Tides of Love (Seaswept Seduction Series)

by Sumner, Tracy

  Warm laughter traveled the distance. Lids lifting, she watched Zach pitch a fish at his brother's head. In turn, Noah pivoted, stuffing a thick book beneath his armpit, and snared the fish with one hand. "Nice try," she thought she heard him say.

  She stared, wishing he stood a little closer, wishing fewer people crowded the street. Wishing the memory of his body pressing down upon hers would leave her mind for one blasted minute.

  Noah poked inside the barrels circling the Nellie Dey's gangplank and turned to scribble in his book. A lock of hair fell into his face, and he flicked it back. Zach yelled a number, which he noted with a slight incline of his head and another furious scratch. An image of those long, sun-kissed fingers trailing over her shoulders, teasing her breasts and hauling her hips to his, forced her to wedge her knees against the wooden railing. To add to her humiliation, her nipples pebbled beneath her shift, an abrasive reminder her of her weakness.

  Forcing her legs to move, she shot down the stairs. Between swaying carts loaded with casks and piles of lumber, she caught glimpses of the man she had worked diligently to ignore.

  Something seemed different. His trousers were wrinkled. Sloppily rolled sleeves capped his elbows and dirt soiled his knees. And his hair, curling about his head, lacked hat or pomade, and needed cutting. His appearance didn't keep Meredith Scoggins from yelling his name and crossing the street with an eager stride.

  For eight days and fourteen hours, they had avoided each other. Except for one collision. Four days ago, leaving the post office as he entered. He had grabbed her arms and stared for a strained, impassioned moment into her face. Then, they jerked apart and departed in opposite directions.

  At least she had gotten her mail.

  Worming her way through a crowd of fishermen entering the Nook, she stumbled into a foul-smelling body. Her gaze traveled from mud-caked brogans to patched bib trousers. Sean Duggan, legs thrown wide, rage mottling his cheeks. His hands flexed into fists by his side. "I've been waiting to talk to you, Miss Ellie," he said. Ale rode the breath buffeting her face, a repulsive comrade to the liquor seeping from his clothing.

  He swayed on his feet, and a chill streaked down her spine. "What can I do for you, Mr. Duggan?"

  He seized her wrist and squeezed hard, until she feared her bones would snap. "You scrawny little bitch."

  She grimaced and breathed through her mouth, pain swimming up her arm. Her knees trembled, but she stared into his red-rimmed eyes, ignoring the discomfort and the stench, daring him to do more than this on a public street. He did not have the privacy of his home to lay an abusive hand on a woman half his size.

  "You'd better step away, Mr. Duggan. I'm about to scream bloody murder. The noise is certain to alert Zachariah Garrett. His office is just across the street. Family friend, if you recall. He wouldn't take kindly to this brutality." She yanked her arm, but he held tight.

  Sean's gaze flicked toward the constable's office. He released her, but did not back up, instead slapping his palm against the post above her shoulder. " I know where Annie went. And you helped her."

  "Excuse me, but I think you'd better do as Miss Beaumont requested, or I may scream as well. I live in Chicago, among many desperate souls, so I guarantee I've had more experience. Besides, I love to draw an audience."

  Elle edged around Sean.

  "Never look a rabid dog in the eye, darling," Caroline said with a calm smile.

  Elle linked her arm through Caroline's and whisked her down the boardwalk. Their heels clicked on the planks, the only sound for several minutes. Halting in front of Tilly's Nets, Elle jerked free. "Why?"

  Caroline raised a brow, her gloved fingers closing around the package in her hand. "Why?"

  Elle threw her hand out. "You've been trying to befriend me all week. Suffering cats, you've come to my house, stopped me on the street and... and today, you help me out of a disagreeable situation. Why?"

  "Because I like you."

  "Like me? You don't know me."

  Caroline smoothed her hand over her frilled bodice. "I know Noah well enough, and he likes you. Quite a good recommendation in my book."

  Elle felt the pounding in her head lower to her chest.

  "And you love him, so you think you must hate me."

  A group of sailors shuffled by, singing in slurred voices and stamping their feet; the first lazy days of spring were upon them. Elle watched the Nook's swinging doors swallow them up, then she turned toward home, neglecting to ask if Caroline wished to accompany her.

