Summer Magic (5 page)

“Thank you for the muffins, Elaine,” Caryn called out.

“You’re most welcome. Hope to see you soon.”

Logan took several long strides and opened the door for Elaine. “We’ll see you on the Fourth,” he promised.

She patted his forearm. “Caryn’s such a pretty girl,” she whispered, winking at him. “Once the men on the island get a glimpse of her, there’s going to be a lot of tucked-in bellies.”

He managed a tight smile. That was what he was afraid of. Once the single men on Marble Island discovered that Caryn was available, then the privacy he coveted would dissipate like a puff of smoke. And he intended to protect his privacy—at all costs.

Caryn joined Logan as he stood on the porch, watching as Elaine Shelton drove away. For the second time in two days, she found it difficult to control her temper.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said slowly between clenched teeth.

Turning his head, he stared down at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Why does everyone on Marble Island think that we’re married?”

Confusion crossed Logan’s features before rage twisted his mobile mouth and, if possible, darkened his midnight eyes.

“Married!” The single word exploded from his mouth.

“Yes, married, Logan.”

“Where did you get that preposterous idea?”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Caryn shot back, her own temper rising to the explosive point. “Mrs. Shelton and her grandchildren called me Mrs. Logan. The last time I checked I was Miss Edwards, not Mrs. Logan.”

“Even if they do call you Mrs. Logan, it still wouldn’t make you my wife.” What he didn’t want to do was reveal his last name. If anyone connected him to Nina, then his quest for anonymity would vanish abruptly. And knowing Nina as well as he did, he was certain she would follow
him to Marble Island for what was certain to become a knock-down, drag-out confrontation.

“Don’t play word games with me, Logan,” Caryn warned hotly.

“It doesn’t matter what they call you, Caryn, because the fact remains that we are not married and I would
never
marry you.” What he didn’t say was that he would never marry any woman.

She went completely still, her gaze widening. “That suits me just fine. One husband in one lifetime is more than enough for me.” She averted her head but not before he saw the pain in her eyes.

Turning, she walked back into the house leaving Logan staring at the space were she’d been. A chill swept over his body as he bit down hard on his lower lip. He hadn’t known; there was no way he could’ve known that she had been married. He didn’t know why, but it bothered him. He had been called a lot of things in his life but not cruel, and what he’d said to her was cruel.

He would not marry her, but he could be her friend.

Logan found Caryn in the kitchen sitting at the cooktop counter, sipping lukewarm coffee from a decorative mug. He placed the basket filled with the blueberry muffins on the counter before approaching her.

He swallowed several times, hoping to relieve the dryness in his throat. Seeing her there, her expression impassive, the pain in her gold-green eyes, made him want to comfort her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until her anguish subsided. But he didn’t; he couldn’t. To offer her comfort would make him too vulnerable, and he didn’t want to become vulnerable—not with Caryn Edwards.

He’d been raised to cherish and protect women, not insult them; and that is what he had done to Caryn. His caustic statement had gone deep, cutting through her defenses.

“I’m sorry,” he said, apologizing. His voice was low and
controlled. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out. He saw her back stiffen as her fingers tightened around the smooth surface of the coffee mug.

“You said it because you meant it,” she retorted, staring into the depths of the coffee. “And I said what I said because I meant every word. I don’t want nor do I need a husband.”

Her gaze lifted, meeting his dark eyes. This time there was no pain, only determination. Caryn was determined not to fall under the spell Logan emanated without his being aware of it.

He shrugged a broad shoulder. “You don’t need a husband and I don’t want a wife.” There was just a hint of a smile at the corners of his attractive masculine mouth. “At last we seem to agree on something.”

She returned his smile, her luminous eyes enchanting and appealing. “You’re right about that.”

Exhaling audibly, he extended his right hand. “Friends?”

Caryn stared at his long, beautifully tapered fingers for several heartbeats before slipping her smaller delicate hand into his. Both of them jumped at the contact of her flesh touching his, but recovered quickly.

“Friends,” she returned, flashing a warm, sensuous smile.

Logan reluctantly withdrew his hand, still savoring the warm velvet texture of Caryn’s touch. “Well, friend, how about we sample Elaine Shelton’s blueberry muffins?”

