Lancelot's Lady

by Cherish D'Angelo

  "Aren't you afraid of snakes?" he asked. "Or bugs?"

  Panicking, she eyed the surface of the water. "Are there snakes in here?"

  "No."

  "Then why would you say that?" she demanded.

  He shrugged. "You're a city girl."

  Rhianna clenched teeth. "Stop saying that!"

  He moved toward the trees.

  "What are you doing?" she called out, nervous.

  When he returned, he had her sundress in his hands.

  "Put that down!" she fumed.

  "It was on the ground," he said dryly.

  For a long, awkward moment neither of them said a word. Jonathan stood motionless, staring at her, waiting. She watched him too, unable to take her eyes away or draw in an even breath.

  He held out a hand. "Come out of the water."

  "No."

  "Rhianna…"

  She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips.

  "Go back to the house," she said tightly.

  "I'm not leaving here without you."

  Jonathan flung her dress over the nearest tree branch, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

  "W-what are you doing?" she squeaked.

  "What does it look I'm doing?" He slid his shirt off and added it to the branch. Then he eyed her. "If you won't come out, I'll come in and get you."

  Moonlight gleamed off Jonathan's tanned, smooth skin and the muscles that rippled as he moved. When his hands hovered near the zipper of his jeans, she gasped.

  "What's it gonna be?" he asked softly.

  Rhianna swallowed hard. If she went to him, he'd see her near nakedness. A wet bra and panties left nothing to the imagination, even in the moonlight.

  But if he comes in after me…

  She didn't want to think about what could happen. In fact, she'd give anything to wake up and find that it was all a rotten nightmare.

  "Hold my dress out and turn around," she demanded.

  He laughed and the sound carried into the night.

  In a low voice he said, "You come out. Or I come in."

  Rhianna's cheeks burned with humiliation.

  "Since you leave me no choice, you insufferable―" She bit off the list of names she yearned to call him. The man was, after all, someone she had to deal with every day.

  At least until the radio is fixed or Roland comes back.

  Crossing her arms, she waded toward the edge of the pool, the water line dipping lower with each step, until it was at her belly button.

  Jonathan watched her every move. His gaze was so intense that it rattled her.

  "C-can you please look away?" Embarrassed, she choked on the words and tears well in her eyes.

  ~ * ~

  Something in Rhianna's voice told Jonathan he'd gone far enough. He'd intended to embarrass her a bit, not bring the woman to tears. One part of him felt guilty for goading her, the other felt tremendous pleasure in watching the city girl squirm.

  "Please," she whispered. She looked as though she might faint.

  Heaving an irritated sigh, he grabbed the dress from the branch, held it out and averted his face. "There. Satisfied?"

  The soft splash of water was the only reply.

  He felt a cool, damp hand brush his as she took the dress. He glanced sideways, unable to resist a peek.

  His breath stopped.

  Damn. It's been far too long.

  The natural curves of Rhianna's body and the movements she made as she struggled to pull the dress over her head, drew a physical response from him, one he hadn't felt in months. He wanted her. Of that, there was no question. The dress clung to her, absorbing the wetness of her skin, and she fought to smooth the fabric

  "Let me help you," he offered.

  "No!" She caught his gaze and spun around. "Stop watching me!"

  "But you need some―"

  "Don't touch me!" she shrieked. "You know, you didn't have to follow me out here. Or sneak up on me. And I certainly don't need you…to…" She let out a strangled huff.

  "I made enough noise on that path for three people," he snapped, standing with his back to her. "And if you hadn't stormed outside, I wouldn't have felt obligated to go after you."

  Hell, he wasn't going to defend his intentions to some woman. It was his damned island, after all. He could go wherever the hell he pleased.

  He made the mistake of glancing over his shoulders at the same time Rhianna leaned forward to shimmy the dress over her hips.

  Jonathan swallowed the lump in his throat. "Just make sure you don't―"

  He didn't have time to complete his warning.

  A shriek echoed through the night.

  ~ * ~

  One minute Rhianna was standing an arm's length away from Jonathan; the next she was sitting on the ground, covered in mud. She wiped her mouth on her arm, wanting nothing else but to have a good cry. She deserved one after tonight.

