The journal had her stymied, though. The Barkers felt
certain whoever wrote it had connections with this island. Mica
had begun to think it was a hoax. After all, no names were
mentioned, and she felt certain many other plantations grew
indigo. However, there was just enough information in what
she had read and what Mr. Barker had said to give her pause.
On the positive side, however, Logan was not a wealthy
man. If he had any gold, she felt certain he would use it to help
his people, not hoard it in some hiding place.
She just couldn’t conceive of any way to help him. Perhaps
she just needed to be here for him, to provide some kind of
emotional support during his transition as rightful owner of
Indigo Bay. She sighed. If Aunt Theo had only realized what
sort of predicament Mica would embroil herself in, she probably
would never have bequeathed her Sea Crest.
She dressed with care in the new emerald-green silk she’d
purchased in town, brushing her hair into a French twist. She
glanced in the mirror, pleased with her reflection. She felt rather
wanton. Even when attending a country club gathering, she
had never worn dresses this elegant.
Perhaps it was that she’d never wanted to appear seductive
before. As she stared at her image in the mirror, she saw that
her cheeks glowed, and her eyes twinkled. Already her pulse
was accelerating knowing that Logan waited for her downstairs.
Determined not to think beyond this night, she slid into
matching slippers, leaving the room and all thoughts of the
future behind.
***
Mica watched Logan’s eyes widen when she entered the
dining room. Her hands trembled when he offered her a glass
of wine. His magnetic smile told her he appreciated her attire,
yet his eyes gave no clue to his thoughts.
“You look magnificent.” His whisper feathered her ear as
he kissed her throat where her pulse beat a rapid cadence. He
trailed a finger from her shoulder down the scooped neck of
her dress, his touch causing her to shiver. “In fact, you look
quite good enough to eat.” His eyes smoldered, and his touch
was hot and electrifying.
In that moment Mica realized that she wanted something
more from Logan. While sex must surely be part of the appeal
in any relationship, she couldn’t bear it if all they had was a
physical attraction. After all, he hadn’t repeated his earlier
marriage proposal, and although Mica might not want to answer
such a serious question, she did need reassurance that their
relationship existed beyond the bedroom.
“Do you find me sexy, Logan? Is that all we have?”
Silverware clattered to china, and she heard Simon’s discreet
cough behind her. She clapped a hand to her mouth,
embarrassment flushing her cheeks with warmth as she dropped
her gaze to the floor.
“There are several meanings for the word sexy, but in your
case, it must have to do with a woman who’s outspoken in the
extreme.” Logan chuckled, his voice the gentle tease she had
come to love.
When she raised her eyes, she found his gaze lingering on
her chest where the cut of her gown revealed plenty of breast.
Without taking his gaze from her, he gave Simon orders in a
shaky voice.
“Simon, I believe that will be all.” He sucked in a ragged
breath as he removed the wine glass from her hand and gave it
to the butler. Mica gave Logan her most seductive smile. “Yes,
I’m sure that will be all—for the rest of the evening, in fact.”
Once Mica heard the doors close behind the servant, she
allowed herself to breathe again. Would she forever put her
foot in her mouth, voicing things better left unsaid? She opened
her mouth to apologize, but Logan put a finger to her lips to
silence her.
He stood close, and she could hear his harsh breathing in
the quiet of the large room. Her gaze remained locked with
his, even when his finger left her lips to trace a fiery path down
her chin and across her throat to her bare shoulder. She trembled
beneath his touch, the heat from a single finger burning her
skin while sending rapid signals skittering along her nerve
endings to her heart.
“Sexy, hum?” Just the sound of the word, enunciated in
his slow, husky drawl, caused erotic images of their lovemaking
to flash before her eyes. “By being sexy, do you mean a
woman’s allure?” His finger continued its forays, pausing along
its path to dip beneath the silk and brush the tip of her breast.
Her body reacted instantly, her nipple tightening and jutting
against the constraints of the fabric. A now familiar ache
collected at the very center of her being. She answered with a
moan low in her throat.
“Michaela Marie?”
She had to struggle to remember the question. “Yes, I guess
that’s what I mean.” She shrugged just as his finger slid beneath
the shoulder of her dress, her action causing the material to
slide down her arm. He kissed the exposed skin.
“Ah, then I would have to say allure is a female’s scent.”
He brushed his nose against her as he sniffed. “She must smell
of fresh air and sunshine, and taste of lemon.” His tongue licked
her shoulder before his hot breath dried it.
