Captivated (19 page)

But the important thing, to her, was that he knew, and accepted. He didn’t look at her as if he expected her to grow a second head at any moment. He looked at her as a woman.

It was easy to be in love with him. Though she had never considered herself a romantic, she had come to appreciate all the books, the songs, the poetry, written to celebrate the caprices of the heart. It was true that when you were in love, the air smelled clearer, the flowers sweeter.

On a whim, she wished a rose into her hand, smiling as she sniffed the delicate closed bloom. Her world felt like that, she realized. Like a rose that was just about to open.

It made her feel foolish to think like that. Giddy, light-headed. But her thoughts were her own, she reminded herself. Until she made them someone else’s. It occurred to her that, sooner or later, she would have to share them with Nash.

She couldn’t be sure how long it would be before complications set in, but for now it was glorious simply to enjoy the soft spread of emotion glowing inside her.

As she pulled into his driveway, she was smiling. She had a few surprises for Nash, starting with her plan for this balmy Saturday night. She reached for the bag on the seat beside her, and Pan stuck his head over her shoulder.

“Just give me a minute,” she told him, “and you can get out and see what’s what. Luna will show you around.”

From her perch on the floor of the passenger seat, Luna glanced up, eyes slitted.

“If you don’t behave, I’ll dump you both back home. You’ll have only yourselves for company until Monday.”

As she stepped from the car, she felt a flicker, like a curtain fluttering over her mind. She stood, one hand
resting on the door, absorbing a wash of wind, a whisper of sound. The air thickened, grayed. There was no dizziness. It was as if she had stepped from sunshine into shadows, shadows where mysteries waited to be solved. She strained to see beyond that mist, but it lay heavy, teasing her with hints and glimpses only.

Then the sun was back, and there was only the sound of water rushing against rock.

Though she hadn’t Sebastian’s gift for precognition, or Anastasia’s empathetic tendencies, she understood.

Things were about to change. And soon. Morgana also understood that those changes might not be something she would have wished for.

Shaking off the mood, she started up the walk. Tomorrow could always be changed, she reminded herself. Especially if one concentrated on now. Since now equaled Nash, she was willing to fight to keep it.

He opened the door before she reached it and stood, hands tucked in his pockets, smiling at her. “Hi, babe.”

“Hi.” Dangling the bag from one hand, she linked an arm around his neck and curved her body to his for a kiss. “Do you know how I feel?”

“Yeah.” He skimmed his hands down her sides to her hips. “I know exactly how you feel. Fantastic.”

She chuckled and pushed the last lingering doubts aside. “As it happens, you’re right.” Riding on pure emotion, she handed him the rose.

“For me?” He wasn’t exactly sure what a man’s response should be when a woman gave him a rosebud.

“Absolutely for you.” She kissed him again while Luna strolled territorially into the house. “How would you like to spend an evening”—she moved her mouth seductively to his ear—“an entire evening . . . doing something”—voice breathy, she walked her fingers up his chest—“decadent?”

His blood leapt in his veins and roared in the ear she was tormenting. “When do we get started?”

“Well.” She rubbed against him, tilting her head back just enough to look into his eyes. “Why waste time?”

“God, I love an aggressive woman.”

“Good. Because I’ve got big plans for you . . .” She caught his lower lip in her teeth, sucked gently. “Babe. And it’s going to take hours.”

He wondered if he’d ever breathe normally again. He hoped not. “Want to start here and work our way inside?”

“Uh-uh.” She eased away, sliding her hand down and gripping his waistband to pull him inside with her. Pan padded in behind them, decided he wouldn’t get much attention from either of them and moved along to check out the house. “We can’t do what I have in mind outside. Follow me.” Tossing him a sultry look over her
shoulder, she started upstairs.

“You bet.”

He made a grab for her at the top of the stairs. After a moment’s debate, she let him catch her. Sliding into the kiss was like sliding into a hot tub. Full of heat and bubbles. But when he tugged on her zipper, she eased herself away.

“Morgana . . .”

She only shook her head and strolled into the bedroom.

