Megan's Mate, Page 6

  shouldn't be wasted.”

  “I'm going back in.” She looked back up just as a breeze stirred in the air. Wisteria petals rained down.

  “Soon.”

  So she was walking with him in the fairy-lit garden, with a flower in her hand and fragrant petals in her hair.

  “I... really should check on Kevin.”

  “The boy have trouble sleeping?”

  “No, but-”

  “Bad dreams?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then.” Taking that as an answer, he contin­ued his stroll down the narrow path. “Does having a man flirt with you always make you turn tail and run?”

  “I certainly wasn't running. And I'm not inter­ested in flirtations.”

  “Funny. When you were standing out on the ter­race a bit ago, you looked like a woman ready for a little flirting.”

  She stopped dead. “You were watching me.”

  “Mmm.” Nathaniel crushed his cigar out into the sand of a nearby urn. “I was thinking it was a shame I didn't have a lute.”

  Annoyance warred with curiosity. “A lute?”

  “A pretty woman standing on a balcony in the moonlight—she should be serenaded.”

  She had to laugh at that. “I suppose you play the lute.”

  “Nope. Wished I did, though, when I saw you.” He began to walk again. The cliff curved downward, to­ward the seawall. “I used to sail by here when I was a kid and look up at The Towers. I liked to think there was a dragon guarding it, and that I'd scale the cliffs and slay him.”

  “Kevin still calls it a castle,” she murmured, look­ing back.

  “When I got older and took note of the Calhoun sisters, I figured when I killed the dragon, they'd re­ward me. In the way a sixteen-year-old walking hor­mone fantasizes.”

  She laughed again. “Which one of them?”

  “Oh, all of them.” Grinning, he sat on the low wall, drew her down beside him. “They've always been... remarkable. Holt had this thing for Suzanna, though he wouldn't admit it. Being as he was my friend, I selflessly crossed her off my list. That left three for me after I conquered that dragon.”

  “ But you never did face the dragon?”

  A shadow passed over his face. “I had another to deal with. I guess you could say we left it at a draw, and I went to sea.” He shook off the mood, and the uncomfortable past. “But I did have a brief and memorable interlude with the lovely Lilah.”

  Megan's eyes widened. “You and Lilah?”

  “Right before I left the island. She set out to drive me crazy. I think she was practicing.” He sighed at the memory. “She was damn good at it.”

  But they were so easy with each other, Megan thought. So relaxed and friendly.

  “You're so easy to read, Meg.” He chuckled and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “We weren't exactly Romeo and Juliet. I kissed her a few times, did my damnedest to convince her to do mote. She didn't. And she didn't break my heart. Well, dented it a lit­tle, maybe,” he mused.

  “And Max isn't bothered?”

  “Why would he be? He's got her. If we'd had a flaming affair—which we didn't—it would be a smol­dering matchstick compared to what they've got.”

  He was right there. Each of the Calhoun women had found her match. “Still, it's interesting,” she said quietly. “All these connections within connections.”

  “Are you thinking of me, or yourself?”

  She stiffened, abruptly aware that she was sitting hip-to-hip with him, his arm around her. “That's not something I care to discuss.”

  “Still raw?” He tightened his arm, comforting. “From what I've heard of Dumont, I wouldn't think he'd be worth it. Settle down,” he said when she jerked away. “We'll let it go. Too nice a night to un­cover old wounds. Why don't you tell me how they talked you into taking on that old account book?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Holt and Suzanna filled me in.” She was still rigid, he noted. But she wasn't running. “I saw them before they left.”

  She relaxed a little. It was comforting to discuss it with someone else who was just that small step out­side the family. “I don't know how they talked me into it. I barely opened my mouth.”

  “Your first mistake.”

  She huffed out a breath. “I'd have had to shout to be heard. I don't know why they call it a meeting, when all they do is argue.” Her brows knit. “Then they stop arguing and you realize you've been sucked in. If you try to pull yourself out, you find they've united in this solid wall that's impossible to beat.”

  “I know just what you mean. I still don't know if it was my idea to go into business with Holt. The no­tion came up, was debated, voted on and approved. The next thing I knew, I was signing papers.”

  Interesting, she mused, and studied his strong pro­file. “You don't strike me as someone who could be talked into anything.”

  “I could say the same.”

  She considered a moment, then gave up. “You're right. The book's fascinating. I can hardly wait to get at it.”

  “I hope you're not planning on letting it take up all your free time.” He toyed with the ends of her blow­ing hair. No, not red, he mused. It was gold, enriched by quiet fire. “I want some of it.”

