Megan's Mate

by Nora Roberts

  “You could be a little less stupid.” He kissed her frowning mouth. “Making love isn't a quiz, Meg. You don't get graded.”

  “What I meant was... Never mind.”

  “What you meant was...” He hauled her over un­til she was splayed on top of him. “On a scale of one to ten...”

  “Cut it out, Nathaniel.” She laid her cheek on his chest. “I hate it when you make me feel ridiculous.”

  “I don't.” Possessively he ran a hand down her back. “I love to make you feel ridiculous. I love to make you feel.”

  He nearly followed that up with a very simple “I love you.” But she wouldn't have accepted it. He'd barely done so himself.

  “You did.” She kept her head over his heart. “You made me feel things I never have before. I was afraid.”

  Trouble clouded his eyes. “I don't want you to be afraid of me.”

  “I was afraid of me,” she corrected. “Of us. Of letting this happen. I'm glad it did.” It was easier than she'd imagined to shift, to smile, to press her mouth to his. For a moment, she thought he tensed, but she dismissed that as foolish and kissed him again.

  His system snapped to full alert. How could he want her again, so desperately, so quickly? be wondered. How could he resist those sweet, tantalizing lips?

  “Keep that up,” he managed, “and it's going to happen again.”

  The shiver of excitement was glorious. “Okay.” She shared her anticipation in the kiss, torturing his mouth, teasing his tongue. Amazed that there could be more, she gave a low sound of delight when he rolled, shoving her beneath him and crushing her mouth.

  For a heady moment, he let those violent needs hold sway, trapping her beneath him, devouring her lips, her skin, dragging a hand through her tousled hair until her throat was exposed to his hungry teeth and tongue.

  She moaned, writhed under him. Whimpered.

  Rolling away, he lay on his back, cursing himself, while his heart pounded the blood through his veins.

  Confused, shivering with needs freshly aroused but unmet, Megan laid a tentative hand on his arm. He jerked away.

  “Don't.” The order came out harsh. “I need a minute.”

  Her eyes went dead. “I'm sorry. I did something wrong.”

  “No, you didn't.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up. “I'm just not ready. Look, why don't I go down and rustle us up something to eat?”

  He was only inches away. It might as well have been miles, and she felt the sharp sting of rejection. “No, that's all right.” Her voice was cool and calm again. “I really should get going. I need to pick up Kevin.”

  “Kevin's fine.”

  “Regardless.” She brushed at her hair, tried to smooth it. She wished desperately for something to wrap around her nakedness.

  “Don't pull that door shut on me now.” He battled back fury, and a much more dangerous passion.

  “I haven't shut any door. I thought—that is, I assumed you wanted me to stay. Since you don't, I'll—”

  “Of course I want you to stay. Damn it, Megan.” He whirled on her, and wasn't surprised when she jerked back. “I need a bloody minute. I could eat you alive, I want you so much.”

  In defense, she crossed an arm over her breasts. “I don't understand you.”

  “Damn right you don't understand me. You'd run like hell if you did.” He fought for control, gained a slippery hold. “We'll be fine, Meg, if you wait until I pull myself together.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Gripped by frustration, he grabbed her hand, pressed it against his, palm to palm. “I've got big hands, Megan. Got them from my father. I know the right way to use them—and the wrong way.”

  There was a glint in his eyes, like the honed edge of a sword. It should have frightened her, but it only ex­cited. “You're afraid of me,” she said quietly. “Afraid you'll hurt me.”

  “I won't hurt you.” He dropped his hand, left it fisted on the bed.

  “No, you won't.” She lifted a hand to touch his cheek. His jaw was tight, urging her fingers to stroke and soothe. There was a power here, she realized, a power she'd been unaware of possessing. She wondered what they could make between them if she set it free.

  “You want me.” Feeling reckless, she edged closer, until her mouth slid over his. “You want to touch me.” She lifted his fisted hand to her breast, her heart pounding like a drum as his fingers opened, cupped. “And for me to touch you.” Her hands stroked down his chest, felt the quiver of his stomach muscles. So much strength, she thought, so ruthlessly chained. What would it be bice if those links snapped free?

  She wanted to know.

