Megan's Mate tcw-5

by Nora Roberts

  It didn't come.

  Frowning, she took another step, and another. She felt a little weak, true, but no longer limp and clammy. Daring the ultimate test, she looked out the window at the rolling sea.

  There was a tug, but a mild one. In fact, she realized, it was almost a pleasant sensation, like riding on a smooth-gaited horse. In amazement, she studied the terry-cloth bands on her wrists.

  Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder. Her color was back, he noted. That pale peach was much more flattering than green. “Better?”

  “Yes.” She smiled, trying to dispel the embarrassment as easily as his magic bands had the seasickness. “Thank you.”

  He waited while she bundled the children, then herself, into jackets. On the Atlantic, summer vanished. “First time I shipped out, we hit a little squall. I spent the worst two hours of my life hanging over the rail. Come on. Take the wheel.”

  “The wheel? I couldn't.” “Sure you could.”

  “Do it, Mom. It's fun. It's really fun.”

  Propelled forward by three children, Megan found herself at the helm, her back pressed lightly into Nathaniel's chest, her hands covered by his.

  Every nerve in her body began to throb. Nathaniel's body was hard as iron, and his hands were sure and firm. She could smell the sea, through the open windows and on him. No matter how much she tried to concentrate on the water flowing endlessly around them, he was there, just there. His chin brushing the top of her head, his heartbeat throbbing light and steady against her back.

  “Nothing like being in control to settle the system,” he commented, and she made some sound of agreement.

  But this was nothing like being in control.

  She began to imagine what it might be like to have those hard, clever hands somewhere other than on the backs of hers. If she turned so that they were face-to-face, and she tilted her head up at just the right angle...

  Baffled by the way her mind was working, she set it to calculating algebra. “Quarter speed,” Nathaniel ordered, steering a few degrees to port.

  The change of rhythm had Megan off balance. She was trying to regain it when Nathaniel turned her around. And now she was facing him, her head tilted up. The easy grin on his face made her wonder if he knew just where her mind had wandered.

  “See the blips on the screen there, Kevin?” But he was watching her, all but hypnotizing her with those unblinking slate-colored eyes. Sorcerer's eyes, she thought dimly. “Do you know what they mean?” And his lips curvedcloser to hers than they should be. “There be whales there.”

  “Where? Where are they, Nate?” Kevin rushed to the window, goggleeyed.

  “Keep watching. We'll stop. Look off the port bow,” he told Megan. “I think you'll get your money's worth.”

  Still dazed, she staggered away. The boat rocked more enthusiastically when stopped—or was it her system that was so thoroughly rocked? As Nathaniel spoke into the P.A. system, taking over the mate's lecture on whales, she slipped the camera and binoculars out of her shoulder bag.

  “Look!” Kevin squealed, jumping like a spring as he pointed. “Mom, look!”

  Everything cleared from her mind but wonder. She saw the massive body emerge from the choppy water. Rising, up and up, sleek and grand and otherworldly. She could hear the shouts and cheers from the people on the deck below, and her own strangled gasp.

  It was surely some sort of magic, she thought, that something so huge, so magnificent, could lurk under the whitecapped sea. Her fingers rose to her lips, pressed there in awe as the sound of the whale displacing wafer crashed like thunder.

  Water flew, sparkling like drops of diamond. Her camera stayed lowered, useless. She could only stare, an ache in her throat, tears in her eyes.

  “His mate's coming up.”

  Nathaniel's voice broke through her frozen wonder. Hurriedly she lifted the camera, snapping quickly as sea parted for whale.

  They geysered from their spouts, causing the children to applaud madly. Megan was laughing as she hauled Jenny up for a better view and the three of them took impatient turns with the binoculars.

  She pressed herself to the window as eagerly as the children while the boat cruised, following the glossy humps as they speared through the sea. Then the whales sounded, diving deep with a flap of their enormous tails. Below, people laughed and shouted as they were drenched with water.

  Twice more the Mariner sought out and found pods, giving her passengers the show of a lifetime. Long after they turned and headed for home, Megan stayed at the window, hoping for one more glimpse.