  Cautiously she inched away. “I explained to you, I'm not interested.”

  “What you are is worried because you are inter­ested.” He cupped a hand under her chin and turned her to face him. “I figure you had a rough time, and maybe it's helped you cope to lump all men in with the bastard who hurt you. That's why I said I'd be pa­tient.”

  Fury flared in her eyes. “Don't tell me what I am or how I've coped. I'm not asking for your understand­ing or your patience.”

  “Okay.”

  He crushed his mouth to hers, without any pa­tience at all. His lips were demanding, urgent, irre­sistible, conquering hers before she could draw the breath to deny it.

  The embers that had smoldered inside her since the first time he'd kissed her burst into reckless flame. She wanted—craved—this flash point of feeling, this fire­ball of sensation. Hating herself for the weakness, she let herself burn.

  He'd proved his point, Nathaniel thought as he tore his mouth from hers to press it against the thundering pulse in her throat. Proved his point, and wrapped himself up in nasty knots of need.

  Needs that would have to wait, because she was far from ready. And because it mattered—she mattered— more than he'd expected.

  “Now tell me you're not interested,” he muttered against her lips, furious that he was unable to take what was so obviously his. “Tell me you didn't want me to touch you.”

  “I can't.” Her voice broke in despair. She wanted him to touch her, to take her, to throw her on the ground and make wild love to her. And to take the decision, and the responsibility, out of her hands. That made her ashamed. That made her a coward. “But warning's not enough.” Shaken, she pushed away, lurched to her feet. “It's never going to be enough for me. I've wanted before.” She stood trembling in the moonlight, her hair blowing free, her eyes fierce and afraid.

  Nathaniel cursed himself, then her for good mea­sure. “I'm not Dumont. And you're not a seventeen-year-old girl.”

  “I know who I am. I don't know who you are.”

  “You're hedging, Megan. We recognized each other from the first instant.”

  She stepped back, because she knew he was right. Because it terrified her. “You're talking about chem­istry.”

  “Maybe I'm talking about fate.” He said it softly, as he rose. He'd frightened her, and he despised him­self for it. Unnerving a woman was one thing, bully­ing another. “You need time to think about that. So do I. I'll walk you back.”

  She put out a hand to stop him. “I can find my own way.” She whirled and raced up the moonlit path.

  Nathaniel swore under his breath. He sat again and took out a fresh cigar, lit it. There wasn't any use heading home yet. He already knew he wouldn't s
leep.

  Late the following afternoon, Megan roused her­self from her ledgers when a knock sounded on her office door.

  “Come in.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Coco poked her head in the door—a head, Megan noted with surprise, that was now topped with sleek ebony hair—she apparently was a woman who changed her hair color as often as she changed moods. “You didn't break for lunch,” Coco said as she stepped through the door with a large and laden silver tray.

  “You didn't have to bother.” Megan glanced at her watch and was stunned to see it was after three. “You've got enough to do without waiting on me.”

  “Just part of the service.” After setting the tray on a table, Coco began ta arrange a place setting. “We can't have you skipping meals.” She glanced over at the computer screen, the open ledgers, the calculator and the neatly stacked files. “My goodness, such a lot of numbers. Numbers have always unsettled me. They're so... unyielding.”

  “You don't have to let them push you around,” Megan said with a laugh. “Once you know that one and one always equals two, you can do anything.”

  Coco studied the screen doubtfully. “If you say so, dear.”

  “I've just finished up the first quarter on Ship­shape. It was... a challenge.”

  “It's wonderful that you think so.” Coco turned her back on the numbers before they could give her a headache.”But none of us want you overdoing things. Now, here's some iced tea and a nice club sandwich.”

  It did look tempting, particularly since she'd had no appetite for breakfast. A residual effect, she knew, of her encounter with Nathaniel.

  “Thank you, Coco. I'm sorry I took you away from your work.”

  “Oh.” Coco waved a dismissive hand as Megan rose to pick up her plate. “Don't give it a thought. To be frank, dear, I simply had to get out—away from that man.”

  “The Dutchman?” Megan smiled over her first bite of sandwich. “I met him this morning, when I was coming down. I made a wrong turn and ended up in the hotel wing.”

  Restless, Coco began to fiddle with the thick gold links around her throat. “I hope he didn't say any­thing to offend you. He's a bit... rough.”

