Connie slept well in her shell-themed room, although her slumber was plagued by odd snippets of dreams. These were fanciful glimpses into another time when there were shells to be gathered and fish to be speared. She had never before had a dream in which the sense of heat was so real. Connie could taste it in the sand-blasted, flower-scented air. It shimmered around her as she walked, clinging to her bare legs and plastering the strange garment she wore against her body. It seemed to be a short dress made of tanned deerskin decorated with interwoven grasses, moss and shells.
Waking the next day, she felt the oddest sense of loss, as though her dreaming self wanted to cling to something that never was. The feeling persisted as she showered and dressed.
These strange imaginings must have been prompted by Sylvester and his talk of the deeds of long-dead de León ancestors. After all the talk of history and curses, it was probably only natural her subconscious mind should have taken her on a journey away from this beautiful house that gazed out onto calm seas. Behind the luxurious façade, there was drama and legend enough to sweep her back through the centuries to the point in time when Spanish conquistador and fierce Calusa had collided.
She was relieved to find she was the only person at breakfast. Vega informed her that Sylvester, always an early riser, had already eaten and gone for his customary morning run. No one else had emerged from their rooms. Vega imparted the news with a vague air of condemnation.
“Are there any books about the Calusa in the house?” Connie asked when Vega brought her coffee and eggs. “I’d love to learn more about them.”
“You should ask the master. He knows more than anyone alive about the ‘fierce people,’” Vega told her with a trace of pride. “But I think he does have some books in the den.”
The day stretched ahead of Connie, the first one she could remember in which she had no plans. It was a strange feeling. No work. No furtive, over-the-shoulder glances. No raised heart rate. It was too soon to say there was no fear. She had been conditioned to feel fear. Her hand went to her throat. He has brainwashed me to be afraid. The way a master trains his dog. The thought roused a flicker of anger deep within her and she welcomed it as a sign she wasn’t completely under his control.
When she had finished eating, she took a second cup of coffee into the den. As with every room at Corazón, it was both luxurious and comfortable.
Connie found the Spanish style that pervaded the house soothing to her nerves, and that feeling was more apparent in this room than any other. The huge fireplace dominating the room was decorated with a brass plate. When she stepped closer, Connie saw it depicted scenes of the conquistadors’ battles. The den had a high, arched ceiling of light oak paneling with the wood continuing halfway down the walls. This had also been used to build the bookcases that lined one wall.
Vega was right, and Connie discovered several books about the Calusa on the shelves. Taking these down, she placed them on a side table and, kicking off her shoes, curled into one of the huge, cushioned chairs at the side of the fireplace. What heaven! A chance to read without having an eye on the clock and the other on the door. Within minutes she was completely lost in the world of the Shell Indians. Her ears, accustomed to listen for changes, picked up on movements within the house without allowing them to disrupt her concentration. She tuned out Lucinda’s complaints about the noise of the cicadas, Ellie’s inquiry about whether the coffee was decaf and Guthrie’s good-natured banter with Vega about the size of the breakfast and his fears for his waistline.
It was some time later that the door clicked open and she finally glanced up from her book, reluctantly leaving behind a world when shells counted as currency and the word of the king and his high priests were the laws that mattered. The smile faded from her lips as she encountered the blistering blue of Sylvester’s gaze.
“Oh.” Connie snapped the book closed. He looked annoyed. Shouldn’t she be here? Perhaps he didn’t like people helping themselves to his books without asking first. She felt the blush burn her cheeks and her hand stole to her throat. “I’m sorry. I wanted to find out more about the Calusa. I should have asked...” Her voice trailed off and she rose to her feet, gathering up the other books and turning to the shelves, preparing to replace them.
“No.” Sylvester strode into the room, stopping when he was a few inches away from her. His eyes raked her face hungrily and Connie held her breath. Was he going to say something about whatever it was that existed between them? This nameless, aching longing that gripped them both? Was he going to acknowledge it so they could talk about it, even do something about it? Because those inches separating them were alive with a crackling intensity that made her want to reach out a hand just to see what would happen. Would blue sparks leap between them? Would they both be engulfed in flames?
Sylvester looked like a man whose very soul was in torment. He drew in a breath and tore his eyes from hers. “It’s fine—help yourself to any books you want. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
Turning abruptly away, he walked out of the room, leaving Connie staring after him with her hand half-raised.
* * *
Connie arrived late for lunch, having lost track of time. Murmuring an apology in Sylvester’s general direction, she slid into a seat. It seemed there was a determined effort taking place to get this strange house party fully under way. Connie’s introverted soul withdrew further at the idea. Ellie seemed to have appointed herself group leader and Guthrie was happily assisting her in planning a number of entertainments. Matt caught Connie’s eye a few times, his droll expression causing her to hide a smile.
“We must do all the things Sylvester’s other house guests do,” Ellie decided. The subtext was clear. We must behave the way celebrities do when they visit Corazón. “The weather is perfect, so there is no excuse for staying indoors.” She directed a frown in Connie’s direction. It was clearly a condemnation of the person who had remained buried in her book most of the morning while the others socialized on the terrace. “There are any number of activities to occupy us.” She began to list them on her fingers. “Swimming, sailing, walking, fishing, water sports—”
“Are you trying to wear us all out?” Lucinda asked. “I’m more in favor of lounging by the pool.”
“I think we’ll quickly end up at each other’s throats if anyone feels obliged to do anything he or she has no inclination for.” It was a lengthy speech from the generally quiet Jonathan.
“What do your guests usually do?” Ellie appealed to Sylvester for help.
“Whatever they choose. My home is at your disposal.” He cast a glance around the table. “You should remember that, apart from the brothers and sisters in the group, none of you know each other. In the unusual circumstances that brought you together, enforced exposure to strangers might be difficult. I think you should take care to respect each other’s privacy.”
Did Connie imagine it or did he cast a brief, sympathetic glance in her direction?
“Following that wise advice, I’m going for a swim. Anyone care to join me?” Guthrie rose from the table.
Ellie jumped up enthusiastically. “Swimming is my passion. I do it every day. I’m a competitive long-distance swimmer...” Her voice faded as she left the room and Connie felt a sense of relief at the prospect of being spared any more planned amusement.
Matt caught up with her as she left the house. “Any plans for the afternoon?”
“I want to explore the island.”
“Care for some company?”
She agreed readily, although her conscience troubled her slightly as they followed a path that led them inland. Was she consenting to his company because she liked Matt or because of his closeness to Sylvester? She hoped it was the former.
She didn’t think of herself as a manipulative person, but that raised its own set of problems. She felt safe in Matt’s