“I’m going to take a look at the cave,” Nell informed Mac. “I want to help if I can.”
He grunted, then crooked a finger at Mia. Amused at him, she strolled closer, then stopped when he held up a hand.
“Whoa, baby,” he said. “Look at this, just look. It’s phenomenal. Are you doing any internal spells? Do you have anything working, actively working, in another area?”
“Not at the moment. Why?”
“Your readings are spiking. They’re all over the place, and all the way up the scale. You always have a high level, even at rest, but this is a big surge. Hold on. I want to measure your vital signs.”
He took her blood pressure, her body temperature, her heart rate. He was studying the readout on her brain wave patterns when the rest of the group gathered around them.
“How do you do it?” Mac’s voice was quiet now, and sober.
Mia leaned toward him. Mimicking his tone, she pretended innocence. “Do what, Mac?”
“The level of energy pumping around inside you right now would have most people bouncing off the walls. But your vitals are well within normal range. You’ve been sitting here, calm as ice, for ten minutes.”
“Exquisite control. Now, this has been a delightful and entertaining evening, but I really have to go.” She rose, one smooth movement of grace, and brushed the sand from her skirts. “I have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you stay here in the guest room?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Mac.”
“It’s not finished.”
“No, it’s not finished. But it’s done for tonight.”
Sixteen
She didn’t sleep, nor had she expected to. Instead, she put the bubbling energy to good use. She worked on kitchen magic, put together some pocket charms. She polished furniture, scrubbed floors, then gave herself a manicure.
At dawn, she was in the gardens, selecting and clipping the flowers she wanted for store decoration.
When she arrived at Café Book at eight, her energy level showed no signs of waning.
Nell, dependable as sunrise, arrived at nine, loaded with supplies.
“You look incredible,” Nell said as Mia helped her transport boxes and containers.
“I feel incredible. It’s going to be a good day.”
“Mia.” Nell set the cake box on the refreshment table. “I trust you. But it’s just not like you to be so casual about what happened last night. That level of magic, that scope—”
“Was like having a dragon by the tail,” Mia finished. “I take what happened very seriously. I have to ride this wave, little sister. Physically, I really don’t have a choice. It doesn’t mean I’m not aware, or that I’m glib, or that I don’t know that what’s coming is more potent yet.”
A dragon by the tail? Nell thought. More like a herd of them. “I saw what you were able to call last night. I felt the edge of it whip through me. Just the edge, and it was staggering. Now you’re setting up for a book signing as if it’s the most important thing you have to do.”
“Today it is.” She took one of Nell’s apple fritters from a box. “Can’t seem to get enough to eat. It’s a matter of routing the energy, which I imagine you did, very skillfully, with Zack last night.” She smiled a little as she bit into the pastry. “I’ve had a lot of practice finding ways other than sex to route mine. You could serve canapés off my kitchen floor this morning.”
“I thought you and Sam would leave together.”
“So did I.” Thoughtfully, Mia licked sugar from her finger. “Apparently he had other things to do.”
“After you left, Mac took readings from Sam. Sam didn’t like it. Zack had to insult him into it. You know, the way men do.”
“Questioning the size and stamina of his penis.”
“Basically. And calling him Mary.”
“Ah, yes.” Mia chuckled and nibbled. “Always effective.”
“Sam’s readings were nearly as high as yours.”
Still ravenous, Mia contemplated another fritter. “Really?”
“Mac’s theory, or one of them, is that Sam was at ground zero and absorbed some of the energy flying around. Now, of course, he wants to wait a few days and then get readings from Sam for comparison. His standard levels and so on.”
Mia gave in, took the second pastry, and told herself she’d do an extra hour of yoga later. “Sam wouldn’t care for that.”
“No, he didn’t like it. But my impression is he’s going to cooperate. Mac’s very persuasive, and he used you.”
“Me?”
“Any data are essential, every scrap of information goes into the whole and helps—don’t get mad at this—protect you.”
Mia brushed sugar from her fingertips, admired the slick coral polish on her nails. “Did I give anyone the impression last night that I needed protection?”
“They’re men,” Nell said simply, and restored Mia’s good humor.
“Can’t live with them, can’t turn them into jackasses.”
With preparations at Café Book well under control, Mia went down to meet the ten o’clock ferry. She noted that Pete Stubens’s dog had gotten off the leash again and was racing around the docks with the remains of some unfortunate, and very dead, fish hanging out of his mouth.
She spotted Carl Macey’s boat at the dock and imagined that he and his crew would be unloading a fresher, more appetizing catch.
She toyed with wandering over and asking him to set aside some of it for her. There was little doubt that by the end of the day her appetite would be just as keen as it was now.
“Hi, Miz Devlin.” Dennis Ripley skidded his bike to a halt inches in front of the open toes of Mia’s Pradas.
“Hi, Mister Ripley.”
The boy grinned, as he always did. Growing like a weed, Mia thought, and well into the gangly-arms-and-awkward-elbows stage. In a couple of years, she mused, he’d be zipping along in some secondhand car instead of on his bike.
And the idea made her sigh.
