Summer Magic (7 page)

Placing the fork on the napkin beside her plate, she stared back at him. “Do I have food on my face?”

Logan shook his head. “No.” What he did not want to tell Caryn was that her mouth transfixed him. Picking up his own fork, he reached for a small portion of the untouched crab cake and popped it into his mouth. Arching his eyebrows, he chewed thoughtfully before reaching for a second piece. “Delicious.”

Caryn folded her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”

“Sampling your food.”

“Did I give you permission to sample my food?”

“Have pity on me. I’m starved.”

Leaning closer, she whispered, “Whose fault is that? Why didn’t you eat earlier?”

He pilfered another portion of the crab cake along with several sweet potato fries. “I didn’t want to eat before I went swimming.”

Chewing slowly, he watched Caryn watching him as an expression of annoyance narrowed her gaze. She reminded him of a cat with her large, expressive gold-green eyes. And he could tell her mood by their color. Gold indicated she was relaxed, happy, while pinpoints of green revealed anger. He didn’t know why, but he wondered what color they would be if she were aroused by passion.

And he knew she was a passionate woman. He had seen her flirt openly and deliberately with several men, while her full lower lip was a positive clue to her voluptuous nature.

“You don’t clean and you wait until you’re nearly starving to eat because you can’t cook—”

“I never said I couldn’t cook,” he interrupted defensively.

A low, sultry laugh bubbled in her throat as she gave him a disbelieving stare. “No!
You
cook?”

“Yes, I do. And very well, too.”

Caryn registered his annoyance at her implication of his ineptness along with a hint of cockiness. “What can you prepare?”

“Everything. You name it and I can prepare it.”

“If that’s the case, then what are you going to prepare for the Fourth of July celebration?”

A wide grin revealed the perfection of his straight white teeth. “My lip-smacking baby back ribs.”

His fork dipped again, this time in the creamy cole slaw, but Caryn was too astounded by Logan’s claim that he could cook to protest. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“Miss Nettie. She’s my family’s cook. She came to work for my parents several years after they’d adopted me. And when I was old enough to differentiate that I looked nothing like the man and woman whom I called Mama and Daddy, I instinctively gravitated to Miss Nettie.”

“I take it Miss Nettie is African-American?” He nodded, smiling. Wrinkling her delicate nose, she gave him an expectant look. “Will you allow me to sample a few of your lip-smacking ribs before you take them to the celebration?”

“Of course,” he replied quickly. “But only if you’d let me sample your contribution.”

“I haven’t decided what I want to make.”

“You have only a day to make a decision.”

Caryn picked up a fry with her fingers. “I’ll probably bake several loaves of homemade bread, but I can’t decide whether I want to make an antipasto platter or a seafood salad.”

Logan took the wedge of sweet potato from her limp grasp and popped it into his mouth. “It probably would be easier to get the ingredients for the seafood salad than the antipasto.”

“You’re right.” She slapped at his hand when he reached for another potato. “Logan, stop. You’re eating all of my food.”

“I promise I’ll let you have some of mine when it comes.”

And he kept his promise, spooning a portion of everything on his plate onto hers. They ate in silence, their
gazes meeting across the small space of the table and surreptitiously measuring the other’s reaction.

Logan reluctantly admitted that he was more than physically attracted to Caryn Edwards, and he now felt comfortable with her despite their initial acerbic encounter. She was beautiful, feminine, and appeared quite at ease with her femininity. And because she was, it was expected that men would be attracted to her. He had not been exempt.

“Where are you going after you leave here?” he questioned Caryn as she touched the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin.

“I’m going back to the house to pick up my car.”

“You need a ride somewhere?”

She nodded. “I want to go to a larger supermarket.” Marble Island’s minimarket did not stock the items she needed to prepare a dish for the Fourth of July celebration.

