“I had it all in a sack when I started,” Lizzie told her, “but the sack tore on a bush when I stopped to throw rocks in the river.”
“Didn’t the storm get you wet?”
“No. Oh, look out for that big old frog. He almost jumped on you.”
Heather shuddered and gave the next puddle a wider berth. “Where did all these huge toads come from?”
Lizzie shrugged. “They come from the sky when it rains,” she said calmly.
“Oh, no, honey, they couldn’t do that.”
The little girl shrugged again. “Every time it rains there they are, all over the road. After the water dries up they’re gone again.”
Heather smiled. “I’ll bet they find someplace to hide until the next rainstorm.”
Lizzie cocked her head to one side, considering.
“Maybe,” she allowed. “But I don’t see them.” She looked up questioningly. “Want to see the snails? They like it when it rains, too.”
“The snails?” Toads she could handle, from a distance, but snails?
“Sure, come on.” Lizzie reached up and took her hand. “I’ll show you.” She led Heather into a yard toward a huge breadfruit tree, its large lobed leaves still dripping water on the ground. “Look at these.”
Heather gasped and stepped back involuntarily. She’d never seen such huge snails before. Each carried a pointed shell raised high above its moving foot. Some of the animals were as big as the toads on the road.
“Oh, how awful,” Heather exclaimed.
“Awful?” Lizzie looked at her in amazement. “They’re my favorite animal. They’re really enchanted princesses, you know.”
“What?”
The little girl nodded wisely. “They were all changed into snails by a wicked witch. See, they still have their cone-shaped hats.”
Suddenly Heather could see them through Lizzie’s eyes. “You’re right, of course,” she said slowly. “Why didn’t I see that before?”
Lizzie smiled. “You just didn’t look right. Come on, we’re almost home.”
Lizzie’s house was painted bright yellow. Dark green hibiscus shrubs studded with golden blossoms circled it, and a flock of chickens poured out from beneath to escape the strange voices. As Heather and Lizzie walked up to the high lanai, Heather could hear the sound of a guitar coming from inside.
“That’s my brother, Danny,” Lizzie said in answer to Heather’s question. “All he does all day is play music.”
“He’s very good at it,” Heather said, impressed by his expertise.
Lizzie shrugged. “My father says he should get good at something that makes money. Music is for free.” She sighed. “But I love to hear him. So does my mother.”
Heather could understand that. The lovely melody coming from the house carried something in it that was almost magical. An evening listening to Danny play his guitar would be an evening well spent.
Lizzie motioned toward the edge of the lanai. “Just put my stuff there. I’ll take it in. My mother is sick and we aren’t supposed to let anyone in the house.”
As she spoke, the door opened and Mitch stood before them. “Hi there, Lizzie,” he said with easy familiarity, and Heather watched as the child flew up the steps and into his arms.
“Doctor, is my mother going to be okay?” she asked anxiously as Mitch swung her up and gave her a bear hug.
“Sure,” he answered reassuringly. “I gave her some medicine for her cough, and you and Danny are going to make sure she doesn’t get out of bed to do any work. Isn’t that right?”
Lizzie nodded happily. “Look at this nice lady,” she said suddenly, twisting around. “Her name is Heather.”
Mitch’s eyes met Heather’s over Lizzie’s head. “I know this nice lady.” His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “In fact, she just happens to be my nice lady.”
“Yours?” Lizzie was as delighted as Heather was outraged.
“Mine,” Mitch said firmly, holding Heather’s gaze without a waver. “You run in and take care of your mother. I’m going to take my lady home with me.”
Chapter Five
Lizzie did as she was told, waving good-bye to Heather before disappearing into the house. Mitch came down the steps slowly, watching Heather’s expression.
“You shouldn’t lie to children,” she said. He seemed to think he could box her into positions and play with her reactions. The trouble was, her heart had leapt when he’d called her his own. He was making jokes that carved wounds into her soul.
“I never lie.” His eyes were hooded and she backed away, afraid he’d try to put an arm around her shoulders. His air of cold assurance frightened her. Warily, they began to walk down the road toward the Jeep.
“That must mean we really are going back,” she said. “Are you finished with all your calls?”
He nodded. “For the moment. I’ll have to return later today. There’s a broken leg I set last week that I want to check on down at Leia Bay.”
She climbed up into the unwieldy vehicle alongside him and watched as he started the engine and drove it out onto what passed for a highway. His hands were brown and strong on the wheel. She thought of how they had felt on her naked skin the night before, so smooth and warm. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to look away.
“This isn’t the way we came,” she said, noticing suddenly. The road was in better condition and the land more hilly. They were moving down the coast rather than north to Ragonai village.
“Very perceptive of you,” was his only answer.
Another one of his seductive plans, no doubt. She was beginning to feel that her day was a minefield full of hazards to be avoided at every step. She turned to face him. “I thought you said you never lied.”
His eyes were unsmiling as he glanced toward her. “I never do.”
“Then why did you tell Lizzie you were taking me home?”
“Because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
They turned off the highway onto a bumpy road. In another moment Mitch pulled to a stop near the edge of a cliff overlooking the blue-green sea. The shell of a newly built house stood back from the escarpment, its biscuit-colored walls gleaming freshly in the sunlight.