“My mom’s coming to your store today to see that writer lady.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“My aunt Pat works at the hotel, and she says they’ve got a fancy room for her, with a whirlpool tub and a TV set in the bathroom.”
“Is that so?”
“She says writers make lots of money and live high on the hog.”
“I imagine some do.”
“Like Stephen King. His books are cool. Maybe I’ll write a book and you can sell it in your store.”
“Then we’ll both get rich.” She pulled down the bill of his ball cap and made him laugh.
“I’d rather play for the Red Sox, though. Gotta go.”
He shot off, whistling for Pete’s dog, who raced after him. Mia turned to watch them, and there stood Sam.
Neither spoke for a moment, but the air seemed to snap.
“Hi, Miz Devlin.”
“Hi, Mister Logan.”
“Excuse me a minute.” He slid his arms around her, gripped the back of her dress in a fist, and crushed his mouth down on hers.
And the air seemed to sizzle.
“I didn’t get around to doing that last night.”
“Today works.” Her lips vibrated from the heat of him.
She shifted away, a test of will with the energy bubbling inside her, and watched the ferry chug its way toward the dock. “Ferry’s on time.”
“We need to talk about last night.”
“Yes, we need to talk about a number of things. But not today.”
“Tomorrow, then. We should both be a little less . . . distracted.”
“Is that a euphemism?” Mia asked, amusing herself, and stepped forward as the ferry docked.
A black sedan eased down the gangplank, steered to the side. Before the driver could walk around to open the door, a pretty blonde popped out of the backseat.
She gave a laughing shout, then rushed forward and all but jumped into Sam’s arms. The kiss was audi
ble, an extended mmmmm! with a quick popping sound at the end.
“God! It’s good to see you! How did you manage to get better-looking? I can’t believe I’m here on your island. Just thinking about it’s gotten me through a week of book tour wars. Let’s have another kiss.”
Oh, yes, let’s, Mia thought dryly as she watched the exchange. Caroline Trump was as attractive as her book jacket photo. A swing of sunny blond hair curved around a pretty elfin face, warmed by honey-brown eyes and dominated by a shapely pink mouth. A mouth that, Mia noted, was currently fused to Sam’s.
She had the young, perky build of a high school cheerleader, though her bio put her at thirty-six.
The bio had neglected to mention that she and Sam Logan had been lovers.
“Tell me everything you’ve been up to,” Caroline demanded. “I can’t wait to see your hotel. There has to be time for you to show me around this place. It’s great! The book signing will probably be a dud—God knows why they schedule in these little holes-in-the-wall—so I can cut out early. We’ll go to the beach.”
“You still talk too much.” Sam eased her back, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Welcome to Three Sisters. Caroline, this is Mia Devlin, the owner of Café Book.”
“Oops.” Caroline turned her cheerful smile on Mia. “I do talk too much. Just run on and on. I didn’t mean it about the signing.” She took Mia’s hand, pumped. “I’m just all wired up. Haven’t seen Sexy here for over six months, and I’ve had about a gallon of coffee already this morning. I really appreciate you having me.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Mia said in a voice so smooth it made Sam wince. She drew her hand free of Caroline’s grip. “I hope the trip from the mainland was pleasant.”
“It was great. I—”
“Then I’ll just add my welcome to Sam’s, and let you go so you can settle in. If there’s anything you need, you can reach me at Café Book. Sam,” she said with a regal nod and walked away.
“Oh, ouch.” Caroline rapped a fist against her forehead. “I’m such a moron. Brilliant author-bookseller relations.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam told her. He would. “Let’s get you settled at the hotel. I think you’re going to like your suite.”
An hour later, Sam braved the sting of hellfire and walked into Café Book.
“Upstairs,” Lulu called out as she busily rang up sales. “And she’s on a tear.”
He found her giving instructions to the part-time clerk at the auxiliary checkout counter.
She didn’t look like a woman on a tear, he thought, but like a coolly efficient business owner taking care of details. But then, Lulu knew her all too well.
She moved away to replenish stock that customers had already taken from her area display. “Is our VIP settling in?”
“Yes, she’s changing. I’m going back shortly to take her to lunch.”
“I hope our little signing doesn’t interfere too much with the social aspects of your reunion.”
“Can we take this somewhere a little more private?”
“I’m afraid not.” She turned, beaming a professional smile as a woman took another book off the display. “Be sure to fill out the form for our prize drawings. We’ll be pulling names throughout the event,” she told the woman. “As you can see,” she said to Sam, “I’m too busy dealing with my pesky event in my little hole-in-the-wall to chat with you.”
“She didn’t mean to insult you, Mia.”
“Not to my face, in any case. There’s no need for you to explain your friend to me. On any level.”
“I was going to suggest you join us for lunch.” He didn’t flinch at the long, slow stare she aimed at him. “Give her a chance to smooth over the awkward first impression.”
“Not only would it take more than lunch to manage that, but I don’t have the time or the inclination. And I certainly don’t intend to be part of any little ménage à trois, however civilized.”
Okay, he thought. First things first. “Caroline and I haven’t been involved in that way for a long time. And I don’t appreciate having to explain something like that in the middle of the damn store.”
