Nothing to Hide Page 3

  Sarcasm aside, Morningside was tranquil and totally private. Allie was glad that she wouldn’t have to cope with a cluster of mansions, women twirling parasols, wearing bonnets and the latest frocks, their gold-plated opera glasses trained on Allie, anticipating her every faux pas.

  Okay, wrong century, but real fears.

  From an early age she’d been conscious of class status in a way no one else in her blue-collar family seemed to be. Not that she’d grown up in the jungle, though at times Brooklyn felt that wild. But she’d been the only one of her siblings so determined to put that life behind her. Which she had. Just not this far.

  “You like it?” Erik’s blue eyes were bright with pleasure, or maybe just reflecting the moonlight.

  “How could I not?” She gestured to the house and grounds, acting as if this was just the latest in the long line of similar vacation mansions she’d stayed in. “It’s beautiful. So quiet.”

  “C’mon, I’ll show you inside. You can have Mom’s room upstairs.”

  She fell in step beside him on the flagstone path. “And where do you sleep?”

  “I’ll be in Dad’s room.” His voice was casual. “There’s a connecting door, but you can lock it if you’re worried.”

  Allie stopped walking. “How many keys?”

  “Allie, Allie, Allie.” He bent to take her suitcase up the front steps. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

  Said the shark to the seal. “If you say so.”

  “I do. Jonas and Sandra will be here tomorrow. They’re sleeping down the hall and will hear your screams of terror and revulsion if I attack you.”

  “Uh, yeah, thanks, Erik, that helps a lot.” She gestured toward the small cottage out back. “So what’s that place, the butler’s quarters?”

  “Nah. Escape pod, used by various people over the generations. Mom had sleepovers there with girlfriends. I think my grandparents honeymooned there. Jonas slept there when he was a teenager. My great-grandfather used it most. He was a writer with five kids and needed peace and quiet.”

  “How nice for your great-grandmother that he had somewhere to go.” She rolled her eyes, imagining the poor woman managing five screeching kids while her husband peacefully awaited inspiration.

  Erik dismissed her with a wave. “They probably had one nanny for each kid. Great-Grandma Josephine was a party animal. Wait till you see her outfits.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Tomorrow.” He unlocked the front door. “The light will be better up in the attic.”

  Inside, the house was cool and still, but with none of the mustiness one would expect from a place shut up for so long. Erik hit a switch and a brass chandelier sprang to light, illuminating the tiled foyer and curving staircase ascending to the left. To the right, against the wall under a huge gilt-framed mirror, stood a glass table on which sat a low vase of perfectly dried flowers—lavender, hydrangea, roses and curly willow.

  Glimpses into the surrounding rooms revealed similar decor. Subtle, simple, nothing overdone. Everything reeked of elegance and good taste. Julie had that talent. She could absently throw on skinny pants and any old shirt and look ten times more chic than Allie trying her hardest. Dad’s wife, Betsy, was the same way, only she was openly smug about it.

  Maybe the gift of effortless style came with the money genes.

  “It’s late, I’m beat.” Erik gave a long, loud yawn. “I’ll treat you to the full tour tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Allie followed him up the staircase, hiding her oh-so-low-class disappointment. She felt like a little kid, wanting to see everything now! The downstairs, the upstairs, the cottage, the boathouse. She wanted to take a long moonlit walk by the lake, lie on the beach and count stars...

  But okay, she’d still be here tomorrow night, and several more after that. She’d get her moonlit walk, probably more than once.

  Upstairs, the landing was furnished with a grandfather clock and old-fashioned daybed. Near a window overlooking the lake were a smaller wing chair and a bookcase. It was a perfect spot for a rainy day.

  “Yours.” Turning right down a long hall, Erik pushed open the first door on the lake side and ushered Allie in.

