Megan's Mate, Page 9

  “Mom.”

  She saw Kevin's reflection in the mirror. His shoes were on—and his chin was on his chest. Guilt squeezed its sticky fingers around her heart. “Yes, Kevin.”

  “How come you're so mad at everything?”

  “I'm not.” Wearily she sat on the edge of the bed. “I've just got a little headache. I'm sorry I snapped at you.” She held out her arms, sighing when he filled them. “You're such a handsome dork, Kev.” When he laughed, she kissed the top of his head. “Let's go down. Maybe Alex and Jenny are here.”

  They were, and Alex was just as disgusted with his tie as Kevin was with his. But there was too much go­ing on for the boys to sulk for long. There were cana­pe's to gobble, babies to play with and adventures to plan.

  Everyone, naturally, was talking at once.

  The volume in the room cut through Megan's ach­ing head like a rusty saw. She accepted the flute of champagne Trenton II offered her, and did her best to pretend an interest in his flirtation. He was trim and tall and tanned, glossily handsome and charming. And Megan was desperately relieved when he turned his attentions on Coco.

  “Make a nice couple, don't they?” Nathaniel mur­mured in her ear.

  “Striking.” She took a cube of cheese and forced it down.

  “You don't look in the party mood, Meg.”

  “I'm fine.” To distract him, she changed the sub­ject. “You might be interested in what I think I might have walked in on this afternoon.”

  “Oh?” Taking her arm, he steered her toward the open terrace doors.

  “Coco and Dutch.”

  “Fighting again? Saucepans at twenty paces?”

  “Not exactly.” She took a deep breath of air, hop­ing it would clear her head. “They were... at least I think they were...”

  Nathaniel's brows shot up. He could fill in the blanks himself. “You're joking.”

  “No. They were nose-to-nose, with their arms around each other.” She managed to smile even as she rubbed at the throbbing in her temple. “At my unex­pected and ill-timed entrance, they jumped apart as if they'd been planning murder. And they were blush­ing. Both of them.”

  “The Dutchman, blushing?” Nathaniel started to laugh, but it began to sink in. “Good God.”

  “I think it's sweet.”

  “Sweet.” He looked back inside, where Coco, re­gally elegant, was laughing over something Trenton had whispered in her ear. “She's out of his league. She'll break his heart.”

  “What a ridiculous thing to say.” Lord, why didn't her head just fall off her shoulders and give her some relief? “Sporting events have leagues, not ro­mances.”

  “The Dutchman and Coco.” It worried him, be­cause they were two of the very few people in the world he could say he loved. “You're the accountant, sugar, and you're going to tell me that adds up?”

  “I'm not telling you anything,” she shot back. “Except I think they're attracted to each other. And stop calling me 'sugar.'“

  “Okay, simmer down.” He looked back down at her, focused on her. “What's the matter?”

  Guiltily she dropped her hand. She'd been massag­ing her temple again. “Nothing.”

  With an impatient oath, he turned her fully to face him, looked into her eyes. “Headache, huh? Bad one?”

  “No, it's- Yes,” she admitted. “Vicious.”

  “You're all tensed up.” He began to knead her shoulders. “Tight as a spring.”

  “Don't.”

  “This is purely therapeutic.” He rubbed his thumbs in gentle circles over her collarbone. “Any pleasure either of us gets out of it is incidental. Have you al­ways been prone to headaches?”

  His fingers were strong and male and magical. It was impossible not to stretch under them. “I'm not prone to headaches.”

  “Too much stress.” His hands skimmed lightly up to her temples. She closed her eyes with a sigh. “You bottle too much up, Meg. Your body makes you pay for it. Turn around, let me work on those shoulders.”

  “It's not—” But the protest died away when his hands began to knead at the knots.

  “Relax. Pretty night, isn't it? Moon's full, stars are out. Ever walk up on the cliffs in the moonlight, Me­gan?”

  “No.”

  “Wildflowers growing right out of the rock, the water thundering. You can imagine those ghosts Kev­in's so fond of strolling hand in hand. Some people think it's a lonely place, but it's not.”

