would have fainted rather than fight a fire or be seen barefoot
with soot covering their faces. Michaela had shown him her
passionate nature and her feminine side. She’d shown him her
compassion and her practicality. And he had fallen in love with
every facet of her being.
He marveled at her willingness to adapt to his way of life.
While he felt comfortable with his lifestyle, she must think it
crude and backward, given all the modern inventions in her
time.
She wiggled against his side, sighing his name in her sleep.
“I love you,” he whispered as he bent to kiss her cheek. He
was driven by a desperate hunger for the softness, the goodness,
and the faith she brought to his world of hard work and little
reward. His fingers folded tight around the key. He would do
anything—everything—in his power to keep her here.
***
Mica woke with a smile early that evening. Logan had
disappeared, yet the scent of him lingered. She reveled in being
back in his arms and back at Indigo Bay.
He had refused to acknowledge the time spent at Sea Crest.
Mica realized eventually things would have to be put to rest,
but for the moment she was content. She would not let it
interfere with her happiness.
It had taken the absence of his touch to make her aware of
her need for him. Though they had still talked during his foray
into the future, it was the physical manifestation of their love
that fused their souls as nothing else could. Touching, kissing
and making love could only be achieved here at Indigo Bay.
Mica spent less and less time thinking about her life before
meeting Logan.
She enjoyed the elegance and leisure of Logan’s time. Since
others did the cooking and cleaning, the lack of modern
appliances didn’t bother her. She had become accustomed to
the clothes, the lamplight, and the isolation. More than any
luxury, though, she enjoyed long carriage rides with Logan,
either up to the bluff or down along the beach.
No doubt corruption and poverty and most of the problems
of modern day Charleston had already started in the towns. As
a lady in Logan’s home, however, she wasn’t expected to know
about such things, much less deal with them. That suited her
fine, because she was tired of trying to solve everyone else’s
problems. In 1850, the responsibility lay elsewhere. She didn’t
regret not having to make those decisions.
Her relationship with Logan also left no regrets. Though
he leaned towards arrogance and possessiveness at times, his
arrogance suited him for the era in which he lived. Even his
protective nature touched a chord deep within Mica. It was
nice to feel protected instead of always being the protector.
Though possessive, Logan allowed her the freedom to speak
her mind and even question him.
Unwittingly, she compared Logan to her ex-husband. Logan
possessed all the traits she had wanted to see in Richard, but
which had never materialized—honesty, responsibility,
gentleness, and a willingness to share his life and be concerned
about her own.
She smiled as she recalled how upset Logan had been when
he learned she often visited the jail. He finally admitted he
admired her choice of careers and her desire to help the
downtrodden, but it outraged him that her father would allow
her to pursue such an unsafe profession.
She heard the downstairs clock toll the hour as she dressed.
Mica refused to spend any more time reflecting on her past.
She needed to make new memories—enough to last her a
lifetime once she returned to Charleston in less than a week.
“Don’t think about that,” she chastised herself, not wanting
to face reality. The time would go fast enough without
constantly thinking about it. Tonight she would not allow herself
to brood.
Logan greeted her at the top of the stairs with a kiss that
she returned with equal fervor. He held her at arm’s length. “If
you keep that up, I’ll sweep you off your feet for a repeat of
our earlier magic.” Brown eyes twinkled at her as he spoke.
His lean finger traced the line of her jaw upwards, where he
tucked her hair behind her ear.
Mica shivered, but not from the tickle of his finger. She
recalled with vivid clarity the desperate passion Logan had
exhibited. If he believed they had visited her time, he never
said so. Instead, he had possessed her by making love to her in
exotic ways, as though that were his talisman for anchoring
her in 1850. She only wished it were that easy.
She linked her arm through his and turned him towards the
stairs. “As much as I liked your attentions, I’m starved now.”
“Liked? You merely liked?” Logan stopped mid-stride on
the stairway, jerking Mica to a stop before she tumbled headlong
down the rest of the steps. “If that is your reaction to my
heartfelt endeavors, I most definitely will have to try harder.”
He tugged on her arm as though intent on propelling her back
upstairs.
Mica laughed, enjoying the sexual banter. “Come here,”
she whispered in her most seductive voice. When he stepped
closer, she lowered her voice further, employing all her Southern
charm. “The exotic paths we traveled enraptured my heart.”
“That’s more like it.” He grinned as they resumed their
descent to the main floor.