“What about her...figure?” Her voice, quaking as though
his answer meant life and death, broke the spell.
Logan laughed as he caught her around the waist and
twirled her in a circle. “Michaela Marie, every woman has
breasts. You surely cannot think that would be more important
to me than other things?” His eyes twinkled, and Mica ducked
her head at the foolishness of her question.
“Well, most men don’t think the way you do. What other
things?”
Logan stopped dancing and took a step back as he placed
his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face.
“You are serious, aren’t you?”
At her nod, he stepped away, breaking contact, as if
touching her interrupted his train of thought. Mica knew his
touch interrupted hers. He stood, legs braced and hands on
hips, his expression that of someone ready to impart great
knowledge.
“A woman’s allure is much more than surface beauty. For
example, I have never had much use for beautiful but empty-
headed and giggly females who only know how to plan a party
and give orders to a staff of servants. I also cannot tolerate
women who would leave the rearing of their children in the
hands of nannies, instead of being active in their development.”
He raised a hand to silence her when she tried to interrupt.
“On the other hand, I find great appeal in a woman who is
intelligent and able to hold a conversation on something other
than the latest fashions. She must be caring and willing to share
in every aspect of my life. Above all, she must be passionate—
about the land, about people, and,” he arched his brows as
he
grinned wickedly, “about me.”
Mica wondered if she measured up to his ideals. Lord knew
she had searched for someone of his character. Someone who
looked beyond the surface to the person within and who didn’t
regard one’s family tree and annual income as the prerequisites
for a marriage. Before she had a chance to question him further,
he began to stalk her, his heels echoing on the polished
hardwood floors.
He clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his
brows to a fierce frown as he eyed her up and down. Mica
stood her ground, hands at her side as he continued to take her
measure, strolling around her in decreasing circles until he once
again stood close in front of her. He crossed his arms, tapping
a finger to his rigid chin.
“Do I pass inspection?” She tried for a lighthearted tone,
afraid her defenses would crumble if he found her lacking.
“Perhaps,” he drawled, the smile that started at his full
lips reaching his eyes in an instant. “But tell me, Miss
Chadwick, what you look for in a man.” He postured for her,
jutting out his chin and puffing up his chest as he placed his
hands on his hips and turned this way and that. “Must he have
bulging muscles and pockets full of money?”
Mica realized in a heartbeat he was the man she had always
searched for, but could she find the right words?
“I want compassion and kindness. A commitment to
principles, and the strength to stand up for them. I want someone
to care for me as I am, and not try to mold me into something
I’m not. I need someone who won’t judge me... and find me
lacking.”
Logan quit posturing and entwined his fingers in hers to
draw her close. With her free hand, she brushed an errant curl
of black hair from his brow then slowly traced his aristocratic
features.
Her voice deepened, because only her heart knew what
she needed. “I need someone of average build, so I’m not
overpowered. Someone with black hair and dark brown eyes
that make my heart melt when he looks at me.”
As her gaze captured Logan’s, his eyes smoldering with
tightly leashed passion, she whispered, “Above all else, he
must be able to love me with all the exuberance of youth, but
with the patience and experience that comes with age.”
Logan gathered her in his embrace, kissing her with an
exotic tenderness. She pulled back just enough to whisper
against his lips. “Make love to me, Logan...only to me. Always
me.”
She could hold the future at bay just a little while longer,
because at that moment she couldn’t live without Logan’s love.
In fact, she wondered how she had managed to live until now
without knowing of his existence. She succumbed to his
drugging kiss because deep down inside her it felt right. Not
because there was any sane reason for it, and not because life
or death might depend on it. She accepted his love and returned
it twofold because...just because.
Their tongues danced, mating in a ritual that transcended
all time barriers, and she accepted the fact that their spirits
belonged together, despite the difference in their times.
“Marry me. Right now—tonight.” His words were
punctuated with hard, hot kisses on her neck, and Mica thought
she would die from the pleasure. Until his words penetrated.
“Oh, Logan.” Her heart, still fragile with awakening love,
shattered.
“Mister Logan! Mister Logan!” She was saved from having
to answer when a small boy burst into the room with Simon
close behind. Logan released Mica and turned, almost falling
as the youngster catapulted against his legs, grabbing hold for
dear life.
“I am sorry, sir,” Simon said, standing red-faced at the
door, apparently distraught for allowing a small child to get
past him. “I tried to stop him, but he got by me.”
