Megan's Mate tcw-5

by Nora Roberts

  She must have slept. When she woke, she was sprawled on her stomach across the bed. The rain had stopped and night had fallen. When her mind cleared, she became aware of dozens of small aches, and a drugged sense of satisfaction.

  She thought of rolling over, but it seemed like too much trouble. Instead, she stretched out her arms, searching the tumbled bed, knowing already that she was alone.

  She heard the bird squawk slyly. “You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve?”

  She was still chuckling when Nathaniel stepped back into the room. “What do you do, run old movies for him all day?”

  “He's a Bogart fan. What can I tell you?” It amazed him that he felt awkward, holding a dinner tray white a naked woman lolled in his bed. “That’s a pretty good scar you've got there, sugar.”

  She was much too content to be embarrassed when she saw where his eyes had focused. “I earned it. That's a pretty good dragon you've got.”

  “I was eighteen, stupid, and more than a little buzzed on beer. But I guess I earned it, too.”

  “Suits you. What have you got there?” “Thought you might be hungry.”

  “I'm starving.” She braced herself on both elbows and smiled at him. “That smells terrific. I didn't know you cooked.”

  “I don't. Dutch does. I cadge handouts from the kitchen, then nuke them.” “Nuke them?”

  “Zap them in the microwave.” He set the tray down on the sea chest at the foot of the bed. “We've got some Cajun chicken, some wine.”

  “Mmm...” She roused herself enough to lean over and peer at it. “Looks wonderful. But I really need to get Kevin.”

  “I talked to Suzanna.” He wondered if he could talk her into eating dinner just as she was, gloriously naked. “Unless she hears from you, Kevin's set to spend the night with them.”

  “Oh. Well.”

  “She says he's already knee-deep in video games with Alex and Jenny.” “And if I called, I'd spoil his party.”

  “Pretty much.” He sat on the edge of the bed, ran a fingertip down her spine. “So, how about it? Sleep with me tonight?”

  “I don't even have a toothbrush.”

  “I can dig up an extra.” He broke off a piece of chicken, fed it to her. “Oh.” She swallowed, blew out a breath. “Spicy.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned down to sample her lips, then lifted a glass of wine to them. “Better?”

  “It's wonderful.”

  He tipped the glass so that a few drops of wine spilled on her shoulder. “Oops. Better clean that up.” He did so with a lingering lick of his tongue. “What do I have to do to convince you to stay?”

  She forgot the food and rolled into his arms. “You just did.”

  In the morning, the mists had cleared. Nathaniel watched Megan pin up her hair in a beam of sunlight. It seemed only right that he move behind her and press his lips to the base of her neck.

  He thought it was a sweetly ordinary, sweetly intimate gesture that could become a habit.

  “I love the way you polish yourself up, sugar.”

  “Polish myself up?” Her curious eyes met his in the glass. She had on the same tailored suit she'd worn the day before—not slightly wrinkled. Her makeup was sketchy at best, courtesy of the small emergency cosmetic kit she carried in her purse, and her hair was giving her trouble, as she'd lost half of her pins.

  “Like you are now. Like some pretty little cupcake behind the bakery window.”

  “Cupcake.” She nearly choked. “I'm certainly not a cupcake.”

  “I've got a real sweet tooth.” To prove it, he nibbled his way to her ear.

  “I've noticed.” She turned, but put her hands against his chest to hold him off. “I have to go.”

  “Yeah, me too. I don't suppose I could talk you into coming with me.”

  “To sight whales?” She cocked her head. “No more than I could talk you into sitting with me in my office all day, running figures.”

  He winced. “Guess not. How about tonight?”

  She yearned, wished, longed. “I have to think of Kevin. I can't spend my nights here with you while he spends them somewhere else.”

  “I had that figured. I was thinking if you were to leave your terrace doors open...”

  “You could come sneaking in?” she asked archly. “More or less.”

  “Good thinking.” She laughed and drew away. “Now, are you going to drive me back to my car?”

  “Looks that way.” He took her hand, holding it as they walked downstairs. “Megan...” He hated to bring it up when the sun was shining and his mood was light. “If you hear from Dumont, if he tries to see you or Kevin, if he calls, sends a damn smoke signal, does anything, I want you to tell me.”

