Summer Magic (14 page)

Going on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his, his lips parting and permitting her tongue to dance with his. Logan was forced to move when his hands circled her
waist, and he lifted her until her head was even with his. Caryn curved her arms around his strong neck, deepening the kiss until she felt their hearts beating in unison.

Their passions rose quickly, and neither remembered when they sank to the floor of the stall and loved the other until time stood still. Simultaneously, their passions exploded, their world tilting on its axis and leaving them gasping in the sweetest ecstasy they had ever known.

Caryn studied her face in the mirror over the vanity, using her fingertips to comb her gel-slicked hair off her forehead and over her ears.

She and Logan had spent most of the morning in bed, sleeping, awakening to lengthening afternoon shadows. They showered again—this time separately after agreeing to dine out.

She smoothed the body-revealing dress down over her flat belly and turned slightly to survey her hips. The black jersey tank dress clung to every curve, ending four inches above her knees. Reaching down, she slipped her bare feet into a pair of three-inch black patent leather sling-strap sandals. Glancing up at the mirror, she saw Logan walk into her bedroom, and there was no mistaking his reaction to her attire. She straightened and turned slowly, meeting his startled gaze.

“I’m ready,” she said softly.

Logan opened his mouth several times before he was able to speak. “You look exquisite.”

And he hadn’t lied. Caryn had brushed most of the curl out of her hair and smoothed it off her face. The style would have looked less than feminine on another woman, but the delicateness of her face shattered that image. The vermilion color on her lips competed with the brilliant color of her gold-green eyes.

Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from her face and leisurely surveyed her body. The tiny black dress hugged her curves like second skin, offering him a glimpse of
tanned womanly breasts rising above the low-cut décolletage. The straps were so narrow, he marveled how they held the garment up. Strong, shapely, smooth legs and well-groomed feet complemented her breathtaking appearance.

How could he escort her into Addie’s, where he was certain more than half the men on Marble Island would be lusting after her? Foreign emotions surfaced, he recognized them instantly as jealousy and possessiveness. He didn’t want another man to look at her, let alone touch her. How was he going to make it through the summer without going crazy?

Caryn’s smile was dazzling. “Thank you.”

Her luminous gaze swept over his tall frame. He had elected to wear a flattering shade of pale wheat which blended attractively with his rich, dark coloring. A tailored, finely woven, linen, banded-collar shirt and slacks were complemented by a brown and beige, paisley, silk vest and a pair of brown, woven, leather slip-ons.

Picking up a tiny, black, crocheted purse, she walked over to him. “Let’s hope I can remain a lady tonight.”

He shifted a questioning eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t you?”

“The word is, the single women on Marble Island are after you, and I’d hate for them to disrespect me to my face.”

Logan went completely still. Could he hope she was also experiencing bouts of jealousy? That her feelings for him ran deeper than just
friendship
and physical gratification?

“That shouldn’t happen because everyone believes we’re married.”

“Since when does being married stop anyone from going after what they truly want?”

Taking her fingers, he squeezed them gently. “You’re right about that, even though I’d never go after another man’s wife.”

And she would never go after another woman’s husband.

The sun was beginning to set, its descent lingering over
the ocean and taking with it a sweltering humidity as Logan led Caryn to his automobile. A knowing smile curved his mouth when he lifted her onto the passenger seat. It would’ve been impossible for her to make it up into the Jeep with her slim dress and heels without his assistance.

Ten minutes later, he parked behind the rows of stores along Main Street and repeated helping Caryn to her feet. Hand-in-hand they made their way to Addie’s, sharing a smile. The two women from New York City stood on line in front of them.

They exchanged pleasantries with Mandisa and Shevonne until they were called for their table. Caryn noticed neither had even deigned her with a cursory glance because they’d stared openly and brazenly at Logan. A surge of pride filled her as she moved closer to him and looped her arm through his. The gesture caused him to move closer while at the same time pressing his lips to her scented hair. Again they shared a secret smile.