  She glared up at Jonathan. The corners of his mouth jerked in small spasms. The bastard was laughing at her.

  "Don't even think about it," she warned. "It's not funny!"

  A grin spread across his face. "Actually, it kinda is."

  "You bastard."

  "Possibly." He shrugged. "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, right. Sure you are."

  Rhianna couldn't take her eyes off him. Moonlight filtered through the trees, emphasizing the hardness of his body and the tension in his face. As his eyes drifted from hers down to the mud smeared on her thighs, an unfamiliar ache snaked through her body, weaving its way downward. It was as if he'd stripped away her last remnants of clothing with his thoughts, leaving her naked and trembling.

  She shivered.

  "Come on, city girl," he muttered, breaking the spell. "Only animals roll around in the mud. You look―well, how can I put it politely? You look like hell. And you need a bath."

  She couldn't believe his audacity.

  A wicked idea formed in her mind.

  "You're right," she said, holding out her hand.

  Jonathan leaned down, and before he could guess what she had in mind, Rhianna clasped his hand and gave it a quick, hard tug. He landed on his stomach, sliding past her in the mud.

  Rhianna snorted. "Didn't you say that only animals roll in the mud? Who needs a bath now?"

  Jonathan raised his head slowly and she saw the warning in his narrowed eyes. It told her she was down to one choice.

  Run!

  With a startled yelp, she leapt to her feet and took off into the dense brush. Branches caught at her already-ruined dress, ripping a long tear in the shoulder. Behind her, she heard Jonathan crashing through the bushes.

  "For Christ's sake, stop running!" he bellowed.

  There was no way in hell she was going to do that.

  As she raced toward the faint golden light that she prayed was the house, two thoughts occupied Rhianna's jumbled mind. Was Jonathan as angry as he looked?

  And what will he do when he catches me?

  Chapter 10

  Rhianna tried to use the moon as a guide, but eventually she had to admit she was lost. The path didn't lead back to the house as she had expected. Instead, it led to the small cottage she'd seen from her bedroom window. As she approached, she took in the well tended vegetable garden and pruned bushes. Candlelight flickered through a window. Soft music flowed from inside, an unspoken invitation.

  Mrs. Atkinson's home, she realized.

  Rhianna raised a hand to knock, but the door opened.

  A startled Mrs. Atkinson gasped in shock. "Ms. McLeod! You gave me quite a start. I thought my husband was imagining things when he said someone was outside." She smiled. "Come inside, dear."

  Rhianna hesitated on the porch. That's when Mrs. Atkinson noticed the torn, mud-splattered dress.

  "What happened to you, dear? Are you hurt?"

  "I'm fine, Mrs. Atkinson. I went for a walk and lost my balance at the falls."

  "And I tried to rescue her," a familiar voice growled behind her.

  "Is tha
t what you call it?" Rhianna muttered, refusing to turn around.

  Mrs. Atkinson gaped at Jonathan. "You're covered in mud too, Mr. Tyler. What happened to the two of…?" Her voice faded as a glimmer crossed her eyes. "Ah…"

  "It's not what you're thinking," Rhianna said quickly.

  "Of course not, dear."

  Rhianna whipped around. "Tell her."

  Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to one side. "Tell her what?"

  "That we didn't―that we weren't―you know."

  "Do I?"

  Rhianna let out an aggravated sigh. "Nothing happened, Mrs. Atkinson. I slipped in some mud and when Jonathan tried to help me up, he slipped. End of story."

  Mrs. Atkinson shook her head slowly and made 'tsk-ing' sounds with her tongue. "Jonathan Tyler, take your guest on home. She needs a warm bath. And you could use one yourself." She herded them off the porch. "Run along now. It would be a shame if either of you caught a chill."

  "Yeah," Jonathan mumbled. "A damned shame."

  Rhianna clenched her jaw.

  ~ * ~

  Jonathan stomped off in the direction of the house, while Rhianna tripped and cursed behind him. There was no way he was slowing down for her. His stranded houseguest was turning out to be a real pain in the ass. Already, she'd made him look like a fool in front of his housekeeper.