Their recent acerbity forgotten, she took down two small bowls and plates, handing them to Logan. “Where would you prefer to eat, in the kitchen or out on the porch?”

“Outside,” he replied quickly.

She directed him to cover the round wicker table with a colorful cotton tablecloth while she brewed another carafe of flavorful Irish Creme coffee.

Fifteen minutes later they sat on the porch, watching the early morning surf sweep over the pale, sun-bleached sand, while sipping coffee, eating the fresh fruit medley
and the moist, berry-filled muffins which appeared to melt on the tongue.

Caryn peered into the basket which had contained a dozen muffins. They had eaten half. She had eaten two and Logan had quickly devoured four. Draining the remains of the coffee in her mug, she smiled at him over the rim. He returned her smile, the tiny lines around his piercing dark eyes deepening.

“Never have I appreciated a more enjoyable breakfast, setting, or breakfast partner,” he said in a quiet tone.

And Logan hadn’t lied. It was only now, after having spent a day in Caryn Edwards’s presence, he realized that she was the most exotically sensual woman he had ever seen. The sight of her with her black curly hair flowing down her back and the brilliance of her jeweled eyes touched a chord within him that reached a depth he wasn’t aware existed. Her delicate beauty was so understated that he had to take a second look before he realized what he was looking at was real and not something he had imagined. She claimed a dark, sultry beauty that reminded him of slow-burning coal with its deceptive lingering white ash. It appeared cold until one touched its core.

Caryn could not stop the flare of heat in her cheeks; however, her gaze was steady as she held Logan’s. “I thank you and return the compliment, Mr. Logan.”

Shaking his head and wagging a finger, Logan lowered his eyebrows and glared at her. “None of that Mr. Logan business, Caryn. Remember, we’re friends.”

She rose to her feet, smiling. “If that is the case,
friend
, then I’m going to leave you to clear the table while I go for a walk.”

He stood up, towering above her and resisting the urge to reach out and thread his fingers through the mane of hair lifting softly around her finely boned face in the warm morning wind.

“Would you like company?”

“Not this morning, thank you.” Raising her chin, Caryn
stared up at him. She registered his stern-faced expression. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

Logan’s expression did not change. “Tomorrow it is.”

He stood on the porch and watched Caryn as she made her way down to the beach and begin her leisurely stroll as the waves washed over her bare feet, rinsing them clean of particles of sand before the soft oozing grains settled between her toes once again.

He watched until she became a small speck against the brilliant expanse between the sea and sky before he reclaimed his chair. He sat, staring at the spot where Caryn disappeared beyond his line of vision, seeing and not seeing.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled the salt-filled sea air, felt the breath of moisture on his face and smiled. For the first time since he had made the decision to spend time on Marble Island, Logan Prescott felt the fragile fingers of healing feather throughout his being.

He had made the right decision to leave Raleigh; he had made the right decision to accept Michael’s offer to stay at his sister and brother-in-law’s summer home to escape the gossip, and he was pleased that he would share the house with Caryn for the month he intended to spend on Marble Island.

Caryn Edwards was who he needed to help him keep his perspective with regard to the opposite sex. Nina Smith was not representative of the entire female species, but of those who could not nor would not become or remain faithful wives.

Opening his eyes, he wondered about Caryn. She claimed to have been married, and he wondered what it was that ended the union where she decided that she did not want or need to marry again.

Who was he, this faceless man, who had put the undeniable pain in her eyes, and what had he done to her to turn her off on men?

*    *    *

Caryn returned from her walk along the beach completely relaxed. The leisurely stroll permitted her to feel stress-free for the first time in a very long time. The sound of the surf was hypnotic, lulling her with its rhythmic rising and falling. She had enjoyed the caress of the warm sun on her bare legs and feet and the salty droplets of water dotting her exposed flesh.

She neared the house and spied Logan. He had not left the porch. He sat at the table, his fingers racing quickly over the keyboard of a laptop computer. A thickly bound report also lay on the table. It was apparent he had come to Marble Island to work.

His fingers stilled, and he glanced at Caryn as she walked slowly up the stairs, his black gaze sweeping over her flushed face. A sprinkling of freckles dotted her short rounded nose. The hot sun was taking its toll on her delicate skin.

