated with them, but Simon had never investigated it beyond their breathless recitation—hadn’t thought much of it, really, as it was one of easily a thousand stories they’d enjoyed recounting over the years about the museum’s Island Royalty collection. But once he’d heard the name Saleri, not Contos, and realized that two families from the same seaside kingdom had made their way to Pearl Island attached in some way to these jewels, the same curiosity that had taken him throughout Europe in search of superstitious beliefs had inspired him to at least check into the tiny seaside kingdom. He’d quickly learned that Garronia had a remarkably rich history of superstition, and the Saleri curse had come to light after a few days of in-depth research and some outreach to his European colleagues.

  He’d never expected to run into another member of the family, and he really shouldn’t have included the details of its curse in his talk no matter what, especially in such a broad overview. Then again, if he was honest with himself, a part of him had suspected the European woman challenging him in his talk was Garronois, despite her muddied accent. Taunting her with the curse had been meant as a dig, but not such a personal one.

  And now she was on his doorstep. Why?

  Simon pulled the tee-shirt over his head, his hair already drying beneath the hot sun. A sudden dismay shot through him—would Caroline still be on the front porch where he’d left her? Or had she turned tail and run?

  Or, worse, had she decided to peek around the corner of the house, and found his grandparents?

  That would be a disaster. If his grandparents and their cronies figured out they had a real-life countess in their midst, whether she was Contos or not, they’d probably faint dead away.

  Simon punched open the door of the shower, then strode around the side of the house. His gaze went first to the drive—the bike remained there, le
aning up against the post, though the hat was no longer in the basket. Another few strides confirmed that Caroline hadn’t returned to the porch. His gut churning, he swung around toward the house to head to the back—only to catch sight of the woman far to the right of Pinnacle House, just inside the edge of the trees. She was reaching up almost tentatively to stroke a long strand of Spanish moss.

  The moment she touched the graceful hanging herb, Simon felt a shiver roll over his skin. He grimaced. Clearly, he needed to respond to at least one of the proffered suggestions from his colleagues regarding women they knew who were open to dating. Something to take the edge off—though he hadn’t realized there was an edge to take off. But Caroline Saleri was affecting him far too much, and they’d barely met.

  “You can’t hurt it,” he said as he approached her. She pulled her hand back suddenly, shifting to face him. Beneath the broad brim of her sunhat, her skin was flushed. “And it won’t hurt you.”

  “It’s like it’s trying to overtake the trees,” she said, her voice low, as if she’d lapsed into her own private reverie. “Does it tax them a great deal?”

  “Not at all.” Simon’s own words had quieted as well, the woman seeming to pierce through his natural reluctance to talk to…well, anyone. “It’s not a parasite, though it looks like it should be. It uses the trees to gain access to the nutrients it needs—airborne and waterborne particles. It thrives in marshy areas, which is why it loves the south so much.” He gestured deeper into the trees. “There are several ponds back there, and a full-on marsh during high tide.”

  “I wondered if there was access to the water on your property. You’re so far inland.”

  He shook his head. “We’re not, actually. It’s deceiving, the way the land rises, but from the house you’ll see that it falls away as quickly, leading down to brushy dunes and then a beach. It’s not deep enough for a proper dock, though. Nowhere on the island is, except at the marina.”

  As he’d talked he’d pulled up alongside Caroline, and they stepped further into the shadow of the trees now, without any explicit reason to do so. He hadn’t taken the time to walk through the small forest in months, it seemed, beyond a quick survey to make sure there were no downed trees blocking the flow of the tides. Marshland was one thing, but too much standing water was an invitation to create an insect habitat. The island’s breezes did a good job keeping most of those pests at bay, but this part of the Pinnacle House grounds was almost a land unto itself, shut off from the rest of the world.