Logan waited until Hamilton walked away, then turned to Caryn. “Thanks for agreeing to share the house with my friends. They’ll be my responsibility. I’ll do the cooking and cleaning—”
“But you don’t clean,” she cut in.
He winked at her. “The twins will clean up.” His expression sobered. “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”
Her gaze fused with his. “What?”
“Will you be my hostess this weekend?”
He looked at her as if he were photographing her with his eyes. Something potent radiated from the depths of the dark pools, and Caryn felt like he’d reached inside of her and extracted what she’d withheld from any man—a recklessness, a need to let go of her iron-willed control. Tom had complained that she wasn’t spontaneous enough and was at times quite boring.
There was something unknown, intangible, about Logan Prescott that made her want to throw off her mantle of feigned perfection. Everything in her life was orderly. She planned her days and weeks by a calendar, rarely deviating from her assigned tasks, and now and only now did she realize how banal her existence was. She had come to Marble Island to reflect and relax. She hadn’t expected to share the house or her existence with another person—especially a man. She wasn’t consciously looking for a summer romance or a relationship; but there was something about Logan that shattered her resolve, and within that second she decided to let her life play out. After all, Logan Prescott was going to share the house for only a month, and she was realistic enough to know not much could happen within that period of time.
“Yes, Logan. I’ll be your hostess for the weekend.”
He reached for her and cradled her head to his shoulder. His warmth swept over her cool body, bringing with it a sensual heat that threatened to scorch her bare flesh. Raising her chin, she smiled up at him.
“Thank you,” he whispered, seconds before his head came down and his mouth covered hers in a soft, tender, healing kiss.
The healing was as much for him as it was for her. Both had loved and lost, both were carrying pain, and both sought healing from the other.
The kiss ended, the contact of flesh meeting flesh lasting only seconds, but it could have been longer, much longer, while a throbbing, lingering awareness remained.
Caryn was certain Logan felt her trembling under his touch, and what she did not want to acknowledge surged through her. He disturbed her; everything about him disturbed her sense of order and balance. There was no way she could ignore his blatant masculinity or her own voluntary celibacy.
Squaring her shoulders, she glanced up, a secretive smile softening her lips. “I’ll be your hostess, but what I want you to try and remember is that we are not a couple.”
Releasing her shoulders, he took a step backward. “You don’t have to worry about that, because one thing I do have is an excellent memory.”
“Now that we’ve settled that, let’s finish up here. My teeth are beginning to chatter again.”
They finished their shopping, and Logan suggested she wait outside in the Jeep while he paid for their purchases. She gave him a whispered thanks and made her way out of the supermarket and into the warmth of the summer sun. The contrast was startling as she reveled in the heat penetrating her chilled flesh.
Logan emerged through the automatic sliding doors, pushing a cart brimming with their purchases. Within minutes, he filled the cargo area and the backseats with a dozen paper sacks. He returned the cart to an area in the parking lot where others were lined up in neat rows.
Caryn watched his return as he walked toward the Jeep, her gaze measuring him behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. His purposeful stride indicated confidence. He’d admitted to being spoiled, yet it hadn’t overshadowed what she had come to recognize as his generous nature. She knew he had come to Marble Island to hide out and to work. However, he was willing to take time out to entertain his college friends while she wanted to covet every minute of her time on the island for her own purpose.
She smiled with his approach. The month she would spend with Logan Prescott would be good for her. Unknowingly he would teach her to share and help her to relax.
He swung himself up and behind the wheel with a minimum of motion, taking his sunglasses off the dashboard. “Is there anyplace else you’d like to stop before we go home?”
“I’d like to stop at that vegetable stand we passed on the way.”
He slipped the key in the ignition and turned on the engine. “Your wish is my command.”
She smiled at his profile. “I didn’t know you were into granting wishes.”
“Only one per day,” he teased, flashing a wide grin.
Caryn affected a pout. “If I would’ve known that, then I’d really have thought of something good.”
“There’s always tomorrow.”
She nodded, holding on to the roll bar as he swerved quickly to avoid hitting another Jeep Wrangler filled with at least a half-dozen adolescent boys and girls coming at them at more than forty miles an hour.
“Buttheads! I hope they survive the summer,” Logan mumbled under his breath.
“They’re just kids, Logan.”
“They’re fools.”
She chuckled. “I can see you’re not used to dealing with teenagers.”
“And I suppose you like them?”
“In fact I do. That’s why I decided to teach seven through twelve. They’re not quite adults, but I find it easier to reason with them than the ones in the lower grades. I try not to interact with them as if they’re children, because they aren’t. They are exactly what they are—young adults.”
“Don’t the boys try to hit on you?”
“Not usually.”
He gave her a quick glance. “I take it there was an exception?”
“Once.”
“What happened, Caryn?”
Closing her eyes, she relived the terror she experienced whenever she saw the boy watching her when she stepped out of her house or glanced over her shoulder.