I’ll drive you. There are a few things I also have to pick up.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” And he didn’t mind. Driving Caryn around would allow him more time with her. They’d shared breakfast and now lunch. And the more time he spent with his housemate, the more he wanted to spend with her. He didn’t think he would’ve openly acknowledged it when he first stepped foot onto Marble Island, but now he had to admit to himself that he looked forward to sharing the house with a woman—especially if that woman was Miss Caryn Edwards.

Logan reached for the check at the same time Caryn withdrew her wallet from her oversized summer bag. “I’ll get it. Consider it my treat. Besides, I ate most of the food.”

Rising to her feet, she smiled as he rose with her. “The next one is on me.”

He pulled out her chair and stood aside for her to precede him. The fingers of his right hand went to the small of her back, burning her sensitive flesh through the lacy cardigan top. Her spine stiffened as she fought the impulse to give in to the strength of his long, slender fingers.

Instead of waiting for him to pay the cashier, she walked
out of Addie’s and into the brilliant summer sun, blinking furiously while she groped in the bottom of her bag for her sunglasses. She found them and perched them on the end of her nose, spying Logan’s Wrangler in the parking lot.

“Ready?”

She jumped at the soft sound of his voice close to her ear. His approach had been so silent that she hadn’t heard him come up behind her. Smiling up at him through the darkened lenses, she nodded.

For the second time within the span of minutes, Logan’s hand went to her waist as he led her to his parked automobile. The gesture was so natural and anyone glancing their way could assume they were a “couple.”

He opened the passenger side door. His hands circled her waist, and he lifted her effortlessly off the ground and settled her onto the seat. His ebony gaze bored into hers, he visually measuring her reaction.

“I thought you would have a problem trying to climb up with your
little
skirt,” he explained when she lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s not little.”

He shrugged a broad shoulder. “Well—it is kind of tight.”

Her sand-colored denim skirt was neither. It was slim, ending just at her knee, and therefore it would not have been difficult for her to raise it slightly to step up into the four-wheel-drive Jeep.

Giving him a dubious look, Caryn pulled the seat belt over her chest. A hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. Logan Prescott was either staid or very conservative. She’d packed one dress which she was certain to raise his eyebrows or make him stop in his tracks, and she made a mental note to model the garment at least once before he left Marble Island.

Logan started up the Jeep, slipped on his sunglasses, then maneuvered out of the parking lot, heading southward. The overhead sun beat down on his exposed flesh, and he mentally berated Caryn for refusing to wear a hat
to protect her face.
She’s not Nina
, a small voice reminded him. And she was nothing like Nina. Not in looks and not in temperament.

They rode in silence for twenty minutes, each lost in their private thoughts as a warm breeze caressed their faces and the distinctive smell of salt-filled air stung their nostrils. Seagulls sailed wind currents on a constant prowl for food, while the sun played hide-and-seek with white puffy clouds in a brilliant blue sky.

Caryn felt alive, physically and spiritually alive for the first time in years. She forgot the bitter words she’d traded with Tom before their idyllic marriage ended, and the months of loneliness she encountered since she’d walked away from the only man she’d ever loved. She forgot the shrouded fear that had controlled her life once she discovered she was being stalked by a student who unknowingly had become obsessed with her. The stalking began a month after she left Tom; a time when she was most vulnerable; a time when she needed the protection of her husband.

Inhaling, she savored the scent of the salt-filled air and marveled at the crashing waves washing the face of the beach with its incoming tide in the same way she felt cleansed and healed. She turned slightly, glancing at the sharp, distinctive, clear-cut lines of Logan Prescott’s profile. He stared straight ahead, his regal head held high with pride.
He’s a magnificent African prince
, she mused as her gaze kissed the length of his long, strong neck and wide shoulders. Her gaze inched down to his hands, admiring their shape and strength. When he’d lifted her effortlessly onto the seat of the Jeep, she’d registered the strength of his fingers, the power in his upper arms, and the haunting subtle scent of aftershave clinging to his smooth, dark cheek.