She leaned closer to whisper as they entered the foyer, “I
was enthralled with your marvelous expertise and profuse
performance.” Logan’s arm quivered beneath her touch, but
she wouldn’t relent. “My skin still tingles from the erotic
pleasures we shared. I get hot all over just thinking about taking
you in my—”
“Michaela Marie!”
Logan actually blushed, and Mica was delighted to find
him passionate but not perverted. She released his arm and
sailed through the dining room door. That would teach him to
beg a compliment from her.
“Good evening, Simon. Please give my greetings to Mattie.
It seems an age since I last saw either of you.” Simon smiled to
her as she spoke. She waited at the table for Logan to seat her,
but when he did, it was with an unexpected challenge.
“You win this round, sweet one,” he whispered as he bent
close. Before she could turn, his tongue flicked around the shell
of her ear, sending goose bumps down both arms. “But be
forewarned. You will have to beg me to make love to you the
next time.”
Simon had the audacity to interrupt their intimate
conversation by serving their meal, but Mica couldn’t really
blame him. He had no way of knowing how she ached inside,
both from her own comments about their lovemaking and from
Logan’s dare. While there were definite characteristics about
Logan she liked other than his magical physical prowess, that
alone might have made her a slave to his desires.
Her mind searched for a sensibl
e topic of conversation as
she ate her fruit compote. Though it seemed an age ago, she
recalled the fire that had occurred just last night.
“I assume you’ve been out to survey the fire damage? Was
the crop salvageable? Were any of your workers hurt?” She
fired questions at him as Simon served the next course.
Logan smiled at Michaela’s innocence. Unaware of the
social dictates against discussing business during a meal, and
in front of servants, no less, she expressed genuine concern for
his plantation.
“Once the indigo’s processed and pressed into blocks, it’s
moved to the drying sheds. The majority of our first harvest is
at the drying stage, and the second harvest won’t occur until
mid-September. That didn’t leave a tremendous amount of dye
in the processing shed which burned.” He frowned as he sipped
his wine. “Regardless, I’m stymied as to who started the fire,
and why.”
Logan glanced at her, but she remained silent. She had
spoken out against his stepbrother, but once he had refuted her
argument, she hadn’t brought it up again. For that matter, he
had not seen Neil for several days and assumed he remained
find his own way in the world.
As for himself, he found he enjoyed discussing business
with Michaela. She had a level head on her shoulders, and he
could voice his concerns and feelings freely, knowing she would
be honest and forthright with him. He hadn’t realized how much
he missed the interaction of other people when he cut himself
off from his friends after his mother died.
Michaela incorporated all he could hope and dream of.
From a concerned friend to a passionate lover, she exhibited a
tenderness rare in Logan’s world. He still didn’t quite
understand the one rather large gap in their relationship. Unless
she brought it up, he was determined not to mention the
inevitable.
Instead of expressing his emotional thoughts out loud, he
spoke only in fact, saying, “Money will be tight, but the indigo
market is good, and we should get a top price for our crop. The
Indigo Bay imprint has stood for quality since the plantation
began production over one hundred years ago.”
“Imprint?” Michaela asked, and Logan realized he had
never taken her through the entire process.
“It’s difficult to explain and much easier to show you.
Would you care to take a stroll after dinner?”
Her glowing smile made his heart ache. “I’d love to.”
They shared coffee on the front porch before walking down
the lane arm in arm, beneath the arch of trees lining the drive.
No words were needed for Logan to know how Michaela felt.
Her sea blue eyes spoke of her love. Her possessive grip on his
arm told him she wanted to remain close by his side.
Her lips quivered ever so slightly when she glanced up at
him, and Logan knew the thoughts left unspoken were not words
he wanted to hear. He drew her close to place a gentle kiss on
her soft lips. His own silence begged her for a reprieve from
the unknown future over which he had no control.
Glowing lanterns from the low-roofed drying shed afforded
enough light to show them the way. He didn’t speak until he
led her inside.
“This is the last of a very long process in preparing indigo
for market.” He surveyed the room with pride, knowing Indigo
Bay was well on the way to regaining its status as a leader in
the dye market, regardless of the losses he had experienced.
As he explained, he took her hand and led her between
long wooden trays, each containing racks of the dark blue cakes.
“The cubes must be protected from direct sunlight. If drying is
too quick, the cubes will split or crack, fetching a lower price
on the market.
