Legendary Lover

by Roszel, Renee

  The question required no answer. He gave none. He just stood where she had left him, rubbing his tingling jaw, his expression more curious than troubled. He looked lean and unrepentant, legs braced wide, silver-gold curls dancing across his tanned forehead.

  Narrowed azure eyes held her captive, making her forget to breathe. Tess felt weak, horrified that her reaction to his kiss still raged through her body and she fought back tears brought on by an aching want.

  THAT AFTERNOON after all the inn’s daily crises seemed to be taken care of, Tess retreated to her basement workshop where she took up her latest kite, a newer, larger version of Champ. She thoroughly enjoyed her hobby of kite making. It allowed her time to be alone, to be quiet and escape from the incessant demands of people.

  She pulled a piece of cane from the soaking bucket, preparing to glue and tie the wet strip to the backbone of her kite to form one of Champ’s humps. She reached for the tube of glue, but decided to light up another cigarette first.

  The incident on the island had kept rearing its ugly head all day, driving Tess to near distraction. Finally, an hour ago, she’d lost all of her hard-won resolve and bought a pack of cigarettes. She hated herself for her weakness, but…

  She took a long drag, not feeling any better. Forcing herself to think of something other than Cord Redigo’s mighty sexuality, she turned her thoughts toward Nolan Lamont. What a nice, solid man—a man of unimpeachable integrity, with a fine job, a lovely house. He’d always lived in Burlington, Vermont. Nolan wasn’t a vagabond as her father had been, or for that matter, Cord Redigo, who spent half his life on the island of Grande Comore, and the other half in far-flung places such as London, West Berlin or San Francisco, giving lectures or seducing women.

  She winced and took another long drag. Her thoughts had pivoted in the middle of her why-I-should-love-Nolan-Lamont list and tugged her back to thoughts of Cord, again.

  Juggling the cigarette, she unscrewed the glue and dabbed some on the cane, muttering, “Nolan doesn’t need me for anything. I’ve spent my life being needed more than loved, and Nolan would love me for myself.” She recapped the glue and inhaled deeply on her cigarette. Nolan loved her “spunk,” as he called it. She quirked a humorless smile. She’d never really liked that word. Still, she decided a bit snidely, Nolan didn’t nag her about her smoking.

  She started to take another puff, but in a sudden rush of self-contempt, she stubbed it out with enough force to rattle the workbench and topple an empty soda-pop can. It clattered to the floor and rolled beneath the legs of her tall stool.

  “Congratulations. I’m sure your lungs will thank you one day.”

  Immediately recognizing Cord’s voice, she jerked around toward the basement entrance. What a bothersome nag he was! But an utterly handsome one, she admitted with regret.

  He’d changed for dinner, and was wearing a lush, chamois cavalry shirt, lizard belt with a silver buckle, and form-fitting denims. He looked ruggedly sophisticated standing there. She bullied back an urge to ride off into the sunset with him.

  Meeting his crooked grin with a petulant lift of her brows, she said, “Don’t tell me, you’ve come up with a sonar device for locating women.”

  “No,” he responded, ambling closer. “But the idea’s worth pursuing.”

  His relaxed, fluid gait both attracted and infuriated her. She turned away, curved the strip of cane around and tied it down with fine string. He was very near now. She tried to ignore him and the beckoning scent of his after-shave, but halfway through binding the joint, her fingers began to trip over themselves. With an exhale that was almost a curse, she put down her kite frame. “Do you mind?”

  “What are you doing?” he asked, picking up a small hacksaw and turning it in his hand.

  “Minding my own business,” she mumbled, snatching the saw from him. “Be careful with that. You drop it and you could cut off a body part that’s very dear to me.”

  He eyed her with speculative humor. “I’m gratified by your concern.”

  His suggestive rejoinder took her so off guard that she choked back a reluctant sound of mirth in spite of herself, and ended up coughing into her hand to discreetly cover it up. “I meant my foot!” she said, when she was able.