  “Wow.” She walked to the center of the good-size room and turned slowly, taking it all in. The bed was the centerpiece: a white iron frame with curving lines, decorative but not overly ornate, covered in a bold floral quilt with matching pillows. Around the windows hung a more subdued fabric, displaying the same pattern in a smaller print. A few watercolor landscapes brightened the pale yellow walls. A bedside table supported a fresh bouquet that nearly matched the bedspread. Under her feet, a blue-and-white rug lay over carefully preserved hardwood. All of it managed to look perfectly haphazard and totally put together at the same time.

  She could never live here.

  Turning once more, she noticed something laid out on the bed—

  “What is that?” Allie pointed accusingly at the nightie. It was cotton eyelet with embroidered pastel roses. Very sheer. Very short. Very low-cut.

  “Our housekeeper prepared the room for you. You’re welcome to wear it if you want, otherwise, just hang it up and forget about it.”

  She met Erik’s guileless eyes, unamused. “Thanks. I brought my own.”

  “Okay.” His smile didn’t waver. “Anything else you need tonight?”

  No. “Not a thing, thanks.”

  “Good night then.” He grasped her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead, standing just far enough away that she didn’t feel she needed to call him on it. “Welcome to Morningside, Allie. I’m really glad you decided to come. We’ll have a great time.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  Another kiss, this one on her cheek, and a closer embrace, just this side of platonic. She had to admit he smelled good, expensive and masculine, but that was about it for her attraction. After he left, she hurried to close the door.

  Fifteen minutes later, Allie had unpacked and was lying in bed, listening to Erik humming through the connecting door—locked, she’d checked—and the faint lap of waves outside, nothing at all like the honk-and-siren sounds of Manhattan. The earplugs she wore every night still lay on her bedside table, waiting for her to get sleepy enough to put them in. As long as she was wide-awake, she might as well tune in to the natural world around her.

  An hour later, she was still lying there. The swishing of the waves had gotten more vigorous and the wind had picked up. She could hear Erik snoring.

  It had been a while since Allie had tried to sleep in a new bed—alone, anyway. Apparently she was bad at it. And this room made her feel as though she had to be sure she didn’t drool or sweat during the night. Her someday-mansion would feel welcoming and comfortable to anyone. Even her brothers.

  She put the earplugs in, hoping they’d trigger some kind of Pavlovian sleep response.

  They didn’t.

  Finally the obvious hit her.

  No one was forcing her to lie here. Erik was asleep; no one else was around. She’d wanted to go for a moonlit walk? She could do that. Right now. Sliding out of bed, she stuffed the earplugs into the pocket of her sleep shirt.

  Hell, if she wanted to, she could dance naked on the beach all night long.

  3

  JONAS TURNED ONTO I-87 from Route 7, after skirting Albany. Forty-five minutes, give or take, and he’d be at Morningside a day earlier than expected. Funny, now that he was on his way, he couldn’t get there fast enough. The feel of the breeze, the way the woods smelled, the sand under his feet, the clear water around his body—it was like returning to the best part of his childhood. Maybe it was the best part. The one place his parents had relaxed their rules, or at least some of them.

  His client had canceled dinner that afternoon, then Sandra texted him that she’d agreed to take over a Friday night gig for an ill friend, so would be delayed leaving. She’d encouraged him to go without her, saying she’d drive out the next morning. Jonas had
protested, but not very strenuously—the idea of leaving the hot, crowded city behind him after a long week had been too seductive.

  And Allie. What was it about a few perfunctory emails that had intrigued him so much? He knew plenty of smart, funny women in Boston. Most likely his memory of her from that dinner at Christmastime had been warped by time into a fantasy. Fantasy had an unfortunate way of beating reality. Case in point: he had believed Missy was a good life-match for him, while she’d been off spending his money and screwing one of her investment firm colleagues.

  Plus, Erik might truly like Allie in a deeper way than usual, and she might have changed and truly like him. Someone like Allie would be good for Erik, settle him down, give him something to think and care about other than his own needs and desires.