  She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I doubt I will, after the dunking you gave him. But don't worry, Nathaniel, I can handle Baxter.”

  “Off with his head,” Bird suggested, but Nathaniel didn't smile.

  “It's not a matter of what you can handle.” He pushed the door open, stepped outside. “Maybe you don't figure that last night gives me the right to look out for you and your boy, but I do. I will. So we'll put it this way.” He opened the car door for her. “Either you promise me that you'll tell me, or I go after him now.”

  She started to protest, but the image, absolutely vivid, of the look on Nathaniel's face when he'd rammed Baxter against the wall stopped her. “You would.”

  “Bank on it.”

  She tried to separate annoyance from the simple pleasure of being protected. And couldn't. “I want to say I appreciate the concern, but I'm not sure I do. I've been taking care of myself, and of Kevin, for a long time.”

  “Things change.”

  “Yes,” she said carefully, wondering what was behind those calm, unblinking gray eyes. “I'm more comfortable when they change slowly.”

  “I'm doing my best to keep at your pace, Meg.” Whatever frustrations he had, he told himself, he could handle. “Just a simple yes or no on this'll do.”

  It wasn't just herself, Megan thought. There was Kevin. And Nathaniel was offering them both a strong, protecting arm. Pride meant nothing when compared to the welfare of her son.

  Not at all sure why she was amused, she turned to him once he'd settled into the driver's seat. “You have an uncanny knack for getting your own way. And when you do, you just accept it as inevitable.”

  “It usually is.” He backed out of the drive and headed for Shipshape.

  There was a small greeting party waiting for them. Holt and, to Megan's surprise, her brother, Sloan.

  “I dropped the kids off at The Towers,” Holt told her, before she could ask. “They've got your dog, Nate.”

  “Thanks.” She'd barely stepped from the car when Sloan grabbed her by the shoulders, stared hard into her eyes.

  “Are you all right? Why the hell didn't you call me? Did he put his hands on you?”

  “I'm fine. Sloan, I'm fine.” Instinctively she cupped his face, kissed him. “I didn't call because I already had two white knights charging into battle. And he may have put his hands on me, but I put my fists on him. I think I split his lip.”

  Sloan said something particularly foul about Du-mont and hugged Megan close. “I should have killed him when you first told me about him.”

  “Stop it.” She pressed her cheek to his. “It's over. I want it put aside. Kevin's not to hear about it. Now come on, I'll drive you back to the house.”

  “I've got some things to do.” He gave Nathaniel a steely stare over Megan's shoulder. “You go on up, Meg. I'll be along later.”

  “All right, then.” She kissed him again. “Holt, thanks again for looking after Kevin.”

  “No problem.” Holt tucked his tongue in his cheek when Nathaniel scooped Megan up for a long, lingering kiss. A glance at Sloan's narrowed eyes had him biting that tongue to keep from grinning.

  “See you, sugar.”

  Megan flushed, cleared her throat. “Yes.,.well. Bye.”

  Nathaniel
tucked his thumbs in his pocket, waited until she'd driven off before he turned to Sloan. “Guess you want to talk to me.”

  “Damn right I want to talk to you.”

  “You'll have to come up to the bridge. We've got a tour going out.”

  “Want a referee?” Holt offered, and earned two deadly glances. “Too bad. I hate to miss it.”

  Smoldering, Sloan followed Nathaniel up the gangplank, waited restlessly while he gave orders. Once they were on the bridge, Nathaniel glanced over the charts and dismissed the mate.

  “If this is going to take longer than fifteen minutes, you're in for a ride.”

  “I've got plenty of time.” Sloan stepped closer, braced his legs like a gunslinger at high noon. “What the hell were you doing with my sister?”

  “I think you have that figured out,” Nathaniel said coolly.

  Sloan bared his teeth. “If you think I'm going to stand back while you move in on her, you're dead wrong. I wasn't around when she got tangled up with Dumont, but I'm here now.”

