and length of time, I assure you.”
Mica suddenly felt lighthearted and free, as though the
restrictions placed on her by family and society all her life
were no longer there. The invisible bonds, which had dictated
how she spoke, dressed and behaved, suddenly didn’t matter
at all.
Logan sat there, staring at her as though he wanted to devour
her. There was that word again. Mica’s stomach flip-flopped.
She swallowed to ease her throat’s dryness, then spoke.
“Mrs. Harris said the door wouldn’t—”
“And who is Mrs. Harris?”
“The housekeeper at Sea Crest, of course.”
“So, you live at Sea Crest. You’re not visiting Mattie?”
“Who’s Mattie?”
He mimicked her. “The housekeeper at Indigo Bay, of
course.” He laughed with her, his rich chuckle reaching across
the short distance to caress Mica’s senses. “I am certainly glad
we have established the servant’s hierarchy.”
“But no one knows you’re here. It was only by accident
that I followed the voices last night.”
“Ah, last night. You must have heard me arguing with my
stepbrother, Neil. If word of my arrival had to be slow, I wish
it had not reached him quite yet. I would have liked to reestablish
my father’s accounts and reacquaint myself with the
workers, firmly establishing myself in control of Indigo Bay
before I had to deal with him.”
That explained a lot, Mica thought. While she couldn’t
recall her aunt ever referring to any part of Sea Crest as Indigo
Bay, she supposed if Logan leased this part as his private
residence, he could call it what he wanted. That also meant
there would be no need for the other employees of the inn to be
concerned about it. Apparently Mrs. Harris, who was fairly
new herself, didn’t know about Logan because he had only
recently arrived. But it was odd that her aunt wouldn’t have
told her about the man.
Logan reached over to tuck a strand of her hair behind her
ear. The intimate gesture was so natural, Mica tilted her head
towards his fingers without conscious thought. She forgot for
a moment how strange their circumstances were. She felt
comfortable and secure here. Peace stole over her as effectively
as Logan’s husky voice soothed her.
“I do not want to discuss my hot-tempered stepbrother, or
either of our gossipy housekeepers. I want to know about you—
what do you do when you’re not spying on me at night or
wearing outlandish clothes?”
Mica couldn’t take offense at his mention of her
trespassing, because she had come into his quarters
unannounced. “At the moment, I’m on vacation. My aunt, well
actually, my great-great aunt, bequeathed Sea Crest to me when
she died. While I don’t know the first thing about managing it,
I decided to spend some time here.”
“I’m not familiar with Sea Crest, nor your aunt...?”
“Theodora Josephine Ashley.” Mica had to smile when she
said the name, knowing her aunt wouldn’t like to be introduced,
even in a conversation, as Aunt Theo. “Sea Crest has been in
the family since before the Civil War.”
“Civil War? I am definitely familiar with that term,
especially with a stepbrother such as Neil,” Logan snorted.
Mica thought his comment odd, but his fingers, which had
lazily circled her ear, now slid to the back of her neck. It took
little effort on his part to pull her towards him. During the
entire time he had talked, she had wondered why he didn’t put
those lips to better use!
His breath, warm and tinged with the scent of mint, caressed
her cheek as his lips touched her skin. “I don’t want to discuss
families or plantations or housekeeping staff anymore. I want
to know about you.”
“But I was telling you about me.”
“There are other ways of learning about a person besides
talking.” He pulled her closer. And Mica didn’t resist. His voice
had spun a silken web about her, and she found herself willingly
trapped in his embrace. His lips touched her brow, and she
sighed, realizing she had been holding her breath in anticipation
of his kiss. But even as he kissed along her eyebrows, down
the bridge of her nose and across her jaw, she craved more.
Logan felt her moan vibrate through his body. Her heat
combined with his own to fan the flames of the fire she had
started last night. He had been delighted when she appeared,
as though by magic, at the door to the conservatory, for he had
spent the entire day trying to find her. Mattie had no visiting
relatives, and though he had only been back at Indigo Bay for
two weeks, he thought he knew most of the people in the
immediate area.
For now, it didn’t matter where she had come from. She
was here in his arms. He couldn’t explain the attraction he had
felt last night, nor the intense sense of loss when he had returned
to the study to find she had disappeared. Her seductive green
eyes held secrets he longed to discover, and in her kisses he
detected an untapped wealth of passion.
Michaela Marie consisted of more than physical desire, he
knew, but for now, he would content himself with the
exploration of her lush curves and smooth, silky skin. He quit
teasing her with butterfly kisses and finally captured her mouth
with his. The intensity of her response caught him unaware
and totally unprepared for the heat racing like wildfire through
his blood.
