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Cain was standing at the reception desk, leafing through a large reservations book. He was wearing casual clothes, an open-neck shirt loose over jeans. There was a slight stubble on his jaw which made him look more roguish than he had the other evening, and his hair was tousled, as if he hadn’t been out of bed for long.
He looked up and broke into a smile when he saw her.
“Zoë, what perfect timing,” he said, as if he had been expecting her. He stepped out from behind the counter and put his arm around her shoulders. There was intimacy in his touch, as though they were old friends.
Her temperature rose. Her body was already wired, because of the nature of the images she’d seen back there by the marina, like her very own private adult movie show playing in her head. Now, Cain’s touch was making her incredibly self-aware.
He led her into the restaurant. Two members of staff were busy polishing the large windows that led onto the terrace, and the deliverymen were disappearing away into the kitchens.
“I came to pay my bill. I’m sorry that I was remiss about it on Monday night. I completely forgot.” She started to open her bag.
“Forget it.” He waved his free hand over her bag and then pointed across the restaurant to a doorway marked with a sign that read Private. “Come upstairs with me, I have something to show you.”
Zoë paused, resisting the pressure that he applied in the small of her back with his palm. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.” He looked at her intently. “It’s not something I show to every visitor.” His hand moved lower still, to rest on her bottom.
The pulse in her groin went wild, and she clutched her purse and bit her lip, afraid that she was going to embarrass herself and beg him to spank her.
Grayson had said Annabel was a mischievous spirit, and he wasn’t wrong there. If it was indeed Annabel doing these things to her, she had a mischievous streak a mile wide.
Cain looked at her with all-too-knowing eyes. Heat radiated from his hand where it rested on the curve of her bottom.
“Okay,” she breathed, physically unable to turn away, put the money on the reception desk and leave, as planned.
He led her up a flight of stairs. At the top it opened into a sumptuous hallway. An ornate antique bureau stood on one side. The floor was highly polished marble, and heavy velvet curtains framed a window that looked out over the bay. The door into the space beyond was an artwork in itself, exquisitely carved black wood featuring a dragon. She was startled. “You live up here?”
He stood at the top of the steps until she was level with him. “Yes, my hideaway, where I keep my treasures, as you’ll see.”
He opened the carved door and led her into the room beyond. Zoë followed him into the large sitting room and gawped at the place, stunned. It looked like a museum, full of beautiful antique furniture. The walls were lined with bookcases, paintings and shelves displaying exotic-looking ornaments. Antique rugs covered the floors, and in the far cor
ner a huge dining table and chairs looked like something from a stage set.
“There she is,” Cain said.
Zoë turned to look at the painting he had led her to, her attention focusing rapidly. The portrait was of a woman, a proud beauty with long dark hair. She wore a silvery gray gown tightly cinched at the waist and full in the skirt. Polished black shoes with large silver buckles peeped out from under the hem of her gown. On her open palm a small white bird lifted in flight, wings outstretched. Zoë’s lips parted. She shook her head slightly in disbelief. “Annabel,” she whispered.
“You’ve seen her before?” Cain’s attention quickly shifted from the painting to Zoë.
“Yes, at least I think so. It was very brief, yesterday, but looking at this painting I now know for sure that it was her.”
“Fascinating,” Cain said, and his eyes gleamed. “How lucky you are to have seen her.”
She was starting to feel very lucky, in numerous ways. She glanced at him. “Why have you got a painting of her?”
“I have paintings of many local historic figures,” he replied, somewhat dismissively, and gestured with one hand, drawing her attention around the walls.
There were indeed several other portraits. Two were of men in uniform, one depicted a World War I hero, and the other was much older and looked like a seafaring man. On the far wall, a large, rugged man was depicted in Scottish dress, kilt, sporran and all. There were two other portraits of women in period clothing, but none of them were as interesting as the painting of Annabel.
She quickly returned her attention to it.
It was mesmerizing, but what struck her as odd was that there was a glamorous air about Annabel that didn’t correspond with the vision she’d seen. The gown Annabel wore in the painting looked expensive, whereas the ghostly figure she’d seen wore a plain gown, as if she were impoverished. This woman had the healthy look and demeanor of a woman of wealth. This was a glamorized version of Annabel, more dream than reality. It made her wonder, what had really happened to Annabel in the end? Everyone wanted to know about Annabel. She was getting pretty damn curious herself.
Cain observed her while she stared at the painting, a smile playing around his lips.
“Do you know who the artist was?” Zoë asked.
He made a noncommittal gesture as he returned his attention to the painting. “I’m very pleased to have your confirmation that it’s a good likeness.”