  “I'm not Dumont.” Nathaniel's own temper threatened to snap, a dry twig of control. “You want to take out what he did to her on me, that's fine. I've been looking to kick someone's ass ever since I caught that bastard tossing her around. So you want to take me on?” he said invitingly. “Do it.”

  Though the invitation tempted some elemental male urge, Sloan pulled back. “What do you mean, he was tossing her around?”

  “Just what I said. He had her up against the wall.” The rage swept back, almost drowning him. “I thought about killing him, but I didn't think she could handle it.”

  Sloan breathed deep to steady himself. “So you threw him off the pier.”

  “Well, I punched him a few times first, then I figured there was a chance he couldn't swim.”

  Calmer, and grateful, Sloan nodded. “Holt had a few words with him when he dragged his sorry butt out. They've tangled before.” He'd missed his chance that time, as well, he thought, thoroughly disgusted. “I don't think Dumont'll come back, chance running into any of us again.” Sloan knew he should be glad of it, but he regretted, bitterly, not getting his own licks in.

  “I appreciate you looking out for her,” he said stiffly. “But that doesn't get us past the rest. She'd have been upset, vulnerable. I don't like a man who takes advantage of that.”

  “I gave her tea and dry clothes,” Nathaniel said between his teeth. “It would have stopped right there, if that was what she wanted. Staying with me was her choice.”

  “I'm not going to see her hurt again. You might look at her and see an available woman, but she's my sister.”

  “I'm in love with your sister.” Nathaniel snapped his head around when the bridge door opened.

  “Ready to cast off, Captain.”

  “Cast off.” He cursed under his breath as he stalked to the wheel.

  Sloan stood back while he gave orders and piloted the boat into the bay. “You want to run that by me again?”

  “Have you got a problem with plain English?” Nathaniel tossed back. “I'm in love with her. Damn it.”

  “Well, now.” More than a little taken aback, Sloan sat on the bench closest to the helm.

  He wanted to think that one through. After all, Megan had barely met the man. Then again, he remembered, he'd fallen for Amanda in little more time than it took her to snap his head off. If he'd been able to choose a man for his sister, it might have been someone very much like Nathaniel Fury.

  “Have you told her that?” Sloan asked, his tone considerably less belligerent.

  “Go to hell.”

  “Haven't,” he decided, and braced his booted foot on his knee. “Does she feel the same way about you?”

  “She will.” Nathaniel set his teeth. “She needs time to work it out, that's all.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “That's what I say.” Nathaniel ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Look, O'Riley, either mind your own damn business or take a punch at me. I've had enough.”

  Sloan's smile spread slow and easy. “Crazy about her, aren't you?” Nathaniel merely grunted and started out to sea.

  “What about Kevin?” Sloan studied Nathaniel's profile as he probed. “Some might have a problem taking on another man's son.”

  “Kevin's Megan's son.” His eyes flashed to Sloan's, burned. “He'll be mine.”

  Sloan waited a moment until he was sure. “So, you're going to take on the whole package.”

  “That's right.” Nathaniel pulled out a cigar, lit it. “You got a problem with that?”

  “Can't say as I do.” Sloan grinned and accepted the cigar Nathaniel belatedly offered him. “You might, though. My sister's a damn stubborn woman. But seeing as you're almost a member of the family, I'll be glad to offer any help.”

  A smile finally twitched at Nathaniel's mouth. “Thanks, but I'd like to handle it on my own.”

  “Suit yourself.” Sloan settled back to enjoy the ride.

  “Are you sure you're all right?”

  Megan had no more than stepped in the door of The Towers when she found herself surrounded by concern.

  “I'm fine, really.” Her protests hadn't prevented the Calhouns from herding her into the family kitchen and plying her with tea and sympathy. “This has gotten blown out of proportion.”

  “When somebody messes with one of us,” C.C. corrected, “they mess with all of us.”

  She glanced outside, where the children were playing happily in the yard. “I appreciate it. Really. But I don't think there's anything more to worry about.”

  “There won't be.” Colleen stepped into the room, her gaze scanning each face in turn. “What are you all doing in here, smothering the girl? Get out.”

  “Aunt Colleen...” Coco began.

  “Out, I said, all of you. You, go back to your kitchen and flirt with that big Dutchman you've got sneaking into your room at night.”

