“Whatever you like,” he agreed. “Jeans, if you want. Anything short of a formal dress would be in place. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
It was thoughtful of him to realize that she might be uncertain what would be appropriate dress. She added that to the little things she was learning about Patrick McNaughton. Day three, she thought, and she knew that he had a younger sister whose children he read bedtime stories to. An older brother who worked a neighboring farm. He wasn’t married, although he was certainly eligible. Had he ever been married? How old was he? Mid-thirties, she decided. And successful.
He had the house next door to hers, but she had never seen it. He was handsome, muscular, tall enough Molly had to look up. She rather liked that. Strong, but he used his strength carefully.
He wanted her, seemed quite determined to pursue her. Molly hadn’t done much to discourage him. Didn’t want to discourage him, although she knew that once he got to know her, he would find her pretty ordinary. Did he expect Saul Natham’s daughter to be exciting? In the end, he would realize that whatever had attracted him was just an illusion.
What had he said he liked? Her hair. Her eyes. Her walk. He liked her dinosaur pictures, but that surely wasn’t the foundation of a serious relationship.
“Lighten up, Molly,” she muttered as she drew an angry line on the sketch. Poor Bronty was supposed to be looking excited in this picture, but Molly had turned him into a wistful and unhappy creature.
She would wear the cranberry-cultured skirt with its dozens of tiny pleats. And the black silk blouse with a scarf tucked into the neck to match the skirt. Would Patrick like her in that outfit? She could pin the scarf with the gold leaf-shaped pin Saul had given her for her eighteenth birthday. She had bought earrings to match it last year in Toronto.
She dropped her charcoal and stared at the picture of Bronty. She would have to start again. She’d better start getting somewhere with these illustrations. She’d lost almost a week packing up and driving out here. She couldn’t afford to lose another week thinking about the man who lived next door. This was her livelihood and she had a deadline.
Bronty started to take shape again on the easel, the new outline sketched in over the old. Both would be covered when she started painting over with her acrylic colors. The prehistoric beast stared out at her inquisitively from the rough lines of the skyscrapers.
At her ankles, Trouble moved back and forth, rubbing and making hungry noises. Molly would have to ask Patrick if there was somewhere on the island to buy cat food. The bacon was gone now. Trouble had turned her nose up at Molly’s offering of a dish of milk. Weren’t cats supposed to like milk? Would Trouble eat cat food if it was offered? Or did it have to be bacon? She must ask Jeremy this afternoon.
Jeremy! He was coming over after school, and Molly had promised cookies. That meant she had to figure out that oven, and quickly.
Was there was a chance that Patrick McNaughton might actually fall in love with her? And perhaps stay in love?
Chapter Five
The White Hart was pulsing pleasantly with the beat of a guitar as Patrick held the door open for Molly. The waitress smiled and greeted him by name, then glanced curiously at Molly.
Patrick said, “We’ve come for dinner. I promised Molly the best food on the island.”
The waitress laughed and led them to a small table in a corner. Patrick ordered a Perrier and Molly asked for one too. “Have something stronger if you want,” he offered when the waitress was gone. He smiled and admitted, “I thought I’d better keep my inhibitions about me. You said you wanted to take it slowly.”
It had been easy enough to theorize about losing her head with this man when she was safely alone. Now, with his eyes on her and her mind painting erotic pictures at the sound of his voice, she was terrified. His voice was so casual, talking about taking it slow, making it obvious that he could turn his reactions on and off at will. She knew that she was going to make a complete fool of herself over him, could not seem to stop herself. Why couldn’t she stay the way she had always been before? Cool and calm. Careful.
She stared at the table in front of her and muttered in a low voice, “I don’t want an affair.”
He covered her hand with his, somehow brought her eyes up to meet his. “Molly, the affair’s inevitable.” His voice was pitched low, for her ears only. A shiver traveled along her arm from the place where his fingers covered hers. “We can try to slow it down, that’s all. “
She stared at their linked hands and whispered, “I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t even know you.”
