When he released her, she leaned back against the door, her eyes closed, breath hitching. Watching her, he realized he'd never seen anyone fight so hard for control.

“Sit down.” She shook her head. “All right, stand.” With a dismissive shrug, he moved away to light a cigarette. “Either way you're going to tell me what set you off.”

“I don't want to talk to you.”

He sat on the arm of a chair and blew out a stream of smoke. “Lots of people haven't wanted to talk to me. But I usually find out what I want to know.”

She opened her eyes. They were dry now, which relieved him considerably. “Is this an interrogation?”

With another shrug, he brought the cigarette to his lips again. It wouldn't do her any good if he caved in and offered,soft words. He wasn't even sure he had them. “It can be.”

She thought about pulling the door open and leaving. But he would only stop her. She'd learned the hard way that there were some battles a woman couldn't win.

“It isn't worth it,” she said wearily. “I shouldn't have come while I was upset, but I thought I got myself under control.”

“Upset about what?”

“It isn't important.”

“Then it shouldn't be a problem to tell me.”

“Bax called. My ex – husband.” To comfort herself she began to roam the room.

Holt studied the tip of his cigarette, reminding himself that jealousy was out of place. “Looks like he can still stir you up.”

“One phone call. One, and I'm back under his thumb.” There was a bitterness in her voice he hadn't expected from her. He said nothing. “There's nothing I can do. Nothing. He's going to take the children for two weeks. I can't stop him.”

Holt let out an impatient breath. “For God's sake is that what all this hysteria's about? So the kids go off with Daddy for a couple of weeks.” Disgusted, he crushed out his cigarette. And to think he'd been worried about her. “Save the vindictive – wife routine, babe. He's got a right.”

“Oh yes, he's got the right.” Her voice shook with an emotion so deep that Holt's head snapped up again. “Because it says so on a piece of paper. And he was there when they were conceived, so that makes him their father. Of course, that doesn't mean he has to love them, or worry about them or struggle to raise them without malice. It doesn't mean he has to remember Christmas or birthdays. It's just as Bax told me on the phone. There's nothing in the custody agreement that obligates him to send birthday cards. But it does obligate me to turn the children over to him when he has the whim.”

There were tears threatening again, but she refused them. Tears in front of a man never brought anything but humiliation. “Do you think this is about me? He can't hurt me anymore. But my children don't deserve to be used so that he can try to pay me back for being so much less than he wanted.”

Holt felt something hot and lethal spread in his gut. “He did a good job on you, didn't he?”

“That isn't the point. Alex and Jenny are the point. Somehow I have to convince them that the father who hasn't bothered to contact them in months, who could barely tolerate them when they lived under the same roof, is going to take them on a wonderful two-week vacation.” Suddenly tired, she pushed her hands through her hair. “I didn't come here to talk about this.”

“Yes, you did.” Calmer, Holt lit another cigarette.

If he didn't do something with his hands, he was going to touch her again, and he wasn't sure either of them could handle it “I'm not family, so I'm safe. You can dump on me and figure I won't lose any sleep over it.” She smiled a little. “Maybe you're right, Sorry.”

“I didn't ask for an apology. How do the kids feel about him?” “He's a stranger.”

“Then they probably don't have any preset expectations. Seems to me they might think of the whole thing as an adventure – and that you're letting him push your buttons. If he is using them to get to you, he hit bull's – eye.”

“I'd already come to those same conclusions myself. I needed to vent some excess frustration.” She tried a smile again. “Usually I just pull some weeds.”

“I think kissing me worked better.” “It was different anyway.”

He tapped out his cigarette and rose. The hell with what they could handle. “Is that the best description you can come up with?”

“Off the top of my head. Holt,” she began when he slid his arms around her.

“Yeah?” He nipped at her chin, then her mouth. “I don't want to be held.” But she did, too much.

“That's too bad.” His arms tightened, bringing her closer.

“You asked me to come here so you could...” She made a little sound of distress when he closed his teeth over her earlobe. “You could show me something of your grandfather's.”

“That's right” Her skin smelled like the air high on the cliffs – laced with the sea and wildflowers and hot summer sunlight. “I also asked you here so I could get my hands on you again. We'll just take one thing at a time.”

“I don't want to get involved.” But even as she said it, her mouth was moving to meet his.

“Me, either.” He changed the angle and sucked on her bottom lip. “This is just – oh – chemistry.” Her fingers tangled in his hair.

“You bet.” His rough – palmed hands slipped under her shirt to explore. “It can't go anywhere.”

“It already is.”

He was right about that, as well. For one brief moment she let herself fall into the kiss, into the heat. She needed something, someone. If she couldn't have comfort or compassion, she would take desire. But the more she took, the more her body strained for something just out of reach. Something she couldn't afford to want or need again.

“This is too fast,” she said breathlessly, and struggled away. “I'm sorry, I realize it must seem as though I'm sending you mixed signals.”

He was watching her eyes, just her eyes, as his body pulsed. “I think I can sort them out.”

“I don't want to start something I won't be able to finish.” She moistened her lips still warm from his.

“And I have too many responsibilities, too much to worry about right now to even think about having...”

“An affair?” he finished. “You're going to have to think about it.” With his eyes still on hers, he gathered her hair in his hand. “Go ahead, take a few days. I can afford to be patient as long as I get what I want. And I want you.”