  His voice and his hands were so soothing. She could almost believe there was nothing to worry about. '“There's a painting at Suzanna's of the cliffs in moonlight,” Megan offered, trying to focus on the conversation.

  “Christian Bradford's work—I've seen it. He had a feel for that spot. But there's nothing like the real thing. You could walk with me there after dinner. I'll show you.”

  “This isn't the time to fool around with the girl.” Colleen's voice cut through the evening air, and she stamped her cane in the doorway.

  Though Megan tensed again, Nathaniel kept his hands where they were and grinned.”Seems like a fine time to me, Miss Colleen.”

  “Ha! Scoundrel.” Colleen's lips twitched. Nothing she liked better than a handsome scoundrel. “Always were. I remember you, running wild through the vil­lage. Looks like the sea made a man of you, all right. Stop fidgeting, girl. He's not going to let loose of you. If you're lucky.”

  Nathaniel kissed the top of Megan's head. “She's shy.”

  “Well, she'll have to get over it, won't she? Corde­lia's finally going to feed us. I want you to sit with me, talk about boats.”

  “ It would be a pleasure.”

  “Well, come on, bring her. Lived on cruise ships half my life or more,” Colleen began. “I'll wager I've seen more of the sea than you, boy.”

  “I wouldn't doubt it, ma'am.” Nathaniel kept one hand on Megan and offered Colleen his arm. “With a trail of broken hearts in your wake.”

  She gave a hoot of laughter. “Damn right.”

  The dining room was full of the scents of food and flowers and candle wax. The moment everyone was settled, Trenton II rose, glass in hand.

  “I'd like to make a toast.” His voice was as cul­tured as his dinner suit. “To Cordelia, a woman of extraordinary talents and beauty.”

  Glasses were clinked. From his spy hole at the crack in the doorway, Dutch snorted, scowled, then stomped back to his own kitchen.

  “Trent.” C.C. leaned toward her husband, her voice low. “You know I love you.”

  He thought he knew what was coming. “Yes, I do.”

  “And I adore your father.”

  “Mmm-hmm...”

  “And if he puts the moves on Aunt Coco, I'm go­ing to have to kill him.”

  “Right.” Trent smiled weakly and began on the first course.

  At the other end of the table, sublimely ignorant of the threat, Trenton beamed at Colleen. “What do you think of The Retreat, Miss Calhoun?”

  “I dislike hotels. Never use them.”

  “Aunt Colleen.” Coco fluttered her hands. “The St. James hotels are world-famous for their luxury and taste.”

  “Can't stand them,” Colleen said complacently as she spooned up soup. “What's this stuff?”

  “It's lobster bisque, Aunt Colleen.”

  “Needs salt,” she said, for the devil of it. “You, boy.” She jabbed a finger down the table at Kevin. “Don't slouch. You want your bones to grow crooked?”

  “No, ma'am.”

  “Got any ambitions?”

  Kevin stared helplessly, and was relieved when his mother's hand closed over his. “I could be a sailor,” he blurted out. “I steered the Mariner.”

  “Ha!” Pleased, she picked up her wine. “Good for you. I won't tolerate any idlers in my family. Too thin. Eat your soup, such as it is.”

  With a quiet moan, Coco rang for the second course.

  “She never changes.” Lazily content, Lilah rocked while Bianca suckled hungrily at her breast. The nursery was quiet,
the lights were low. Megan had headed for it, figuring it would be the perfect escape hatch.

  “She's...” Megan searched for a diplomatic phrase. “Quite a lady.”

  “She's a nosy old nuisance.” Lilah laughed lightly. “But we love her.”

  In the next rocker, Amanda sighed. “As soon as she hears about Fergus's book, she's going to start nag­ging you.”

  “And badgering,” C.C. put in, cradling Ethan.

  “And hounding,” Suzanna finished up as she changed Christian's diaper.

  “That sounds promising.”

  “Don't worry.” With a laugh, Suzanna slipped Christian into his sleeper. “We're right behind you.”

  “Notice,” Lilah added with a smile, “the direction is behind.”