As if he had waited a lifetime for her to come to him,
unspent passion now simmered just below the surface. His hand
moved inside her shirt to cup her breast, the weight and fullness
of it just right in his hand. His thumb flicked across her nipple,
which stood rigid against the cotton of her chemise. He groaned
as his lips left hers, not wanting their kiss to end, but knowing
he had to taste her.
He heard her faint whimpers of desire as his lips wove an
erotic path down her neck to the curve of material covering the
treasure he sought. His hand pushed the material up over her
flat stomach. Her skin was hot to the touch, on fire as surely as
his own. He groaned as he cupped her breast, his hand large
and brown against her delicate beauty.
“God, you’re beautiful. I’ve waited my whole life for you
to come along.” He kissed her breast before he flicked his
tongue to tease her nipple erect.
Awash with emotions foreign to her systematic, orderly
existence, Mica couldn’t reply. Never in her wildest imaginings
would she have thought kissing could be so erotic. Logan kissed
her as though he had spent a lifetime perfecting the art, and
Mica found herself more than willing to let him practice on
her. That is, until he once again asked her to stay.
“Stay here tonight, with me,” he whispered against her
throat.
She pushed against his chest, struggling to pull her tank
top back into place. While he allowed her to regain her modesty,
he didn’t move far from her side.
“No, I can’t stay here. It’s just not possible.”
“But why not? You said you own Sea Crest, so I assume
you’ve reached your majority. Is there someone waiting to take
you home? I’ll have Simon...”
“No!” Since he had just recently moved to the area, he
must not realize how close she lived, and she wasn’t going to
tell him. The less he knew about her the better. If she didn’t
want to pursue a relationship, she would prefer he not know
how to find her. She cleared her throat. “May I have a glass of
water, please?”
The scowl that had brought his dark brows together
instantly cleared. His eyes twinkled, and straight white teeth
flashed in a grin. He stood and walked to a wall table that
Mica had failed to notice earlier. “Would you prefer brandy or
sherry?”
“No, water, please.” She stood and moved to the end of the
couch, ready to make a run for it when he left the room to fetch
the water.
“Well, you are indeed fortunate. Just today, I had Simon
put water decanters in all the rooms.” He handed her a crystal
glass, the smile never leaving his face. He sat lightly on the
arm of the couch, one leg braced on the floor, the other bent
with his foot on the cushion. Mica idly thought he should have
more respect for the antique settee.
“Simon?” She clutched the glass, because her hand shook
and her voice cracked. She hated the squeak in her voice, and
the fact she had reverted back to one-word sentences. No man
had ever put her on the defensive so quickly.
“Are we back to that, again? Simon is my butler, who is
married to Mattie, my housekeeper, remember? Tomorrow
morning, I will introduce you to the entire staff, from the
gardener and stable boy on up.” He rose and moved towards
her. “But tonight, you are mine alone. I do not wish to share
you with anyone.”
He reached to take her glass, and Mica panicked. She could
think of only one thing to do—an old trick, but usually effective.
“Damn!” Logan jumped back as she knocked his glass of
brandy and it spilled onto his shirtfront.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. Let me get a towel.” She stepped
towards the door, but he grabbed her wrist. His eyes twinkled
with amusement, as though he guessed her game.
“It won’t hurt a thing. Leave it.” He pulled her closer, his
words soft and not the least angry over her clumsiness.
Mica’s gaze fell to his chest, where golden droplets of
brandy glistened among the dark hair. She pinched her lips
tightly together to repress the sudden desire to lick the drops
away with her tongue.
Logan’s warm hand gently cupped her chin and tilted her
face until she met his gaze. His brandy-tinged kiss, this time
seductive and leisurely, still held a promise of passion.
She pulled away from him with reluctance. “I’ll get a towel
so it doesn’t stain.” She stepped back so they no longer touched,
but she still felt as though they did. A reproachful look entered
his eyes, and she added a promise she didn’t know if she could
keep. “I’ll be back.”
This time when she closed the door behind her, she pulled
the key from the lock. She couldn’t have said whether it was to
keep Logan from following her, or to keep anyone at the inn
from finding out about him. Her hand trembled as it closed
around the cold metal. Her fist continued to shake when she
pushed it against her pounding heart.
Three
Several things about T. Logan Rutledge didn’t add up, and
Mica swore she would get to the bottom of the mystery. At
least that’s what she told herself as she jogged down the deserted
beach early that morning.
