Page 7 of Winter
Olly’s voice was defeated and tired. “We found another one.”
Inca glancedover to the man in the passenger seat. As they had driven from Main Street, Inca had kept up a commentary, a practiced overview of the town’s ‘McNuggets’—the twin harbor lighthouses; Geyer Lake and its adjoining golf resort; the west coast road with its views of the Cascades. Tommaso Winter was good company. He was funny and erudite. But he made her nervous. He would listen to her talk intently, his gaze occasionally dropping to her mouth, which made her feel both sexy and vulnerable. Every inch of her skin was tingling from his presence.
He looked out of the window, seeing now the dense greenery, Douglas Firs, and trails leading off into the forest. “Where are we now?”
Inca grinned. “The cunningly titled Forest Road. Top of the town. Around this bend …” He swung the car around a sharp bend, the right side of the road dropping down a steep cliff to the sea. A huge, stately building came into view. “Is the main source of income for our little place. Hunter’s Ridge Private School. Massive fees, bored rich kids.”
“Hey, that’s beautiful.” He pointed out of the window. They were travelling back down the town now, along the coast road. Tommaso was looking at an outcrop of rocks just off the coast, rising out of the dark water.
“Desolation Rocks. Just off Desolation Point, close to the Desolation Point Lighthouse, just in case you didn’t get the name the first time.”
“So … Desolation, was it?” And they both laughed.
“You got it. Look, I’m going to find somewhere to park and we can hike into the forest if you’re interested?”
Tommaso smiled that devastating smile at her. “Love to.”
Inca and Tommaso trekked the trail that lead through the center of the town. She took him to the town’s unusual Stave church. He seemed interested when she told him about the church’s history—how a Scandinavian immigrant had built it because he missed his homeland so badly he wanted something uniquely Norwegian in this little piece of America. Inca pointed out how the structure’s strange, quirky architecture was locked together by careful dovetailing wedges and post and lintel construction.
“When we were kids,” Inca told him, “we were convinced that the lack of glue or nails meant it would come alive at night and turn into a Transformer.” She grinned at Tommaso’s raised eyebrows. “Hey, we were kids. We were pretty stupid.”
“We?”
“Me, my ex Olly, and his sister, Luna.”
“You grew up together?”
“They moved to the town when I was twelve. Before that, I was pretty much alone.” She regretted her last words. She felt his questioning gaze, but to her relief he didn’t ask anything further. They walked on for a few minutes in silence along Cemetery Trail, through the old-growth forest, the nursery trees springing from the decay of the fallen. At the gates of the cemetery, which stood in the center of the town, Tommaso stopped.
“You know what I’m wondering?”
’What’s that?”
“We’ve been walking a while now and I have yet to see any willow trees. For a town named Willowbrook, I would have expected there to be more. So far, I’ve seen one, the one in the middle of Main Street.”
Inca grinned. “And you know what? That’s it. That’s your one. The founder of the town didn’t get far into the town before naming it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
Tommaso considered this. “Well, I guess this town has another unique beauty then.” His eyes met hers and she felt her face burn.
Tommaso smiled, moving closer, and when he leaned him, the feel of his lips on hers sent her heart pounding. His mouth sought hers and she leaned into the kiss, feeling his arms snake around her. They were breathless when they finally broke apart.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice, leaning his forehead against hers. “I just could not wait any longer.”
Inca, dazed, shook her head. “It’s okay … but we barely know each other.”
“I wanted you as soon as I saw you yesterday.” God, the thrill his words sent through her. “Inca, why don’t we do this the wrong way around? Just go with it …”
She was trembling so much that she could barely answer him. Tommaso lifted her into his arms. “Bella, tell me stop, at any time, and I will stop.”
But she didn’t tell him to stop. Feeling as if she were in a dream, she let him lead her back to the car, him sliding into the driving seat this time, and then he drove them to his home.
The Fletcher Mansion had been empty for many years and Inca had always wondered about what it was like inside, but at this moment, she couldn’t focus on anything but Tommaso Winter.
Her sense had fled—who was this man? And why was she going along with it? All she knew right then was that if he wasn’t inside her soon, she might die of longing.