  Whose side is Mrs. Atkinson on, anyway?

  Last thing he needed was a troublemaking guest.

  A vision of Rhianna's smooth skin to mind. He recalled gently rounded breasts encased in a wet bra, the droplet of water that had trickled down her throat and disappeared between her breasts, and long, limber legs made for wrapping around―

  You don't want her!

  But he knew that was a lie.

  ~ * ~

  Rhianna trailed after Jonathan, although he wasn't making it easy. It was more like a marathon than a moonlit stroll. Was he taking a longer route just to pay her back for dragging him into the mud? It sure felt that way.

  She cursed the day she'd set foot on Angelina's Isle. Higginson and JT would have a lot of explaining to do when she got back home.

  Home. It seemed so far away.

  She thought of Mrs. Atkinson's last remark. 'I'm not blind.' What exactly was she seeing that no one else could? Or could it be that the housekeeper was simply being protective, motherly?

  He doesn't know how lucky he is, Rhianna thought.

  She would have given anything for a strong motherly role model in her life. But that wasn't what fate had in store for her.

  A few yards ahead, Jonathan whirled around, his open shirt flapping in the breeze. "Let's not be out here all night."

  "I'm walking as fast as I can."

  Looking away, she noticed a small, barn-like shed situated within a copse of trees. "What's that?"

  "That," Jonathan stated, "is off limits to you."

  "Why? What is it?"

  When he didn't answer, Rhianna couldn't resist having a little fun. At Jonathan's expense.

  "I bet it's a secret still. You're brewing moonshine back there." She let out a false gasp. "Or maybe you're a drug smuggler."

  He stopped in front of her and turned slowly.

  "Maybe I'm storing the body of the last woman stranded on my island," he said in a soft, dangerous tone.

  Rhianna swallowed. "That's not funny."

  With a sigh, he said, "It's none of your business what's in there. And if I tell you to stay away, I expect you to listen."

  He grabbed her arm and steered her past the shed.

  "Hey, let go!" she demanded.

  Jonathan didn't release her until the foliage parted and they stepped into the backyard. Without a word, he kicked off his muddy shoes and began to undress right in front of her. He reached down, pulling his shirt over his head, his muscles flexing with every movement. His pants dropped next, revealing black boxers.

  The man exuded primal maleness and Rhianna couldn't take her eyes off of him. As she removed her own shoes, she found it difficult to breathe. Her body tingled all over and her nipples hardened.

  From the cool air and wet dress, she told herself.

  "I, uh, should take a bath and go to bed," she mumbled, pushing past him and opening the door.

  "Rhianna?" Jonathan called softly.

  She turned expectantly.

  "For a spoiled city girl, you sure have a way of looking like something that's been washed up on a beach."

  His laughter followed her all the way to her bedroom.

  Humiliation reddened her cheeks and Rhianna slammed the bedroom door. Jonathan Tyler was the most exasperating man she'd ever had the misfortune to meet.

  "Washed up on the beach," she muttered. "I don't look like…" The words drifted as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. "Crap."

  Peeling off her clothes, she tossed them into the sink. A bath wouldn't do. Not when she was caked in mud. She stepped into the shower and watched the dirt swirl down the drain.

  She closed her eyes. As the water caressed her face, she pictured Jonathan. Lean, sculpted, handsome Jonathan. A man of mystery. A secretive man who was incredibly, irresistibly…rude.

  And sexy.

  She hitched in a breath at the image of flexing muscles and gleaming skin, of fine dark hair that trailed from his belly button and disappeared below the waistband of his boxers.

  Oh God. Why can't I have normal thoughts?

  ~ * ~

  In the living room, Jonathan poured a second glass of brandy. He hadn't really meant to goad Rhianna with that last remark, but he couldn't help himself. Something about her demanded that he insult her at all cost. It was the only way to keep her at arm's length, and something told him it was vital she stay there.

  "I didn't mean it as an insult," he grumbled.

  Rhianna McLeod did look like something washed up on a beach. A mermaid princess. Like the one in the story his mother used to read to him when he was a child.