“This,” Mitch announced as he swung down from the Jeep, “is home.”
Heather descended more slowly and followed him to the house. “This is yours?”
“Yes.” He spoke gruffly and pushed his hand through his dark hair as though he felt uncomfortable. “What do you think of it?”
“I... it looks so raw here, doesn’t it?” She didn’t know what to say. Why was he asking for her opinion?
“Of course it’s raw,” he responded curtly. “New houses always look raw.” He took a rough hold on her arm and led her to the front door. “Come inside and see how you like it once you’ve had a better look.”
It was a nice house, long and low, ranch-style, and curved in a U-shape around what would soon be a lovely courtyard. Plaster dust and splintered wood littered the floor, and the mahogany doors had not yet been varnished. Huge picture windows boasted real glass and let in the streaming sunlight as well as affording a magnificent view of a white sand beach below.
“Well?” he said impatiently.
What did he want from her? She remembered how he’d hated the house she’d picked in Flagstaff. It had been a beauty, but she could admit now it had given off a certain sterile coldness. Mitch’s house would never do that. Even in its unfinished state, she could sense the warmth that would fill it. Mitch could be hard, as he was proving now, but usually warmth was one of his main attributes, whatever else he might lack.
“Very nice,” she told him simply. “Beautiful view. Stunning, really. And I’m sure you’ll be happy here once you’ve furnished it.”
He wanted more than that; she read disappointment in his dark eyes. “We have the tile down in the kitchen,” he told her, drawing her forward. “Dede picked out the pattern.”
Heather stiffened, staring down at th
e gold patterned floor. The color was right; so was the design. That Dede was a wonder. “Is she going to do all your interior decorating for you?” Heather asked evenly. Why not? The woman had told him where to live. Now she could tell him how to live there as well.
When Mitch didn’t answer, she looked up. He was staring at her, as if trying to find something in her that eluded him. “What is it?” she asked defensively. “Just exactly what do you want from me, Mitch?”
Slowly he shook his head. A slight bemused smile curled his lips, but it failed to mask the haunted look in his eyes. “Nothing, I guess,” he said softly. “Nothing you can give.”
She frowned, wanting to reach out to him, wanting to ask what she could do to erase the hurt in his eyes, but she didn’t dare. “When are you moving in?” she asked instead.
He shrugged. Suddenly he seemed to lose interest in the house and everything about it. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly. “I had Mele pack us a picnic lunch. There’s a nice little place along the cliff where we can eat.”
She followed him, drowning in a wave of helpless misery. He’d been expecting something from her that she hadn’t delivered. If only she knew what it was.
He pulled the wicker basket and blanket from the back of the Jeep and led her to the place he’d chosen for their picnic. Set back from the cliff, it overlooked a stream that flowed past before plummeting down in a waterfall toward the lagoon. The sound of gentle water mixed with the roar of surf on the nearby reef. Heather helped spread the blanket, then sat down while he unpacked their feast.
“I told Mele we needed peanut butter sandwiches and carrot sticks to make you feel at home,” he said without the hint of a smile, “but all she had on hand was dried fish and hot pickled radishes.”
“Oh.” Heather cleared her throat, fighting back the statement that she really wasn’t very hungry. She would eat whatever he had with him, she decided firmly. At least she would try to.
“Don’t worry.” He eyed her narrowly. “I made her dig a little further. She managed to come up with some cold fried chicken and a fresh fruit salad that will blow you away.”
“Good.” She tried to give him a mock glare, but she could tell it had become a furtive glance instead. “For a minute there I thought you were trying to scare me off.”
“Oh, no.” He caught hold of her hand and looked into her eyes, holding her a prisoner of his cloudy gaze. “Heather, I’m trying to make you stay. Can’t you see that?”
Did he really want her to stay? She tried to read the answer in his face, but found only more questions. She pulled her hand away, and he returned his attention to serving the food. Maybe he really did want her to stay. But why?
She loved him. She wanted more than anything to be with him, to make him love her back. It was tempting to think he might be ready to try again. But whenever she came close to hoping, something happened to remind her that it was impossible.
The chicken was delicious, but she was wary of the salad at first. “Just what are the fruits in this?” she asked, picking through it with her fork.
He moved closer on the blanket and pointed out each variety. “The dark orange squares are papaya,” he told her, studying her plate. “You know pineapple when you see it, don’t you? And these white meaty balls are lichee nuts. Very sweet. This is passion fruit and this”—-he speared a piece with his own fork—“is mango. Open up,” he ordered, holding it just in front of her lips. “I guarantee you’ll love it.”
She opened her mouth obediently, and he popped the morsel in, watching intently to see her reaction. She wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t love it, exactly. It tasted lush and strange to her. But she was determined not to disappoint him again. As she chewed, she began to realize it really wasn’t half bad.
“It’s good.” She nodded and was rewarded by a flashing grin on his handsome face.
“Of course it’s good. Didn’t I say so?”
But she saw the satisfaction in his eyes.