  “No.” Megan poured two glasses of tea, offered one to Coco. “He sort of glowered and told me I needed some meat on my bones. I thought he was going to start stuffing me with the Greek omelet he was fixing, but one of the busboys dropped a plate. I escaped while he was swearing at the poor kid.”

  “His language.” Coco seated herself, smoothed down her silk trouser leg. “Deplorable. And he's al- ways contradicting me on recipes.” She shut her eyes, shuddered. “I've always considered myself a patient woman—and, if I can be immodest for a moment, a clever one. I had to be both to raise four lively girls.” Sighing, she tossed up her hands in a gesture of sur- render. “But as far as that man's concerned, I'm at my wits' end.”

  “I suppose you could let him go,” Megan said ten- tatively.

  “Impossible. The man's like a father to Nathaniel, and the children, for reasons that escape me, are terribly fond of him.” She opened her eyes again and smiled bravely. “I can cope, dear, and I must admit the man has a way with certain rudimentary dishes.” She patted her new hairdo. “And I find little ways to distract myself.”

  But Megan's attention was stuck back at Coco's first statement. “I suppose Mr. Van Horne has known Nathaniel for some time.”

  “Oh, more than fifteen years, I believe. They served together, sailed together, whatever you call it. I be­lieve Mr. Van Horn took Nate under his wing. Which is something in his favor, I suppose. God knows the boy needed someone, after the miserable childhood he had.”

  “Oh?” It wasn't in Megan's nature to probe, but Coco needed little prompting.

  “His mother died when he was very young, poor boy. And his father.” Her lovely mouth went grim. “Well, the man was little more than a beast really. I barely knew John Fury, but there was always talk in the village. And now and then Nathaniel would come along with Holt when Holt brought us fish. I'd see the bruises for myself.”

  “Bruises,” Megan repeated, horrified. “His father beat him?”

  Coco's soft heart had tears swimming to her eyes. “I'm very much afraid so.”

  “But—didn't anyone do anything about it?”

  “Whenever there were questions, the man would claim the boy had fallen, or gotten into a fight with another child. Nathaniel never contradicted him. Sad to say, abuse was something people often overlooked back then. Still is, I'm afraid.” Tears threatened her mascara. She dabbed at them with Megan's napkin. “Nathaniel ran off to sea the moment he was of age. His father died a few years back. Nate sent money for the funeral, but didn't come. It was hard to blame him.”

  Coco sighed, shook herself. “I didn't mean to come in with such a sad story. But it has a good ending. Nate turned out to be a fine man.” Coco's damp eyes were deceptively guileless. “All he needs is the right woman. He's terribly handsome, don't you think?”

  “Yes,” Megan said cautiously. She was still trying to equate the abused child with the confident man.

  “And dependable. Romantic, too, with all those tales of the sea, and that air of mystery around him. A woman would be very lucky to catch his eye.”

  Megan blinked her own eyes as the not-so-subtle hint got through. “I couldn't say. I don't know him very well, and I don't really think about men that way.”

  “Nonsense.” Confident in her own matchmaking skills, Coco patted Megan's knee. “You're young, beautiful, intelligent. Having a man in your life doesn't diminish those things, dear—or a woman's independence. The right man enhances them. And I have a feeling that you'll be finding that out, very soon. Now—” she leaned over and kissed Megan's cheek “—I have to get back to the kitchen, before that man does something horrid to my salmon patties.”

  She started out the door, then paused—timing it, Coco thought, rather beautifully. “Oh, dear, I'm such a scatterbrain. I was supposed to tell you about Kevin.”

  “Kevin?” Automatically Megan's gaze shifted to the window. “Isn't he outside with Alex and Jenny?”

  “Well, yes, but not here.” Coco smiled distract­edly—it was a pose she'd practiced for years. “It's Nathaniel's day off, and he was by for lunch. Such a wonderful appetite he has, and never seems to gain an ounce. Of course, he does keep active. That's why he has all those marvelous muscles. They are marvelous, aren't they?”

  “Coco, where is Kevin?”

  “Oh, there I go, running off again. Kevin's with Nate. All of them are. He took the children with him.”

  Megan was already on her feet. “With him? Where? On a boat?” Visions of squalls and towering waves of water swam through her head, despite the calm, cloudless blue of the sky.

  “No, no, to his house. He's building a deck or something, and the children were dying to go along and help. It would be such a favor to me if you could go by and pick them up.” And, of course, Coco thought cannily, Megan would then see Nate's lovely little home, and his charming way with children. “Suzanna expects the children to be here, you see, but I didn't have the heart to deny them. She won't be back until five, so there's no hurry.”