  Putting his glass down sharply, he berated himself for juvenile fantasy. Rhianna was no mermaid. She was a stranger who had so far managed to bewitch Mrs. Atkinson, earn Misty's trust and irritate the hell out of him.

  He climbed the stairs, suddenly feeling he'd aged fifty years. At Rhianna's door, he paused. No sounds came from the room. He pressed a hand against the door, yearning for something he refused to name. Then with a soft groan, he clenched his fist and turned away.

  In his bedroom, Jonathan took a quick shower. Crawling between the sheets, he stared up at the ceiling. Why had this woman been dumped on his island? It didn't make sense. As he closed his eyes, he made a mental note to ask her about her employer in the morning.

  Before he fell into a restless sleep, he recalled Rhianna's long legs sprawled in the mud, the wet dress clinging to her hips. She was beautiful. Even covered in mud.

  His dream started off innocently enough. He was walking through the woods at night, alone. The pool appeared before him, the surface of the water eerie and still. He could hear the night sounds­­­­­―the frogs, crickets, night birds…tribal drumming. Then a musical laugh.

  What's that?

  An illusive vision shimmered in the falls. Something moved behind the veil of water.

  He squinted, trying to make sense of what he saw.

  A woman stepped through the waterfall and dove into the pool. That's when he saw the iridescent tail.

  A mermaid?

  Drawn by an undeniable magnetic attraction, Jonathan strode into the water. He tried to catch her, but his pants weighed him down and she was too fast. Finally, he gave up and waded back to shore.

  He glanced over his shoulder. And gasped. "Rhianna?"

  The mermaid with Rhianna's face smiled and blew him a kiss. Her auburn hair streamed behind her in the water and her jade eyes sparkled with mischief. Then she dove beneath the water.

  As Jonathan held his breath and waited for the mermaid's return, the drumming intensified. His pulse quickened. His senses quiv
ered. Apprehension clung to him. He couldn't shake this feeling of impending doom. With every drum beat, he felt certain that something was coming. Something very dangerous.

  The pool's undisturbed surface shone like glass.

  "Come back," he whispered in his sleep.

  Chapter 11

  Blazing sunlight tore Rhianna from another taunting dream, one that starred Jonathan Tyler, baring far more flesh than she ever wanted to imagine.

  "Just a dream," she said, waiting for her pulse to slow.

  Anticipating a day of teaching, Rhianna dressed in what she thought was close to schoolteacher attire. She even contemplated twisting her hair into a tight bun. In the end, she twisted it loosely and fastened it with a plastic clamp.

  When she stepped out into the hall, Misty was waiting for her.

  "I'm ready for school," the little girl signed.

  Rhianna smiled. "I need a cup of coffee first. Is your father downstairs?"

  Misty shook her head. "He's working."

  With a shrug, Rhianna took the girl's outstretched hand and followed her downstairs.

  "Good morning," Rhianna said when she spotted Mrs. Atkinson in the kitchen.

  "Coffee, dear?" The housekeeper hurried over with a carafe in hand. "I made some fresh muffins. Blueberry and bran. Or if you prefer, I could make you some eggs."

  "Coffee and a muffin sound perfect."

  When Rhianna sat down, Misty sat beside her.

  "What would you like for breakfast?" Rhianna asked.

  The girl began to sign, then changed her mind.

  "We play this game every morning," Mrs. Atkinson explained. "I can't make out what she wants."

  "Toast!" Misty signed. "With…" She growled and dropped her hands.

  "Toast with jam?" Rhianna signed.

  Misty shook her head. "Toast with…" Her hands fell away.

  Stumped, Rhianna held up her hands. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you want."

  With a loud bellow, Misty jumped up and swept an arm across the table, knocking over a glass of orange juice.

  "I want brown toast!"

  Rhianna eyed Mrs. Atkinson. "Do you know what she means by brown toast?"

  "No, dear. We have whole wheat bread all the time, but when I make her toast, she gets angry and throws it on the floor." The woman smiled softly at Misty. "She's frustrated, the poor little one. I suppose I would be too if no one understood what I was saying."