Logan had accepted her in his life with few questions asked.
Her clothes hadn’t mattered, and he hadn’t even cared what
she did or where she came from. His gentle words and interest
in her were so different from the attention she had received
from the other men in her life.
Mica looked down at her skirt and blouse. At least she
would look more like a respectable woman, instead of having
Logan see her as he had before—first in pajamas then in jeans.
“You said it didn’t matter to him,” she taunted her reflection
in the mirror.
“It doesn’t,” she answered, but nevertheless she ran a brush
through her hair before grabbing the key and hurrying from
her apartment.
Moving soundlessly through the upper hallway, Mica
cringed as the key grated in the lock. She glanced over her
shoulder at the other doors, but since it was early the other
guests must still be out for dinner. It simply would not do for
anyone to see her sneaking around like a thief in the night.
The now familiar tingle shot up her arm as she turned the
knob to let herself into Logan’s residence. A quiver of
anticipation pumped adrenaline through her system, and her
heart pounded in her chest. She knew it was more than the
excitement of doing something no one else knew about. This
nervousness could be directly attributed to the prospect of
seeing Logan. While he seemed to want to advance their
relationship faster than Mica could handle, it hadn’t precluded
her from wanting to see him again.
Discouragement slowed her footsteps as she checked the
library, and then the music room. There were low burning lamps
in each, but no sign of Logan. Well, what did she expect, coming
in unannounced at such an early hour? A man as handsome as
Logan surely had dates. It might be hours before he came home.
And he might not be alone. Disappointment clouded her vision
as she turned to retrace her steps to the door.
Suddenly, her gaze landed on a closed door. It was a room
she had not been in before, and it seemed to beckon to her. She
turned the knob to find it unlocked. Every law she had ever
studied flashed through her head, but none of the statutes she
was about to break could have made her release the door and
leave without investigating.
The instant she stepped over the threshold she knew Logan
slept here. She could feel his very essence surrounding her—
his after-shave, the strictly male feel of the place. Heavy
draperies were open to allow the evening breezes through, along
with a sliver of moonlight. A chair sat by the fireplace and a
desk was positioned near the windows.
Mica trailed a hand across the counterpane, which was
light colored but not frilly. She thought the furnishings looked
old, but then they fit in with the rest of the decor. Dreamily she
leaned against one of the posters, trying to imagine Logan asleep
on that bed, his beautiful hair mussed, his lips parted as he
dreamed.
Did he dream of her? If so, were his dreams as erotic as
hers had been the past two nights? She straightened and shook
herself, knowing beyond doubt she should leave. Not only
wasn’t Logan here, but her thoughts were definitely getting
away from her better judgment.
“I’ll be down for something to eat as soon as I bathe. We
kept the fire contained to the ...” Logan’s voice carried down
the hall, but Mica couldn’t move fast enough to hide.
Suddenly, he stood in the doorway, and Mica couldn’t be
certain who was more surprised. His hands clutched his open
shirt, pulled halfway out of his pants and covered with black
soot. His arms and face were completely black. Had it not been
for his voice, Mica would never have recognized him. She
swallowed. He didn’t look pleased to see her this time.
“Well, Michaela Marie, so you do keep your promises.”
He walked right past her to another door, and Mica could hear
water splashing. Before she could slip out of the room, he
returned, this time bare-chested and with some of the soot wiped
from his face. “When you said you would be back, I didn’t
realize you meant not until the next day.”
His sarcasm stung her like a blow, but she couldn’t find it
in herself to walk away. In fact, she couldn’t look away from
his gloriously muscled chest that heaved with righteous
indignation. Her palms itched with the need to calm his agitation
with a caress. No, she wanted to touch him to try and calm her
own feverish state.
She took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that
things were moving so fast. You were...I haven’t been divo...”
She groaned. Once again he turned her mind to mush. He stood
not three feet from her, clad only in his trousers and smelling
strongly of smoke, and all Mica wanted was to wrap her arms
around him and kiss him and beg his forgiveness. All her
recently found self-assurance flew right out the window. She
took a step forward, but his next words halted her.
“If you’re a married lady, I suggest you leave right now. I
prefer not to have my life ended by some cuckolded husband.”
“I’m not married.” She spoke the words softly.
“You say you are from Sea Crest, but all the other
plantations are across the bay. I doubt you could walk there at
night, so where the hell have you been, and why do you keep
disappearing?” The last words reached Mica’s ears as an
exasperated shout.