  “About the book.” Megan flicked a finger over a dancing giraffe on a mobile. “I've made copies of several pages I thought you'd be interested in. He made a lot of notations, about business deals, per­sonal business, purchases. At one point he invento­ries jewelry—Bianca's, I assume—for insurance purposes.”

  “The emeralds?” Amanda's brow rose at Megan's nod. “And to think of all the hours we spent going through papers, trying to find proof that they ex­isted.”

  “There's a number of other pieces—hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth in 1913 dollars.”

  “He sold nearly everything,” C.C. murmured. “We found the documents of sale. He got rid of anything that reminded him of Bianca.”

  “It still hurts,” Lilah admitted. “Not the money, though God knows we could have used it. It's the loss of what was hers, what we won't be able to pass on.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be.” Amanda rose to lay a sleeping Delia in her crib. “We're too sentimental. I suppose we all feel such a close connection with Bianca.”

  “I know what you mean.” It felt odd to admit it, but Megan was compelled. “I feel it, too. I suppose from seeing the references to her in the old book, and having her portrait right there in the lobby.” A bit embarrassed, she laughed. “Sometimes, when you walk down the halls at night, it's almost as if you could sense her.”

  “Of course,” Lilah said easily. “She's here.”

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Nathaniel stepped inside, ob­viously comfortable in a nursery inhabited by babies and nursing mothers.

  Lilah smiled slowly. “Well, hello, handsome. What brings you to the maternity wing?”

  “Just coming to fetch my date.”

  When he took Megan's arm, she drew back. “We don't have a date.”

  “A walk, remember?”

  “I never said—”

  “It's a lovely night for it.” Suzanna lifted Chris­tian into her arms, cooed to him.

  “I have to put Kevin to bed.”

  She was digging in her heels, but it didn't seem to be doing any good.

  “I've already tucked him in.” Nathaniel propelled her toward the doors.

  “You put Kevin to bed?”

  “Since he'd fallen asleep in my lap, it seemed the thing to do. Oh, Suzanna, Holt said the kids are ready whenever you are.”

  “I'm on my way.” Suzanna waited until Megan and Nate were out of earshot before she turned to her sis­ters. “What do you think?”

  Amanda smiled smugly. “I think it's working per­fectly.”

  “I have to agree.” C.C. settled Ethan comfortably in his crib. “I thought Lilah had lost her mind when she came up with the idea of getting those two to­gether.”

  Lilah yawned, sighed. “I'm never wrong.” Then her eyes lit. “I bet we can see them from the window.”

  “Spy on them?” Amanda arched her brows. “Good idea,” she said, and darted to the window.

  They were outlined in the moonlight that sprinkled the lawn.

  “You're complicating things, Nathaniel.”

  “Simplifying,” he corrected. “Nothing simpler than a walk in the moonlight.”

  “That's not where you expect all this to end.”

  “Nope. But we're still moving at your pace, Meg.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it absently, when they began the climb. “I seem to have this need to be around you. It's the damnedest thing. Can't shake it. So I figure, why try? Why not just roll with it?”

  “I'm not a simple woman.” She wished she could be, just for tonight, just for an hour in the starlight. “I have baggage and resentments and insecurities I didn't even realize were there until I met you. I'm not going to let myself be hurt again.”

  “No one's going to hurt you.” In a subtle gesture of protection, he slipped an arm around her and looked up at the sky. “Look how big the moon is tonight. Just hanging there. You can see Venus, and the little star that dogs her. There's Orion.” He lifted her hand, tracing the sky with it as he had once traced his charts. “And the Twins. See?”

  “Yes.” She watched their joined hands connect stars while the breeze lifted lovingly off the water and stirred the flowers that grew wild in the rock.

  Romantic, mysterious, Coco had said. Yes, he was, and Megan realized she was much more susceptible to both than she would have believed.

  For she was here, wasn't she, standing on a cliff with a seafaring man whose callused hand held hers, whose voice helped her see the pictures painted by the stars.

  His body was warm and solid against hers. And her blood was pumping fast and free in her veins.

  Alive. The wind and the sea and the man made her feel so alive.

  And perhaps there was something more—those ghosts of the Calhouns'. The cliffs seemed to invite spirits to walk, the air filled with contentment. And the glow of love that had outlasted time.

