Page 22 of Whispers

And deep in her heart, Claire had found him irresistible. She’d spent nights on her knees praying that this indecent attraction to him, one that caused her blood to heat and her heart to trip-hammer, would pass before anyone—especially Kane himself—noticed. She told herself that when she woke up from dreams where Kane was performing all sorts of wildly delicious ministrations to her body, it was only whimsy, nothing to worry about. She swam lap after lap in the pool, trying to force him from her mind. But late at night, when the moon rose high, its silvery light spangling the black waters of the lake, Claire had sat on the window ledge in her bedroom with the sash thrown wide so she could feel the salt-laden breeze off the Pacific rush through her hair and press her nightgown to her body while she gazed across the dark expanse to the single light burning in the attic window of Kane’s house. She had closed her eyes and imagined his hands and tongue caressing her sweat-soaked body. Stirrings deep inside her made her restless, and she knew that despite her vows to herself otherwise, making love to him would be an experience worth any risk on earth, a once-in-a-lifetime chance that would condemn her forever.

Now, years later, she looked across those same shadowy waters and felt long-buried yearn

ings deep inside, the pulsing want that had, as a girl, kept her from sleeping. She clutched a hand to her throat and hoped history wasn’t so foolish as to repeat itself.

Once with Kane Moran was bad enough; twice would surely damn them both.

Part Two

Sixteen Years Earlier

Six

“I don’t know what you see in Harley Taggert.” Tessa wound another clump of blond hair around a heated roller. Wearing only a bra and panties, she was sitting at the vanity in her bathroom, her face drawn in concentration as she met Claire’s gaze in the mirror. “If you ask me, Weston’s the interesting one.”

“And a jerk.” Claire didn’t trust the older Taggert boy. Weston was smooth as a perfectly tuned engine and twice as oily.

“Yeah, but you have to admit Harley’s kind of a wimp. Damn!” Tessa sucked her breath through her teeth, shook her hand, and dropped the roller. “I always do this.”

Gingerly, Claire picked up the hot roller and dropped it onto a heated spindle in Tessa’s case.

Licking her finger, Tessa scowled. “The problem with Harley—”

“There is no problem.”

“Sure there is. He’s a dishrag. He’ll do anything his old man says.”

“No way.” But Claire felt a smidgen of doubt in her own convictions. If Harley had a fault, and that was a pretty big “if,” then it was that he didn’t have as strong a will as Claire would have liked.

“Then why hasn’t he broken it off with Kendall?” Tessa asked, finely arched eyebrows lifting a fraction higher as she reached for another roller. “You remember her, don’t you, Kendall Forsythe from Portland, daughter of one of the biggest real estate moguls or whatever you want to call them in San Francisco before the family moved up here and—”

“I know who Kendall is.”

“Harley was engaged to her.”

“It was never official.” Claire hated the feeling that she had to defend him. Harley was good and sweet and kind and so what if he wasn’t the athlete or student or ladies’ man that Weston had been? Who cared that he sometimes had trouble making up his mind? It was just that he was thoughtful.

“Kendall seemed to think it was official. I talked to Harley’s kid sister at the beach yesterday, and she said that Kendall’s all broken up and refuses to believe it’s over. Paige says that Kendall’s been spending as much time as she can at her parents’ beach cabin in Manzanita, just so she can be close to him.”

“Paige Taggert is a pain in the backside.” Claire had bent over backward to try and make friends with the only Taggert daughter, but Paige had turned up her recently reshaped nose and wouldn’t give her the time of day.

“Well she adores Kendall and thinks that whatever Kendall says or does is the gospel truth.” Furrows sliced across Tessa’s smooth forehead as she secured the final roller. “If you ask me, it’s kind of sick. Like she’s got a crush on Kendall or something.”

“You’re the one who’s sick.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, it’s weird.” Tessa blotted her face with a tissue. “Harley hasn’t called today, has he?”

“No, but—”

“Or yesterday?”

“He’s been busy—”

“Or the day before that?”

“I don’t keep track.”

“Sure you do. You’ve been hanging around the house, jumping every time the phone rings, hoping that Harley’s on the other end of the line. Why don’t you just call him?” Tessa asked as she adjusted the strap of her bra, then reached for a tube of coral lipstick. “That’s what I would do.”