  “Make love with me now, Nathaniel.” Eyes half-closed, she linked her arms around his neck, pressed her eager body to bis. “Show me how much you want me.”

  He held himself in check, concentrating on the fla­vor of her mouth. It would be enough, he told him­self, to make her float again.

  But she had learned quickly. When he sought to soothe, she enticed. Where he tried to gentle, she en­raged.

  With an oath, he dragged her up until they were kneeling, body-to-body. And his mouth was wild.

  She answered avidly each urgent demand, each desperate moan. His hands were everywhere, hard and possessive, taking more only when she cried out for it. There was no calm water to sink in now, but a violent tempest that spun them both over the bed in a tangle of hot flesh and raging needs.

  He couldn't stop, no longer gave a damn about control. She was his, and by God, he would have all of her. With something like a snarl, he clamped her hands above her head and ravished her flesh.

  She arched like a bow, twisted, and still he plun­dered, invading that hot, wet core with probing tongue until she was sobbing his name.

  And more, still more, wrestling over the bed with her hands as rough and ready as his, her mouth as bold and ravenous.

  He drove himself into her, hard and deep, hissing with triumph, eyes glazed and dark. His hands locked on hers as she rose to meet him.

  She would remember the speed, and the wild free­dom, of their mindless mating. And she would re­member the heady flavor of power as they plunged recklessly off the edge together.

  She must have slept. When she woke, she was sprawled on her stomach across the bed. The rain had stopped and night had fallen. When her mind cleared, she became aware of dozens of small aches, and a drugged sense of satisfaction.

  She thought of rolling over, but it seemed like too much trouble. Instead, she stretched out her arms, searching the tumbled bed, knowing already that she was alone.

  She heard the bird squawk slyly. “You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve?”

  She was still chuckling when Nathaniel stepped back into the room.

  “What do you do, run old movies for him all day?”

  “He's a Bogart fan. What can I tell you?” It amazed him that he felt awkward, holding a dinner tray white a naked woman lolled in his bed. “That’s a pretty good scar you've got there, sugar.”

  She was much too content to be embarrassed when she saw where his eyes had focused. “I earned it. That's a pretty good dragon you've got.”

  “I was eighteen, stupid, and more than a little buzzed on beer. But I guess I earned it, too.”

  “Suits you. What have you got there?”

  “Thought you might be hungry.”

  “I'm starving.” She braced herself on both elbows and smiled at him. “That smells terrific. I didn't know you cooked.”

  “I don't. Dutch does. I cadge handouts from the kitchen, then nuke them.”

  “Nuke them?”

  “Zap them in the microwave.” He set the tray down on the sea chest at the foot of the bed. “We've got some Cajun chicken, some wine.”

  “Mmm...” She roused herself enough to lean over and peer at it. “Looks wonderful. But I really need to get Kevin.”

  “I talked to Suzanna.” He wondered if he could talk her into eating dinner just as she was, glori
ously na­ked. “Unless she hears from you, Kevin's set to spend the night with them.”

  “Oh. Well.”

  “She says he's already knee-deep in video games with Alex and Jenny.”

  “And if I called, I'd spoil his party.”

  “Pretty much.” He sat on the edge of the bed, ran a fingertip down her spine. “So, how about it? Sleep with me tonight?”

  “I don't even have a toothbrush.”

  “I can dig up an extra.” He broke off a piece of chicken, fed it to her.

  “Oh.” She swallowed, blew out a breath. “Spicy.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned down to sample her lips, then lifted a glass of wine to them. “Better?”

  “It's wonderful.”

  He tipped the glass so that a few drops of wine spilled on her shoulder. “Oops. Better clean that up.” He did so with a lingering lick of his tongue. “What do I have to do to convince you to stay?”

  She forgot the food and rolled into his arms. “You just did.”

  In the morning, the mists had cleared. Nathaniel watched Megan pin up her hair in a beam of sunlight. It seemed only right that he move behind her and press his lips to the base of her neck.

  He thought it was a sweetly ordinary, sweetly inti­mate gesture that could become a habit.

  “I love the way you polish yourself up, sugar.”