  “Beautiful, aren't they?”

  She looked back at Nathaniel, eyes glowing. “Incredible. I had no idea. Photographs and movies don't quite do it.”

  “Nothing quite like seeing and doing for yourself.” He cocked a brow. “Still steady?”

  With a laugh, she glanced down at her wrists. “Another minor miracle. I would never have put stock in anything like this.”

  “ 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.' “

  A black-suited pirate quoting Hamlet. “So it seems,” she murmured. “There's The Towers.” She smiled. “Off the port side.”

  “You're learning, sugar.” He gave orders briskly and eased the Mariner into the calm waters of the bay.

  “How long have you been sailing?”

  “All my life. But I ran off and joined the merchant marine when I was eighteen.”

  “Ran off?” She smiled again. “Looking for adventure.”

  “For freedom.” He turned away then, to ease the boat into its slip as smoothly as a foot slides into an old, comfortable shoe.

  She wondered why a boy of eighteen would have to search for freedom. And she thought of herself at that age, a child with a child. She'd cast her freedom away. Now, more than nine years later, she could hardly regret it. Not when the price of her freedom had been a son.

  “Can we go down and get a drink?” Kevin rugged on his mother's hand. “We're all thirsty.”

  “Sure. I'll take you.”

  “We can go by ourselves,” Alex said earnestly. He knew they were much too big to need an overseer. “I got money and everything. We just want to sit downstairs and watch everybody get off.”

  “All right, then, but stay inside.” She watched them rush off. “They start spreading their wings so soon.”

  “Your boy's going to be flying back to you for a long time yet.”

  “I hope so.” She cut herself off before she voiced the rest: He's all I have. “This has been a terrific day for him. For me, too. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” They were alone on the bridge now, the lines secured, the plank down and the passengers disembarking. “You'll come again.”

  “I don't think I could keep Kevin away. I'd better go down with them.”

  “They're fine.” He stepped closer, before she could evade. “You know, Meg, you forget to be nervous when the kids are around.”

  “I'm not nervous.”

  “Jumpy as a fish on a line. It was a pure pleasure watching your face when we sighted whale. It's a pure pleasure anytime, but when you're laughing and the wind's in your hair, it could stop a man's heart.”

  He took another step and backed her up against the wheel. Maybe it wasn't fair, but he'd think about that later. It was going to take him a good long time to forget the way she'd felt, her back pressed against him, her hands soft and hesitant under his.

  “Of course, there's something to be said about the way you're looking right now. All eyes. You've got the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen. Then there's all that peaches-and-cream.” He lifted a finger to her cheek, skimmed it down. She felt as though she'd stepped on a live wire. “Makes a man crave a nice long taste.”

  “I'm not susceptible to flattery.” She'd wanted to sound firm and dismissive, not breathless.

  “Just stating a fact.” He leaned down until his mouth was a whisper from hers. “If you don't want me to kiss you, you'd better tell me not to.”

&
nbsp; She would have. Absolutely. If she'd been able to speak. But then his mouth was on hers, warm and firm and every bit as clever as his hands. She would tell herself later that her lips had parted with shock, to protest. But it was a lie.

  They opened greedily, with a surge of hunger that went deep, that echoed on a groan that a woman might make who had her first sampling of rich cream after years of thin water.

  Her body refused to go rigid in denial, instead humming like a harp string freshly plucked. Her hands dived into his hair and urged him to take the kiss deeper.

  He'd expected a cool response, or at least a hesitant one. Perhaps he'd seen a flash of passion in her eyes, deep down, like the heat and rumble in the core of a volcano that seems dormant from the surface.

  But nothing had prepared him for this blast of fire.

  His mind went blank, then filled with woman. The scent and feel and taste of her, the sound of the moan that caught in her throat when he nipped on her full lower lip. He dragged her closer, craving more, and had the dizzying delight of feeling every slim curve and line of Megan pressed against his body.

  The scent of the ocean through the window had him imagining taking her on some deserted beach, while the surf pounded and the gulls screamed.