The waitress delivered their drinks and their menus. Molly freed her hand from Patrick’s. On the other side of the room, the guitar player burst into a moody song. Molly hummed along quietly and tried to concentrate on the menu. Oysters. Or tacos. A burger that she knew was positively gourmet. Patrick watched her as if she fascinated him.
“Tell me about yourself, Molly. How did you become the dinosaur lady?”
“Accidentally, really.” She shrugged and let the menu drop to the table. “Until I was twelve, I lived around painting all my life. The idea of doing anything else seemed impossible.” She grinned. “I had the idea that I’d be another famous artist like Saul, but after a couple of years at art school, I knew I didn’t have it in me. I’m competent, but whatever it is that Saul’s got—Well, I don’t want it. I like my life under control. You don’t want to hear this.”
“You’re wrong. What happened when you were twelve?”
She picked up her glass and turned it in her fingers. The sides of it were cool. The man with the guitar was telling a tale of love gone wrong and a hard-hearted woman wile a foursome at the next table argued about building a bridge built to connect Gabriola to Vancouver Island.
Molly asked, “Why would you want to know?” just as a man at the next table said loudly, “Real islands don’t have bridges!”
“I find everything about you fascinating.”
“Oh.” Her throat dried and she swallowed. “I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Aunt Carla thought I needed stability.”
“Did you want to live with them?”
“Yes, but I missed my father.” She shrugged that off and added hurriedly. “Saul’s not that good at remembering what’s not in front of him at the moment.”
He said quietly, “You were lonely.”
“Busy,” she corrected. He had found his way through too many layers of her secret self. She smiled and said lightly, “Aunt Carla believes in keeping children busy. She doesn’t have any of her own, but her theories are quite definite. She’s quite a lady.”
Patrick nodded, letting her evasion pass without comment. “So tell me about the dinosaurs.”
“I don’t usually talk about it.”
“I know. You don’t usually talk about yourself at all. You’ll have to learn, for me.”
How did he know that? She turned the glass and he took it out of her hand. Her fingers curled in on themselves and he took her hand to trap her restlessness. “The dinosaurs,” he insisted.
Her lips twitched. “Stubborn, aren’t you?”
“Hmm.” He was smiling, though.
“All right. I met Alex while I was at art school. He was dating my roommate, taking a creative writing degree at the university. He’d already written two children’s books, was determined he could sell them with the right illustrator to work with him.” She smiled ruefully. “His fantasy world appealed to me. Maybe a latent childhood interest in dinosaurs. We made a deal and I did the pictures on spec. The whole thing worked amazingly well. The week before I graduated, Alex and I got our first advance cheque.”
The waitress appeared and Molly picked up the menu again. “Oysters,” she decided, then wondered if Patrick had meant to order the oysters all along, or if he echoed her choice because...
That was silly, but it seemed one more thread drawing her to Patrick McNaughton.
He asked quietly, “Are you and Alex lovers?”
She sh
ook her head. “No. Just friends. We were never—”
“Are you in love with him?” His voice was quietly harsh.
Behind Molly, a woman’s voice declared with grim authority, “Take us out of the Islands Trust and what’ll happen? Gabriola will turn into one big condominium! Move the ferry terminal here and we’ll be nothing more than a bedroom for Vancouver!”
Molly said quietly, “Alex married Brenda, my art school roommate. Most of our work, we do together at a distance, by mail.” He was waiting for the answer to his question and she found herself confessing, “No. I’ve never been in love with anyone, not that kind of loving. Just friends. And family.” The other voices faded away to leave a world that was only Patrick’s eyes, black and magnetic on hers. Words. Silent words.
“Have you?” she whispered.
“You,” he said slowly. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
The spell was sharply interrupted by a voice calling across the room. Patrick leaned back, holding Molly’s eyes for a second before he turned to face the lean, tall man hurrying towards their table.