“The dye is compressed into lumps of twenty-two pounds,
then later cut into handier cubes of four ounces, which are
impressed with our stamp, very similar to the way tea is
produced.” He held up a block to show her. The imprint showed
the delicate Indigo flower surrounded by an outline of Indigo
Bay Island.
“This stamp is known worldwide, and it stands for the
quality of our dye. It’s our reputation. Because indigo is
expensive and most sought after, there have always been those
who have tried to falsify the process. While large trading houses
and dye-works can test new parcels in their own laboratories,
smaller concerns have to complete costly test dyeing.
“With our stamp, they know they can rely on quality, and
this saves them time and money.” Logan couldn’t help the pride
in his voice. The long, strenuous process of producing this dye
was worth the effort. The best textile mills in the world would
use his product in their fabrics.
“Don’t you have to worry about the stamp wearing off, or
getting wet and dissolving?”
“Indigo is insoluble in water. When the plant is subjected
to fermentation a substance present, particularly in the leaves,
produces indigo. When combined with an alkaline reduction it
turns into a solution in which dyeing can be achieved.
“However, when the textile-materials are lifted from the
dye-bath, the oxygen in the air transforms it back into its
fast.”
Logan glanced down to find Michaela’s gaze fixed
rapturously on his face. He flushed. “I seem to have expounded
far beyond what you really wanted to know. Your eyes are
glazed over.”
“I love the sound of your voice. Tell me more.”
Her compliment fed his ego, but he longed for something
other than talk. “If you desire, sweet one, step outside into the
darkest night, and I’ll share more than my voice with you.”
It took little persuasion for Michaela to latch onto his arm.
He escorted her from the drying shed, only to hear thunder
rumble in the distance. Thoughts of a torrid interlude beneath
the trees fled when huge drops of rain splattered the dry ground.
“We’d best get back before we’re soaked to the skin.”
Transferring his grasp to her hand, he tugged her along the
path, anxious to regain the house before it rained harder.
They didn’t make it. Warm summer rain poured from the
sky, forcing them beneath the shelter of the trees. Even there,
water seeped through the branches, affording them a rather
leaky shelter. The house, obscured by the storm, formed a distant
shadow. Lights from the windows were only a pale glow.
Logan sucked in a breath of fresh air—a combination of
earth and sky—clean and refreshing. He stood behind Michaela,
hugging her close to his chest. Life was good. His crops would
see his people through another year, Michaela loved him as he
did her, and the Lord above provided rain to sustain the Earth
that in turn provided his livelihood. He smiled wi
th contentment,
even as the steady downpour trickled water down his back
beneath his shirt and plastered his hair to his head.
“Have you ever made love in the rain?” Her question
startled him from his silent reflections.
“I am a properly brought up gentleman, Michaela Marie. I
wouldn’t think of doing anything of the sort outside the confines
of the bedroom.” Even as he spoke, he ached with longing and
pulled her tighter against him.
Michaela turned in his embrace, nipping his chin with her
teeth. “I do recall, sir, one particular night when we didn’t quite
make it to the bedroom.” As she spoke, she rubbed against
him, her hips sliding across his groin. His manhood, already in
a state of arousal, throbbed in response to her suggestive
movements.
Logan leaned against the tree in a stupor as Michaela
stepped from beneath its protection into the rain. Unmindful,
she spread her arms outward and twirled slowly in front of
him, the rain turning her blouse transparent and molding her
skirt to her hips. While he knew she could not command the
heavens to rain, he realized she must have premeditated her
seduction, for he swore she wore nothing beneath the thin cloth
of her dress.
She lifted her hands to her head, slowly brushing her wet
hair from her face. Her movements tugged the material of her
blouse tighter, the rosy tips of her nipples jutting out in
invitation. He reached for her, but she stepped back. She licked
the rain from her lips, her gaze fixed on his face. Slowly,
erotically, she undid her buttons and shrugged out of her blouse,
letting it fall to her waist.
Logan thought he would explode. Rivulets of water
caressed her breasts, making her skin shimmer. He ached to
kiss away the rain—to lick the water from her skin.
“Do you want me?” she whispered across the distance.
Logan moaned. His breath came in shallow gasps. His
hands clutched in need, and still she tortured him.
“Do you ache for me with every breath of your being?
With every second that passes, do you long for me in your
arms?”
His voice rasped with longing as he said, “You won the
last round, and I swore you would have to beg me the next
time. But I will gladly lose this time, also, for you create a