by Laurie Paige
“And you, fair selky? Are you a romantic, too?”
Meeting his gaze, she saw the fire he didn’t bother to conceal. Wild thoughts of another night, another storm, raced through her mind. Longing gathered inside her like a collapsing sun, fiery hot and dangerous with the potential to burn them both to cinders.
She tried to suppress it, to ignore it when that proved impossible, but she was aware of Jean-Paul and their isolation with every fiber of her being. A slight tremor darted through her muscles, causing her to tense.
“Don’t worry,” he said in a husky near whisper. “All will be well. I can control my baser instincts.”
“But can I?” she blurted, then flushed painfully as she realized exactly how she sounded.
Instead of laughing, his expression changed to one that she could only describe as incredibly gentle. “Tell me what you want, and that’s the way it shall be.”
She sighed, then smiled wearily. “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what to do about our situation. I don’t know what’s best for anyone.”
“We can discuss it in the morning,” he said.
The mournful whistle of the wind increased as the storm swept over the sturdy lodge. Waves crashed against the rocky side of the island, visible from the windows along the western wall. Inside their snug haven, she and her guest sat in silence and listened to the tempest roar. Cold seeped slowly into the great room.
“Go to bed,” he suggested softly when she shivered, then yawned and pulled her sweater tighter around her. “There’s a pink fleece outfit in the duffel beside the door. I assume it’s yours. There’s a blue one for me.”
She went into the bathroom and undressed, then pulled on the warm sweatsuit. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she climbed the steps and crept into the lower bed. Jean-Paul stayed downstairs.
Her eyes grew heavy. After he turned out the lamps, she heard him come upstairs, then felt him step on her bed and settle into the top bunk. She heard a faint thud just before he muttered a curse. The rafters were close up there.
She smiled in the dark, feeling safe and content for the moment. She would face tomorrow when the sun came up.
The sky was still dark with storm clouds the next morning. Megan was at once aware of where she was. Looking over the rail, she spied Jean-Paul standing at one of the front windows, his hands on the sill to brace his weight as he watched the rain pour down in heavy sheets.
Pushing the sleeping bag aside, she swung her feet off the bed, slipped into loafers and went downstairs. A fire crackled in the massive hearth of the great room.
“Good morning,” he said. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Not quite.” She stretched. “I’d like a shower first.”
“I found soap, shampoo and toothbrushes in our supplies. Remind me to thank Logan for thinking of everything.”
She smiled at his wry tone as she headed for the bathroom. As children, they had never noticed the lack of amenities in the lodge, but now she was aware that Jean-Paul had taken a shower before her. She noted the razor on the sink, two toothbrushes in the holder and caught the scent of soap and shampoo. She hurried through her routine, donned the pink sweats and returned to the main room as quickly as possible.
“Cold, huh?” he said when she paused beside a window and shivered as the chill penetrated the glass.
“Yes.” She sniffed appreciatively.
He handed her a cup of coffee, then turned the bacon in the skillet. “Scrambled or fried eggs?”
“Scrambled.”
“You got it. Sit.”
She sat at the long table that could accommodate ten people easily. “Thanks,” she mumbled when he gave her a plate filled with bacon, eggs and toast, a fork on the edge.
He gazed at her with a thoughtful frown, then poured a glass of milk and placed it beside her plate. “Eat. I’ll join you in a minute.”
As it had that morning on his sailboat, the atmosphere seemed intimate as they ate breakfast together. Each time she looked up, his eyes were on her.
“What?” she finally said. “Have I got egg on my chin?”
He shook his head. “Are you always quiet in the mornings?” he asked.
“I suppose,” she began. “Well, I don’t really know. I’m usually alone when I first wake up. That is…”
A grin broke over his face. “I understand,” he murmured with a wicked light in his eyes.
He let her finish in peace, but he insisted on helping with their few dishes. She washed. He dried.
In ten minutes, they were done.
“Now what?” she said, not expecting an answer.
“Rummy. I found some cards. A warning, though. I’m a demon rummy player.”
“So am I,” she informed him.
“Let the games begin,” he intoned as if they were the opening act of the International Olympics.
The morning passed quickly into afternoon. After lunch, they each found a book to read. Megan went to sleep on one end of the sofa.
Jean-Paul watched Megan sleep, looking pink and delectable in the fleecy suit. His body stirred. No surprise there. He tended to stay tense around her. The semi-erection went to a full one when she stretched like a cat awakening, then sat up.
“Still raining?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you grouchy?”
“No.” He groaned internally when she struck a pose and studied him. By keeping a sports magazine over his lap, he managed to evade detection.
“Huh,” was all she said, then she wandered about the room, peering out each window, until she came to the entertainment center.
“I’ve checked the TV,” he told her. “All we get is static.”
“We’ve never had good reception up here.” She stacked some records on a player. A pop tune with a lively beat filled the lodge. “Want to dance?”
“No.” He regretted not putting on underwear upon rising that morning. “Excuse me.”