Last night as he kissed her and touched her, she could have
cared less about any mystery. She couldn’t seem to think straight
when in the same vicinity as he. She recalled the soft glow of
candlelight on the black sheen of his hair, and the heat of his
body, which rivaled the moist warmth of the night air coming
through the open balcony doors.
Candlelight? No air conditioning? And what about all those
antiques?
She tried to rationalize the unusual circumstances.
Candlelight was romantic, though he couldn’t have known she
would come to see him again. The night was cool enough to
forego air conditioning, and many houses in the area were full
of antiques. Sea Crest had its share of them, though some were
reproductions. She suspected that some of Logan’s could be,
too. Much of the original furniture had been sold off sometime
in the past to pay for upkeep. She knew that much from stories
her aunt had told.
Mica came to a stop at the back gate, bending slowly at
the waist several times as she brought her breathing back to
normal. As she headed back to her apartment, she admitted
that she could play the devil’s advocate all day and still have
no answers. She draped a towel around her neck and grabbed a
mug of coffee from her small kitchen before she skirted the
breakfast room and slipped unnoticed out the inn’s front door.
She walked several yards past the circle drive to where the
Sipping her coffee, she squinted against the morning sun that
had risen above the roof. She stepped several yards to the left,
then slowly walked back to the right, never taking her gaze off
the building.
At one time, she had thought about being a mechanical
engineer. Now she realized why her grades in high school
drafting had indicated she find another career. She couldn’t for
the life of her picture the layout of the Sea Crest’s upstairs
from looking at the outside structure. The inn appeared much
larger from the outside than when she had toured it. However,
she had no way of knowing the size of individual guest rooms.
That could explain the difference in size.
“There you are, Ms. Chadwick.” Mrs. Harris said,
interrupting Mica’s thoughts. “I was just telling the Barkers
you may have already left for the day.”
“I will be gone soon. Are they the Barkers?” Mica added
in a whisper, nodding toward the odd-looking couple who
followed some distance behind her manager.
Mrs. Harris glanced over her shoulder before whispering
back, “They’re our newest guests, and they have a rather
strange request. I told them they would have to speak with
you.”
“You’re the manager and would normally handle this if I
weren’t here, wouldn’t you?” Mica was reluctant to get involved
with any of the inn’s lodgers. Besides, there were things she
wanted to do—the most important to investigate the mysterious
Mr. Rutledge. “Speaking of guests, what can you tell me
about—”?
“H
ello, hello, I’m Harold Barker, and this is my wife,
Nadine.” The short, rotund man grabbed Mica’s hand and
vigorously pumped it up and down while waving the other in
the general direction of his wife. Mica had no time to introduce
herself before the woman stepped forward.
“Harold, please dear,” she said, patting her husband on
the arm. Mica couldn’t see that the man had done anything
wrong, so she supposed the wife just liked to be in charge.
When Mrs. Barker turned her attention to Mrs. Harris and
Mica, Mica picked up on the condescension in her voice. “I
don’t see why it’s necessary to tell everyone in creation what
we are about. However, since your manager felt we should
speak directly with you, well, here we are. Now, do you have a
problem with that?”
Mica switched her gaze from the wife to the husband and
back. Nadine Barker was as tall and thin as her husband was
short and fat, and her dyed red hair was in sharp contrast with
his bald pate. While Mr. Barker shifted from foot to foot and
worried his shirt collar with a pudgy finger, his wife glared
down her nose at Mica with arrogant self-assurance.
Mrs. Harris shrugged her shoulders when Mica glanced
her way, as though to say she had no idea what the woman was
talking about. Mica decided to play the diplomat and try to get
rid of the couple as quickly as possible.
“Welcome to Sea Crest, Mr. and Mrs. Barker. I hope you
enjoy your stay.” That was innocent enough.
“See, Harold, I told you there wouldn’t be a problem, but
no, you had to try to tell all.” The woman blustered openly to
her mate, whose suddenly flushed face matched the dark red
of his shirt.
“But, dear, you didn’t tell her anything yet.” Obviously
henpecked, Mr. Barker ducked his head after he spoke, as
though a blow would follow his words.
“Of course I did, and she said we were welcome.” The
woman turned on a sandal-clad heel towards the inn.
Mica tried to be polite as she said, “Excuse me. I did
welcome you to Sea Crest, but can I ask about the nature—”
“Of course, I suppose you must know something of our
business,” Mrs. Barker interrupted. “I assure you it’s legal,
and when we find the treasure, it will legally be ours, even if it