They were shown a table for two in a corner, and they spent their dinner talking quietly while staring into each other’s eyes. All who noticed them recognized what was that they refused to see—they were in love.

Logan pulled Caryn against him as a live band segued into a slower dance number. After they left Addie’s, he’d driven up the coast to a little town populated by vacationers where the median age was under forty. The town’s reputation was buoyed by the number of restaurants and dance clubs offering excellent food and a never-ending source of entertainment.

Caryn felt the slow, steady pumping of his heart against her breasts and closed her eyes. The heat of his body stirred the haunting fragrance of his cologne that was so well suited to his personality. It was subtle and hypnotic.

Tightening her grip on his neck, she moved closer, and without saying a word her body communicated her silent confession:
I love you, Logan Prescott
.

She’d stopped asking herself how she could’ve fallen in love so quickly. And why had she selected him as her object of desire. All she knew was whenever he entered her body, he erased the lingering pain and eradicated the lingering scars.

She’d told herself and continued to tell herself that she was mature enough to walk away from Logan once their summer dalliance ended. She would thank him for the experience, then pick up the pieces of her life to plan for the next phase.

Then she did what she hadn’t done in a long time—she prayed. She prayed she would be able to leave him without blurting out she loved him and would love him forever.

Chapter Fourteen

Caryn liked Cynthia Wheaton on sight. She was her husband’s physical counterpart: tall, slender, tanned, and claimed the same sun-streaked natural blond hair. They looked more like brother and sister than husband and wife with the exception of eye color. Hamilton’s were a dark blue, while Cynthia’s were a luminous sea green.

Caryn watched a slow, sensual smile cross Logan’s face as he stood on the porch, muscular arms crossed over his chest, watching his college friends alight from their car. Cynthia lingered beside the car, hands folded on her hips over an oversized T-shirt. Twin dimples kissed her tanned cheeks as she watched Logan make his way down the porch, her gaze widening appreciably with his approach.

She extended her arms, and Logan did not disappoint her when he folded her to his chest. “How are you, Raven?”

“Wonderful, Tia.”

Pulling back, Cynthia surveyed his startling white golf
shirt and matching walking shorts. “So I see,” she said slowly. “Tell me, Raven, how did you improve on perfection?”

Logan hugged her again, kissing her cheek. “Ham, your wife is flirting with me.”

Hamilton removed two large canvas bags from the trunk of a spacious late-model Mercedes-Benz sedan. “I’d always suspected she was a shameless wench,” he said, laughing.

Logan released Cynthia and took one of the bags from Hamilton. “Come on in out of the heat.” He led the way up to the porch, smiling at Caryn. His free hand caught her fingers, squeezing gently and pulling her along with him.

Caryn held the screen door open for Cynthia and Hamilton, while Logan took their bags to the master bedroom. They had decided beforehand to give the Wheatons the Crawfords’ bedroom because of the adjoining private bathroom and easy accessibility to the first level.

Cynthia smiled her dimpled smile, extending her right hand to Caryn. “Cynthia Wheaton. But everyone calls me Tia.”

She shook the proffered hand. “Hello. I’m Caryn Edwards.”

Glancing around, Cynthia shook her head. “This place is beautiful. It’s more than three times the size of the bungalow we’re renting on Gooseneck. Ham and I really would like to thank you and Logan for inviting us to hang out with you.”

She wanted to tell Cynthia it was Logan and not she who had invited them. “Logan and I love this place. Come, let me show you around.”

Cynthia nodded her approval as she entered and exited rooms the Shelton twins had cleaned earlier that morning. All of the floors and pieces of furniture gleamed, and the fragrance of potpourri and fresh-cut flowers wafted in the living and dining rooms and in the master bedroom. The delicate beauty of vase-filled wisteria, sweet peas, and a profusion of snow-white and pale pink peonies presented
a visual feast. And utilizing the special details she had learned from her designer mother, Caryn had added the touches that had made the spaces at their bed and breakfast retreats appear ethereal.