“Hey, Pat! I’ve been trying to get hold of you all week. Where the devil have you been?”
If Patrick minded the interruption, it didn’t show on his face, or in his voice as he introduced Molly to Gary Frolward.
“Hi, Molly.” Gary’s cheeks puffed out as his lips widened. “Sorry to burst in, but I’ve been chasing Patrick here all week. Pat, I want to talk to you about that candidacy.”
“Another time, Gary. Molly and I are having dinner. Politics isn’t on the menu.”
Gary dropped into the empty chair between them, a thin intense man in a business suit. “Pat, this is important. That by-election is being called next week. Drummer’s going to step down. That’s certain. Molly, you don’t mind, do you?”
Molly shook her head.
Patrick murmured, “You’re asking for it.”
“That’s a girl, Molly. He’s been avoiding me for days.” Gary grinned at her as he got back to his feet. “Just keep him in the mood while I go fetch my drink. I’ll be right back.”
Patrick shook his head ruefully. “Next time I’ll take you somewhere else.”
“Somewhere you won’t be recognized?”
“Somewhere I can hold you in my arms and dance. Here he comes. You’re about to learn more than you ever wanted to know about British Columbia politics.”
“Who is he?”
“Hard to describe. Gary’s a creature of politics. Campaign manager sometimes. Lobbyist. Media consultant, that being his regular job.”
Gary was shortly joined by a lawyer and an accountant. A few moments later a blue-jeaned woman named Edie joined the group. Molly was startled to learn that Edie was a bank manager.
“Not my banking clothes,” she admitted with a laugh when she saw Molly’s surprise. “I’m human off duty.”
“And behind her desk,” put in the accountant.
Molly was fascinated by their conversation that flew around the table. Patrick’s friends, she had thought at first, and they were. But they were more than friends. They were people concerned about recent environmental issues, involved in trying to exert political pressure to ensure that industry be forced to comply with pollution legislation.
Listening to Patrick’s comments, it was no surprise to learn that the others were trying to persuade him to run for political office in an upcoming by-election.
“You’re a natural,” said the accountant who was something in the local party executive. “You know everyone in the area- or at least, they all know who you are. Your family’s lived here forever. No skeletons in your closet.”
“None you know of,” countered Patrick with a laugh.
“Right, and you’ve got the business sense. You’re a good speaker. I heard you address the graduating class at NDSS last year. You had everyone in that audience in the palm of your hand. You also come across well with the media. I saw that interview last month on CTV.”
Patrick shook his head. “That’s all words, John. Nice compliments, but I want you to feel out Sam Nellish first. I think he’d be a better man.”
“He doesn’t want it,” said Edie. “And he looks like a fool on television.”
Patrick sighed. “I’m not sure I want it either.” Gary’s lips parted on a protest and Patrick said firmly, “No more tonight. I’ll tell you my decision in a week.” He grinned then, catching Molly’s hand with his, caressing the backs of her fingers with his thumb. “Enough for one night, friends. Take your pressure group elsewhere. I want to spend some time alone with my lady!”
His lady, as if she had a special place in his life. Laughing, the lawyer and the accountant and the bank manager went away. Gary opened his lips for a parting shot, but Patrick shook his head and even the media expert left them alone.
“They’re quite a bunch,” she said finally.
“Hmm. Manipulators, every one.” He sounded tolerant, as if they were people he respected. He turned Molly’s hand in his. “Shall we leave?”
“Are you a manipulator?”
She’d learned things tonight. Patrick was more than a local computer professional. He’d founded Vancouver Island’s largest computer networking firm, and apparently he had expanded his business like wildfire, and had just bought into a major North American Internet service.
“Molly?”
“What? “
“Come away with me now. I’ll take you for a moonlit walk and I promise I won’t take anything from you that you’re not willing to give.”
What could she say? That she was torn between willingness and nervousness? That when he looked at her like that, she felt so willing that it left her frightened of her own needs?