  She felt herself sinking, and gripped him for balance. There was too much, much too much, rioting through her system. It would take a great deal more than the little bands around her wrist to level her now.

  It would take control, willpower, and, most of all... remembering.

  She drew back, would have stumbled if his arms hadn't stayed clamped around her. “No.”

  He couldn't get his breath. He told himself he would analyze later why one kiss had knocked him flat, like a two-fisted punch. “You'll have to be more specific. No to what?”

  “To this. To any of this.” Panic kicked in and had her struggling away. “I wasn't thinking.”

  “Me, neither. It's a good sign you're doing it right, if you stop thinking when you're kissing.”

  “I don't want you to kiss me.”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets. Safer there, he decided, since the lady was thinking again. “Sugar, you were doing more than your share.”

  There was little use in hotly denying the obvious truth. She fell back on cool logic. “You're an attractive man, and I responded in a natural manner.”

  He had to grin. “Darling, if kissing like that's in your nature, I'm going to die happy.”

  “I don't intend for it to happen again.”

  “You know what they say about the road to hell and intentions, don't you?” She was tensed up again. He could see it in the set of her shoulders. He imagined her experience with Dumont had left plenty of scars. “Relax, Meg,” he said, more kindly. “I'm not going to jump you. You want to take it slow, we'll take it slow.”

  The fact that his tone was so reasonable raised her hackles. “We're not going to take it any way at all.”

  Better, he decided. He didn't mind riling her. In fact, he was looking forward to doing it. Often.

  “I'm going to have to say you're wrong. A man and woman set off a fire like that, they're going to keep coming back to the heat.”

  She was very much afraid he was right. Even now, part of her yearned to fan that blaze again. “I'm not interested in fires or in heat. I'm certainly not interested in an affair with a man I barely know.”

  “So, we'll get to know each other better before we have one,” Nate responded, in an irritatingly reasonable tone.

  Megan clamped her teeth together. “I'm not interested in an affair, period. I know that must be a blow to your ego, but you'll just have to deal with it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get the children.”

  He stepped politely out of her way, waited until she'd reached the glass door leading onto the upper deck. “Meg?” It was only partly ego that pushed him to speak. The rest was pure determination. “The first time I make love with you, you won't think about him. You won't even remember his name.”

  Her eyes sliced at him, twin ice-edged swords. She abandoned dignity and slammed the door.

  Chapter 4

  “The woman'll be the death of me.” Dutch took a bottle of Jamaican rum from his hidey-hole in the back of the pantry. “Mark my words, boy.”

  Nathaniel kicked back in the kitchen chair, sated and relaxed after the meal he'd enjoyed in the Calhoun dining room. The hotel kitchen was spotless, now that the dinner rush was over. And Coco, Nathaniel knew, was occupied with family. Otherwise, Dutch wouldn't have risked the rum.

  “You're not thinking of jumping ship, are you, mate?”

  Dutch snorted at the idea. As if he had to take French leave because he couldn't handle a fussy, snooty-nosed female. “I'm sticking.” After one wary glance toward the door, he poured them both a healthy portion of rum. “But I'm warning you, boy, sooner or later that woman's going to get her comeuppance. And she's going to get it from yours truly.” He stabbed a thick thumb at his wide chest.

  Nathaniel downed a swig of rum, hissing through his teeth as it hit. Smooth as silk it wasn't. “Where's that bottle of Cruzan I got you?”

  “Used it in a cake. This is plenty good enough for drinking.”

  “If you don't want a stomach lining,” Nathaniel said under his breath. “So, what's the problem with Coco now?”

  “Well, if it's not one thing, it's two.” Dutch scowled at the kitchen phone when it rang. Room service, he thought with a sneer. Never had any damn room service aboard one of his ships. “Yeah, what?”

  Nathaniel grinned into his rum. Tact and diplomacy weren't Dutch's strong points. He imagined that if Coco heard the man growl at guests that way, she'd faint. Or pop Dutch over the head with a skillet.