  “Oh?” The guileless look on his face was almost believable. “My mistake.”

  Her lips twitched. He was incorrigible! Turning away from him, she entreated, “Will you go away?”

  He had the audacity to remain where he was instead of turning on his heel and leaving as she’d asked. “I have some news I thought you’d be interested in.”

  “Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to reform and quit accosting innocent bystanders with your lips?” She didn’t look up, but she could feel his gaze on her back during the oppressive pause that followed.

  “I thought I apologized for that.”

  She peered over her shoulder at him. He had the grace to look a little ill at ease. She decided the best course would be to forget the whole painful incident. With a shrug, she asked, “Is the news about Champ?”

  “It’s about unexplainable readings on my paper chart recorder.”

  “Unexplainable readings?” She passed him a suspicious look before turning away to tie off the cane. “I suppose that’s as good a way as any to belittle hard evidence.”

  “Erratic readings alone don’t confirm Champ’s existence. Still, they’re not readily explainable.”

  “So you say.”

  She cut another strip of cane and put it in the soaking bucket, not because she was going to use it—she just didn’t want to have to look up into those dusky blue eyes. “I’m not surprised about your so-called erratic readings. You’ll eat your doubting words about Champ yet.”

  “You make cutting that cane look easy.”

  Easy? She’d never felt so clumsy in her life. Positive that she would slice off a finger if she tried it again, she put down her fretsaw and swiveled on her stool to face him. She was provoked but unsure exactly why. Cord had only come down here to give her good news. “Don’t you have anywhere to go?” she asked rather grimly.

  “Not until dinner.” He peered at her thoughtfully. “Do you want me to go?”

  “Yes, I do.” It was only half true. Or maybe it was a complete lie. She was so confused!

  He nodded, accepting her frankness with a resigned quirk of his brow. “If that’s how you want it.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” she called, her need to have him out of her life warring with an insidious desire to have him near.

  When he turned back around, she didn’t know what in the world she was going to say. After a panic-stricken pause, she whispered, “Old habits die hard, Cord. Give me some time. I’ll try to remember that we’re … working at being…”

  “Friends?” he suggested.

  They looked at each other, in tension for a time, and then the tension passed. She lifted her hands in a kind of shrug. “I guess.”

  His smile was small, his eyes wooing. “Thanks.” He motioned toward the wall where she had her colorful kites displayed. “Some of these are works of art. Do you ever sell them?”

  Grateful to have something else to talk about, she said, “Sometimes I sell a few at craft shows. Mostly, I just love flying them. They’re so free.”

  “What do you want to be free of?”

  She’d been scanning her silken kites, her mind not really on them. When she heard his question, she darted him a startled look. “What do I want to be free of? Why, nothing! I—I don’t…” she began, but her retort faded away, and she frowned. She hardly ever allowed herself to think about it, but she did want to be free of something. Only, why did it have to be just now that she’d had to blurt it out?

  He was watching her quietly. “What is it?” he asked her after the silence had stretched too long.

  She studied her fingernails. “You realize this is none of your business.”

  “I thought we were going to be friends. I’m a good listener.”
>
  Her gaze wandered restlessly from her hands to her lap. She realized with distress that her skirt had crept up along her leg under the workbench, and now a good portion of bare thigh was exposed to his view. She hurriedly tugged at her hem. And then her gaze fell on his chestnut boots, inches from the base of her stool; she followed them up to jeans that accentuated the muscled strength of his thighs, hips and— She averted her eyes, feeling an unbidden warmth flutter to life within her. “I, er, what were we talking about?”

  “Freedom.”

  “Oh.” His stance was relaxed, companionable. He had a way about him that invited confidences. She wished he didn’t. It had been one of the traits that had made him so popular in high school. The pull of it was no less powerful now.