  Blink 182’s Neighborhoods ended; he fumbled around for his iPod and selected his favorite Red Hot Chili Peppers album, Stadium Arcadium, absently wondering what kind of music Allie liked, and whether Erik had entertained or appalled her on the drive up with his penchant for hard rock and heavy metal.

  He’d better get Allie out of his head. Erik had described this trip as his best chance with the woman he wanted to marry. Jonas wouldn’t break the brother code of ethics by trying to get close to her himself.

  But he might have to come to terms someday with being hot for his sister-in-law.

  * * *

  ALLIE STOOD AT the lake’s edge, enjoying the water’s surprising warmth lapping at her feet. This was fabulous! The moon was just over half full, but so bright, even through a thin layer of cloud cover, that she hadn’t bothered bringing out her flashlight. The pleasantly cool breeze kept any bugs at bay. She’d made a good decision to come out here instead of lying in that too-perfect room trying to force her body to sleep.

  She strolled toward the boathouse, relishing the rolling splash of waves, the distant creak of tree trunks, the occasional glimpse of a bat. At the boathouse, she peered inside a window and was able to discern a few shadows that might be canoes or kayaks, she wasn’t sure.

  Farther up the beach and toward the woods, the cottage tempted her. Moving closer, she could see a deck on the beach side of the house, on which sat a table and chairs. The perfect spot for sunning, reading or sipping cocktails. At the door, she hesitated before trying the knob. Locked up tight, she was sure.

  It wasn’t.

  Feeling guilty for preempting Erik’s tour, she couldn’t resist her curiosity and pushed the door open. The cottage was dimly lit by the moonlight through the windows, but she could make out a cozy cabin with all the comforts of home—even what appeared to be a tiny kitchen. This was her kind of luxury.

  Feeling the need to be quiet, even though there was no way Erik could hear her, she tiptoed around the couch, past the fireplace, toward stairs to what turned out to be a charming bedroom with a wall of windows facing the lake. She crossed to the bed, a king on a frame high enough that sleepers could easily see the view, climbed on it and shuffled on her knees toward the glass to look out at the water. Somewhere close by, a loon called out, a long, mournful cry and trill. What a wonderful place to sleep, tucked away almost in the woods, yet close to the lake. If this were her property, she wouldn’t go near the big house.

  Erik wouldn’t even have to know if she slept there tonight. She’d wake up early with the sun most likely, and be back in the main house before he stirred. Judging by how often he was late to work in the mornings, he was not an early riser.

  She pulled back the covers to find soft cotton sheets waiting for her. The pillows were piled high, real down pillows like those at Dad’s, the kind her family hadn’t been able to afford. They always had enough to eat―that was their luxury.

  Temptation warred inside her with a touch of anxiety. This wasn’t her home. Erik had his mother’s room prepared for her. There might be some reason she shouldn’t be out here. Maybe Jonas would want to stay in the cottage when he arrived the next day.

  Or it might be completely fine.

  Unable to decide, she cheated by lying down on top of the bed, scooting to the side closest to the windows. Within minutes she was yawning, as if it were completely natural to her body to sleep there. Giving in with only a slight qualm, she fished out her earplugs, put them in and let herself drift off.

  * * *

  JONAS INCHED HIS Toyota Camry to a halt a few yards from his brother’s beloved Mercedes sports coupe. The wind had picked up considerably in the last half hour, so there was little chance Erik or Allie would hear him arrive. He cut the engine, got out and inhaled the gusting lake air greedily. It was nice to be back. Assuming the place sold quickly, this would probably be his last pleasure trip here. Visits from now on would involve packing, sorting, throwing stuff away...

  He didn’t want to think about that now.

  Lifting his bag out of the backseat, he closed the door and walked up to the dark, still house, where Erik and Allie were sleeping. Alone? Together? Alone tonight at least, he decided. Erik would wait until Allie was comfortable here before he made the big move.

  For a full minute, Jonas stood in the clearing, gazing at Morningside. Again, he was gripped by emotions—longing, pleasure, affection. Many years of good times in that house, going back as far as his recollections.