  “Why, I—”

  “Go. And you.” Now her cane gestured threateningly at Amanda. “You've got a hotel to run, don't you? Go weed some flowers,” she ordered Suzanna. “And you go tinker with an engine.” She flicked her gaze from C.C. to Lilah.

  “Tougher with me, isn't it, Auntie?” Lilah said lazily. “Take a nap,” Colleen snapped.

  “Got me,” Lilah said with a sigh. “Come on, ladies, we've been dismissed.”

  Satisfied when the door swung shut behind them, Colleen sat heavily at the table. “Get me some of that tea,” she ordered Megan. “See that it's hot.”

  Though she moved to obey, Megan wasn't cowed. “Do you always find rudeness works to your advantage, Miss Calhoun?”

  “That, old age, and a hefty portfolio.” She took the tea Megan set in front of her, sipped, nodded grudgingly when she found it hot and strong. “Now then, sit down and listen to what I have to say. And don't prim your mouth at me, young lady.”

  “I'm very fond of Coco,” Megan told her. “You embarrassed her.”

  “Embarrassed her? Ha! She and that tattooed hulk have been mooning around after each other for days. Gave her a prod is what I did.” But she eyed Megan craftily. “Loyal when it’s deserved, are you?”

  “I am.”

  “And so am I. I made a few calls this morning, to some friends in Boston. Influential friends. Hush,” she ordered when Megan started to speak. “Detest politics myself, but it's often necessary to dance with the devil. Dumont should be being made aware, at this moment, that any contact with you, or your son, will fatally jeopardize his ambitions. He will not trouble you again.”

  Megan pressed her lips together. She wanted her voice to be steady. No matter what she had said, how she had pretended, there had been an icy fear, like a cold ax balanced over her head, of what Baxter might do. In one stroke, Colleen had removed it.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I loathe bullies. I particularly loathe bullies who interfere with the contentment of my family.”

  “I'm not your family,” Megan
said softly.

  “Ha! Think again. You stuck your toe in Calhoun waters, girl. We're like quicksand. You're a Calhoun now, and you're stuck.”

  Tears rushed into her eyes, blinding her. “Miss Calhoun—” Megan's words were cut off by the impatient rap of Colleen's cane. After a sniffle, Megan began again. “Aunt Colleen,” she corrected, understanding. “I'm very grateful.”

  “So you should be.” Colleen coughed to clear her own husky voice. Then she raised it to a shout. “Come back in here, the lot of you! Stop listening at the door!”

  It swung open, Coco leading the way. She walked to Colleen, bent, kissed the papery cheek.

  “Stop all this nonsense.” She waved her grand-nieces away. “I want the girl to tell me how that strapping young man tossed that bully in the drink.”

  Megan laughed, wiped her eyes. “He choked him first.”

  “Ha!” Colleen rapped her cane in appreciation. “Don't spare the details.”

  Chapter 9

  B. behaving oddly. Since return to island for summer she is absentminded, daydreaming. Arrived late for tea, forgot luncheon appointment. Intolerable. Unrest in Mexico annoying. Dismissed valet. Excess starch in shirts.

  Unbelievable, Megan thought, staring at the notes Fergus had written in his crabbed hand beside stock quotations. He could speak of his wife, a potential war and his valet in the same faintly irritated tone. What a miserable life Bianca must have had. How terrible to be trapped in a marriage, ruled by a despot and without any power to captain your own destiny.

  How much worse, she thought, if Bianca had loved him.

  As she often did in the quiet hours before sleep, Megan flipped through the pages to the series of numbers. She had time now to regret that she'd never made it to the library.

  Or perhaps Amanda was a better bet. Amanda might know whether Fergus had had foreign bank accounts, safe-deposit boxes.

  Peering down, she wondered whether that was the answer. The man had had homes in Maine and in New York. These could be the numbers of various safe-deposit boxes. Even combinations to safes he'd kept in his homes.

  That idea appealed to her, a straightforward answer to a small but nagging puzzle. A man as obsessed with his wealth and the making of money as Fergus Calhoun had been would very likely have kept a few secret stores.