  "What did I witness back there?"

  Elle increased her pace. "Just another reason for me to leave this place."

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing."

  "Darling, you must tell someone what happened. That man is a menace."

  Elle halted, apprehension streaking through her. "You mustn't repeat anything about this, Mrs. Bartram. Nothing. Sean Duggan's problem is with me and no one else. I don't want—" Closing her mouth, she marched away.

  Caroline's shoulder brushed Elle's as she stepped in beside her. "You don't want Noah getting involved."

  Turning into Widow Wynne's front path, she kicked the gate open, and crossed the yard. Caroline stayed right with her. Frustrated and confused, Elle snatched her skirt and took the porch steps at a gallop. She turned to find the annoying woman standing on the bottom step, grinning at her.

  "What?"

  "You've got dash, darling. And Noah needs someone with dash."

  "Sorry to disappoint, Mrs. Bartram, but Noah isn't going to bother with anything without gills. You see, my father wasted his money."

  Caroline's smile dimmed. "I never took any money from your father, Miss Beaumont, and I never intended to. I came for my own reasons, mostly."

  "I'm sorry. Noah told me about the two of you being... friends." Glancing at her feet, Elle scrubbed mud off the toe of one boot with the heel of the other. "I've confused the issue enough. I don't need to speak without thinking and make the situation worse."

  "Darling, how have you confused the issue?" Caroline shifted her skirt and perched on the step.

  Elle settled beside her. "I keep mistaking the boy I knew with the man I don't. That's all I meant."

  "Are the boy and the man so different?"

  Elle plucked a withered blossom from the azalea and twirled it between her fingers. Different? Right now, the man was all she thought about, raw desire darkening his eyes, his lips parting before covering hers. "Sometimes I look at him, and I think my childhood friend is still there. Other times, the way he stares at me, the way he touches me, the bitterness on his face. I don't recognize him."

  "I recognize him: a man who wants to love you and is fighting loving you like the very devil."

  Elle crumbled the bloom between her thumb and forefinger, pollen dusting her skin. "Considering all the women he's been, well, you know." She cleared her throat. "Why does he get angry for thinking about that with me?"

  Caroline covered her mouth, but not soon enough to keep the laugh from escaping. Noah Garrett had never looked twice at any woman. Of course, handsome and successful, women naturally flocked to him. He was considered an eligible bachelor in Chicago's elite circle. Beyond doubt, he had accepted an indiscreet offer or two, but nothing matching Miss Beaumont's presumption. Nothing at all. Poor dear, Caroline thought, and struggled to hide her smile.

  "Laugh if you want." Elle ripped another bloom from the bush, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But he's very experienced. I don't know why it seems to disturb him to lust after me."

  Caroline gulped for air, propping her head on her knees.

  "I'm glad to be a source of amusement for you." She waved, rebuffing Caroline's apology. "Don't worry, I'm used to the teasing. My feelings for Noah have always been nothing but a joke. They say I left because of him, too, I guarantee."

  "Are you planning a trip, Miss Beaumont?"

  Elle's hesitated before shaking her head.

  "I'm sure you don't need my advice, or
want it for that matter, but if you love him, you'd better stay and fight for him. You won't be the first woman who had to, I can assure you. No man on earth wants to admit falling in love, darling. No man I've yet to meet, anyway. They all need a kick in the seat of the trousers to set them in motion."

  Elle murmured.

  Caroline leaned in. "Again, please."

  "Noah doesn't love me, I said."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure!" She exploded off the steps and began pacing in front of Caroline, the hem of her cycling trousers bumping her ankles. "He thinks we don't mix. Like oil and water, he said. I'm too frivolous, too foolhardy. And believe me, I tried, at least I did years ago, to conceal my impetuosity. Think first, act later, that sort of thing. Aim to plan before do." She dropped to her knees beside a tilled square of soil, picked up a rusted spade, and stabbed it in deep.