“A student stalked me for about two months.”
A frown furrowed Logan’s smooth forehead. “What did your husband do to protect you?”
“He couldn’t protect me because we were separated at the time.”
“You were still his wife, which meant he should’ve protected you.”
“I finally went to the police, and they handled it.”
“He stopped?”
She nodded. “His parents transferred him to another school.”
“And that ended it?”
“I have to assume his father being warden of a state prison had something to do with it.” She smiled when Logan whistled under his breath. “Why did your friend call you Raven?” she questioned, quickly changing the topic of conversation.
“I was captain of Yale’s rowing team, and everyone said I resembled a bird flying across the water. Given my race and my coloring, the name was quite fitting.”
That explained his developed upper body, she mused. “So, you’re a Yale man. Somehow I had you pegged as a Howard or Morehouse brother.”
“Before graduating high school, I applied to Howard, Yale, Morehouse, and Harvard. They all accepted me, but I decided on Yale because my father was a Yale man and his father before him. Every American Prescott man has been a Yale man except for one.”
“What happened to break the tradition?”
“The Civil War. Johnston Edicott Prescott went to William and Mary instead. What college did you go to?”
“Vanderbilt.”
“Very nice. What was your major?”
“Literature. And yours?”
“Architecture.”
“Why architecture?”
“My father is an architect.”
She remembered him saying he worked for his father. “Did you become an architect because you wanted to, or did your father insist on it?”
“My father never insisted I do anything I didn’t want to do. It wasn’t until years later, that I und
erstood why I always got a rush when Dad unrolled his blueprints. The first time I completed a set of plans, my hands shook so hard, I had a problem signing them. My father stood at my side, nodding his head slowly, while his eyes filled with tears. The emotion of seeing your final creation on paper is inexplicable.”
“Do you experience the same emotion after seeing the actual structure completed?”
He was silent for a moment, shaking his head. “The feelings are not the same. It’s like writing a symphony, then having someone else play what you’ve created. You sit back, detached, and hold your breath, while listening for mistakes. Once I saw the first house I designed constructed, I became very critical, telling myself I should’ve done this or that.”
“Are you good, Logan?”
He heard the velvet softness of her voice; he turned, and took a quick glance at her profile. “I was. Some of my designs have won awards.”
Her eyebrows shifted. “Was?”
“I haven’t personally designed anything in years. I’m now what is called an urban planner.”
“Do you like it better?”
He shrugged a broad shoulder. “It’s satisfying.”
Caryn exhaled audibly. He was satisfied with his work, while she wasn’t certain whether she would continue classroom teaching. The notion of returning to college to enroll in courses for school administration had nagged at her for more than a year, but her indecisiveness would not permit to give up the classroom. Not yet.
“Have you ever met your birth mother?”
Logan registered the soft hesitancy in her question. It was as if she didn’t want to pry, but needed to know what others had openly expressed once they realized he did not share the same physical characteristics as his adopted parents.
He shook his head slowly. “No.” And it was not as if he didn’t know who she was. “She was the daughter of a very prominent educator who found herself pregnant at fourteen.
“Meanwhile Maeve Prescott had tried unsuccessfully for years to adopt a white infant after she discovered she would never have children. But when she unwittingly discovered that the college president’s daughter was pregnant, she approached him and asked to adopt the baby. At first he balked because of her race, then agreed and everything was arranged beforehand.
“He sent his daughter up North to live with a relative to escape what was certain to become a scandalous scenario for his family. I was delivered at a small, private hospital. My biological mother never saw me, and when the doctor filed the papers recording my birth, the entry for my mother’s name read Maeve Logan. Jace Prescott was listed as the father. Maeve and Jace Prescott returned to Raleigh with a son whom they’d named Logan.”
“Was that legal?”
“As legal as if Maeve had given birth herself.”
“Is your birth mother still alive?”
Exhaling audibly, Logan nodded slowly. “Yes. She married an elected official and is the mother of two teenage daughters. Whenever I see photographs of her, she appears very happy, and there is nothing I would do to destroy that happiness. Even though her parents forced her to give up her first child, I believe everyone came out a winner.”
What he didn’t tell Caryn was that his birth mother never knew the man and woman who claimed her firstborn for their own.
“You were very fortunate.”
“I’ve been blessed, Caryn. I love my parents very much, and there isn’t anything I would do to hurt them.”
But he had hurt them. He remembered about how disappointed his father was when he told him that he wasn’t going to marry Nina. Jace merely nodded, saying he would abide with his decision. Maeve’s navy-blue eyes had filled with tears, overflowed, and stained her pale cheeks. There was no way she could hide the pain when he’d held her and whispered that it was best he end the relationship now rather than have it end years later in a divorce. Maeve had forced a smile after he reminded her that when Prescott men married, they married for life.
The vegetable stand came into view alongside the road, and Logan maneuvered behind a battered pickup truck loaded with watermelons. He applied the parking brake, but did not turn off the engine. Hopping down nimbly, he came around and swung Caryn to the sand-littered grass.
