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The visit from her mother came back to her and it felt surreal and hazy, like a vivid dream or hallucination. Raine’s words had hurt because Sandra knew her father was not a man of many emotions, he was not a man who thought much of risk taking either. Love, to him, was a biological function. He had told her that when she was a teenager and certain she was going to die if a boy she liked rejected her.
She reached for the box Connor had left for her. The box’s surface was smooth, the ribbon tied in a precise way that let her know it was a pro wrapping job. She took her time opening it, pulling the ribbon out of its folds, delaying the gratification she was sure she would find within the box. She lifted the lid, layers of tissue paper-red with small gold flecks, covered the present.
The tissue paper inside the box crumpled under her fingers. It parted to reveal a gorgeous coat, a red collarless Gucci creation that made tears swell into her eyes. The coat was not what made her cry though; it was the train ticket to Maine below it and the note, which read…
Maine gets very cold. I hope to see you here, the fire will be roaring. My house is named the Ariel; any taxi driver will know which one it is.
Sandra sat there, staring at the ticket and the coat. Outside the snow got deeper, fell harder and she wondered if the trains would even be able to run. She checked the weather channel and discovered that the tracks were open.
She could go, take the chance and get on that train. Alternatively, she could sit right there in her warm and cozy house sipping tea and watching Christmas shows.
Whose daughter am I really? My father’s or my mother’s? Mother would do anything for love, no matter what the consequences. Father believes in stability, rules, and structure but not love as an emotion. He would never run off to Maine to see someone he loved.
“I love Connor.”
There, it was out. She said it again, murmuring the words. She had fought it, denied it, and tried her best to let him go but she was unable to do any of those things. She loved him, and no matter how much it might hurt, she had to take the chance, or risk never knowing his love at all ever again. The coffee had grown cold but she drank it all any way before she began to pack for her trip.
**
Connor was sitting on the winter porch, a beautiful structure that featured built in heaters, enclosed walls and gorgeous green growing plants, when the taxi pulled to a halt. His heart slammed in his chest as he saw a scarlet coat and long legs easing out of the bright yellow car.
He ran down the outside staircase and down the flagged walk, grabbing the suitcase, that Sandra was schlepping but not before he wrapped her into a hug.
“It’s beautiful,” Sandra exclaimed as they walked along the sea wall toward the stairs. The ocean foamed and hissed, the rocks below gleamed and the mournful sound of foghorns blew across the hazed over distances.
“It was built by a whaler’s captain. He had retired from the sea and moved here because he loved this coast so much.”
“Did he build it for his wife?”
“No. He raised goats and sheep but no kids or wife either for that matter. He did have a companion though, a man who had served on the whaler with him.”
“Oh how scandalous.” Sandra teased.
“It was, especially then. When he died, his companion kept it and when he passed away, it went to his sister and her children. Eventually it wound up empty and abandoned.”
“So you bought it?”
“Yes.” Connor paused before throwing the door wide open, watching her face carefully as she stepped inside.
Her mouth dropped open and he smiled, pleased at her reaction. The hallway had been kept in its original state as much as possible. Long Persian rugs lay on the hardwood floors, their faded and gorgeous colors visible despite the dimness. Shelves with small objects that the original owner bought in ports across the globe hung about mingled with oil paintings of seascapes.
The many windows, hung over the hall at an odd angle so that the sun did not just shine in, it came through diffused and softened, giving the hallway a radiant nimbus of light.
The hallway was only the beginning though. The living room hosted a grand piano, several gorgeous sculptures, paintings, and leather furniture grouped around an enormous stone wall that had a fireplace carved out of its very center.
Bedrooms lay off the hall behind the living room, as did a small cheerful library whose walls were bedecked with books. Everywhere Sandra looked was an understated but visible elegance. She relaxed, the warmth and charm of the huge old house soothing her in a way she would never have thought possible.
Connor’s bedroom literally astonished her. The fifteen-foot high ceilings featured old oaken beams and the décor was masculine—more leather furniture, lots of earth tones and the occasional flash of red. Tall windows that opened onto a balcony overlooked the sea and the cliffs, the snow covered hills in the distance and the lofty pines.
“I could live here forever,” Sandra said softly.
Connor stood behind her so she did not see the joy that transformed his face at that comment.
Desire Book 4: Love’s Desire
Connor had never been so terrified in all his life. He had also never been so exhilarated. The wind did not ruffle his hair, and the shoreline did not slide away from them. The water smacked the bow and the wind slapped his cheeks while salt water crashed over the sides of the boat, soaking his canvas shoes and he shivered with the cold. The shore had become a thin crescent in the distance. He looked at it, and fear kicked back up a notch in his belly.
Ice lay over much of the land, and a thick white mantle of snow. His housekeeper had announced that only a fool would sail in that weather, Sandra had shrugged it off. That had intrigued him; she was a risk taker who had no idea she was one.
