For Her Eyes Only Page 3

  “Leona, wait—”

  “I refuse to live in fear. I have to go. That man is coming in the shop now.” The man’s body seemed to fill the doorway. His hand on the door handle, he seemed to hesitate, as if about to enter a foreign land. Leona smiled briefly. The man wasn’t used to shopping for women’s apparel.

  Leona couldn’t see his face, but a wedge of morning sunlight spread through those long legs.

  “Mom isn’t wrong about this danger, and you know it,” Claire stated fiercely. “You have the same dreams as she does.”

  “Okay, I may. But we may both be interpreting them wrongly,” Leona admitted reluctantly. “And sometimes seeing into the future is nothing but smoke and mirrors. The visions can be skewed and dead-end and meaningless…”

  The man glanced up at the bell, which had just tinkled, announcing his entrance. He carefully closed the door and placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the displays.

  This time when Leona spoke, her voice was low. “I know. Borg’s descendant has already tried to have someone kill you and Tempest and he’s failed in those attempts. Since you’ve both bonded with your husbands, logically I’m the weakest link in our family now, and I’m next on his list. I’ll be careful.”

  Leona probed gently through her sister’s humming silence but only saw happy little polka dots in her mind’s eye, which changed their psychic connection in a heartbeat. “Um, Claire? Is there something I should know? You aren’t trying to block me for some reason, are you?”

  Claire’s flustered, “Who me?” said she was doing exactly that. The polka dots abruptly evaporated. “But it’s not a bad thing, Leona. I’d just prefer not to tell you, so stop probing. You’re getting stronger, you know.”

  “I have to take care of this customer. Talk with you later. Bye.” For the moment, Leona wasn’t concerned about whatever her sister was trying to hide, the “not a bad thing.” She was more interested in the man standing in front of her. Few men came into her women’s clothing boutique, and the ones who did usually needed help. They seemed uneasy surrounded by so much femininity and, as an experienced salesperson, Leona always gave them time to adapt to the setting and browse a bit, before approaching them.

  She smiled as she smoothed a pale lacy slip-dress; it was to be worn under a sheer, flowing, embroidered dress with a layered satin belt. Sue Ann had urged Leona to try it on “for fun.” They’d ended the day laughing over how ill-suited the style was for Leona.

  The outfit’s wide-brimmed hat was perfect for a summer garden party and matched the dress perfectly. But fall’s chill was on the way and Leona went to work with her marker, reducing the price of both. She hung the dress on the pegboard display near the counter, then placed the hat in a big tissue-lined box. As the man moved through her store, she gave him a more thorough once-over.

  In a T-shirt that had seen better days, worn Western jeans, a belt and workman’s boots, this man wasn’t her usual browsing male. Leona guessed his height at about six-three without the boots. Long, lean, and angular, he’d make a perfect male model, “a clothes horse.” The power apparent in his broad shoulders and muscular body would interest any woman.

  Including Leona. The sexual tug she felt caused her to suck in her breath. Her nipples squeezed into tight nubs, and her lower body contracted as if he were already exploring it. An image flashed of him naked: lots of muscles, a hard, lean body, all wrapped up in nothing but that dark skin. The vision was so vivid that she gripped the counter; she could almost feel those muscles sliding next to her body, that thrust deep within her. Even now, her body was quickening, her pulse running hot…

  On the street outside, a car honked, startling her. But her mind clung to the image, her body wanting more.

  Leona quickly gripped the scissors she’d pulled out to remove a thread from a dress and pricked her fingers with the sharp tip. The slight pain was enough to help her refocus. Once she’d reclaimed her body’s hunger and tucked it neatly away, she put the scissors back, bracing herself to discuss feminine fabrics and styles with a man with dust on his jeans and who looked as if he’d just ridden in off the range.

  As she moved toward him with her usual, “May I help you?” Leona’s years of customer service told her that this man needed something special. Or else her damned psychic edge was quivering as it did when customers were deeply disturbed.