Logan felt the heat of the sun and also that of Caryn’s gaze behind the lenses of her sunglasses on his face. He wondered what she was thinking, and for an instant he turned his head and stared back at her. Shrouded glass
concealed the depths of their gazes from the other, yet both were aware of the deliberate interest in the other.

Returning his attention to the road in front of him, he turned off the local road and maneuvered into the strip mall containing a Winn-Dixie supermarket. “I’ll help you down,” he announced softly, turning the key in the ignition and shutting off the engine.

Caryn unbuckled her seat belt and waited for Logan to come around to her side of the car. He opened the door, extending his arms. Her slender arms circled his neck, and she felt the unyielding hardness in his powerful body for the first time as he molded her body to the length of his before slowly lowering her until her espadrille-covered feet touched the concrete surface of the parking lot.

They stood motionless, gazes fused. Caryn felt the heat sweep from her face, rush to her breasts, and still lower, and she was certain Logan felt the swell of her breasts against his chest as her nipples exploded against the lace of her bra and crocheted cardigan.

Closing her eyes, she prayed silently. It had been a long time, a very, very long time since she had acknowledged the absence of intimacy in her life. She could not begin to count the number of days, weeks, and now years since she had lain beside a man or taken him into her body.

Damn Logan for reminding her of what she’d missed and had been missing since she walked away from her husband. Why did he have to be so attractive, so male, and so very virile?

Pulling away from him, she turned and reached for her handbag off the floor of the Jeep. Then she straightened her shoulders and walked across the parking lot, heading for the supermarket and feeling the heat all over again as Logan’s penetrating gaze followed her retreat.

Chapter Seven

Logan caught up with her before she could make her way through the automatic doors. The fingers of his right hand caught her left one, and he held it protectively as the sliding doors opened silently. They were met with a wave of cool air which feathered over their bare flesh, eliciting a noticeable shiver from Caryn.

“Are you cold?” he questioned. He released her hand and curved an arm around her shoulders, offering his body’s heat. “I have a sweater in the car if you need it.”

Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she gave him a gentle smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll survive.”

“Let’s see how quickly we can shop so I can get you out of this igloo.”

She nodded, still rubbing her arms. “You won’t get an argument out of me.”

Logan pushed a shopping cart up and down spacious aisles, following closely behind Caryn as she selected items from shelves, and refrigerator cases, and it wasn’t until an elderly woman whispered to her husband that they looked like a “lovely young couple” did she realize the picture they presented.

Waiting until the older couple passed them, Logan pulled alongside Caryn, smiling. “Do you want to be Mrs. Prescott or would you prefer I become Mr. Edwards?”

“Behave,” she whispered, returning his smile.

“You heard what they said, didn’t you?”

“They said we look like a couple. That doesn’t have to mean we’re married.”

“What do you think—”

“Raven!”

The words died on Logan’s tongue when he turned around and spied a man whom he hadn’t seen in years. “Ham!”

Caryn stood motionless, watching a tall, slender, tanned man with long, sun-streaked golden hair pull Logan against him in a rough embrace.

“Hamilton, you old dog. How long has it been?” Logan asked.

“Too long, Raven.”

Draping an arm over his friend’s shoulder, Logan extended a hand to Caryn. She took the proffered hand, and he pulled her close to his side. “Caryn, I want you to meet an old college buddy. H. Hamilton Wheaton. Ham, Miss Caryn Edwards.”

Hamilton placed his left hand over his heart, extended his right, and bowed from the waist. “My pleasure, Caryn.”

Logan slapped his back with a resounding thud. “Still the ham, aren’t you?”

Hamilton straightened, his dark blue eyes twinkling with merriment. “I must live up to the nickname.” His gaze swept appreciably over Caryn before it returned to Logan. “What are you doing this far south? Last I heard you had put down permanent roots in Raleigh. Leo Griffin told me you’d gone into business with your father.”