They drove back along the island in silence. Molly watched Patrick, seeing the hard line of his jaw, the silhouette of his dark moustache. She liked the moustache, liked the look of it, the feel of it stirring the nerve endings of her upper lip. What would it feel like on her body, his kiss, those short, full hairs caressing her heated skin?
She liked the man inside, too. Liked him more with each detail she learned about him.
He turned the car to drive up the hill. Turned again, and again. His Corvette crawled up a long tree-lined driveway and finally came to rest. There was moonlight on the clearing in front of the house. A cedar house, she thought. Warm brown. A rambling affair, a modern version of an older farmhouse style. It would be Patrick’s house, and it belonged here among the trees, on the top of a hill that looked out over mountains in the distance. She turned to stare at the lights on some distant mountaintop.
“That’s Grouse Mountain on the mainland,” he said quietly. “The lights are the chair lift and gondola up to the ski slopes.”
“Is this your house?”
“Yes.” He opened the car door. She sat frozen in the seat until he came around and opened her door. He reached in his hand and she found herself taking it, letting him help her out. “This isn’t a trap,” he said seriously. “I said a walk, and there’s a path at the back of the house. It’s a pretty walk in the moonlight. If we’re lucky, we might see some deer.”
“Oh.”
He closed her door and took her hand firmly in his. “You thought I was going to maneuver you into the house. Seduce you.”
“I ... yes.” He must think her a fool. A hesitant twenty-six year old virgin. There couldn’t be many of those around these days.
“It crossed my mind,” he admitted. “The idea’s tempting, to take you in my arms and see if we don’t end up in my bed.” He drew her hand through his arm. “For tonight, you’re safe,” he promised. “Don’t count on tomorrow, though. When I proposed this walk, I didn’t stop to think about your footwear. Shall we go by your place first so you can change?”
“Is it rough going?” She wished she had the nerve to tell him she wasn’t sure she wanted to be safe.
“Not really. It’s been dry lately, so there won’t be any mud. No bushwhacking. We’ll
stay on the path. Are you warm enough, though?”
“I think so.” She had a light jacket that matched the skirt, but the night air was cool enough she had already drawn the open front of the jacket together for warmth. “Maybe I should get my other jacket from the cabin.”
“Hold on a second.” He disappeared into his house, taking the steps up to the big veranda two at a time, returning a moment later with a bulky down-filled jacket. “Try this. Here, I’ll put your jacket in the car.”
His jacket felt warm and secure. “I must look like a balloon,” she decided, laughing when he turned to look at her. “Don’t you ever lock your car? Or your house?”
“Not often. And you look gorgeous, although the jacket rather drowns you. Come on, before I change my mind and carry you off into my lair.”
“I’m too heavy.”
He laughed, drawing her arm through his. “Want to bet? Have you ever seen a deer by moonlight?”
“No. The only deer I ever saw was yesterday, from my balcony. Except on television, that is.”
“I’ll try to find you one tonight.”
The path led off towards the right from the back of Patrick’s house. Molly glanced at the torn screen that showed in the light from the veranda. Patrick said, “That’s Trouble’s doing. Saul named her well.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it, if you want.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t want money from you.” He shrugged off his irritation with a laugh. “How is the beast? I haven’t seen her climbing my screen windows, so I assume you’re winning her over.”
Molly grimaced. “Sort of. She’s accepting food, but complaining about the menu. She let me pet her once this afternoon, and she ate three of the cookies I made for Jeremy. Do cats eat cookies?”
“Apparently this one does. Careful, here, the ground drops.” He guided her down, then took her hand loosely in his, swinging their arms gently as they walked on.
Molly breathed in the springtime scent of evergreens and honeysuckle. “Tell me about the farm. You grew up on it, didn’t you?”
“Hmm.” His fingers linked through hers as he offered, “I’ll show you if you like. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Why don’t you came round with me to meet the family. I’ll get David to show you the farm. It’s his domain.”
With Strings Attached (Gabriola Island) Page 7