  “I guess you think we've got nothing better to do down here?” he snarled into the phone. “You'll get it when it's ready.” He hung up and snagged a plate. “Ordering champagne and fancy cake this time of night. Newlyweds. Ha! Haven't seen hide nor hair of the two in number three all week.”

  “Where's your romance, Dutch?”

  “I leave that to you, lover boy.” His ham-size fists delicately cut into the chocolate gateau. “Seen the way you was eyeing that redhead.”

  “Strawberry blonde,” Nathaniel corrected. “More gold than red.” Bravely he took another sip of rum. “She's a looker, isn't she?”

  “Never seen you go for one that wasn't.” With an artist's flair, Dutch ladled vanilla sauce on the side of the twin slices of cake and garnished them with raspberries. “Got a kid, doesn't she?”

  “Yeah.” Nathaniel studied the cake and decided he could probably force down a small piece. “Kevin. Dark hair, tall for his age.” A smile curved his lips. Damned if the boy hadn't gotten to him. “Big, curious eyes.”

  “Seen him.” Dutch had a weakness for kids that he tried to hide. “Okaylooking boy. Comes around with those other two noisy brats, looking for handouts.”

  Which, Nathaniel knew, Dutch dispensed with great pleasure behind the mask of a scowl.

  “Got herself in trouble pretty young.”

  Nathaniel frowned at that. It was a phrase, too often used to his way of thinking, that indicated the woman was solely responsible for the pregnancy. “It takes two, Dutch. And the bastard was stringing her along.”

  “I know. I know. I heard about it. Not much gets past me.” it wasn't hard to finesse information out of Coco—if he pushed the right buttons. Though he'd never admit it, that was something he looked forward to doing daily. He buzzed for a waiter, taking delight in holding his thumb down until the kitchen door swung open. “Make up a tray for number three,” Dutch ordered. “Two gat-o's, bottle of house champagne, two flutes, and don't forget the damn napkins.”

  That done, he tossed back his own rum. “Guess you'll be wanting a piece of this now.”

  “Wouldn't turn it down.”

  “Never known you to turn down food—or a female.” Dutch cut a slice—a great deal larger than those he'd cut for the newlywe
ds—and shoved the plate in front of Nathaniel.

  “I don't get any raspberries?”

  “Eat what's in front of you. How come you ain't out there flirting with that skinny girl?”

  “I'm working on it,” Nathaniel said with a mouthful of cake. “They're in the dining room, all of them. Family meeting.” He rose, poured himself coffee, dumped the rest of his rum in it. “They found some old book. And she's not skinny.” He had firsthand knowledge, now that he'd had Megan in his arms. “She's delicate.”

  “Yeah, right.” He thought of Coco, those long, sturdy lines as fine as any well-crafted sloops. And snorted again. “All females are delicate—until they get a ring through your nose.”

  No one would have called the women in the dining room delicate—not with a typical Calhoun argument in full swing.

  “I say we burn it.” C.C. folded her arms across her chest and glared. “After everything we learned about Fergus from Bianca's journal, I don't know why we'd consider keeping his lousy account book around.”

  “We can't burn it,” Amanda fired back. “It's part of our history.”

  “Bad vibes.” Lilah narrowed her eyes at the book, now sitting in the center of the table. “Really bad vibes.”

  “That may be.” Max shook his head. “But I can't go along with burning a book. Any kind of book.”

  “It's not exactly literature,” C.C. mumbled.

  Treat patted his wife's stiff shoulder. “We can always put it back where it came from—or give Sloan's suggestion some consideration.”

  “I think a room designed for artifacts, mementos—” Sloan glanced at Amanda “—the pieces of history that go with The Towers, would add something. Not only to the hotel, but for the family.”

  “I don't know.” Suzanna pressed her lips together and tried to be objective. “I feel odd about displaying Fergus's things with Bianca's, or Aunt Colleen's, Uncle Sean's and Ethan's.”

  “He might have been a creep, but he's still a piece of the whole.” Holt toyed with the last of his coffee. “I'm going with Sloan on this one.”

  That, of course, enticed a small riot of agreements, disagreements, alternate suggestions. Megan could only sit back and watch in amazement.