He placed his foot on the first step of the staircase leading to the upper level at the same time Caryn began her descent.
For the second time in two days, Caryn stood at the top of the staircase staring down at Logan. He hadn’t made an attempt to ascend the stairs, and she tried curbing the dizzying waves of excitement coursing through her as she placed one foot in front of the other.
She had slept soundly, but upon waking her thoughts were those of Logan. She tried recalling the sound of his rich drawling voice, the midnight pitch of his penetrating eyes, and the coarse texture of his raven-black hair—hair that now glistened with droplets of moisture.
Her gaze inched lower to his bare chest. What she glimpsed the day before was manifested tenfold. Natural and unabashed vital masculine power radiated from his beautifully proportioned body. The developed muscles in his smooth, broad chest and wide shoulders appeared to be from a regimen of exercise which did not include lifting heavy weights; and her gaze lingered on his chest, not attempting to risk shifting below the waistband of his shorts.
She didn’t want him to see her doing what he had accused Chris Barnett of doing—salivating.
And Caryn was practically salivating as she forced an open smile. Coming abreast him on the last stair, she said, “Good morning.”
Tilting his head at an angle she had come to recognize whenever he studied her intently, Logan returned her warm greeting. “Good morning to you.”
He was surprised his voice sounded so natural as his pulse quickened with desire. The hauntingly feminine scent he associated solely with Caryn Edwards wafted in his sensitive nostrils. Her natural body fragrance and the perfume she had chosen to wear reminded him of a newly opened flower dotted with early morning dew. She smelled good. Clean. Sweet.
A pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt failed to conceal the unbidden image of her long legs and full breasts as he’d watched her descend the staircase. And seeing her unbound curly hair cascading down her back within inches of her waist conjured up the image he’d happened upon the night before.
Again, his body betrayed him. The rush of blood to his groin almost embarrassed him. Why, at thirty-five, was he unable to control what he’d taken years to acquire? From the first time he confessed to his father that he had slept with a woman, Jace Prescott lectured him sternly about self-control. Jace’s warning that he never let his hormones do his thinking for him was something he never forgot; however, it wasn’t until he discovered Nina’s infidelity that he admitted to himself that his hormones had significantly overshadowed his gray matter when it came to her.
But right now what he wanted to do was get away from Caryn before she noticed his aroused state. Not lingering, he brushed past her, taking the stairs two at a time.
He walked into the bathroom, stripped off his clothes and stood under the icy spray of the shower until his teeth chattered and his lips lost their natural color, taking on a bluish hue that matched the undertones in his dark skin, before he adjusted the water temperature, shampooed his hair, and washed his body.
Caryn filled the automatic coffeemaker with the specially blended coffee she had bought in an Asheville gourmet shop. The cold water filtered through the well, heating up and releasing the aromatic aroma of finely ground beans.
Humming to herself, she withdrew a large peach, an orange, cantaloupe, several strawberries, and kiwi from the refrigerator. Her weekday breakfast consisted of coffee and a fruit salad, while she set aside the weekends for pancakes or french toast with bacon or ham.
She hadn’t decided on a routine, but she intended to walk from the house into town at least three times a week. She had clocked the mileage, and it was only a mile and half each way.
Swimming, reading, listening to the many cassettes and CDs she had packed, were also top priorities.
She also planned to do a few things she had neglected since her marriage ended: keep a daily journal, bake her own bread, knit or crochet a wearable garment, and she had exactly seven weeks to complete the tasks before she returned to Asheville and another year of teaching.
Working quickly and skillfully, Caryn peeled and sectioned the fruit in a large colorful plastic container. She had just filled a large mug with the brewed Irish Creme coffee and a small bowl with fruit when the sound of the doorbell shattered the quiet stillness.
She glanced at an overhead wall clock. It registered six fifty-five and she wondered who would come visiting at the early hour. Making her way to the front door, she opened it and stared through the screened door at a tiny gray-haired woman with bright blue eyes holding a basket covered with a pristine white linen towel to her chest.
“Good morning,” Caryn said, her voice cheerful and friendly.