Rising to his feet, he arched a sweeping black eyebrow as a smile parted his lips. “How was your walk?”

Caryn could not help but respond to his sensual smile. “Wonderful.”

His smile faded, and a slight frown added vertical slashes between his eyes. “Are you putting sunblock on your face?”

She stared at him for several seconds, then said, “No. Why?”

“You’re beginning to look like a cooked lobster.”

She laughed and his frown deepened. “Give me a couple of days, and it’ll go away.” What she didn’t say was that the hot sun brought out an array of freckles on her nose which quickly blended into an attractive deep umber-brown that remained until late fall.

“You’re going to ruin your face.” He thought of Nina and how she protected her face at any cost. She never ventured out without layers of sunscreen or block and had affected a style for wearing hats with wide brims to shade her face during the hot summer season.

“I’ll worry about my face when I’m seventy-five.” There was no mistaking the humor in her voice.

Logan realized that there was no false vanity in Caryn Edwards. She was a natural beauty, and, unlike Nina, she affected her beauty without primping and preening.

He laughed, the sound deep and vibrant. “I’d like to see you at seventy-five.”

Resting her hands on her slim hips, Caryn tilted her chin. “I’d rather see you at seventy-five,
old man.
I’m willing to bet that you’ll live alone in some monstrosity of a house with stacks of old newspapers cluttering every room while two dozen dogs snap and snarl at one another to garner the privilege of sleeping in the bed with you.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Logan wagged his head. “That’s where you’re wrong,
kid.
Before I get to that state, I’d advertise for a seventy-five-year-old woman to share my bed.” He gave her a quizzical look. “Thinking about applying?”

She forced back a smile. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I’d be too young for you. I’d only be sixty-eight.”

The sparkle in Caryn’s brilliant eyes enchanted him, and at that moment he wished the memory of his ex-fiancée’s infidelity wasn’t so vivid because he found his housemate not only beautiful, but charming and bewitching. She possessed a little-girl quality along with a womanly seductiveness.

“Isn’t that a pity,” he drawled.

“Yes, it is.” She gave him a smile of teasing merriment. “I’ll let you get back to your work.” Opening the screen door, she walked into the house.

Logan wanted to tell her that he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything that resembled work because his thoughts kept drifting back to her, her hauntingly hypnotic eyes; her lush, full mouth; and a petite, compact body that was perfect—with or without her clothes.

And every time he saw her, the images were reinforced and imprinted on his brain. What he had to do was stay
away from Caryn. He would have to find a way to work away from the house, coming back only to take care of Domino, shower, and sleep.

But where was the question that nagged him as he headed down the porch and around the side of the house where he had parked his Jeep.

Where on Marble Island?

Chapter Five

Caryn retreated to her bedroom, picked up a small canvas case containing a portion of her collection of CDs, the clothbound journal from the bedside table, and made her way down the staircase to the family room. It was her second day on Marble Island, and she had yet to establish a routine. The fact that she was to share the house with Logan had thwarted her plans—but only temporarily. What she wanted to do was pretend he wasn’t there, he didn’t exist. A wry smile touched her mouth, and she shook her head. Even if she managed not to get another glimpse of Logan for the remainder of her stay, she would always be aware of his existence.

The scent of his distinctive aftershave lingered long after he left a room. It wasn’t an overpowering fragrance, but quiet, subtle, and hypnotic. Much like the man.

She turned on the stereo component, slipped a half-dozen discs on the carousel of the CD player, then pushed the button. Within seconds the smooth, sexy sounds of a saxophone filled the space. She let out her breath in a long, shuddering sigh of relief. Now she was ready for total relaxation. Sitting down on an overstuffed wing chair with
a cushioned footstool, she opened her journal and read the last entry. Wincing, she noticed the date: May second. It had been exactly two months since she had made an entry. She removed the top from a fine-point pen and wrote the date:

Caryn’s gaze raced quickly over what she’d written, wincing as she read and reread the last sentence.
How could you?
a silent voice berated. “But he is,” she whispered. And she couldn’t deny it. Logan was gorgeous. Closing her eyes, she composed her thoughts, opened them, then continued writing.

She replaced the top to the pen and slipped it between the pages of the journal. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift and within seconds was swept away by the sensual sounds of the sax player seducing her with the carefully chosen music notes.