Remnants of arguments with Richard flashed through her
mind, finally lifting her mental fog and spurring her into action.
Why had she thought this man different from any other man?
They all wanted to dominate, and she refused to give them
total control.
Without a word she turned on her heel and stormed towards
the door. This time she would make sure the key she felt in her
pocket became permanently welded in the lock.
“Wait.” His touch on her arm was electrifying—the heat
from his hand instantly melting her anger. When she did not
turn around, he stepped closer, running both hands up and down
her arms. The heat turned to goose bumps then back to fire,
burning through her back as he pulled her against his chest.
“I’m sorry.” The two words, whispered against her hair,
completely unraveled her. They weren’t what she was used to
from the men in her life.
Logan circled her with his arms, knowing he would
probably ruin her clothes but wanting to feel her against him—
to know she was real and had returned yet again to see him. He
could no longer smell the smoke from the fire. Instead he
breathed in the clean, lemony scent of her hair, felt the soft
curves of her body as she relaxed against him.
God, she made him crazy! Here one minute, gone the next
without a trace. He hadn’t meant to shout at her. His anger
reflected his frustration at being unable to locate her though he
<
br /> had searched throughout the day. He knew so little about her,
and yet when she softened in his arms like this, there was
nothing else he wanted to know.
He turned her around, enchanted by her dainty gesture as
she tucked her hair behind her ear. Her eyelashes fluttered over
bright blue eyes as she glanced up at him, then away.
“I missed you,” he said. “I searched and searched, but
couldn’t find you.” Each word brought him closer to her lips,
which she opened as though to deny what he told her. He didn’t
give her a chance, instead kissing away her protests.
He had dreamed of her last night—dark erotic dreams in
which they had traveled the road of passion time and time again.
She had been hot and willing, and he had felt complete for the
first time in a very long while. Now, as she returned his kiss,
opening her mouth to his questing tongue, that feeling of
completeness stole over him again. The warmth of her hands
as she cupped his face erased all doubts as to the rightness of
her belonging with him. If only he could convince her of that
so she wouldn’t keep running away. If only...
He flinched as she unwittingly brushed against the burns
on his neck. She immediately stilled, tilting her head back to
break the kiss.
“You’re hurt.” Her tender words tore at his heart. How
long had it been since anyone had cared?
“It’s nothing serious. Just some cinder burns. We had a
fire in the north field, and it took everyone to put it out. I’ll
have to wait until morning to assess the damage. It’s too dark
to tell how many acres burned.” He started to release her, but
then caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “If I leave you to
bathe away the stench of smoke, will you promise to be here
when I finish?”
Her blue eyes glittered mischievously, and he traced the
upward slant of her lips as she smiled. He didn’t want to let
her out of his sight. He loved the silky feel of her skin and the
warmth of her body, and yet he knew she would probably not
consent to take a bath with him so he wouldn’t have to stop
touching her.
“I promise I’ll be here.”
“And do you mean here in this room, or here on the island
somewhere, or perhaps just here in the state of South Carolina?”
He realized that her escapes had been made because of his
amorous advances. Though he couldn’t seem to help himself
where she was concerned, he knew he would have to proceed
slowly.
“I’ll stay in this room. I swear.” He watched her glance
nervously around his bedroom. Wanting to make her feel
comfortable but not wanting her far from his sight, he refused
to consider putting her in the library. Instead, he pulled her
towards the fireplace chair, releasing her hand only after she
had settled herself on the soft cushions.
He moved towards the bathing room that he had just
installed upon his return to Indigo Bay. He left the door open a
little as he stripped off his soiled breeches. He spoke, wanting
to hear the sound of her voice to reassure himself she had,
indeed, stayed.
“I lay awake last night rehearsing what I would say to you
when I saw you again. Shouting at you in anger wasn’t what
I’d planned. I apologize. Will you tell me where you went?”
Mica closed her eyes as his voice caressed her with its
deep Southern drawl. The rest of her senses alerted her to the
sound of his pants being removed and the splash of water. Her
own skin tingled as she pictured him lowering his muscular
body into the water, his hands slowly soaping a washrag, then
rubbing it over every inch of himself to...
“Michaela Marie?” His voice became urgent, and she
realized he thought she had broken her promise.
“Yes, I’m still here.” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared
it as she fought to suppress her wayward thoughts.