“I’ve got a treat for you, Nash.” Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a thin shimmer of black silk and tossed it carelessly on his bed. He glanced at it, back at her. He could imagine her wearing it.

He could imagine taking it off of her.

His fingertips began to tingle.

“I made a stop on the way over. Picked up a few . . . things.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he laid the rose on the dresser. “So far, I like it.”

“Oh, it gets better.” She pulled something else out of the bag and handed it to him. Nash frowned at the plastic video case. A grin flickered on his mouth.

“Adult movies?”

“Read the title.”

Amused, he turned the case over. And let out a whoop. “
The Crawling Eye
?” His grin flashed as he looked over at her.

“Approve?”

“Approve, hell—this is great! A classic. I haven’t seen it in years.”

“There’s more where that came from.” She upended the bag on the bed. Scattered among a handful of toiletries were three more tapes. Nash snatched them up like a kid grabbing for packages under the Christmas tree.

“
An American Werewolf in London
,
Nightmare on Elm Street
,
Dracula
. This is great.” Laughing, he
scooped her against him. “What a woman. You want to spend the evening watching horror flicks?”

“With a few lengthy intermissions.”

This time he unzipped her dress with one quick motion. “Tell you what—let’s start the whole thing off with an overture.”

She laughed as they tumbled onto the bed. “I love a good overture.”

*  *  *

Nash couldn’t imagine a more perfect weekend. They watched movies—among other things—until dawn. Slept late, then had a lazy, and sloppy, breakfast in bed.

He couldn’t imagine a more perfect woman. Not only was she beautiful, smart and sexy, but she also appreciated the subtleties of a movie like
The Crawling Eye
.

He didn’t even mind the fact that she’d put him to work Sunday afternoon. Puttering around the yard, mowing, weeding, planting, took on a whole new meaning when he could look over and see her kneeling in the grass wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of his jeans hitched up at the waist with twine.

It made him wonder what it would be like, what it could be like, if she were always there. Within reach.

Nash lost track of the weeding he’d been assigned, and nuzzling the dog, who had trotted over to butt his head against his chest, he just watched Morgana.

She was humming. He didn’t recognize the tune, but it sounded exotic. Some witch’s song, he supposed.
Handed down through time. She was magic. Even without the talents she’d inherited, she would be magic.

She’d tucked her hair up under his battered Dodgers cap. There wasn’t a touch of makeup on her face. His jeans bagged around her hips. Still, she looked erotic. Black lace or faded denim, her sensuality radiated like sunlight.

More, there was a purity to her face, a confidence, an awareness of self, that he found utterly irresistible.

He could imagine her kneeling there, in that very spot, a year from now. Ten years. And still setting off that
stirring in his blood.

My God. His hand slid bonelessly from the dog’s head. He was in love with her. Really in love. Totally caught in the big, scary L word.

And what the hell was he going to do about it?

In control? he thought, dazed. Able to back off anytime? What a crock.

He rose on unsteady legs. The clutching in his stomach was plain fear. And it was for both of them. She glanced over, tipping the cap down so that the brim shaded her eyes.

“Something wrong?”

“No. No, I . . . I was going to go in and get us something cold.”

He all but ran into the house, leaving Morgana staring after him.

Coward. Wimp. Idiot. All the way into the kitchen, he cursed himself. After filling a glass with water, he gulped it down. Maybe it was a touch of sun. A lack of sleep. An overactive libido.

Slowly he set the glass aside. Like hell. It was love.

Step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Step right up and see an average man transformed into a puddle of nerves and terror by the love of a good woman.

He bent over the sink and splashed water on his face. He didn’t know how it had happened, but he was going to have to deal with it. As far as he could see, there was no place to run. He was a grown man, Nash reminded himself. So he would do the adult thing and face it.

Maybe he should just tell her. Straight out.

Morgana, I’m crazy about you.

Blowing out a breath, he dashed more water onto his face. Too weak. Too ambivalent.

Morgana, I’ve come to realize that what I feel for you is more than attraction. Even more than affection.

This time his breath hissed out. Too wordy. Too damn stupid.

Morgana, I love you.

Simple. To the point. And scary as hell.