  He didn’t turn to her, but studied a display of Claire’s Bags. “Mm. I need something for my sister.”

  Need, not want. The difference was striking. This man was no light shopper. He was obviously troubled, and he wanted to buy a gift for someone he loved.

  As she faced his powerful back, Leona wanted to place her hand on those muscles, smooth them with her palms, then draw her nails down his burnished skin. It was an instinctive and primitive reaction, to mark a sexual partner, and one she hadn’t experienced.

  Lovemaking with Joel had been sweet and tender…not the hot, animalistic urge to take what she wanted.

  Leona caught his masculine scent—dark, woodsy, soap—it seemed to flow into her with each breath.

  He turned, his face in profile. His skin was dark, almost bronze, a vivid contrast to the cool vanilla shades of the display blouse behind him. With those straight, long black lashes and thick, arched brows, he could have Native American blood. The raw impact of his profile startled her—masculine, harsh, tough, lines across his forehead and around his mouth, a strong jawline that led into a muscled throat.

  Fascinated, Leona stared at the pulse in that tanned throat. She could almost feel the beat of his blood pounding within her….

  Much taller than her five-foot-nine, he had thick straight hair that gleamed, almost blue-black, and just about reached his collar. Leona held her breath, her senses heating. Her gaze skimmed the length of his arms, the way one large hand held a fragile necklace he’d picked up from the display case. A muscle moved in his arm as he cupped it gently, sensually, the way a woman’s breast should be held. His left index finger prowled slowly around the beads, and Leona noted that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She shivered, her breasts peaking as he touched one bead and then another.

  She could almost feel the heat of that fingertip circling and arousing her nipples. She could almost feel those powerful arm muscles sliding against her skin, damp with sexual strain…

  Leona braced herself against the hunger that vibrated deep within her. Logically, this customer was only an ordinary man; perhaps she was still aroused from her dream last night. How else could she explain her powerful attraction toward this stranger?

  Crossing her arms over breasts that seemed too sensitized, she asked, “What are you looking for, a necklace?”

  His deep tone seemed distracted. “Maybe. I need suggestions.”

  She knew how his voice would feel against her skin, a rumble that vibrated deep within her…. Leona drew a deep, steadying breath and flowed into her saleswoman mode: “I see. I think I can help. A good place to start might be how much you’d like to spend. We have some very nice low-end items, then some that are quite expensive, one-of-a-kind.”

  Warmed by that broad, callused palm, the beads rippled almost sensuously as they moved. “Something that will make my sister happy. I want to see her smile. Just for a little while. She’s having a bad time.”

  The softness Leona often hid from outsiders quivered and warmed; she would want to do the same for her sisters. “I see. What kinds of things does she like? Dresses? What colors? Does she have any special hobbies?”

  “She likes horses. Animals like her. They settle her down.” He turned his head slightly to look at the display window. “I saw a purse in the window that had horses on it.”

  “I’ll get it for you. I should tell you that any of Claire’s Bags are very expensive. They’re handmade and one-of-a-kind. The artist creates each one with a special name. She does the hand stitching herself, and she’s very good.”

  “Janice would like that…something handmade. She was a graphi
c artist and very creative. But she’s not doing design anymore.”

  “I have two creative sisters.” Leona understood: a gift from warm human hands, not machines or factories, was more personal. “I’ll get it. Claire named it ‘Freedom.’ It’s actually a tote, and many of our customers like something with horses on them. The design suits Bluegrass Country and the horse lovers around here.”

  She walked to the window display and bent to lift “Freedom.” The design was a simple blend of tapestry and suede. Claire had stitched a mountain scene behind a tapestry of racing horses.

  Leona removed the tissue packing that filled the tote and turned back to the man. “It has a lot of pockets, perfect for women’s things, and an attached key ring—women are always digging for their keys—and a cell-phone pocket. Note the—”

  Light eyes, set in a rugged face, pinned her. Set in his harsh face, they weren’t blue but rather the color of smoke. His stare seemed to slowly absorb everything about Leona: her hair, her white blouse and black pants outfit, her black pumps. Leona held her breath as the man’s gaze slowly moved over her. The intense sexual charge was immediate and shocking, and Leona’s heartbeat jumped into overdrive. This man liked what he saw, and he wanted her.