  A burst of wind brought the first drops of rain and he turned toward the cottage, which Clarissa, the wife of their caretaker, George, kept cleaned, aired out and well-stocked, as well as the house. He’d texted Erik that he’d be arriving a day early but wasn’t sure his brother had read the message, since he hadn’t replied. Barging into the house unexpectedly could be an unpleasant surprise. Jonas didn’t want his second meeting with Allie to take place in the middle of the night after he’d just terrified her. And he wasn’t in the mood to face his brother’s smug I’m-gonna-score-this-weekend certainty.

  A grumble of thunder quickened his steps across the neatly mown grass that managed to grow in the sandy soil by the house. He stepped into the cottage just as the storm hit, wiped a drop of rain off his forehead and grinned at the familiar, dimly lit interior. This had been his refuge when he was too teenager-cool for his old room and his parents.

  He spent a few minutes walking around, touching old memories. Still-life paintings his grandmother Bridget had done of flower gardens and seashell-strewn beaches. Knickknacks bought on various family trips abroad—his mother’s clan had been avid travelers. Fertility figures from Ghana, nesting dolls from Russia, stone turtles from Hawaii...

  Wind and rain buffeted the house, making creaks that sounded like soft footsteps overhead. Jonas unpacked his toiletry kit, brushed his teeth and washed his face in the kitchen sink. The upstairs, with no windows facing west, would be black as a cave, and he’d forgotten to bring a flashlight. The little cottage had never been wired for electric power.

  Lightning illuminated the stairs as he made his way toward them. He loved lying in bed watching storms like this blow over the water.

  In the bedroom, he dumped his clothes, found the bed by feel and crawled in naked, enjoying the moonless midnight-blackness between the flashes of lightning, already growing further apart. It was a fast-moving storm, probably not that close. He wouldn’t see much drama up here tonight. One summer a house across the lake had been badly damaged by a lightning strike.

  Closing his eyes, he relaxed, concentrating on the steady pummeling of rain on the roof, directly over his head. He’d had good times in this bed. Lost his virginity here, when their summer neighbor Sally Sampson, older than he was by a few years, decided it was time he got started.

  He hadn’t objected.

  She’d sneaked into the cottage one night and had woken him with her mouth, doing things that at that age he’d only read about....

  Nice memory. His dick certainly remembered, was already standing hopefully at attention. Jonas shifted to his side, experiencing a mild disorientation when the king mattress seemed to move too much.

  What was that?

  Probably sinus p
ressure messing with his sense of balance and motion. Long drives could bring it on. Storms usually made it worse.

  The cottage hadn’t seen any action from him since Sally. The first and only time he’d invited a girlfriend up here, his parents had gone so ridiculously overboard making sure they were never alone long enough to have sex, that Maria had gone home days early and dumped him soon after. He hadn’t bothered trying again. His parents firmly believed that all women wanted from Erik and Jonas was to get pregnant and trap them and their Meyer money. Given his experience with Missy, he was starting to wonder if they were onto something.

  His eyes opened. Allie wasn’t in that camp if she’d resisted Erik for this long.

  Lightning flashed.

  Huh? In his peripheral vision, he could have sworn...

  It flashed again.

  What the—

  Allie?

  Good God. Had he conjured her up? Hallucinated her? Why didn’t he notice her before when lightning lit the room? Did she know he was there?

  He stared at the blackness, frozen in surprise, heart pounding.

  What now?

  Maybe she didn’t know he was there. Maybe she’d been in the bathroom when he came upstairs? Crazy coincidence.

  “Allie,” he called softly.

  No answer.

  The storm renewed itself, rain that had been tapering off hammered again, thunder rumbled louder.

  Back asleep already? She couldn’t be. Sleepwalking, then?

  “Allie?” He tried louder, worried he’d terrify her. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw her, but at least he knew she and Erik were on the property. She thought he was still in Boston.