Logan had displayed an inordinate amount of patience when she sent him back to the Winn-Dixie, not once but twice, for several varieties of loose tea. Having the Wheatons as guests would provide the perfect opportunity to serve them afternoon tea.

She and Cynthia retreated to the porch where Logan and Ham sat opposite each other on matching love seat rockers, talking. The overhead fan turned slowly, further cooling the shaded space. Caryn sat down beside Logan, while Cynthia eased her lanky frame down next to her husband.

Dropping an arm over Caryn’s shoulders, Logan smiled at her enchanting profile. “I was just telling Ham that we’re going to eat on the beach.

“I like the sound of that,” Cynthia stated with a dimpled smile.

“We’ve planned for a presunset beach picnic,” Caryn offered as an explanation. The moment she said
we
, she realized she thought of herself and Logan as a couple. Tilting her chin, she stared at him staring back at her.

“What’s on the menu?” Hamilton questioned.

Logan continued to stare at Caryn, capturing her gaze and making her his willing prisoner. “Steamed lobster with a tarragon cream sauce,” he began.

“Marinated asparagus with an egg salad,” she continued. “Prosciutto and melon, a tricolor salad with avocado, tomato, and mozzarella cheese—”

“Enough!” Hamilton interrupted, shaking his head.

“And don’t forget the grilled clams and mussels,” Logan added.

“I see you haven’t changed, have you?” Hamilton questioned. “Everyone used to camp out in Raven’s tiny apartment on the weekends because we knew he was always experimenting with a new dish.

“And there were about a half-dozen of you deadbeats who were very willing guinea pigs,” Logan countered.

Hamilton laughed and nodded his head. “Even if you botched a dish, it was still better than the swill served on campus.”

Caryn exchanged a smile with Hamilton. “And I suppose you guys found time to party your brains out.”

Logan shook his head. “I didn’t. Not with architecture as a major. Unlike some others I know who decided to major in the dramatic arts.”

“Bite your tongue, Raven. We were
serious
drama students,” Cynthia said in defense of herself and her husband.”

“Are you actors?” Caryn questioned, staring at the attractive blond couple.

Hamilton shook his head. “We haven’t acted in years. I’m directing now while Tia’s become a script writer. We’re part of an independent theater group in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.”

The direction of conversation changed from the Wheatons artistic endeavors to Caryn’s teaching experiences, then finally to Logan. He gave his friends an update on what he’d been involved in since they last met, while Caryn excused herself. She went into the house to bring out some liquid refreshment, and she was surprised when Cynthia followed, offering to help.

Cynthia rested a hip against a countertop in the kitchen, staring at Caryn. “I hope you won’t think me forward, but I couldn’t help noticing how Raven looks at you. When we were in college, Ham and I saw him practically all of the time, and not once did I ever see him look at a woman the way he does at you.”

Opening the refrigerator, she took out a chilled pitcher of rose tea. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen him. Perhaps he’s changed.”

“It’s been more than twelve years since we’ve all been together, and in that time anyone can change. But I’ve seen Raven with enough women to know that you’re special.”

Caryn felt a rush of heat suffuse her face. “Special how?”

“Firstly, you look nothing like the girls he used to date, and secondly he appears so much more relaxed. Everyone used to tease him, saying he emitted an energy that put anyone who came within five feet of him on edge. He’d walk into a room and you’d know it without even seeing him.”

She knew what Cynthia meant. She had felt it the first time she encountered him when he walked into the house calling out her name, and she felt it each time he came to her to make love. Without uttering a word, he’d silently communicated to her what he’d wanted.

“Maybe it’s because he’s older, more mature,” Caryn argued.

“And he’s in love with you despite the fact he told Ham the two of you were masquerading as a married couple for the summer,” Cynthia retorted.

Caryn felt a rush of uneasiness. It hadn’t bothered her that the people on Marble Island thought they were married because it served to thwart the advances of eligible men and women; however, she did not want anyone else to know of their ongoing subterfuge.

“He couldn’t love me. He doesn’t even know me.”

“He loves you, Caryn,” Cynthia insisted. “And I suspect you also love him.”

