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:
July second—
I arrived on Marble Island, N.C., yesterday. It is as enchanting as Marcia described it, and the house even more beautiful. I feel as if I’ve come to a magical, mythical place that can only be entered using a special key.
I had somewhat of a temporary shock when I realized I wouldn’t have the house to myself. I will have to share the house with a man and his dog. He says his name is Logan—that’s the man’s name—and his very cute Dalmatian puppy is Domino. I don’t know whether Logan is his first or last name. He hasn’t been forthcoming with this information. He’s hiding out on Marble Island because he called off his wedding a week before he was supposed to exchange vows. The bride’s family is upset—probably pissed would be a better word—and Mister-I-almost-got-hitched-Logan is cooling his heels here.
Punk!
It’s hard to believe he’d run away from a woman, judging from his appearance and borderline dictatorial manner. However, I must admit the brother is quite kind on the vision: very tall, very dark, and very beautiful.
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.
There is an island-wide Fourth of July celebration, and I have to decide what I’m going to prepare for the festivities. I don’t want to bring the usual: pies, cakes, fried chicken, potato salad, or watermelon. I don’t intend to ask Logan what he’s going to contribute because I don’t want him to think this is a “couple” thing, although several people are under the impression that we are married. Isn’t that a kick in the head? Marrying once was enough for me, and it appears that Logan has no intention of marrying—if judging by his recent flight from matrimony. The only thing we have in common is sharing a house for a few weeks. I don’t see him staying more than a few weeks because it appears as if he’s here to work. The man brought an office away from the office: cell phone, fax, laptop computer. All that’s missing is the private secretary.
What I intend to do is relax, relax, and relax some more for the next month and a half.
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.”
Summer Magic Page 5