“It’s all right, Simon,” Logan said as he knelt beside the
boy.
Mica could see the child’s shoulders shake as he gasped
for breath, and large tears streaked down his cheeks. Wide,
frightened eyes peered starkly white from his small, black face.
“What is it, Robby?”
“Fire! There be a fire in the sheds. Paw sent me to fetch
you.” The boy’s arms waved in wild circles, smearing Logan’s
white shirt with soot.
Logan stood and raced to the door. “Simon, sound the
alarm. We’ll need every available body. Robby, you did well.
Stay here at the house and take care of Miss Chadwick.”
Mica wasn’t about to be left behind. “I’m coming with
you.” She gathered her full skirts and ran out into the hall just
as Logan reached the front door. He turned, piercing her with a
gaze so intense it stopped her.
“Stay in the house, Michaela. You’ll only be in the way,
and I don’t have time to worry about you.”
Her mouth dropped open at his comment, but he was gone
before her numb mind could form a reply. So much for letting
her stand by his side. Fuming, she turned on her heel and ran
up the stairs to her room.
By the time she changed and arrived at the scene, fire had
consumed the better part of the processing shed. She had dressed
make it easier to maneuver. She quickly joined the bucket
brigade, though she doubted their paltry efforts could salvage
anything.
As she grabbed bucket after bucket of water, passing it to
the next in line, hot sparks singed her arms and clothes. She
didn’t stop or slow her efforts. The men who were closest to
the blaze used shovels and hoes, even blankets, in an attempt
to smother the flames.
Her gaze flew across the open area, frantically searching
for Logan. Her heart pounded painfully when she finally spotted
him shouting orders from the very edge of the fire. God, please
look out for him. He’s too close. She saw his frantic wave
towards the west side, and realized his intent.
“Over there,” she yelled over the crackling of the flames.
Nudging those next to her, she grabbed two buckets and raced
for the side as yet untouched by the rapidly spreading blaze.
They had to keep the fire contained to just one building. The
line soon shifted, and water poured against the remainder of
the building, preventing the flames from leaping across the
narrow opening and catching another building on fire.
Unmindful of the heat, unaware of the regard of those
around her, Mica hefted gallons of water. Each time she released
one container, another was thrust into her aching hands. Her
shoulders bowed, her eyes and throat burned from smoke, but
she refused to give up or take a break. She lost track of time,
knowing only that she had to help Logan save what they could.
“Ouch!” She shook her hand as the rough handle of yet
another bucket rubbed her raw blisters. She bent and
ripped a
piece from the bottom of her skirt to wrap around her hand,
then grabbed the bucket to pass it on.
She saw Logan disappear around the corner of the building.
Although she worried about his safety, her mind was numbed
to all thought. Her arms swayed to the rhythm established by
the constant forward movement of the water buckets.
She reached back for the next bucket, only to have her
hand clasped by the person behind her. She lifted tired eyes to
find kind black ones staring back at her. A white grin flashed
against a soot-covered face.
“You did good, Missy.” The older, stooped-shouldered man
gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Is it out? Are we done?” Without waiting for a response,
Mica collapsed to the ground. Her tattered skirt swirled around
her. Her blouse, black with soot and beyond repair, clung
damply to her sweaty body. She crossed her legs beneath her,
resting her elbows on her knees as she dropped her head into
her hands. Her arms felt as though someone had tried to jerk
them out of the sockets. Never had she felt so drained.
“Michaela!” She heard Logan shout her name and managed
to raise her head as he streaked across the yard towards her. He
was as black as the rest of them, but the minute he dropped to
his knees in front of her she could see the anger in his eyes.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” he shouted at her.
It wasn’t a question, but Mica couldn’t summon the energy
to argue with him. Instead, she reached out to touch his bare
shoulder, thankful to see him unhurt.
“Where’s your shirt?” Somewhere in her hazy brain she
recalled how handsome he had looked in the pristine shirt, black
jacket and trousers. Now he knelt before her bare-chested.
“It caught fire.” He shrugged off her concern, catching her
hand in his before she had time to hide it beneath her skirts.
“What’s this?” His fingers plucked at the makeshift
bandage before his gaze again seared her, his brows pulled
together in a frown. Before she could defend herself, he pulled
her to her feet. “Can you walk?” At her nod, he tugged her
towards the house.
Mica couldn’t determine whether he was concerned for
her safety or just plain angry because she had disregarded his
orders. He didn’t give her a chance to explain, and he didn’t