“Well?” More water splashed, and Mica squeezed her legs
together against the achiness building deep inside her. Dear
God, why hadn’t she suggested she wait in the library?
She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. “I spent
the day trying to find out about you, if you must know the
truth. There is no record of Indigo Bay, except for one reference
back in the 1800’s.” She raised her voice to be heard over the
splashing. “Most records were destroyed during the Civil War.”
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a civil war.
Exactly what do you mean?” Logan’s voice came out of the
bathroom muffled, and Mica clutched the arms of the chair as
she envisioned him rubbing himself dry with a fluffy towel.
“You know, the War Between the States.” Many
Southerners still refused to use the term Civil War.
“What?” Logan stuck his head through the doorway, gifting
Mica with a glimpse of bronze torso, lightly sprinkled with
dark hair, contrasting sharply with the white of a towel slung
around his neck. She swallowed. Every muscle in her coiled
tighter than a spring. Every nerve ending sang along her skin
from the explosive current in the air.
When she didn’t say anything, he disappeared around the
door again.
“Leave it to a woman to get war and politics confused,” he
said with a chuckle. “The war of 1812, to which you must be
referring, was between the United States and Britain. Although
it was before my time, my father fought, using Indigo Bay as a
refuge for American privateers.” He came into the room
buttoning a shirt over clean brown trousers, but this time Mica
didn’t notice his devastating appearance. What he’d just said
didn’t make sense.
She didn’t have time to sort it out before he said, “Of course,
with President Fillmore in office now, we don’t have to worry
about any more fights with the British. He’s made it clear he
won’t tolerate—”
“What did you say?” Mica tore her gaze to his. “President
who?”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Even if you can’t vote,
you’ve surely listened to dinner discussions and know Millard
Fillmore has been our President since Taylor died in July.”
He bent to kiss her lips, unaware of the shock his words
had caused. “Stay right here. I’m going to get a tray from Mattie,
and we can eat up here tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough
to see the rest of the manor.”
Mica didn’t even realize he had left. Very slowly, as though
she had never seen it before, her gaze shifted around the room,
pausing here and there to study the furnishings. Her heart beat
painfully against her ribs, and yet it beat so loudly she could
hear its slow thump, thump inside her head. Other impressions
bombarded her—oil lamps, mint condition 1840 law books,
and Logan’s clothes, which, now that she thought about it, had
never seemed quite in fashion.
She forced herself to relax the stranglehold she had on the
chair and rise, moving to the doorway. Though the light was
dim, she could detect the pattern of the wallpaper. She searched
in vain along the entire length of the wall—from doorway to
corner—and could not find a single light switch or wall socket.
Her hands shook as she brought them to her mouth to stifle
the scream bubbling up inside. No way could this be happening.
Either this was some great practical joke, or she had slipped
over the brink of sanity and entered a dream world of her own
design. Either way, Mica wanted no part of it—Logan or no
Logan. She might have dreamed him up, but she could not
imagine how the rest of this came about.
Tears blurred her vision as she raced from the room and
descended the stairs. She had to get out of here—back to her
safe life and her nice, responsible job. She reached for the
doorknob, shaking so hard she had to clasp it with both hands.
“Michaela Marie? Where...oh no, not again!”
She heard Logan’s shout and the crash of dishes and jerked
harder on the door, intent on getting back to Sea Crest before
he could stop her.
She bolted through the door only to realize it led outside.
In her panic she had taken the wrong turn. A wide verandah
stepped down to a circular drive before a lush lawn took over
the rest of her view. Where was she? How had she gotten away
from Sea Crest?
Before she could find any answers, she heard footsteps
behind her. Instinctively, she raced down the steps and turned
to her right. At the first opening in shrubbery, she turned again.
The small amount of light from the moon showed her the way
across more lawn.
Her ears roared as she raced through the night. She gasped
for breath but refused to slow down even though her heart
pounded and her side ached. Did she hear waves crashing in
front of her, or was it only her frantic heartbeat? If she got to
the beach, she would be able to orient herself and locate Sea
Crest.
She didn’t stop until she felt the water lap at her ankles.
She held her side against the pain as she turned towards land to
locate Sea Crest’s lights.
She screamed when Logan grabbed her arm and spun her
around. She pounded on his chest with her fists. “Go away—
leave me alone! I don’t know who put you up to this, but it was
Baldwin, Barbara - Indigo Bay.txt Page 7