  “But, I-”

  “You know where Suzanna and Holt's cottage is, don't you, darling? Nathaniel's is only a half a mile past it. Charming place. You can't miss it.”

  Before Megan could form another word, the door closed gently in her face.

  A job, Coco thought as she strode down the corri­dor, very well done.

  Chapter 5

  Kevin didn't know which was the coolest. It was a very close call between the small fire-breathing dragon on the back of Nathaniel's shoulder and the puckered white scar on the front. The scar was the result of the knife wound, which ought to have put it far ahead in the running. But a tattoo, a tattoo of a dragon, was pretty hard to beat.

  There was another scar, just above Nathaniel's waistline, near the hip. At Alex's eager questioning, Nathan
iel had said it was from a moray eel he'd tan­gled with in the South Pacific.

  Kevin could easily imagine Nathaniel, armed with only a knife clenched between his teeth, fighting to the death with a sea creature on the scale of the Loch Ness monster.

  And Nathaniel had a parrot, a big, colorful bird who sat right inside the house on a wooden perch and talked. Kevin's current favorite was “Off with her head.”

  Kevin figured Nathaniel Fury was about the cool­est man he'd ever met—a man who had traveled the seven seas like Sinbad, and had the scars and stories to prove it. A man who liked puppies and talking birds.

  He didn't seem to mind when Kevin hung back while Alex and Jenny raced around the yard with the puppy and killed each other with imaginary laser pis­tols. It was more fun to crouch close while Nathaniel hammered nails into boards.

  It took Kevin about six boards to start asking ques­tions.

  “How come you want a deck out here?”

  “So I can sit on it.” Nathaniel set another board in place.

  “But you've already got one in the back.”

  “I'll still have it.” Three strikes of the hammer and the nail was through board and joist. Nathaniel sat back on his haunches. He wore nothing but a ban­danna twisted around his head and a pair of ragged cutoff jeans. His skin was bronzed by the sun and coated lightly with sweat.”See how the frame goes?”

  Kevin followed the direction of the deck frame as it skirted around the side of the house. “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, we'll keep going till we meet the other deck.”

  Kevin's eyes brightened. “So it'll go all around, like a circle.”

  “You got it.” Nathaniel hammered the next nail, and the next, then shifted positions. “How do you like the island?”

  He asked the question in such a natural, adult fash­ion that Kevin first glanced around to see if Nathaniel was speaking to him. “I like it. I like it a lot. We get to live in the castle, and I can play with Alex and Jenny anytime.”

  “You had friends back in Oklahoma, too, right?”

  “Sure. My best friend is John Curtis Silverhorn. He's part Comanche. My mom said he could come visit anytime, and that we can write letters all we want. I already wrote him about the whale.” Kevin smiled shyly. “I liked that the best.”

  “We'll have to go out again.”

  “Really? When?”

  Nathaniel stopped hammering and looked at the boy. He realized he should have remembered from his exposure to Alex and Jenny that when children were raised with love and trust, they believed just about everything you told them.

  “You can come out with me whenever you want. 'Long as your mother gives the go-ahead.”

  His reward for the careless offer was a brilliant smile. “Maybe I can steer the boat again?”

  “Yeah.” Nathaniel grinned and turned Kevin's baseball cap backward. “You could do that. Want to nail some boards?”

  Kevin's eyes widened and glowed. “Okay!”

  “Here.” Nathaniel scooted back so that Kevin could kneel in front of him. “Hold the nail like this.” He wrapped his hands over Kevin's, showing him how to hold both the hammer and the nail to guide the stroke.

  “Hey!” Alex rose from the dead on Planet Zero and raced over. “Can I do it?”

  “Me too.” Jenny leaped on Nathaniel's back, knowing she was always welcome.

  “I guess I got me a crew.” Nathaniel figured that with all the extra help it would only take about twice as long to finish.

  An hour later, Megan pulled up beside the long, classic lines of the T-Bird and stared. The house itself surprised her. The charming two-story cottage, with its neatly painted blue shutters and its window boxes bright with pansies, wasn't exactly the image she had of Nathaniel Fury. Nor was the tidy green lawn, the trimmed hedge, the fat barking puppy.

  But it was Nathaniel who surprised her most. She was a bit taken aback by all that exposed golden skin, the lithe, muscled body. She was human, after all. But it was what he was doing that really captured her at­tention.

  He was crouched over her son on the partially fin­ished deck, their heads