Grabbing the duffel that had been prepared for him, he went into the bathroom, found briefs and put them on. With them and the navy sweats, he was decent once more. He returned to the great room.
Megan was moving about the wooden floor to the beat of the music. She changed steps frequently, obviously making them up as she danced. Her lithe form was sexy, all woman, although she didn’t make any of those overtly suggestive movements frequently seen nowadays.
Desire increased to a maelstrom of hunger.
“Come on,” she called, spotting him lurking in the shadows. She gestured with both hands.
Reluctantly he went to her. If she but knew where his thoughts dwelt, she’d hide in the bathroom and bolt the flimsy lock. Which wouldn’t keep a determined flea out.
“This is good exercise and more fun than push-ups, huh?” she asked, her eyes alight with good humor.
“There’s some that I like better,” he told her, sounding like a disgruntled bear.
Taking one good look at him, she smothered a giggle, spun away, then spun back. He took both her hands and turned them in a disco move, shuffling her in and out of his arms, a matter of pure torture for him, but which she seemed to enjoy quite well.
He found he wanted to please her, that it was more important than his own bodily discomfort and general moodiness. Then he wondered about that.
“What?” she wanted to know when he grimaced at his odd musings.
“Nothing.”
“You are a grouch.”
But since she laughed as she said it, he was pretty sure there was no sympathy behind the words. He spun her around so that she was tucked under his arm and grinned wickedly. “Got you now,” he murmured, and kissed her.
She went still beside him. Her chest lifted in rapid breaths, and he felt her swallow once before her lips trembled, then opened to his seeking.
He traced his tongue over her mouth, then dipped inside the sweet interior. His lungs stopped working properly.
“You really do take my breath away,” he t
old her, grumpy again because of things he couldn’t name or control and somehow feeling it was all her fault.
Which it was.
No other female that he’d ever met had confused the issues between man and woman as much as this one did. “I like things simple,” he told her, glaring into her green-as-grass eyes, which seemed to hold laughter as she gazed up at him. He pulled her closer, wanting to feel the beat of life in her, to experience every breath she took…
He muttered an expletive. “What the hell is this?” he demanded huskily, at a loss to understand.
“What?”
“I asked first.”
Her eyes grew rounder at his tone. “I don’t know.” Pulling away, she went to the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator. “There’s chicken. Do you like it baked?”
“Yeah.” Fists on hips, he watched her prepare their evening meal as if she knew her way around the kitchen. Soon, delicious odors were coming from the oven. Drawn like a moth, he went closer so he could observe her. “Where did a royal princess learn to cook?”
Megan grinned and wrinkled her nose at him. “When Meredith and I were little, we saw a movie where the family cooked a meal. We thought that looked like fun, so we nagged until Mother agreed that we should all make something. The palace chef nearly had a coronary when we invaded the kitchen and announced our intentions.”
“What did you make?”
“Chocolate chip cookies, what else?”
Her laughter sent shafts of longing through him. “So when did you graduate to chicken?”
“When I was twelve, I started hanging around the kitchen and watching the cooks. The head chef gave up shooing me out and started giving me chores.”
“Such as?”
“One always starts out on salads and cold dishes. Next I learned soups and stews, pastas, terrines and pâtés, then baked dishes and finally meats. Desserts, being the most delicate, are last.”
“A private education from a world-class chef,” he said and thought of things he’d like to teach her. “You’re a fast learner.”
“It isn’t difficult when one is interested.”
Jean-Paul suppressed a groan at the images this remark conjured up. Like a dessert, she’d been the most delicate, the most inexperienced of his lovers. She’d also been a quick study, curious and intrigued by all that was happening between them. With her, lovemaking had been fresh and new and enchanting.
“Did you say something?”
“No,” he growled.
After arranging canned pears in a baking dish, she sprinkled them with a cinnamon and sugar mixture and dotted butter on top. “Oh-oh,” she said when she noticed a pot starting to boil. “Stick this in, will you?” She pointed to the dish, then the oven.
Visions raced through his mind. Gritting his teeth, he stuck the pears in the oven with the chicken, which by now was smelling heavenly. He’d never before realized that a baking chicken could be an aphrodisiac.
Or that preparing a meal with a woman could be so damn enticing. As she moved past him, he caught a whiff of the shampoo and soap they’d shared in the bath. But not at the same time.
That idea brought its own fantasies. He couldn’t suppress the groan as hunger pangs of an erotic kind speared right down to the very middle of his libido.
Megan turned on him in concern. “Jean-Paul, what is it? Are you ill? That’s the third time you’ve moaned.” She laid a hand on his forehead. “You’re flushed, too. I’ll look in the bathroom for a thermometer.”
He grabbed her hand. “No need,” he growled. “You’re the problem. The temptation,” he added sotto voce and glared at her for putting him in this predicament.
Her alluring mouth dropped open as she stared up into his face. Understanding dawned. “Oh,” she said.
“Yes, oh,” he mocked.
Her beautiful throat worked as she swallowed. He took a deep breath and sought control of those baser instincts. It had never been this difficult in the past. Then he saw what was in her eyes.
