kiss the nape of her neck. Possessed by an urgent physical
need to carry her off to his bed and love her passionately, he
forced himself to be content savoring the smooth, fresh taste
of her skin.
From the time his mother had died, he had withdrawn into
himself, trying not to need others. He cared for his people and
the land, the only thing he could call his own, but he took pains
to keep his own needs deeply buried. Since Michaela had come
into his life, however, he found his needs taking precedence
over his other responsibilities.
He wanted to claim her for his own. She had an inner
strength that would allow her to stand beside him instead of
depending on him as did so many others. That didn’t insult his
sense of manhood, for his soul searched for a mate to
compliment his own passion and strengths.
At present, however, he felt shy and unsure how to proceed
with their relationship. He sat down beside her on the bench,
speaking to her as she played. “I don’t recognize that melody.
Is it Chopin or Beethoven?”
“No—Kenny G.”
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with his work.”
“He’s contemporary.” Michaela gifted him with a smile.
“Welcome home, Logan.”
Her words melted his heart. He wrapped an arm around
her. Replacing her fingers with his on the keyboard, he began
the melody he had heard her play.
She turned startled blue eyes to him, her breath a sweet
whisper against his cheek. “How can you do that?”
He shrugged, bringing his arms closer together, which
shifted Michaela closer to his chest. He kept his hands on the
keyboard even though he would have rather caressed her.
“It’s a gift, I’m afraid. My mother insisted on lessons, but
I hated them. I found, though, if I played without fault for my
instructor, I could be done that much faster and be allowed to
ride my pony. So I concentrated very hard, or thought I did, but
apparently it didn’t take much effort on my part.”
“You are truly gifted. Did your instructor push you to play
professionally?”
“Oh, yes, as did Mother. But my professor was...
effeminate, you might say.” Logan glanced down at her and
batted his eyelashes. Her responding laughter created a melody
of its own in his mind.
“Even at eleven years of age, I wanted to be considered a
man, not a child. I became deathly afraid if I continued to play,
I would turn into another Mr. Weathersby. So I quit. I faked
sprains to my wrists and fingers, colds and coughs, until Mother
finally decided it wasn’t worth paying a music instructor and a
resident doctor.”
A murmur of agreement was all he heard from Michaela,
but she snuggled closer to his chest. He forced his fingers to
remain on the keys, changing the melody to one as happy and
carefree as he felt at the moment.
“Entertaining people is all well and good,” he continued,
“but only the rich can afford to attend a concert or the opera. I
needed to feel more useful than that. I needed to make a
contribution.”
“I feel the same way.”
Her remark gave him one more reason to love her. He
responded musically as his fingers caressed and cajoled to bring
forth a melody with softness like the wistful beauty in his arms
before blending the sounds into a strong and commanding
finish.
He tried to tell her how he felt with the music he played,
his heart pounding in time with the beat. When she swayed in
rhythm against him, he forgot the music and let his body tell
her what he needed. He turned her in his arms, his lips crushing
hers in a kiss of hunger and need—caring and passion.
She answered his request by opening her mouth, her tongue
dancing with his to a melody that throbbed through his very
blood, reaching in to capture his soul.
Unlike the first time he had encountered her in the music
room, tonight Michaela didn’t protest when Logan waltzed her
to the door then swept her into his arms and carried her to bed.
He felt he couldn’t get close enough to her.
All day long he had felt a restlessness, like a storm was
brewing, but it focused inwardly rather than on the land around
him. Something untoward was about to happen, and Logan
had the irrational fear that he might lose Michaela in the process.
Eight
Logan didn’t leave her bed that night as he had before.
Instead, his magical hands continued the rapture he had started
in the music room, carrying her time and again to a majestic
crescendo of love.
But now, as dawn nudged aside the night, Mica
unexpectedly shivered. She curled closer to Logan’s warmth,
her bare back snug against his hard chest. She had done it
royally this time—tumbled headlong into a situation from which
she could see no way out.
She turned to study Logan’s profile, softened in sleep. How
had she thought to turn her feelings for him on and off like a
switch? She could never stop caring for this passionate man. A
smile curved her lips. Passionate didn’t begin to describe the
exotic pleasures he had showered on her last night.
She had thought to come back and help him without
becoming more entangled, but now she knew she had lied to
herself. She hadn’t come back for Logan’s sake, but for her
own. With every waking breath, her need for him grew. And
yet it proved an impossible situation.
