“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 sleep.


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.”