Courting Carolina (38 page)

Authors: Janet Chapman

BOOK: Courting Carolina

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“Because while on a mission for my government, I killed a fourteen-year-old boy. He’d just killed my partner—a woman who also happened to be my lover—and was just turning the gun on me when I broke his neck.”

Jane’s skin tightened at the utter lack of emotion in his voice and guarded way he was holding himself. Sweet Zeus, did Alec think he was a murderer? Or that
she
would think he was? “Alec,” she said, only to have to clear her throat when she realized he believed they shouldn’t marry because he might not be able to give her babies. “That was self-defense.” She snorted, determined to make this into nothing. “Do you think the six men Daddy brought to Nova Mare hadn’t killed anyone?” She touched his arm. “Did my father know that you’d had a vasectomy when he gave you his invitation?”

“Aye,” he said, still staring out at the cove. “And he knew about the boy, and he also said it was self-defense.” He looked at her. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the boy was just a kid.”

“Who’d just murdered a woman and was trying to murder you, and who would have gone on to murder others. Alec,” she said softly, “you can’t judge yourself for something you did in the line of duty any more than I wouldn’t have judged myself for marrying a man I didn’t love to fulfill my duty. And I don’t care if you can’t give me babies. I
love
you.” She smiled. “And anyway, if we decide we want children but can’t have our own, we’ll just adopt them. However many you want.”

She saw his jaw slacken. “You’re willing to adopt?”

“Of course. Nicholas was adopted, and look how wonderful he turned out.”

Alec shook his head. “He told me his mother is your family’s healer and that his father is your royal gardener.”

She laughed. “That’s because he was only about a week old when he was found on the beach, and Maude immediately
took him in. Everyone thought it ironic that the island’s midwife was childless, but apparently the moment Maude set eyes on Nicholas, she claimed him as her son.”

“So brotherly Nick isn’t an Atlantean? Then what is he?”

Jane shrugged. “Nobody knows. From what I’ve been told, everyone figured he’d been in a shipwreck when Leviathan found him and brought him to Atlantis.”

Jane saw Alec take another deep breath and look down at the letter he was still holding. “I’m still just a ski bum.”

“Then how come a ski bum owns a tuxedo, dances better than any man I’ve ever danced with, and appears to be as comfortable in a ballroom as in the wilderness?”

He tossed the letter onto the sand and wrapped his arms around his knees to stare out at the cove. “Have you ever heard of James Bond?”

Jane slipped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder. “I have a couple of the older movies on my iPad, when Sean Connery played James Bond.” She nudged him with her elbow, determined to lighten the mood. “Mostly because I love his Scottish accent. But what’s that got to do with your owning a tuxedo?”

“For eight years, I was an American James Bond for my government. No one in my family knows; not my parents or brothers or sister, or even Duncan. Everyone thinks I was in the marines and served three tours of duty overseas, but…” He lifted his arm to wrap it around her, and then held her head against his chest as he took another deep breath. “I was known as the Celt, and it was my job to get in, get out with whatever information or person I was sent after, and not get caught or implicate my country. And sometimes that meant skulking around in dark alleys, and sometimes it meant attending formal functions at embassies and palaces.”

“You mean like a spy?” She lifted her head in surprise. “You were a real-life James Bond?”

“I was an idiot,” he said, pulling her back against his chest. “I was barely twenty-one when I signed up and twenty-nine when I finally
wised
up.” He ducked his head to look at
her. “It’s not nearly as romantic as the movies, Jane, and it doesn’t always turn out well in the end.”

Jane straightened away in surprise as everything finally made sense. “Sam knows who you were. That’s why he told me to go to you if I got in trouble.”

Alec hesitated, then merely nodded.

“And you said Daddy knows, too.”

He nodded again. “I think that’s why he decided to let me court you, figuring I could probably do a better job of keeping you safe in this century, which he knew is where you want to stay.”

She leaned against him again with a sigh. “Why couldn’t he just tell me about that stupid pact he made with the gods? He created
more
problems by keeping it a secret.” She snorted. “Which shows how little faith he has in me.”

“Even though it involved you, keeping it a secret really didn’t have anything to do with you, Jane,” Alec said, twisting to push her down onto the feather mattress. He settled beside her, propping his head on one hand and cupping her hip with the other. “Your father thought he was protecting your mother from worrying herself sick. Did you know that he nearly lost her when you were born?”

“I know. But having a difficult birth doesn’t make a woman weak; it just happens sometimes.” She laughed. “Mama’s the least weak-minded woman I know.”

“But your father is a man,” he said, giving her hip a squeeze, “and an ancient one at that. And being one myself, I know for a fact that our first instinct is to protect the women we love, which is why
we
become weak-minded at the thought of losing them.”

Jane twined her arms around his neck and pulled him down until their noses were touching. “Promise that you won’t ever keep secrets from me.”

“Only if you remember that’s a promise that runs both ways, Ms.
Smith
.”

“Then I promise, if you promise I’ll always be
Jane
to you.”

“Aye, if you promise never to use your magic on me.”

She snorted. “I’m fairly certain we’ve established you’re immune to the magic. But,” she said in her best sultry voice as she slid a hand down between them and wrapped her fingers intimately around him, “I’ll promise to try not to, if you promise to always use
your
magic on me.”