He sighed and reached for her in his sleep, his warm hand
gentle on her breast.
“Oh, Logan,” she whispered, “I only wanted to help, and
now look what I’ve done.” She kissed his brow and savored
the tender emotions that welled up inside her. In her mind’s
eye, however, she could already see the inevitable. Before she
created more trouble for herself, she needed to complete the
mission she had come here to accomplish.
“Logan?” She caressed his bare shoulder. “Logan?”
He turned slightly. “Michaela.” He mumbled her name,
his breath warm on her skin, and Mica’s heart twisted.
“Did your Aunt Margaret and her husband live here at
Indigo Bay?”
“For a while.” His answer came out muffled, for he had
snuggled closer and his hot lips nibbled incredibly erotic
patterns on the side of her breast.
Determined to keep her mind on the task at hand, she took
a breath, but that only pressed her closer to his lips. “Did she
know your brother? Do you think she realized how much Neil
wanted your plantation?”
Instead of answering, he nuzzled her, then his tongue traced
sizzling circles around her nipple.
“Oh-h-h,” she moaned, then groaned when he withdrew
his mouth.
Seconds later, his lips moved down her belly, planting
butterfly-light kisses against her sensitive skin. Mica had
forgotten what she had asked by the time he answered her.
“N
eil is headstrong, but he’ll come around. Why all the
questions?” He pursued an unerring path back up her stomach,
nipping her skin then licking with his hot tongue. His
movements remained unhurried, his voice sleepy, but Mica
knew he realized exactly what his tender forays were doing to
her.
She squirmed beneath his assault, determined to finish
before her body betrayed her and succumbed to his expert
lovemaking. “Just...just one more...question.” She squeezed
her knees together in a weak attempt to stop his hand that slid
from her knee closer to the aching core of her body.
She tried to recall the Barkers’ journal entry in order to
make some connection with Logan and Indigo Bay. “Gold. Is
there reason for someone to believe gold is buried on the
island?”
“Ah-ha!” His head came up so quickly Mica’s heart skipped
a beat. He rocked back on his heels beside her, planting his
hands on his hips. His actions drew her gaze to his hips, and
sent heat spiraling through her fast enough to set the bed on
fire. While passion throbbed through her veins, he now seemed
completely unaware of his effect on her.
“Here I thought my other fine qualities were what drew
you, and all this time you’re a fortune hunter.” He attempted a
frown as he spoke, but his dark eyes twinkled.
Though he no longer touched her, his gaze seared her body,
making love to her with eyes turned dark with desire. He licked
his lips as his gaze lingered on her breasts before sliding down
her body to the juncture of her legs leading to her feminine
core.
Mica watched his hands clench and relax on his thighs,
and she marveled at his control. Why didn’t he touch her? She
tried to capture his gaze—to beg him with her eyes for what
her body craved, but he kept his gaze averted as he spoke.
His voice, husky with need, aroused her even more. “My
father told me pirates never ventured to islands this close to
the mainland. Even so, when I was a boy I looked for buried
treasure. Now I realize how foolish that was.”
Her voice quivered in response. “Why would a boy’s dream
be foolish?”
“Because I realize my treasure awaited me as an adult.”
His gaze drifted up her body to capture hers. Finally, he reached
out, his callused fingers sliding up her oversensitive skin.
Instead of releasing her tension, his touch only increased the
sweet agony her body experienced.
“No amount of gold or jewels can equal what I have right
in front of me. There is nothing on this Earth of greater value
to me than what we share.” He entwined his fingers with hers
to pull her into his embrace. “Now, come here. Nothing else
matters except you and me.”
Mica shut her mind to everything except his hot touch on
her skin. As his hands tenderly cradled her body, she relished
the feeling of being cherished. But being cherished didn’t mean
he thought her fragile, and their lovemaking swiftly escalated
into a ferocious tumble. He captured her lips in a torturous
kiss, appeasing some of her need, yet leaving her hungry for
more.
Her nails scratched across his muscle-ridged back as she
rubbed her breasts against his chest. Her nipples were tight
and puckered, aching for his touch. As though he read her
thoughts, he released her mouth as he laid her back on the bed,
but before she could complain, he lightly nipped the tip of one
breast before capturing it fully in his hot, wet mouth.
Mica cried his name out loud, enthralled with the sight
and musky male scent of him, enraptured by his taste as she
nibbled on his shoulder. His hot male length against her hip
inflamed her senses, and she opened her legs in welcome.