  Even as a cautious part of her brain was demanding that she dash hell-bent out of the basement, she murmured, “I guess I want freedom from being needed all the time. My mother was sick, then my dad—he needed me. Aunt Jewel—I guess I’d like to be loved for myself alone—with all my flaws. Like Virge. No strings attached.” She cringed, feeling like a total fool once the words were out of her mouth. To save face, she covered her embarrassment with a sharp little laugh. “Fortunately, Nolan loves me with no strings attached.” She cocked her head defiantly before she added, “And he doesn’t bug me about my smoking, either.”

  Some dark emotion skidded across Cord’s face, making a tremor of apprehension skip up her spine. “What are you thinking?” she demanded.

  He shrugged and looked away. “Nothing. It’s none of my business.”

  She bristled. “I know it’s none of your business. I told you it was none of your business.” She lit a cigarette and blew a long, thin stream of smoke into the air before she could rein in her irritation enough to go on. “Now,” she said, trying to control her quavering voice. “If you’ve got something to get off your chest, get it off.”

  He took the cigarette from her trembling fingers and stubbed it out, before asking her quietly, “You think Nolan doesn’t need you?”

  “I know so! What are you implying?”

  “Nolan feeds on you, Tess,” he began, his tone serious. “He needs wit and spontaneity in his life. Don’t his visits drain you rather than revitalize you?”

  She balked at the very idea, thinking his suggestion was utterly ridiculous. Wasn’t it? It began to dawn on her that there was some small truth in what Cord said. Nolan’s visits did drain her. He always insisted that she be “up,” find things that they could do together, things that kept him entertained. Why hadn’t she ever seen that as the neediness it was?

  She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, trying to disguise her annoyance over the fact that Cord had seen something in two days that she hadn’t discovered about Nolan in two years. Out of pure obstinacy, she shot back, “That’s crazy, Cord. Go back to your precious fish. Maybe they’d appreciate your unsolicited opinions. I don’t.”

  He might have winced, but she wasn’t sure. Suddenly she felt disgusted with herself. It wasn’t Cord’s fault that she simply couldn’t be objective where he was concerned. Still, that was no excuse for running roughshod over his feelings. She shook her head, muttering, “Now that was a lovely example of my wit and spontaneity.”

  He looked confused, charmingly so. Her smile was wan as she confessed, “That’s my poor way of saying I’m sorry, Cord. You didn’t deserve that.” Wanting to make amends, as well as change the subject, she asked him, “Have you ever seen a monster fly?”

  His grin was slow and somehow gallant. “Can’t say I have.”

  “Then it’s about time you did.” Gazing into those soft blue eyes, she became strangely lighthearted. She hopped down from her stool and took hold of his fingers. The action surprised them both, and her eyes met his for a brief, startled moment before he turned her hand and took it in his.

  “Are you telling me to go fly a kite, Tessa Jane?”

  The soft way he said her name rekindled the yearning she’d felt when he’d kissed her that morning. She fought it, quipping, “How’d you guess?”

  “No one’s ever told me to go fly a kite before.”

  She averted her eyes. That didn’t surprise her a bit.

  5

  There was just enough breeze for flying kites. High, delicate clouds like mares’ tails were sketched on the cobalt sky. It was a beautiful summer evening, with at least an hour’s light left. Tess became more at ease as she watched her silken Champ dip and sail and loft as Cord handled the reel.

  “You’re very good at flying kites,” she said as she sat back in the cool grass, spreading her skirt around her. “Someone should have told you to do it long ago.”

  He laughed, letting out more line. “If anybody had told me a week ago that today I’d be flying a kite that’s half snake and half whale, I’d have told them to seek professional help.” He smiled down at her. “I presume this is your artistic conception of a zeuglodon?”

  “Yes, it is. I copied it from a very scholarly library book.” Feeling playful, she leaned back on her elbows, matching his grin. “From your tone, I presume you have a problem with it.”

  He looked away as the kite arced downward. “Just a suggestion. Most Champ enthusiasts prefer the plesiosaur as the monster of choice. I’ve got a picture of one if you’d like to see it.”

  “In your wallet, alongside your halibut buddies?” she teased.