  “Polish myself up?” Her curious eyes met his in the glass. She had on the same tailored suit she'd worn the day before—not slightly wrinkled. Her makeup was sketchy at best, courtesy of the small emergency cos­metic kit she carried in her purse, and her hair was giving her trouble, as she'd lost half of her pins.

  “Like you are now. Like some pretty little cupcake behind the bakery window.”

  “Cupcake.” She nearly choked. “I'm certainly not a cupcake.”

  “I've got a real sweet tooth.” To prove it, he nib­bled his way to her ear.

  “I've noticed.” She turned, but put her hands against his chest to hold him off. “I have to go.”

  “Yeah, me too. I don't suppose I could talk you into coming with me.”

  “To sight whales?” She cocked her head. “No more than I could talk you into sitting with me in my office ail day, running figures.”

  He winced. “Guess not. How about tonight?”

  She yearned, wished, longed. “I have to think of Kevin. I can't spend my nights here with you while he spends them somewhere else.”

  “I had that figured. I was thinking if you were to leave your terrace doors open...”

  “You could come sneaking in?” she asked archly.

  “More or less.”

  “Good thinking.” She laughed and drew away. “Now, are you going to drive me back to my car?”

  “Looks that way.” He took her hand, holding it as they walked downstairs. “Megan...” He hated to bring it up when the sun was shining and his mood was light. “If you hear from Dumont, if he tries to see you or Kevin, if he calls, sends a damn smoke signal, does anything, I want you to tell me.”

  She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I doubt I will, after the dunking you gave him. But don't worry, Nathaniel, I can handle Baxter.”

  “Off with his head,” Bird suggested, but Nathan­iel didn't smile.

  “It's not a matter of what you can handle.” He pushed the door open, stepped outside. “Maybe you don't figure that last night gives me the right to look out for you and your boy, but I do. I will. So we'll put it this way.” He opened the car door for her. “Either you promise me that you'll tell me, or I go after him now.”

  She started to protest, but the image, absolutely vivid, of the look on Nathaniel's face when he'd rammed Baxter against the wall stopped her. “You would.”

  “Bank on it.”

  She tried to separate annoyance from the simple pleasure of being protected. And couldn't. “I want to say I appreciate the concern, but I'm not sure I do. I've been taking care of myself, and of Kevin, for a long time.”

  “Things change.”

  “Yes,” she said carefully, wondering what was be­hind those calm, unblinking gray eyes. “I'm more comfortable when they change slowly.”

  “I'm doing my best to keep at your pace, Meg.” Whatever frustrations he had, he told himself, he could handle. “Just a simple yes or no on this'll do.”

  It wasn't just herself, Megan thought. There was Kevin. And Nathaniel was offering them both a strong, protecting arm. Pride meant nothing when compared to the welfare of her son.

  Not at all sure why she was amused, she turned to him once he'd settled into the driver's seat. “You have an uncanny knack for getting your own way. And when you do, you just accept it as inevitable.”

  “It usually is.” He backed out of the drive and headed for Shipshape.

  There was a small greeting party waiting for them. Holt and, to Megan's surprise, her brother, Sloan.

  “I dropped the kids off at The Towers,” Holt told her, before she could ask. “They've got your dog, Nate.”

  “Thanks.” She'd barely stepped from the car when Sloan grabbed her by the shoulders, stared hard into her eyes.

  “Are you ail right? Why the hell didn't you call me? Did he put his hands on you?”

  “I'm fine. Sloan, I'm fine.” Instinctively she cupped his face, kissed him. “I didn't call because I already had two white knights charging into battle. And he may have put his hands on me, but I put my fists on him. I think I split his lip.”

  Sloan said something particularly foul about Du-mont and hugged Megan close. “I should have killed him when you first told me about him.”

  “Stop it.” She pressed her cheek to his. “It's over. I want it put aside. Kevin's not to hear about it. Now come on, I'll drive you back to the house.”

  “I've got some things to do.” He gave Nathaniel a steely stare over Megan's shoulder. “You go on up, Meg. I'll be along later.”

  “All right, then.” She kissed him again. “Holt, thanks again for looking after Kevin.”

  “No problem.” Holt tucked his tongue in his cheek when Nathaniel scooped Megan up for a long, linger­ing kiss. A glance at Sloan's narrowed eyes had him biting that tongue to keep from grinning.