Skyrockets roared in her ears, and fireworks flashed behind
her closed eyes as he entered her with one tumultuous plunge.
“More. Give me all of you.” He rasped the urgent command
even as he lifted her hips to drive deeper, plundering her very
soul. Relinquishing her entire being to his safekeeping, she
wrapped her legs around him, raising her hips to meet his.
“Yes!” The word ripped from him as he thrust deeper, then
stopped, their bodies fused intimately together. She felt him
swell and throb within her, and for the first time in her life she
knew what completeness meant.
Logan didn’t give her time to analyze her thoughts. The
tempo his body set soon caused sweet ecstasy to spread through
her like wildfire. She tightened her legs, drawing him inward,
arching to meet his thrusts, willing him to take her with him
over the precipice.
“Look at me!” The words hammered through her with each
thrust of his hips. His face spoke of his passion. His chiseled
features were covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, his
black hair in disarray.
His eyes, darkened almost to black, captured her attention.
In them she saw the reflection of her deepest thoughts. I love
you, Thomas Logan Rutledge.
“Heaven help me,” she moaned as he sank deep within her
then stopped. The throb of his release triggered hers, sending
them both spiraling through a vortex of electrifying sensation.
***
return for her later in the day. He insisted she stay in bed and
rest while he saw to the final preparations for the first shipment
of indigo to market.
“The auction will be held in Charleston, and we must have
the crop ready. With the first of September so near, I can’t
leave anything to chance.” He kissed her cheek and hurried
off, unaware of the turmoil his words had caused.
September! She promised her father she’d go back to work
after Labor Day. How could she possibly return to work when
things were still so unsettled here, and especially since her
heart-wrenching discovery while making love to Logan? She
was in love with him!
Determined to push aside her emotions in the interest of
helping Logan, Mica pulled on a wrapper and grabbed her bag
from the armoire. She really wished she had more than just a
few letters with which to convince him his stepbrother meant
trouble.
As she pawed through her belongings, setting aside the
bundle of letters, she began to doubt what had been on her
mind at the time she packed. Her peasant-type cotton skirts
and blouses where there, as were her silk teddy and slip, but
where were her hairbrush, her bras and stockings? All that
remained of her sandals was a handful of leather straps, and
she couldn’t find any of her cosmetics. She plopped down on
the bed and stared at the strange assortment of items.
Rules—everything in life had rules, even if they weren’t
always understood or followed. Mica remembered Uncle Gene
telling her that once. Apparently even time travel had rules,
and Mica could only guess at them as she surveyed th
e remains
of her belongings. She plucked at the ribbon tying together her
aunt’s letters. If there were one more mystery tied to this
adventure she had created, she would go mad.
“Miss Michaela?” Mattie stuck her head through the
doorway, drawing Mica’s attention away from her musings.
“Good morning, Mattie. What can I do for you?”
“I was just wondering, Miss, if you would care to go to
town with me and the Mister. It’s time to restock the pantry,
and the fish is always best if you get there early.”
“I would love to come with you. Just give me a few minutes
to dress.” A change of scenery might be just what she needed
to get her thoughts in perspective.
The morning flew by as Simon and Mattie pointed out
various sites while they traveled by buggy through the small
town of Cameron. Mica was amazed at what had survived
through the years. Not only the Belleview Hotel, but two
churches and the market area remained very close to the
structures of her own era.
On the pretense of seeing if her clothes had arrived at the
hotel, Mica separated from the Browns when she saw a
boutique. At first she hesitated. She didn’t have any money,
but she decided to take a chance that some things never changed.
“Charge it?” She questioned the clerk once she had picked
out a few dresses and a small valise.
“Of course. To whom shall we send the bill?”
Mica exited the shop quite pleased with herself. When she
spied the Browns, she informed Simon her bag had arrived.
After eating a light lunch, they stopped by the hotel before
they returned to the plantation.
Logan had left her a note indicating he would be tied up
the rest of the day at the processing sheds. Mica thought about
walking out to see him, but concluded if he were busy, now
was not the time to interrupt him. She could wait until dinner.
As she prepared for her bath, she toyed with the ribbon on
the letters lying on her desk. How could she broach the subject
of the information they contained? How could she express her
concern for Logan without letting him know exactly where
she had gotten the information?
Should she even bring up any relationship between their
aunts? After all, she had already decided that in itself didn’t
spell danger for him.