  The primitive need for sex pounded at Leona, and this time, it came from him. Sheer masculine hunger wrapped around her, nothing sweet or tender in it, just the raw explosive need for bodies pounding against each other, blood racing, throbbing hot in his veins. She could almost feel him in her, the pressure building frantically.

  When her breath returned, Leona braced herself to walk toward him. Men had wanted her before; she’d dated infrequently, but she’d never been really interested enough to develop intimacy. She’d missed sharing it with Joel, the pillow talks and a comfortable friendship.

  Joel had understood her aversion to being held too close, her claustrophobia overwhelming her in the missionary position. She doubted that another man would understand, and she wasn’t explaining.

  The man’s expression was quickly shielded, but she’d recognized the raw, sexual tug. It had nothing to do with intimacy and pillow talks, just bodies satisfying each other until both were drained.

  A guarded woman, who knew the dangers of involvement especially with the lurking danger of an energy that wanted to destroy her family, Leona held her breath. She was on edge, the night’s sensual dreams still simmering in her.

  On the other hand, a little relief might chase away those dreams. Leona put on her professional smile and walked toward him. “Note the stitching. The handwork is very fine.”

  His silvery eyes bound her. He took the tote without looking away from her eyes. “Janice will like this. It will remind her of Montana. That’s where we’re from…Montana. We’re new here—two weeks. We’re just getting settled in.”

  Montana! This information jarred her; Claire lived in Montana and had been unexpectedly and viciously attacked by a man she’d met only once, a gentle man apparently trying to rebuild his life. Leona could be standing in the same presence of that Borg-descendant who wanted to harm her family.

  She struggled to appear calm. “It’s a beautiful state. How long did you live there?”

  “Always. We were born there. We lost our parents when Janice was sixteen. I’ve been responsible for my sister ever since. I thought moving here would be good for her, a change of scenery. I’m hoping new surroundings will make a difference. She’s—she’s been diagnosed as having depression and other things. It’s complicated.”

  Pain flickered through his eyes, his lips tightening as though each word was a wound.

  “I see. I hope you like it here and that she is better. If she likes horses, this is definitely horse country.” Because her father had died when the triplets were four, Leona understood how traumatic losing a parent could be. But to lose both parents was unimaginable.

  Leona studied the man closely. Aisling’s warnings came more frequently now, the visions very clear. The Borg and the threat to her family who appeared in Leona’s dreams had black, burning eyes….

  This man had unusual silver eyes, and he appeared to be of Native American descent. Leona pushed away her uneasiness; even if he were physically similar to the man in her dreams, she couldn’t avoid every man who possibly might have descended from Vikings or from Celts. If she was uneasy at all, it was because she found this man attractive. As a woman who had just decided that sex could ease her, she naturally responded to the hot, male-hungry way he’d looked at her.

  Then, because Leona remembered that his sister was “having a bad time” she added impulsively, “Tell her it was created in Montana, just for her.”

  Leona’s impulsive words stunned her. She was usually methodical, careful, and professional when dealing with potential customers.

  “Thank you. She’d know if it wasn’t true.”

  Leona frowned slightly. Born to a psychic family where odd statements were sometimes frequent, she asked warily, “How would she know?”

  “Janice is good at things like that.”

  Leona tried to look away from those light eyes, a sharp contrast to his high cheekbones and blunt nose. When she finally did, it was to his mouth. She knew exactly how that hard mouth would feel on her skin, exactly how his breath would warm her. She understood how his jaw would feel against her throat, how his broad shoulders would feel beneath her fingertips.

  Because she knew and feared her own reaction, Leona hurried to the counter, placing distance and a barrier between them. “Is there anything else?”

  He just stood there holding that feminine tote bag in his big hard hands. The froth of blouses and dresses that surrounded him emphasized his dark complexion, that straight blue-black hair, the raw masculine stance. “Are you married?” he asked suddenly.