  “See you, sugar.”

  Megan flushed, cleared her throat. “Yes.,.well. Bye.”

  Nathaniel tucked his thumbs in his pocket, waited until she'd driven off before he turned to Sloan. “Guess you want to talk to me.”

  “Damn right I want to talk to you.”

  “You'll have to come up to the bridge. We've got a tour going out.”

  “Want a referee?” Holt offered, and earned two deadly glances. “Too bad. I hate to miss it.”

  Smoldering, Sloan followed Nathaniel up the gangplank, waited restlessly while he gave orders. Once they were on the bridge, Nathaniel glanced over the charts and dismissed the mate.

  “If this is going to take longer than fifteen min­utes, you're in for a ride.”

  “I've got plenty of time.” Sloan stepped closer, braced his legs like a gunslinger at high noon. “What the hell were you doing with my sister?”

  “I think you have that figured out,” Nathaniel said coolly.

  Sloan bared his teeth. “If you think I'm going to stand back while you move in on her, you're dead wrong. I wasn't around when she got tangled up with Dumont, but I'm here now.”

  “I'm not Dumont.” Nathaniel's own temper threatened to snap, a dry twig of control. “You want to take out what he did to her on me, that's fine. I've been looking to kick someone's ass ever since I caught that bastard tossing her around. So you want to take me on?” he said invitingly. “Do it.”

  Though the invitation tempted some elemental male urge, Sloan pulled back. “What do you mean, he was tossing her around?”

  “Just what I said. He had her up against the wall.” The rage swept back, almost drowning him. “I thought about killing him, but I didn't think she could handle it.”

  Sloan breathed deep to steady himself. “So y
ou threw him off the pier.”

  “Well, I punched him a few times first, then I fig­ured there was a chance he couldn't swim.”

  Calmer, and grateful, Sloan nodded. “Holt had a few words with him when he dragged his sorry butt out. They've tangled before.” He'd missed his chance that time, as well, he thought, thoroughly disgusted. “I don't think Dumont'll come back, chance running into any of us again.” Sloan knew he should be glad of it, but he regretted, bitterly, not getting his own licks in.

  “I appreciate you looking out for her,” he said stiffly. “But that doesn't get us past the rest. She'd have been upset, vulnerable. I don't like a man who takes advantage of that.”

  “I gave her tea and dry clothes,” Nathaniel said between his teeth. “It would have stopped right there, if that was what she wanted. Staying with me was her choice.”

  “I'm not going to see her hurt again. You might look at her and see an available woman, but she's my sister.”

  “I'm in love with your sister.” Nathaniel snapped his head around when the bridge door opened.

  “Ready to cast off, Captain.”

  “Cast off.” He cursed under his breath as he stalked to the wheel.

  Sloan stood back while he gave orders and piloted the boat into the bay.

  “You want to run that by me again?”

  “Have you got a problem with plain English?” Nathaniel tossed back. “I'm in love with her. Damn it.”

  “Well, now.” More than a little taken aback, Sloan sat on the bench closest to the helm.

  He wanted to think that one through. After all, Megan had barely met the man. Then again, he re­membered, he'd fallen for Amanda in little more time than it took her to snap his head off. If he'd been able to choose a man for his sister, it might have been someone very much like Nathaniel Fury.

  “Have you told her that?” Sloan asked, his tone considerably less belligerent.

  “Go to hell.”

  “Haven't,” he decided, and braced his booted foot on his knee. “Does she feel the same way about you?”

  “She will.” Nathaniel set his teeth. “She needs time to work it out, that's all.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “That's what I say.” Nathaniel ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Look, O'Riley, either mind your own damn business or take a punch at me. I've had enough.”

  Sloan's smile spread slow and easy. “Crazy about her, aren't you?”

  Nathaniel merely grunted and started out to sea.

  “What about Kevin?” Sloan studied Nathaniel's profile as he probed. “Some might have a problem taking on another man's son.”

  “Kevin's Megan's son.” His eyes flashed to Sloan's, burned. “He'll be mine.”

  Sloan waited a moment until he was sure. “So, you're going to take on the