He was close enough so that she could feel the heat of his body, hear his breathing, catch the warm male scent of him in the breeze. She tried to avoid looking at him, but she could sense every movement he made. She held her breath as he reached out to take a lock of her hair in his fingers and tug on it gently. “I do like your hair like this,” he told her. “It makes you look freer, more open.”
She had to be very careful not to give him the wrong idea. “Looks can be deceiving,” she reminded him, taking another bite and chewing with determination.
“Right,” he answered dryly. “Just consider what happened to the missionary lady last night.” He dropped her hair and brushed it back away from her face, then let his hand fall slowly along the line of her ear, caressing lightly.
She steeled herself not to show any reaction to his touch. “Even a missionary lady is allowed to make a mistake once in a while,” she said, resolutely avoiding his eyes as she speared another morsel of fruit.
“Last night was no mistake.” His fingers made their way down the curve of her neck to trace a gentle line along her collarbone. “Last night was a reminder of what once was possible. A hint of heaven.”
She choked on the papaya, and he had to whack her on the back. Her heart was pounding. Why was he doing this? His touch started wild fires spreading across her skin. His voice caressed her with an almost tactile quality. And then he said their lovemaking had reminded him of heaven. He’d never said such things in the old days. What was he trying to do to her?
“I really do like this salad,” she said because she couldn’t think of anything else, “It’s so...tropical.”
“Mmm-hmm.” His hand was at the nape of her neck, and he was playing with her hair. “Just like everything else on this island.”
Right, and that was what was wrong with it. She forced down another piece of pineapple and waved her fork toward the newly built house, anything to get his mind off what he was doing to her body. “I guess you’re planning to stay for a while, aren’t you?” she asked without thinking.
His hand stilled, lying warm and heavy on the top of her spine. “Yes,” he said shortly. “I find this island suits me just right.”
Yes, it would. And it could never suit her. Her heart sank. Any dreams that might still inhabit her heart might as well sail into the wind where they belonged.
“You picked a beautiful setting.”
For some reason this remark seemed to bother him. His mouth hardened and he drew away from her completely. “Finish eating and we’ll take a walk along the cliff,” he said quietly.
As she cleaned her plate, she had to admit the exotic fruit tasted better and better to her wary palate. They packed away the remaining food and implements and left them in the basket on the blanket while beginning their walk along the cliff above the shoreline.
“Storm coming,” Mitch murmured, nodding toward the horizon.
Heather saw black clouds rolling toward them, sending a curtain of dark rain down to pummel the surface of the sea. A strange sense of desolation surged over her at the sight. It was almost as though they were on a small craft, tossed by an uncaring sea, vulnerable to the whims of nature.
“Don’t you ever get lonely here?” she asked him, staring out over the vast ocean. “Don’t you ever feel as though you’re cut off from the rest of the world?”
He turned to look at her, and the glint in his eyes told her she looked especially attractive at the moment with her golden hair streaming out behind her, flying in the brisk trade winds, the skirt of her sundress plastered against her legs.
“I never think about it,” he said simply. “There’s too much to do. I don’t have time to feel that kind of loneliness.”
His obsidian gaze held hers and she wondered if he were implying he did feel another kind of loneliness. Before she could ask, he gestured toward the horizon. “The Caroline Islands are only a short distance from here. And the Mariannas are to the north. If you look very closely on a clear day, you can see Palua.”
; “Where?” She shaded her eyes and stared at the line where the steel-blue sea met the cornflower-blue sky, far to the left of the oncoming storm.
“Look there.” He came up behind her and pointed, his arm resting along her shoulder. She looked where he told her and saw the faint swell of land above the ocean.
“Oh, yes, I see it now.” But her voice sounded slightly breathless. His free arm had come around her waist, and he was pulling her back against him.
“I love the smell of you, Heather,” he whispered, wrapping his other arm around her and rubbing his face against her neck, breathing deeply against her warm skin.
“You left that scent in my bed last night and I couldn’t sleep for thinking of you.”
“Mitch...” She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but the words wouldn’t come.
“I thought making love last night would ease the ache I have inside for you, but it didn’t.” His breath tickled the tiny hairs that covered her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She was melting back against him, molding herself to his strong body. “It just made me want you more, Heather. More than ever.” His hands came up to cup her breasts while his tongue drew patterns across the nape of her neck.
“You promised, Mitch,” she reminded him, bent on making him stop while she still had the strength. Her bones were already turning to butter, and her breath was coming faster. “No ravishing, remember?”
“Mutual consent precludes ravishing,” he grumbled, nipping lightly at the skin behind her ear. His fingers found the low-cut edge of her bodice and began to work their way inside.
Heather closed her eyes, gathering together every ounce of strength she possessed. If she didn’t do it, who would? No one else would look out for her welfare.
“Mitch,” she said again, but it came out like a moan, and she had to try once more. “Mitch.” That was firmer. “Mitch!” Better still. She felt his arms harden as he realized she was now standing stiffly unresponsive. Then he was drawing away.
“Let’s go back to Ragonai village,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in her voice. “I’m not going to rest until I see you sign those papers.”
Charmed By You ((Destiny Bay Romances-The Islanders 5)) Page 8