Nerves skittered along her spine. “Just because I find you attractive, physically, doesn't mean I'm going to jump into bed with you.”

“I don't much care whether you jump, crawl or have to be dragged. We can decide on the method later.” Before she could think of a name to call him, he grinned, kissed her then stepped back. “Now that that's settled, I'll take you up and show you the portrait.”

“If you think it's settled because you – what portrait?” “You take a look, then tell me.”

He led the way up into the loft. Torn between curiosity and fury, Suzanna followed him. The only thing she was certain of at the moment was that since she'd met Holt Bradford again, her emotions had been on a roller coaster. All she wanted out of life was a nice smooth, uneventful ride.

“He worked up here.”

The simple statement captured her attention and her interest. “Did you know him well?”

“I don't think anyone did.” Holt moved over to open a tilt – out window. “He came and went pretty much as he pleased. He'd come back here for a few days, or a few months. I'd sit up here sometimes and watch him work. If he got tired of me hanging around, he'd send me out with the dog, or into the village for ice cream.”

“There's still paint on the floor.” Unable to resist, Suzanna bent down to touch. She glanced up, met Holt's eyes and understood.

He'd loved his grandfather. These splotches of paint, more than the cabin itself, were memories. She reached a hand out for his, rising when their fingers linked. Then she saw the portrait.

The canvas was tilted against the wall, its frame old and ornate. The woman looked back at her, with eyes full of secrets and sadness and love.

“Bianca,” Suzanna said, and let her own tears come. “I knew he must have painted her. He'd have had to.”

“I wasn't certain until I saw Lilah yesterday.”

“He never sold it,” Suzanna murmured. “He kept it, because it was all he had left of her.”

“Maybe.” He wasn't entirely comfortable that the exact thought had occurred to him. “I've got to figure there was something between them. I don't see how that helps you get any closer to the emeralds.”

“But you'll help.” “I said I would.”

“Thank you.” She turned to face him. Yes, he would help, she thought. He wouldn't break his word no matter how much it annoyed him to keep it.

“The first thing I have to ask you, is if you'll bring the portrait to The Towers so my family can see it. It would mean a great deal to them.”

At Suzanna's insistence, they took Sadie as well. She rode in the back of the pickup, grinning into the wind. When they arrived at The Towers, they saw Lilah and Max sitting out on the lawn. Fred, spotting the truck, tore across the yard, then came to a stumbling halt when Sadie leaped nimbly out of the back.

Body aquiver, he approached her. The dogs gave each other a thorough sniffing over. With a flick of her tail, Sadie pranced across the yard. She sent Fred one come – hither look over her shoulder that had him scrambling after her.

“Looks like love at first sight for old Fred,” Lilah commented as she walked with Max to the truck. “We wondered where you'd gone.” She ran a hand down Suzanna's arm, letting her know without words that she knew about the call from Bax.

“Are the kids around?”

“No, they went into the village with Megan and her parents to help Kevin pick out some souvenirs before they leave.”

With a nod, Suzanna took her hand. “There's something you have to see.”

Stepping back, she gestured. Through the open door of the truck, Lila saw the painting. Her fingers tightened on her sister's.

“Oh, Suze.” “I know.”

“Max, can you see?”

“Yes.” Gently he kissed the top of her head and looked at the portrait of a woman who was the double for the one he loved. “She was beautiful. This is a Bradford.” He glanced at Holt with a shrug. “I've been studying your grandfather's work for the past couple of weeks.”

“You've had this all along,” Lilah began.

Holt let the accusation in the tone roll off him. “I didn't know it was Bianca until I saw you yesterday.”

She subsided, studying his face. “You're not as nasty as you'd like people to think. Your aura's much too clear.”

“Leave Holt's aura alone, Lilah,” Suzanna said with a laugh. “I want Aunt Coco to see this. Oh, I wish Sloan and Mandy hadn't left on their honeymoon.”

“They'll only be gone two weeks,” Lilah reminded her.

Two weeks. Suzanna struggled to keep the smile in place as Holt carried the portrait inside.

The moment she saw it, Coco wept. But that was only to be expected. Holt had propped the painting on the love seat in the parlor, and Coco sat in the wing chair, drenching her handkerchief.

“After all this time. To have part of her back in this house.”

Lilah touched her aunt's shoulder. “Part of her has always been in the house.”

“Oh, I know, but to be able to look at her.” She sniffled. “And see you.”

“He must have loved her so much.” Damp eyed, C.C. rested her head on Trent's shoulder. “She looks just as I imagined her, just as I knew she looked that night when I felt her.”

Holt kept his hands in his pocket “Look, sentiment and séances aside, it's the emeralds you need. If you want my help, then I need to know everything.”

“Seance.” Coco dried her eyes. “We should hold another one. We'll hang the portrait in the dining room. With that to focus on we're bound to be successful. I've got to check the astrological charts.” She got up and hurried out of the room.

“And she's off and running,” Suzanna murmured.

Trent nodded. “Not to discredit Coco, but it might be best if I filled in Holt in a more conventional way.”

“I'll make some coffee.” Suzanna sent one last glance at the portrait before heading for the kitchen.

There wasn't so very much Trent could tell him, she thought as she ground beans. Holt already knew about the legend, the research they'd done, the danger her sisters had faced. It was possible that he might make more of it, with his training, than they had. But would he care, even a fraction of the amount her family did?