  “I shouldn't be here like this.” But she didn't move away, not even when his lips brushed over her hair.

  “Listen,” he murmured. “Close your eyes and lis­ten, and you can hear the stars breathing.”

  She obeyed, and listened to the whisper and throb of the air. And of her own heart. “Why do you make me feel this way?”

  “I don't have an answer. Not everything adds up neat, Meg.” Because he had a great need to see her face, he turned her gently. “Not everything has to.” And kissed her. His lips skimmed hers, journeyed up to her temple, over her brow and down. “How's the headache?”

  “It's gone. Nearly.”

  “No. Keep your eyes closed.” His lips traced over them, soft as air, before trailing slowly over her face. “Kiss me back, will you?”

  How could she not, when his mouth was so tempt­ing on hers? With a small sound of surrender, she let her heart lead. Just for tonight, she promised herself. Just for a moment.

  That slow, melting change almost undid him. She went pliant in his arms, those hesitant lips heating, parting, offering. It took all his willpower not to drag her against him and plunder.

  She wouldn't resist. Perhaps he'd known that there would be enough magic on those cliffs to bewitch them both, to seduce her into surrender—and to remind him to take care.

  “I want you, Megan.” He took his lips down her throat, up over her jaw. “I want you so much it's got me tied in knots.”

  “I know. I wish...” She pressed her face to his shoulder. “I'm not playing games, Nathaniel.”

  “I know.” He stroked a hand down her hair. “It would be easier if you were, because I know all the rules.” Cupping her face, he lifted it. “And how to break them.” He sighed, kissed her again, lightly. “They make it damn hard for me, those eyes of yours.” He stepped back. “I'd better take you in.”

  “Nathaniel.” She laid a hand on his chest. “You're the first man who's made me.. .who I've wanted to be with since Kevin was born.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, wild, dangerous, be­fore he banked it. “Do you think it makes it easier on me, knowing that?” He would have laughed, if he hadn't felt so much like exploding. “Megan, you're killing me.” But he swung an arm around her shoul­ders and led her down the cliff path.

  “I don't know how to handle this,” she said under h
er breath. “I haven't had to handle anything like this before.”

  “Keep it up,” he warned, “and you're over my shoulder, shanghaied straight to bed. Mine.”

  The image gave her a quick thrill, and a guilty one. “I'm just trying to be honest.”

  “Try lying,” he said with a grimace. “Make it eas­ier on me.”

  “I'm a lousy liar.” She slanted a look at him. Wasn't it interesting, she mused, that for once he was the one at a disadvantage? “It doesn't seem logical that it would bother you to know what I'm feeling.”

  “I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with what I'm feeling.” He took a long, steadying breath. “And I'm not feeling logical.” Nor, he thought ruefully, would he sleep tonight. “ 'Desire hath no rest.'“

  “What?”

  “Robert Burton. Nothing.”

  They walked toward the lights of The Towers. The shouting reached them before they crossed the lawn.

  “Coco,” Megan said.

  “Dutch.” Taking firm hold of Megan's hand, Na­thaniel quickened his pace.

  “You're insulting and obnoxious,” Coco snapped at Dutch, her chin up, her hands planted on her hips.

  His massive arms were folded across his barrel of a chest. “I saw what I saw, said what I said.”

  “I was not draped all over Trenton like a... a...”

  “Barnacle,” Dutch said with relish. “Like a bar­nacle on the hull of a fancy yacht.”

  “We happen to have been dancing.”

  “Ha! That's what you call it. We got another name for it. Where I come from, we call it—”

  “Dutch!” Nathaniel cut off the undoubtedly crude description.

  “There.” Mortified, Coco smoothed down her dress. “You've made a scene.”

  “You were the one making a scene, with that smooth-skinned rich boy. Flaunting yourself.”

  “F-f-flaunting.” Enraged, she drew herself up to her full, and considerable, height. “I have never flaunted in my life. You, sir, are despicable.”

  “I'll show you despicable, lady.”

  “Cut it out.” Prepared for fists to fly, Nathaniel stepped between them. “Dutch, what the hell's wrong with you? Are you drunk?”