  “No, the coelacanths would be jealous.” When he looked back down at her, his eyes were twinkling. “It’s in a book about Champ. A friend of Mary’s wrote it.”

  She arched her brows. “Do you mean to say you actually own a book about Champ?”

  “Mary does. I’ve read it.”

  “And?” she prodded.

  He turned his attention back to the kite, reeling it in a little. “And my choice would be the plesiosaur, too. You’d get more loft with added flippers.”

  She heaved a theatrical sigh at his sidestepping. “Dr. Redigo, you can be a real pain in the neck.” There was a trace of laughter in her voice that she couldn’t suppress.

  “Mary’s told me the same thing a time or two, but the anatomical location where I cause her pain is somewhat lower.”

  “Mary knows you better than I do.”

  His gaze dipped to meet hers. He said nothing, but she knew from his look that there were some things about him that Tess knew much better than Mary did. She swallowed and looked away. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

  Quillan Quimby was loping across the lawn toward them, waving broadly. He looked casually well dressed in gray whipcord slacks and a cream-colored cardigan sweater, a crest emblazoned on the left breast.

  “Cord.” Tess got to her feet. “I think Quillan has news.”

  Cord handed Tess the kite reel and walked toward Quillan, who was panting heavily by the time he reached the younger man.

  “What is it, Quimby?” Cord asked.

  “We’ve had word—” he put his hand to his chest, taking a deep breath “—from Basin Harbor about a sighting. Champ’s heading this way!”

  Quillan’s face was flushed with a mixture of exertion and excitement as he went on, “And … just before the phone call, Jewel was saying she sensed Champ’s presence.” He clapped his hands. “This could be it, my boy. Should we gather the team and proceed to the boat?”

  Cord pursed his lips and nodded. “Only shore surveillance people need stay on duty. The rest of us will do a visual tour of this section of the lake.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Quillan called over his shoulder as he dashed back along the lawn.

  Cord turned to Tess, who was reeling in the kite as quickly as she could. “You heard?” he asked.

  “Yes, and I hope you’ll let me come.”

  Though his gaze was mild, there was an unmistakable sultriness hovering at the corners of his smile, as he offered, “Anytime.”

  She felt a stab of desire at the suggestiveness of his remark. Trying to keep the strain from her voic
e, she said, “I’ll just put my kite away and meet you at the dock.”

  “Five minutes?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He turned to go. Her gaze lingered, hungered for something she knew she shouldn’t want. But a part of her sang with excitement at his veiled sexual invitation.

  She was disgusted with herself. Her logical side argued that Cord probably hadn’t meant anything sexual at all. On the other hand…

  She clamped her jaws shut, fighting her wayward thoughts. If it was an invitation, Cord Redigo would make the same offer to any female with the breath of life in her. She certainly wasn’t anything special to him!

  Stalking off toward the inn to deposit her kite, she vowed to save her primitive urges for sweet, dependable Nolan. She tried not to think about the fact that she felt no such urges for him. An old fear began to gnaw at her. She so wanted to feel for Nolan the way she felt with Cord that night in the hay long ago. But she didn’t. She sputtered an angry oath. More than anything in the world she wanted to quench that smoldering fire she harbored for Cord and be able to love Nolan the way he should be loved.

  Fifteen minutes later they were cruising over rough water toward Basin Harbor. Mary was at the wheel on the flying deck, with Quillan, his granddaughter and Cord sharing the bench with her.

  Most of the rest of the excited team had crowded onto the foredeck. Because Tess was so afraid of drowning, and because the foredeck had only the bow safety rail between life and nothingness, she opted to remain back in the deckhouse. Unfortunately, shortly after she’d made her cowardly decision, Cord bounded down the flying deck ladder to get some readings on the sonar chart recorder that was fitted into the hull beside the pilot’s seat.

  The wind had picked up, making the ride rough. Without warning, Tess found herself in Cord’s arms as they lurched into the trough of a large wave. With a gasp she tried to twist away, but her balance was off and she merely succeeded in falling against him once more.