“Not a problem, lass,” he said thickly, moving over her and slowly easing himself inside—without a condom this time, she noticed. He captured her moan of delight in his mouth, and Jane once again found herself in that wondrous place where time stopped and the world receded until only their passion for each other existed.

And her last coherent thought before Jane surrendered to the pleasure was that she’d give him a week to get used to loving her before she proposed again—in person instead of a letter, and definitely with both of them naked at the same time.

LETTER FROM LAKEWATCH

Autumn 2012

Dear Readers,

I would imagine that from reading my books, you’ve figured out by now that magic is my vehicle of choice for bringing you along on my journey into the realm of possibilities. I often compare telling a story to packing an SUV with my hero and heroine in the front seats, the back seats filled with a large cast of characters as they all head off on a road trip through a particular segment of their intersected lives. What’s going on outside the vehicle—the weather, terrain, other travelers they might encounter—certainly has an impact, but the real story is what’s happening
inside
that truck.

Ever find yourself trapped in a vehicle with someone you didn’t particularly like? Someone who scared
you?
Someone you hadn’t realized didn’t like you? How about being trapped with someone you thought you absolutely adored only to discover they weren’t exactly what they seemed? Yes, there’s nothing like a nice long road trip to slowly melt away the masks we hide behind. (Trust me; Robbie and I spent five weeks trapped in an SUV and small camper with two teenagers headed from Maine to Alaska. We made it as far as the Canadian Rockies and turned around; my dear sweet husband saying Alaska would still be there when the boys finally moved out.)

I digress, but it was a very…memorable five weeks.

So back to my books and the role magic plays in my stories. I’ll admit I have a tendency to get a bit outrageous—say, like when I rearranged the beautiful state of Maine to create an inland sea—but there is a method to my madness. You see, I want to make you stretch really far to suspend your disbelief, so you’ll consider the everyday magic you encounter in your own lives to be real. Sound convoluted? That’s the plan!

The magic is real, people; as real as the sunrise, the ebb and flow of the tides, the haunted call of a loon, that unseen fish tugging on the end of a line, the birth of a baby, the death of a loved one. The problem, in my opinion, is that these things seem so everyday ordinary that we forget how extraordinary they really are.

What guarantee do we have that the sun’s going to rise tomorrow? We assume it is, because it’s risen every day for the last…what, four and a half billion years? But what if it decided not to make an appearance tomorrow morning? What if the oceans stood still? What if every loon on the planet suddenly lost its voice? What if babies stopped being born? What if we stopped dying?

What if we woke up tomorrow morning and simply decided not to get out of bed?

That’s what my stories are about: getting out of bed every morning—even on days we don’t want to—and seeing the magic around us instead of…well, I’m not sure what the opposite of magic is. Maybe hopelessness? Despair? Indifference?

As the god behind the machine of my stories, I refuse to let my heroes and heroines give up. If they find themselves stuck in a vehicle with someone they don’t particularly like, they’re going to have to deal with it. Nobody’s going to swoop in and rescue them by pulling that bogeyman out of the truck, or come along and change that flat tire in the pouring rain, turn all the traffic lights green, straighten out all the curves in the road, or roll back gas prices to a dollar a gallon.

(Well, okay; Maximilian Oceanus could, but he’s not
really
real. I just made him up to make my point.)

And since I’m writing romance, I like for my hero and heroine to realize that if they would just team up, they could conquer the world. Or at least control—maybe even vanquish—most of those demons sitting in the seats behind them. (Didn’t I have one of my characters—a hero, I think—in one of my stories say his mom or gram told him that a problem or burden shared was cut in half?)

And the “love conquers all” equation doesn’t always have to involve the hero and heroine, either, as we learned in
Charmed by His Love;
Duncan MacKeage’s love for young Jacob Thompson certainly had the power to vanquish that little boy’s demons.

We’re
all
in the vehicle, people; every one of us is on the same amazing journey and we’re on it together. Our hopes and dreams and struggles and disappointments are shared by the people in our homes, living next door and down the street, and on the other side of the planet. And like my heroes and heroines, if we would just realize that by teaming up we could conquer the world…well, wouldn’t it be a truly wonderful world to wake up to tomorrow? So share the love—in your home, down the street, and across the world—then see if a good number of those demons don’t suddenly disappear and your burdens get cut in half. I promise it’s a gift that will keep on giving, and you’ll discover that smiles really are contagious.

Until later from LakeWatch, you keep reading about life and love and happily ever after, and I’ll keep writing it.

Janet

P.S. My dad passed away last fall, but before you start worrying that I’m sad, please understand that I’m really quite happy for him. He was nearly ninety-four and actually quite eager to head off on another fantastical adventure. The only reason I’m even telling you is because at his funeral, Dad’s sister said she had discovered just last year—at the age of ninety-eight!—that she can write poetry. Of course I asked her to send me some of her poems, then asked for her permission to share them with you—to which she kindly agreed. So if magic is not real, then explain a ninety-eight-year-old suddenly waking up one morning a poet!

POEMS BY ETHEL F. TAYLOR