“Megan,” he whispered, drawing an agonized breath.
She turned from him. “Dinner is almost ready. There are some rolls to be browned.”
He let her go, but he didn’t care about rolls or dinner or anything but the woman who bustled about as if cooking were the most important task in the world. She removed the chicken and put the bread in to brown, her gaze carefully avoiding his.
The demon on his shoulder urged him to overcome her reticence. He could easily do it. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He’d witnessed the hunger in her eyes and knew it was as strong as it was in him.
So why not take what they both wanted?
“It’s ready,” she announced, setting two plates on the counter. “Shall we prepare our plates and take them to the table? That seems simpler.”
She wore no makeup at all, yet he’d never seen lips so pink and inviting. He took the platter she handed him and stood behind her while she fixed her meal. Realizing he was indeed hungry for food, too, he spooned out large servings of chicken and pasta and carrots.
“Wonderful,” he said several minutes later. “Being abducted has its advantages. I’d never have known your cooking skills otherwise.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she said wryly. “This doesn’t happen often.”
“Our lives are too busy for things other people take for granted,” he commiserated.
She gazed out the window toward the rocky coast and the sea beyond. “Yes.”
He heard the loneliness and saw the grief in her eyes for a second before she smiled, picked up their plates and began clearing the table. They washed up together.
The gray of the sky faded into blackness. The evening loomed before them. He brought in more wood from the covered porch and lit the fire. Soon the evening chill was chased from the room. He found that pacing brought no relief from the hunger that plagued him.
“Rummy?” she asked after he surfed the television channels and got only static.
“No.”
She bent over a magazine and paid absolutely no attention to him. Finally she threw the magazine aside. “Will you stop pacing like a caged tiger?”
“I have to do something,” he told her in a near snarl.
“We’ll hike down the trail in the morning,” she promised. “No matter what the weather.”
“Fine.”
Her face resembled a stone carving as she stared into the fire after their exchange.
“Hell,” he said.
She didn’t spare him a glance.
“Megan,” he began, and didn’t know what to say. He sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that being here with you like this is difficult.”
“You think it isn’t for me? I’m embarrassed that my family put you through this. I apologize.”
He shook his head. “That isn’t the problem. It’s me. It’s being near you and trying not to touch you.” He managed a smile and shrugged.
Slowly her gaze came up to his. Her chest moved as if her breath, too, was stuck in her throat. “We…we shouldn’t.”
“Why not? It’s too late to worry about consequences.” He grimaced at the cynical note.
She clenched her hands together in her lap. “I know. I wish I could take back that night. I wish I hadn’t followed you to the marina. I’m terribly, terribly sorry.”
If she’d kicked him in the solar plexus, he wouldn’t have been more shocked. And angry. “So you do regret it,” he said. “I’d wondered…but it doesn’t matter. Whether you’re sorry or not, the night did happen. We made love, and there’s a child on the way. Live with it.”
He walked out into the night, forgetting the pouring rain until the icy shower drenched him through and through.
It was what he needed, he decided savagely. Something to chill his blood and cool his brain so he could think straight. He stalked off along the ridge, stumbled over a boulder and caught himself in time.
Peering over the ledge, he realized he stood on a cliff that
was at least a hundred feet higher than the gorge below where rainwater rushed with terrifying force on its way to the sea. Seated on the boulder, he thought about his life and the future. Usually sure of himself and where he was going, he discovered only uncertainty ahead.
“Jean-Paul,” a voice called out of the blackness.
A light swept in an arc over the landscape. An ember brightened to a glow within. His selky had come searching for him. That had to mean something.
Chapter Nine
“You’re soaked,” Megan scolded, but not harshly. She touched Jean-Paul’s arm as he entered the lodge. “And cold. Take a hot shower at once.”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” he said in mock obedience and kicked off his shoes, aligning them neatly on the natural stones that formed the entrance area.
Using a wad of paper towels, she mopped up after him, then added more logs to the fire. The night was turning really cold. At that moment, she heard the patter of hail on the roof and windows. There was no way they could leave in the morning. She wondered if she should mention this fact to Jean-Paul and decided he could figure it out for himself.
When he returned to the great room, he wore green sweats and thick socks. Settling on the opposite end of the sofa from her, he sighed gustily. “Ah, home and hearth. What more could a man ask for?”
“Probably a lot,” she said ruefully. “One’s own home or at least a hearth of one’s choice, companions who are also friends.”
“Aren’t we friends?”
She glanced at him, then the fire. “I don’t think so. You prefer those more like yourself, I think.” She managed a smile as she envisioned the beautiful, competent women he usually squired about.
“You think I didn’t notice you?” he asked.
She nodded, refusing to let the knowledge hurt.
“Then you’re wrong.” He turned and stretched his legs down the length of the sofa, enclosing her feet between his. “I remember you from Meredith’s birthday ball. We walked together on the shore. You told me it was your favorite place, and that you liked being alone.”
Megan tried to move her feet without his noticing. He clamped down harder so she couldn’t.