  "Try to put yourself in his shoes, Miss Beaumont. After all that happened here, Noah is overly cautious. What he reveals and what he hides are important decisions for him. To me, he's this little boy protecting a precious vase. He's so afraid the beauty of it won't last, he smashes the vase to bits just to ease his trepidation." She lifted the package of embroidered handkerchiefs to her lap and considered giving Elle one to wipe the smudge from her nose. "You mustn't take his word, all those silly reasons you two don't mix, gracious alive, as scripture. If you want him—"

  "I don't need him." She snatched the spade from the ground, flinging dirt on herself. "Pointless, discussing this. He's turned me away at every corner. For my entire life, Mrs. Bartram. Juste Ciel, even I have some reasonable idea of when to abandon a sinking ship."

  Caroline smoothed her finger over the corner of her package. "Are you leaving soon? On this adventure of yours?"

  Elle's head swiveled in her direction. She looked like a rabbit trapped in a snare. "Will you tell him?"

  "Will you?"

  Her look grew unfocused as her fingers danced over the garden tool. Then her back stiffened, and she gave her head a firm, terse shake.

  "You're a grown woman. What you tell Noah or don't tell him is your choice and no one else's. Despite this, I will tell you that I don't agree. I've witnessed the intimate glances the two of you share. Only a blind person would miss them. An attachment of such depth doesn't wither, or die." She curbed her counsel as suspicion filled the young woman's eyes. "I suppose you'll find out for yourself. Noah will, too."

  The wind swept her hair into her face. "I can't endure watching him leave again, Mrs. Bartram. My decision is not an impulsive one, nor is the destination perilous. Regardless, leaving is better. He won't feel guilty about... "—she groped for words—"anything that's happened. And I can finish something, something I want to finish, and should have a long time ago." Looking away, she added, "Pipe dream or no."

  Caroline sighed, wondering how she could help two of the most headstrong, gun-shy people she'd ever chanced to meet. Noah's love for the little hellcat was as obvious as those spectacles perched on the end of his nose, yet they didn't make him see everything. And Marielle-Claire, the way she looked when she talked about him almost made Caroline want to cry.

  There must be something she could do and keep her promise. Caroline gave the package's ribbon a meditative tug. How to she gain the girl's trust?

  "Miss Beaumont, could you do me a small favor?"

  Elle started, pulled from a daydream that had left her eyes overbright and her cheeks rosy. "If I can," she said.

  Trust. "I want you to tell me about your school."

  * * *

  Noah couldn't help but wonder what she wore beneath those clinging cycle trousers. Since he'd peeked in her bedroom window and seen the lacy frippery hanging from her bedpost, he imagined it beneath everything.

  The blade sliced into his skin. Dropping the knife, he brought his finger to his lips, the sour taste of blood filling his mouth. He swore, sick and tired of Elle's blessed undergarments monopolizing his thoughts.

  "What is wrong with you?" Zach pitched a fishtail over the side of the dock. "You've been in a fog for the last hour."

  Noah turned, unobtrusively wiping his hand on his trousers. What was wrong with him? Hell. He'd seen Elle across the street and had barely contained the impulse to go after her.

  "Nothing's wrong." He slammed his notebook atop the oyster barrel. "Just thinking about materials for the lab, that's all."

  "Wouldn't have to do with Ellie leaving her daddy's office and standing on the boardwalk watching us?"

  He ripped a sheet from his notebook and wadded the paper into a ball. "For God's sake, Zach, drop it."

  "Fine, I'll drop it." Zach shrugged his shoulders and tossed Noah's slide rule in a wooden bucket. "Consider it dropped."

  "Easy there."

  Zach glanced up, eyes full of mischief. "Boy, are you touchy."

  Noah felt a scowl crack his cheeks. How could the scent of honeysuckle be stronger than the stench of fish? How could he have slept less the past week than he had the week before the Woods Hole laboratory opened, when he had been more nervous than ever in his life? How could he want her so badly, a woman dissimilar to any he reasoned would make him happy?

  "You coming for dinner tonight? Caleb caught a mess of cat. Promised to fry them up and make hot pepper corndodgers."

  Noah looked toward the sunset spill sliding into the horizon. Waves thumped against the pilings; a fine mist dusted his lenses. He concentrated, searching for the contentment the sea brought.

  "Dinner, Noah?"