The lingering note on the last selection on the third CD faded. Caryn opened her eyes, reached for the remote, and turned off the component. She had spent the better part of two hours writing and meditating. It had been a long time, too long since she’d enjoyed doing
nothing
.

Whenever she returned home hours after classes were dismissed to the small house she rented, she usually was close to emotional exhaustion. She was aware that many of her colleagues mocked her discipline because it wasn’t one of the academics. But she knew teaching and preparing young adults to survive was just as important, and most often more important than the academics they were required to take. The academics prepared them to communicate effectively, while her career skills prepared them for Life 101. She’d earned an undergraduate degree in English and American literature; however, her professional degree prepared her to teach what had been known as
home economics and was now referred to as life and career skills.

She enjoyed the give-and-take of the students’ dialogue whenever they challenged her, but she also saw results. Within weeks she noticed changes in attitude, an increase in confidence and self-esteem, and a mature approach in trying to solve their life problems. And the problems were many for some of the high school students. Problems that fifteen-, sixteen-, seventeen-, and eighteen-year-olds should not have had to encounter until they were much older.

It was a myriad of problems affecting her students that sometimes kept her beyond dismissal time. Problems they did not want to discuss with their parents or their guidance counselors. They related to her on a teacher-student basis while confiding in her as if she were a peer. After a few of the after-school sessions with several students, she seriously contemplated whether she should return to teaching Literature. She usually dismissed the notion as soon as it entered her head, because she had to admit she enjoyed the less formal method of group discussion to lecturing to a class of less-than-interested students who could care less about who wrote what and for what reason.

Her career skills students learned to manage predetermined levels of income; shop and prepare wholesome, inexpensive meals; purchase or make their own clothes; and were made aware of alternatives to emergency situations.

Her own life skills expertise had come from her parents, who had planned their finances carefully and retired in their midfifties. Her parents had owned more than a half-dozen bed-and-breakfast retreats throughout the South. The elder Edwards’s established a reputation of offering exquisite lodging accommodations in conjunction with gourmet meals. They had acquired the practice of soliciting culinary schools for their most promising and innovative students. The combination was a winning and profitable success for thirty years before they finally sold off the chain of eight B&Bs.

Pushing off the chair, she reached for her journal. She would put it away and go for a swim before it got too hot. Then she would plan what she wanted to do for the rest of the day.

Logan parked his vehicle behind Caryn’s and strode purposely into the house. He had been gone longer than he’d intended. He had driven southward, marveling at the beauty of the North Carolina seacoast. Living in a suburb of the capital city in the middle of the state was a sobering departure from opening one’s front door to the sight of pounding ocean surf and the smell of tangy, salty ocean breezes.

His professional eye had noted the design of the homes along Pamlico Sound, and he’d admired the clean lines of most of the beachfront properties. He’d acknowledged the authentic replication of the Crawfords’ Louisiana low-country plantation-style home; however, he much preferred large open spaces with glass walls and towering ceilings. And seeing these homes prompted him to contemplate designing an ocean-view vacation house for himself.

The last time he’d sat down to design a structure had been five years ago. Now that task was left to the architects employed by J. Prescott and Associates because Logan much preferred his role as an urban planner.

From the moment he’d proposed to Nina, she nagged constantly that she wanted him to design their “dream house.” He had balked, telling her he wanted to wait until they were married for several years. His two-bedroom apartment was spacious enough for a couple with a child for an easy and comfortable style for living and entertaining.

The disturbing image of Nina with his best friend surfaced, and his hands tightened into fists at the same time as he knelt at the cage to release Domino from his captivity.

“Hey, fella,” he crooned softly as the puppy yipped and scrambled for escape. Logan’s frown faded the moment
he noted the absence of stains on the paper lining at the bottom of the cage. “Good boy,” he continued. It had taken the puppy only a week to control his bladder for a period of four hours.

Cradling Domino in his arms, he took him outside and waited patiently as the dog sniffed and scratched before he marked his territory. Retrieving the leash from his Jeep, Logan attached it to the collar circling the Dalmatian’s neck, then looped the leather strap around a pole supporting a line for the telephone in an area shaded from the brilliant rays of the hot sun by a lone tree.

