Baldwin, Barbara - Indigo Bay.txt

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by Indigo Bay (lit)


  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

 

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