  He shook his head, gestured to the satchel by his feet. "Going to Devil for a day or so. I want to explore the mud flats on the south side of the island."

  "You sure?"

  He nodded, not sure of anything.

  Zach patted his shoulder, then headed down the dock, the sectioned planks rocking beneath him. Shouldering his satchel, Noah stuffed his notebook inside the front pocket and sprinted to his skiff. Recklessness had him setting sail under more of a pinch than was necessary; the lines twitched in his hands.

  Another hour in the coach house, knowing Elle slept less than a hundred yards away, was out of the question. A particularly vivid dream the night before had woken him, and he'd ended up at her back door, hand raised, preparing to knock.

  Excuse me, but I was hoping to make desperate love to you.

  He tugged the sheet and guy with a muttered oath. He had packed provisions for one day, maybe two. Long enough to figure out what to do about Elle. He had to do something. The avoidance part of his plan wasn't working. With each passing second, she became more difficult to resist.

  He jerked a square knot in the line, and the gash on his finger split open and started to bleed.

  Ah, yes, for the first time in his life, his span of attention equaled Rory's.

  The wind whipped his shirt against his chest and the heart beating forcefully beneath it. Hanging his head, he sighed. His rigidly constructed world was falling apart. And he feared it would never be the same.

  Feared he did not want it to be the same.

  Two days. Two days to decide how to tell Elle he had fallen in love with her.

  Chapter 15

  "Its sources are obvious."

  C. Wyville Thomson

  The Depths of the Sea

  A jarring noise pulled Elle from the first genuine sleep she'd had in days. She hitched to her elbow and blinked. She patted her chest, realizing she had fallen asleep in her clothing. Must be the jigger of whiskey Christabel and Caroline had forced on her at dinner. Throwing her hand to the floor, she searched—

  "Enough of that, sweet," Noah said and slid the glass out of reach with the toe of his brogan. Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as her gaze traveled his long, lean body. He dropped, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her into his arms.

  "What... whe—"

  He seized her words and her mouth, throwing her into a tempest of emotion. Desperation and loneliness raged; passion consumed her. She groaned and melted i
nto him. Demanding and rough, the kiss bruised her lips and her soul. She surrendered to her love and the need she could no longer contain. She delved deeply, devouring as he devoured her.

  He circled her wrists, his fingers tangling in her cuffs, and pressed her against the chaise longue. Chest heaving, he lifted his head, a look of complete bafflement crossing his face. "Not here... I didn't plan to... oh, hell."

  With an oath, he pulled her to her feet and down the hallway, out into the moonlit night, grumbling beneath his breath along the way. Something about inquisitive brothers knocking on doors and how on this night, of all nights, she had to be inebriated.

  "I'm not inebriated." Unfortunately, she followed the denial with a hiccup.

  He sighed but didn't reply, nor did he look at her or slow his pace. Exhilarated for no good reason, she leaned in and sniffed his sleeve: woodsmoke and soap.

  No hint of liquor.

  Trying to track his lengthy stride, she stepped on the edge of a shell and gasped in pain.

  Noah paused and swept her into his arms, looked both ways, then sprinted down the alley leading to the docks. His heartbeat thudded beneath her breast. He lifted her, a subtle shift that brushed her mouth against the underside of his jaw. Quite helplessly, she kissed him there, her lips lingering.

  Noah moaned and halted in the shadowed recess of the seamstress's shop, braced his elbows on the wall, and lowered his mouth to hers, trapping her in his heated embrace. She hardly had time to loop her arms around his neck and thread her fingers through the hair curling over his collar, before he pulled away.

  "I want to talk with you. Just talk," he said, a shudder working its way down his arms. "Not here. Not this." Peeking from their hiding place, he loped across the street, pressing a tender kiss to her brow. "Not yet."

  She shivered at the intensity of his words and the alluring images they brought to mind, wondering how her clear sense of purpose had vanished so easily into the dark night.

  The street was deserted. Other than the oyster factory, Noah's laboratory was the only structure on the eastern end of town. The lab stood tall and proud against a twilight sky, wooden shakes recently fitted to the roof. Aching deep inside at the look of completion about the place, she pressed her cheek to his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping past cotton and into her heart.