He majored in scary, he reminded himself. He ought to be able to pull this off. Straightening his shoulders, bracing his system, he started out of the kitchen.

The wall phone shrilled and nearly had him jumping out of his shoes.

“Easy, boy,” he muttered.

“Nash?” Morgana stood in the kitchen doorway, eyes full of curiosity and concern. “Are you all right?”

“Me? Yeah, yeah, I’m great.” He dragged a nervous hand through his hair. “How about you?”

“Fine,” she said slowly. “Are you going to answer the phone?”

“The phone?” While his mind scattered in a thousand directions, he glanced at the ringing phone. “Sure.”

“Good. I’ll fix us that cold drink while you do.” Still frowning at him, she walked to the refrigerator.

Nash didn’t notice that his palms were wet until he picked up the receiver. Forcing a grin, he wiped his free hand on his jeans.

“Hello.” The excuse for a smile faded instantly. Stunned, Morgana paused with one hand on a soft-drink bottle and the other on the refrigerator door.

She’d never seen him look like this. Cold. His eyes had frosted over. Ice over velvet. Even as he leaned back against the counter, there was tension in every line of his body.

Morgana felt a shudder rush down her spine. She’d known he could be dangerous, and the man she was staring at now had stripped off all the easygoing charm and good-natured humor. Like one of the characters Nash might have conjured out of his imagination, this man was capable of quick and bloodless violence.

Whoever was on the other end of the telephone should have been grateful for the distance between them.

“Leeanne.” He said the name in a flat, gelid tone. The voice rattling brightly in his ear set his teeth on edge. Old memories, old wounds, swam to the surface. He let her ramble for a moment, until he was sure he had himself under control. “Just cut to the chase, Leeanne. How much?”

He listened to the wheedling, the whining, the recriminations. His responsibilities, he was reminded. His obligations. His family.

“No, I don’t give a damn. It’s not my fault you got hung up with another loser.” His lips curved in a
humorless smile. “Yeah, right. Bad luck. How much?” he repeated, barely lifting a brow at the requested amount. Resigned, he pulled open a drawer and rummaged until he found a tattered scrap of paper and the stub of an old pencil. “Where do I send it?” He scribbled. “Yes, I’ve got it. Tomorrow.” He tossed the paper onto the counter. “I said I would, didn’t I? Just drop it. I’ve got things to do. Sure. You bet.”

He hung up and started to let loose with a stream of oaths. Then he focused on Morgana. He’d forgotten she was there. When she started to speak, he shook his head.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said abruptly, and slammed out of the screen door.

Carefully Morgana set the bottle she still held on the counter. Whoever had called had done more than anger him, she realized. She had seen more than anger in his eyes. She had seen grief, too. One had been as vicious as the other.

Because of it, she blocked her first inclination, to go after him. She would give him a few minutes alone first.

His long strides ate up the ground quickly. He stalked over the grass that had given him so much pleasure when he had mowed it only an hour before, passed without noticing the flowers that were already lapping up the sun now that they were free of choking weeds. Automatically he headed for the tumble of rocks at the edge of his property that separated his land from the bay.

This was another reason he’d been drawn to this place. The combination of wildness and serenity.

It suited him, he supposed as he dug his hands deep in his pockets. On the surface he was a relaxed, contented man. Those qualities usually extended deeper. But often, maybe too often, there was a recklessness
swarming inside him.

Now he dropped down on a rock and stared out over the water. He would watch the gulls, the waves, the boats. And he would wait until he felt that contentment again.

He drew a deep breath, cleansing.
Thank God
was all he could think. Thank God he hadn’t spoken of his feelings to Morgana. All it had taken was one phone call from the past to remind him that there was no place for love in his life.

He would have told her, he realized. He would have gone with the impulse of the moment, and told her he loved her. Maybe—probably—he would have started to make plans.

Then he would have messed it up. No doubt he would have messed it up. Sabotaging relationships was in his blood.

His hands curled and uncurled as he struggled to level again. Leeanne, he thought with a short, bitter bark of laughter. Well, he would send her the money, and she would fade out of his life. Again. Until the money ran out.