  Heat flushed her face, and her senses danced. The direct question was unexpected and probably inappropriate, and Leona heard her own breathless answer, “No. Are you?”

  “No. Never have been. I’ll take the bag. I’d like to clean up before I take you to dinner—if you’ll go. What time do you close?”

  “His name is Owen Shaw and he’s just bought a small horse farm here, and is fixing up the two-story house.”

  As Leona prepared for her date with Owen, she used her office’s speakerphone to talk with Tempest. Her sister lived near Lake Michigan, but she and her husband, Marcus Greystone, were planning to relocate. “Apparently Owen worked with his father, who was a carpenter, so he knows what he’s doing on the house renovation. His sister who lives with him fell in love with the old Stillings place. Her name is Janice and she has a private nurse-caregiver who also does housekeeping. She stays with them twenty-four/seven. His sister is on antidepressant medication, and they just moved here from Montana for a change of scenery. He bought one of Claire’s handbags for her, and it wasn’t cheap. Right now he’s spending time getting his sister settled, but Owen is looking for other real estate to fix and then sell.”

  “So he ‘flips’ real estate. You said he was in investments? For himself, or as a business?” Tempest asked.

  “He was an investment broker before his sister became really ill. Then he had to care for her and couldn’t work regular hours. He said he fell into one or two real estate deals. Owen found he could take care of his sister at the same time he worked on the houses and managed their private accounts. Apparently, they’ve tried everything to help her, and nothing has really worked so far. I really hope this move helps them both…. That’s about it, I guess. I know you’re worried about me, but you should know that I would ask a lot of questions before going out with a stranger, Tempest.”

  “Yeah, right. Claire said the sexual vibrations from you caused her husband to have a very good time this afternoon. Neil says to thank you.”

  When Tempest stopped giggling, Leona said, “I’m so glad everyone is enjoying themselves.”

  “Hey. Don’t get your nose out of joint. You deserve payback for teasing us. It may be a once-in-a-lifetime oc
currence and so unlike our cool, in control, sophisticated sister. You haven’t exactly been active. Let us enjoy the moment. What’s this guy look like?”

  After Leona inserted pearl studs into her earlobes, she removed the cloth shielding the full-length mirror. The cloth had served to protect her from her own reflection, her resemblance to Aisling, and the constant reminder of danger to her family. Tonight, she intended to escape everything by enjoying Owen’s company. A sexual apperitif might do wonders to relieve her restlessness.

  She smoothed the green summer-weight sweater she’d taken from the racks. The V neckline led into tiny buttons, the fabric light and formfitting down to her hips. “Owen is tall, dark—not handsome at all, but rather…seasoned-looking. He looks as if he’s seen life and lived it. He’s maybe—oh, midthirties.”

  “And you’re excited. I can feel the heat-vibes up here in Michigan.” A sculptor with a highly creative mind, Tempest was busy visualizing. “He must be something if you didn’t run him off with your usual cold freeze or your ‘bite-me’ attitude. I still can’t believe you actually accepted a date with a stranger.”

  “He’s very…I don’t know…very sleek and lean. I don’t sense anything Celtic or Viking about him, if you’re worried about the so-called psychic vampire Mother thinks is after our family. He said they changed to Shaw from the tribal name long ago.”

  “I believe there is a psychic vampire sucking off energy from others, making himself stronger,” Tempest said. “I’d felt something like that before I bonded with Marcus. My husband has settled something inside me. I’m calmer. But too many incidents have happened to our family, and coupled with the dreams of Aisling warning us, we know something is hunting us and it isn’t sweet. Every one of us feels as if we’re in danger. If it is that Borg descendant, he’s much stronger than the original Big Daddy. We just need him to come out of the woodwork and stop using others to do his bad stuff. By the way, wear your brooch, will you? I like to think you’re protected and speaking of which, my gosh, Leona, use protection, will you? Are you carrying any? Every woman should.”