He waited while she selected a watermelon and several containers filled with fresh berries. A middle-aged couple totaled her purchases, and he paid for them. He cradled the large watermelon under his arm, while Caryn carried a carton with the berries back to the automobile.
He placed the watermelon on the floor behind the front seats, then adjusted a sack of groceries on the backseat to make room for the berries.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked.
“If I did, where would we put it?”
“You’re right about that.”
Lifting her skirt, she attempted to climb up into the four-wheel-drive vehicle, but was thwarted when Logan’s fingers circled her waist and lifted her effortlessly.
She smiled down at him, the gesture causing his breathing to falter. “Thank you again.”
He nodded. She’d flashed the smile he’d seen her give the young store clerk and Randy Bell. Whether she was aware of it or not, she was seducing him. But what surprised him was that he wanted to be seduced. There was something about Caryn Edwards that said if they did have a summer affair she would be as mature about it as he was certain he would be. They would enjoy each other’s company, and when it ended it would end smoothly without guilt or emotional entanglements. Maybe, just maybe he would let down his guard and let himself succumb to her seductive wiles.
Chapter Eight
The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly for Caryn. She and Logan returned to Marble Island, put away their purchases, then retreated to what had become their sanctuaries. For her it was the family room and for him the front porch. After changing into a pair of shorts with an oversized T-shirt, she picked up her journal and concluded her entries for the day:
I must admit it has been a very interesting day. I hadn’t planned to spend it with Logan Prescott—he finally revealed his last name, but I wasn’t given much of a choice. Now that I know who he is, I understand why he’s hiding out on Marble Island. He’s the one who jilted the very beautiful and very wealthy Nina Smith. And there’s no doubt her father is gunning for him, so if I were Mr. Prescott, I would seriously consider changing my zip code—to another state.
Lunch was very interesting and what followed equally interesting. We drove down the coast to a larger supermarket where Logan ran into a college friend who is vacationing on Gooseneck with his wife. They were Yale men, and Logan was captain of their rowing team. His friend Hamilton—Logan calls him Ham—invited us to stay over with him and his wife. but thankfully Logan convinced him to stay with us. I much prefer to be the host rather than a guest, especially if sleeping accommodations become questionable. There is no way I could share a bed with Logan and remain celibate.
I’m certain of this because of his kiss—not a deep, soul kiss, but still a kiss which left me wanting more. I try rationalizing my wanting more is due to a lack of intimacy for more years than I want to remember, but I must be honest with myself. Logan “Raven” Prescott can turn me on with just a glance. There’s something so mysteriously sensual about him that my insides quiver with an awareness of my femininity that no man—and that includes Tom—could elicit. It is exciting as well as frightening. I don’t know what will happen between us—there’s no guarantee anything will—however, a secret voice is telling me to just enjoy it, while the voice of reason says “don’t go there.” I suppose I’m going to have to let it all play out.
Raven—the nickname is quite fitting—is a trained architect who now prefers urban planning—lives in Raleigh and works for his father. Speaking of his parents—he’s adopted. There’s no doubt he’s been spoiled and is quite privileged. But I must admit that he appears very well adjusted emotionally, considering his parents are caucasian. And if I had one word to sum up Logan Prescott, it would
be unique.
Caryn read her small, neat slanting script, smiling. Logan admitted he liked her, and she also had to admit to herself that she was beginning to like him. She was still smiling when she stood up, and her bare feet were silent as she made her way up the staircase to her bedroom and placed her journal on the bedside table. Standing at the window, she was aware of how quickly dusk had descended as the setting sun resembled a large orange basketball suspended in midair.
Watching nature prepare for nightfall was awesome. The sky darkened to a soft gray, then a deeper blue to reveal a spray of stars dotting its surface. The sun was now a blood red as it sank slowly beyond the horizon until it disappeared from view. A full moon lit up the summer sky, and she tried making out some of the constellations visible to the naked eye.
She wasn’t certain how long she’d stood at the window when she heard Domino’s excited barking. A tender smile softened her mouth at the same time she spied the spotted puppy frolicking on the sand. She watched him make his way toward the incoming tide, then retreat whenever the breaking waves washed over his paws. The dog repeated his game of tag with the ocean until a high-pitched whistle garnered his attention. Standing completely still, he turned his head, then bounded back to the house.
She wanted to go downstairs and sit on the porch, but did not want to intrude on Logan and his pet. It was only nine-fifteen, but she decided to go to bed early again. Making her way across the bedroom, she closed the door.
Logan took Domino for his last walk, then returned to the porch. He’d managed to get some work done, not much, but at least he’d made an attempt. The architects at J. Prescott and Associates had designed the structures for a private community he’d projected to be as self-sufficient as a small city. The scheme was modeled to accommodate close to a thousand residents, who if they purchased units would live less than an hour’s drive from downtown Raleigh.
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