“Good morning, Mrs. Logan. I’m Elaine Shelton. Your husband hired my grandchildren to take care of this place for the summer,” the elderly woman explained quickly.
A slight frown furrowed Caryn’s smooth forehead. What husband? Who was Mrs. Shelton talking about? Logan wasn’t her husband. Then she realized that the twins also thought Logan was her husband. Had he told them they were married?
Mrs. Shelton shifted the basket uncomfortably, and Caryn felt a wave of heat suffuse her face. She had forgotten her manners.
Opening the screen door, she smiled. “Please come in.”
Mrs. Shelton stepped into the entry, her intelligent bright blue gaze darting around the space. “The Crawfords have such a lovely home. It seems odd not to see them this summer.” Something caught her attention, and she flashed the practiced smile that helped her win the title of Miss North Carolina for the 1945 Miss America pageant.
Caryn glanced over her shoulder to find Logan returning Mrs. Shelton’s winning smile. She felt the restless, leashed power in his tall body as he neared her and the older woman. His blatant masculinity screamed silently through his white T-shirt and faded jeans.
He’s a panther, she thought, then quickly changed her mind. Logan’s black hair, ebony-hued skin and sharp, piercing black eyes were more like a bird’s—a raven. And he’s also a fraud, she mused, telling people they were married. Well, it wasn’t as if two couldn’t play the same game.
She walked over to Logan, looping her bare arm through his and registered a momentary tightening of his muscles before they eased.
“Darling,” she crooned, smiling up at his impassive expression. “Steven and Stephanie are Mrs. Shelton’s grandchildren.”
Logan extended his free hand. “My pleasure, Mrs. Shelton. Caryn and I are quite pleased with their work.”
Elaine Shelton shook the proffered hand. “That’s wonderful. They don’t mind spending the summer here on the island, but earning some extra pocket money will probably be the highlight of their stay.”
Logan disengaged his arm and curved it around Caryn’s narrow waist. Tightening his grip, he molded her slim curves against his length and it was her turn to tense up. He smiled down at her seconds before dropping a kiss on her sweet-smelling curly hair. The gesture shocked Caryn and she inhaled sharply. It was the second time he had kissed her hair.
She was confused by her unexpected response to his touch and wondered whether she had gone too far. The solid hardness of his thigh pressing against hers, the fragrance of his freshly showered body and sensual aftershave, and his overt virility shocked her senses, reminding her how sterile her life had become. Her marriage ended legally two years before, but her role as a wife did not survive the first of their four-year union.
Her heart thumping uncomfortably, Caryn smiled at Elaine Shelton. “Logan and I were just going to sit down for breakfast. Won’t you join us, Mrs. Shelton?”
“Please call me Elaine.” She handed the basket to Logan, who was forced to release his hold on Caryn. “Perhaps another time. I had my breakfast when I sampled a couple of blueberry muffins this morning. I decided to make a bit more than my usual batch after my grandchildren sang your praises. Think of it as a small welcoming gift to Marble Island.”
Lifti
ng the napkin, Logan inhaled the sweet smell of warm muffins. “Caryn and I thank you.” He flashed his devastatingly sensual smile. “When can we return the favor?”
“Come to our island-wide Fourth of July picnic celebration the day after tomorrow. The entire island shuts down while everyone gathers in the large field behind the church at noon. The only requisite is that you bring something to eat. It doesn’t matter what you decide to bring because whatever it is you can rest assure that it will be eaten. There’s a short pause for everyone to digest their food before the dancing begins. The older folks usually leave around eight or nine, but the younger folks go on until midnight.”
“We’ll be there,” Logan replied, answering for himself and Caryn.
“Well, if that’s the case, then I’d better be getting back so I can help Jack open up the store. We have to close down for the Fourth because we house the post office, and people around here always seem to act a little strange when they can’t get to pick up their mail. You’d think we weren’t a part of the United States the way they come in checking on mail. They talk about coming down here to get away from all of the rush and stress, then look for mail from people they came here to get away from.” Shaking her snow-white head, she walked to the door.
“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. Log
an.”
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.
Summer Magic Page 4