“You’re wrong,” she countered firmly. Logan could not love her, nor would she permit herself to openly admit she loved him.

She filled a large bamboo tray with an assortment of delicately prepared salmon pinwheels, parmesan beignets, and an assortment of cherry tartlets, cherry-nut shortbread cookies, and almond macaroons. She handed Cynthia the tray, who merely raised a pale eyebrow and walked out of the kitchen.

Cynthia’s accusation replayed in her head:
And I suspect you also love him
. Was she that transparent? If a woman she’d been introduced to half an hour ago saw what she’d tried to conceal, she wondered if Logan also saw it. She hoped not.

She followed Cynthia to the porch, carrying the pitcher of tea and tall iced tea glasses.

The two couples lay on a blanket, staring up at the navy-blue, star-littered sky. The lingering smells of grilled seafood wafted in the air along with the ever present scent of the ocean. The daytime temperatures had cooled with the setting sun, and Caryn snuggled against Logan, feeding on his body’s heat.

“Are you certain I can’t get you a sweater, sweetheart?”

“No, thanks,” she mumbled against his chest. “Besides, I doubt whether I’ll be able to move to put it on. I can’t remember ever eating so much.”

“Tell me about it,” Hamilton concurred, rolling over on his belly and closing his eyes.

“What do you think did us in?” came Cynthia’s slurring voice.

“It had to be Logan’s lobsters,” Caryn declared.

“Yeah, the lobsters,” the Wheatons said in unison.

Logan’s lobsters, which he called
La Fricassée d’Homard à la Crème d’Estragon
—Fricassee of Lobster with Tarragon Cream Sauce, had been the highlight of the varied menu. Each lobster, weighing an average of four and a half pounds, was served with a rich crème fraîche flavored with sautéed shallots, fresh tarragon, unsalted butter, and freshly ground pepper.

The lobsters had followed their consuming a countless number of steamed clams and mussels, the marinated asparagus spears, a mixed green salad, and several glasses of a cranberry-pineapple vodka punch Hamilton had concocted as his contribution. Painful groans ensued once Cynthia presented her homemade strawberry shortcake, and she promptly returned it to the refrigerator.

The dozen flickering candles in small metal pails lit up the darkened beach, their wavering lights resembling fireflies in the encroaching blackness. The night was still,
silent, except for the sounds of gurgling water washing up on the beach with the incoming tide.

Hamilton rolled over again, resting his head on folded arms. “I think I drank too much.”

“I told you not to have that last one,” Cynthia admonished her husband in a soft voice.

“I was celebrating.”

Logan shifted to a more comfortable position. “What are you celebrating, Ham?”

“Fatherhood.”

Logan sat up, bringing Caryn with him. “You guys are expecting a baby?”

Cynthia smiled, nodding. “We’ve decided to sample parenthood. It’s about time anyway. We’ve been married for almost thirteen years, and my biological clock was beginning to gong like Big Ben.”

Logan reached over and clapped a hand on Hamilton’s shoulder, then kissed Cynthia tenderly on her mouth, offering his congratulations while Caryn mumbled her own good wishes.

She’d wondered why Cynthia hadn’t drunk any of the punch, and now she knew. She refused to think of the baby she’d lost, which if it had survived would probably now be a very rambunctious toddler.

She did not want to think of what could’ve been or what was. She had to remind herself not to dwell on her past. It was only the future that was of any importance.

Caryn realized Hamilton wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the punch as she made an attempt to stand up. Logan caught her as she swayed heavily against his side.

“Do you think you can make it?” he questioned softly.

Squinting up at his shadowed features, she shook her head. “I don’t know. Ham should’ve put a warning label on that punch.”

Logan chuckled. “Ham was a bartender in another life, and he made drinks which tasted like Kool-Aid when you drank them, but left you feeling like road kill the following day. I should’ve warned you about his lethal cocktails.”

Holding on to the front of Logan’s shirt, she rested her head on his chest. “A fine friend you turned out to be. You’re supposed to be looking out for me.”