He patted his pet’s spotted head. “I’ll bring you some food and water before I brush you.” Domino responded with two excited yelps, then lay down with his muzzle between his front paws, waiting patiently.

Returning with a small dish filled with a portion of dog food with an equal portion of biscuit, he placed it in front of the puppy. Domino attacked the food as if he hadn’t eaten in days, then daintily lapped up a second bowl filled with fresh cool water. Knowing the drill, he promptly lay down on his side and waited for his master to begin a grooming ritual.

Logan did not disappoint his pet as he sat on the ground and gently drew a specialty brush over the dog’s spotted coat. Daily grooming was necessary to keep the animal from depositing white hairs on furniture or carpeted surfaces. Domino was asleep before the grooming session ended and lay peacefully in the shade.

An uncomfortable emotion of restlessness assailed Logan as he returned to the house. He had wasted away half a day. If he’d been in Raleigh, he probably would’ve had several meetings—one a luncheon meeting—with bankers or anyone contemplating investing in J. Prescott and Associates’ latest project. But he wasn’t in Raleigh but on Marble Island, hiding out like a common criminal.

Another surge of rage gripped him, and he cursed softly under his breath. He damned Nina Smith for her adultery and Wayne Singleton for his deceit.

She’s not an adulterer
, a silent voice reminded him. Nina was not his wife and therefore not an adulterer. He shook his head. It didn’t matter if she had been unfaithful, because from the time he and Nina had first shared a bed, he
had been
faithful to her. Not once had he looked at or thought about another woman. He had pledged his future to the woman who had joyously and tearfully accepted his offer to share her life with his.

He felt tight, on edge. Making his way up the staircase, he noticed the door to Caryn’s bedroom stood open. Slowing, he saw the T-shirt and shorts she’d worn earlier that morning on the foot of her bed; his brow furrowed and he wondered where she was. Her car was parked at the house, and that meant she couldn’t have gone far.

Shrugging his broad shoulders under his own T-shirt, he headed for his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and stripped off his clothes. Ten minutes later he descended the staircase, clad only in a pair of swim trunks. He would use the healing power of the water to assuage his restlessness.

Caryn cradled the large hand holding a fork filled with a creamy portion of sweet cole slaw, guiding it to her mouth. Chewing slowly, her eyes widened in shock. It was incredibly delicious.

“Did I lie to you?” asked the velvet-sounding male voice.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and savored the taste of shredded cabbage flavored with familiar and some not-so-familiar ingredients. “What’s in it?”

The man sitting beside her shook his handsome head. “Can’t tell. It’s a family secret.”

She gave Randy a bright smile. Flecks of green darkened her clear gold eyes, drawing Randy’s gaze to linger on them. “Okay. Be like that.”

Randy Bell lowered the fork at the same time he lowered his head. “I really can’t tell you. My grandmother would disown me.”

Caryn laughed, the low, husky sound floating over Randy and pulling him under her sensual spell. He had just relieved the daytime hostess at Addie’s for the second of her three ten-minute breaks when Caryn Edwards walked into the family owned establishment. The season had just begun, and because of this he hadn’t had the opportunity to meet everyone who would spend the summer on the island. There were many vacationers who prepared their own meals, but the Bell family knew instinctively that everyone would eventually come to Addie’s for at least one meal before departing.

Marble Island was small, the permanent residents a warm, friendly, and closely knit group. They all awaited the arrival of the
summies
, welcoming them as if they were long-lost family members. The Bell family had owned and operated Addie’s for nearly sixty years, and for the past three years Randy had come to Marble Island to help his family with the swell of customers patronizing the restaurant. This was the first time he did not mind leaving his own restaurant in the capable hands of his two partners to help out his grandparents. He’d changed his mind the moment Caryn Edwards walked through the door and asked for a table for one.

“I suppose you’ll go with the cole slaw?” he asked.

Caryn nodded. “I’ll have the slaw, crab cakes, sweet potato fries, and an iced tea.”

Randy continued to stare at her, his gaze moving down to the shiny copper color on her lips. “Do you want corn bread or biscuits?”

She studied the menu in front of her, wrinkling her nose. “I think I’ll pass on the bread.”

Lowering his voice and his head, Randy patted her hand. “I’ll give you a small sample of each. I do want you to come back again.”