She nudged him aside so that she could speak to a group of tourists who were currently goggling. “Good morning. I hope you’ll be staying for our event this afternoon.” She picked up a book to show them. “Miss Trump will be here to discuss and sign her latest.”
By the time she finished her pitch and had the customers browsing the paperback display, he was gone.
“Dud, my butt,” Mia murmured.
“I’m going to be so charming she’s going to forget I ever had my foot in my mouth.”
“Stop obsessing, Caroline.”
“I can’t.” She poked at her Cobb salad. “And it’ll hurt my feelings if you’ve forgotten that about me. Obsession is like breathing for me. I’m going to win her over before I’m finished. You’ll see.”
“Eat your lunch.”
“I’m nervous. She made me nervous. God, Sam! I couldn’t stop babbling.”
“You always babble.” He nudged the coffee aside, nudged up her salad bowl.
“No, I chatter. Babbling’s different. She’s the one, isn’t she?”
“The one what?”
“The one you were always hung up on.” With her head angled to the side, Caroline studied him. “I always knew there was the one, even when we were together.”
“Yes, she’s the one. How’s Mike doing?”
“Ah.” She wiggled her fingers so she could see the glint of her wedding ring. It was still new. And though it was the second she’d worn, she was determined that this one would stick. “He’s great. Misses me when I’m on tour—which is good for my ego. I’m going to have to bring him back here for a vacation. It’s wonderful. And,” she added, “you changed the subject to distract me. You don’t want to talk about Mia Devlin.”
“You look wonderful, Caroline. Happy, successful. I really enjoyed your new book.”
“Okay, we won’t talk about her. You’re really not coming back to New York?”
“No, I’m not coming back.”
“Well.” She glanced around the dining room. “You’ve got a hell of a place here.”
She studied the portrait of the three women, turned a questioning glance at Sam. But when he simply continued to eat, she tossed her napkin on the table. “I’ve got to get over there and make her love me or I’m not going to be able to settle down.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you settled down.” But he rose, signaled to the waiter. “You’ve got time for a little walk around the village.”
“No, let’s just do it. I’ll go over to sign stock now and look around later.”
He led her through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk.
“Terrific building,” she said, scanning Café Book. She squared her shoulders, sucked in a breath. “Okay, let’s do it.”
“She’s not going to claw you, Caroline.” He waited for a break in the traffic, guided her across the street. “She wants this event to be successful as much as you do.”
“Brother, you don’t know females.” Caroline stepped inside, blinked. “Wow! What a place! Dream bookstore. And I’m everywhere. Jesus, Sam, it’s packed. I can’t believe I called this place rinky-dink.”
“You didn’t. Your term was ‘hole-in-the-wall.’ ”
“Right. Right. Did I mention I was a moron?”
“Yes, I think you did. Lulu, this is Caroline Trump.”
“Glad to have you.” Lulu bagged up a sale, stuck out her hand. “I’ve been ringing up your books like they were going out of style. I read the new one last week. It had a good punch.”
“Thanks. I love the store.” She turned in a circle. “I want to live here. Oh! Look at those candles. Sam, I need ten minutes.”
When she dashed off, he leaned back, watching fondly as she whipped through the aisles. It took fifteen minutes, but he managed to head her upstairs.
“Well, you made Lulu like yo
u,” he commented.
“That was just a side benefit. Her stock is so smart—not just the selection of books, which is impressive, but the sidelines too. Class all the way. And look at this.”
She stopped at the top of the stairs, dazzled.
The crowd was already thick. The café tables were packed, as were the rows of chairs. Over the hum of conversation, she heard Mia’s smooth voice announce her name and the time of the event.
“It’s a wonder she didn’t kick me out,” Caroline murmured. “There must be a hundred people up here.”
“Since you’re determined to feel lousy about it, I’ll tell you she worked her butt off. Look, just pass on what you think to your publicist. Getting other authors to Café Book will go a long way toward prying your foot out of your mouth.”
“Consider it done. Okay, here she comes.” Caroline boosted up her smile and walked in Mia’s direction.
“You have the most incredible store. And I want to know if there’s anything I can do to make up for being a jerk.”
“Don’t give it another thought. Can I get you something to drink, a bite to eat? We’re very proud of our café.”
“Got any hemlock?”
Mia put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, it could be arranged.”
“Why don’t I settle for a diet Coke, and you can put me to work.”
“I have a number of pre-sells, if you’d like to take care of them before the event. It will give you more beach time. I’ll show you into the stockroom, set you up. Pam,” Mia called to the woman waiting tables. “Would you bring Ms. Trump a diet Coke? We’ll be in the stockroom. Sam, if you’re staying, you might want to find a seat. Just this way, Ms. Trump.”
“Caroline, please. I’ve done enough of these to know how much time and effort go into hosting a signing. I want to thank you.”
“We’re thrilled to have you.”
Caroline followed Mia into the stockroom. She’d also seen enough behind-the-scenes action in bookstores to recognize ruthless organization.
“I’ve flapped the copies at title page,” Mia began. “If that’s not your preference, I’ll change them.”
Books by Nora Roberts Page 225