Logan nodded as he studied the patrician features of the man who had been one of the more popular students on the Yale campus. “I do work with my father, but I’m taking a month off for some R&R.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Marble Island. What about yourself?”

“We’re practically neighbors. Cynthia and I are renting a little bungalow at Gooseneck.”

Logan nodded at this news. Hamilton had married his college sweetheart during their senior year. “How long are you guys staying?”

“Until the end of July. Look, Raven, why don’t we get together? You and Caryn and can hang out at our place for a few days.”

Logan saw Caryn’s warning glance. “Better yet, why don’t the two of you come up to Marble Island, then we’ll reciprocate,” he suggested.

“Sounds good,” Ham agreed. “How about this weekend?”

Logan arched a questioning eyebrow at Caryn. “Would you mind having company this weekend, sweetheart?”

Her gaze narrowed even though her mouth was smiling. “Of course not,
darling
.”

Hamilton combed his fingers through his tousled hair, pushing it off his forehead. Light caught the glow of a wide gold band on the third finger of his left hand. “Great. We’ll come up Saturday afternoon and stay over until Sunday. How do I find the house?”

Caryn counted to ten—very, very slowly as Logan gave his friend directions to the house on Watermelon Patch Lane. She had left Asheville for Marble Island with the intent of spending two months alone. However, she hadn’t been on the island for two full days, and within that time she was living with a man who had invited another man and his wife to stay with them. And the problem was she couldn’t complain about it. Marcia and Terrence had given Logan permission to use the house, which meant he had just as much right to the property as she did.

One month
, she told herself. She only had to put up with him for a month, then the house and the privacy she sought would be hers.

Hamilton embraced Logan again, smiling around his shoulder at Caryn. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

She returned his friendly smile and found some of her agitation slipping away. “I’m looking forward to it.” Ham, as Logan called him, and his wife would be staying for only a day. After all, they were Logan’s guests, not hers.

Logan waited until Hamilton walked away, then turned to Caryn. “Thanks for agreeing to share the house with my friends. They’ll be my responsibility. I’ll do the cooking and cleaning—”

“But you don’t clean,” she cut in.

He winked at her. “The twins will clean up.” His expression sobered. “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

Her gaze fused with his. “What?”

“Will you be my hostess this weekend?”

He looked at her as if he were photographing her with his eyes. Something potent radiated from the depths of the dark pools, and Caryn felt like he’d reached inside of her and extracted what she’d withheld from any man—a recklessness, a need to let go of her iron-willed control. Tom had complained that she wasn’t spontaneous enough and was at times quite boring.

There was something unknown, intangible, about Logan Prescott that made her want to throw off her mantle of feigned perfection. Everything in her life was orderly. She planned her days and weeks by a calendar, rarely deviating from her assigned tasks, and now and only now did she realize how banal her existence was. She had come to Marble Island to reflect and relax. She hadn’t expected to share the house or her existence with another person—especially a man. She wasn’t consciously looking for a summer romance or a relationship; but there was something about Logan that shattered her resolve, and within that second she decided to let her life play out. After all, Logan Prescott was going to share the house for only a month, and she was realistic enough to know not much could happen within that period of time.

“Yes, Logan. I’ll be your hostess for the weekend.”

He reached for her and cradled her head to his shoulder. His warmth swept over her cool body, bringing with it a
sensual heat that threatened to scorch her bare flesh. Raising her chin, she smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, seconds before his head came down and his mouth covered hers in a soft, tender, healing kiss.

The healing was as much for him as it was for her. Both had loved and lost, both were carrying pain, and both sought healing from the other.

The kiss ended, the contact of flesh meeting flesh lasting only seconds, but it could have been longer, much longer, while a throbbing, lingering awareness remained.

Caryn was certain Logan felt her trembling under his touch, and what she did not want to acknowledge surged through her. He disturbed her; everything about him disturbed her sense of order and balance. There was no way she could ignore his blatant masculinity or her own voluntary celibacy.

Squaring her shoulders, she glanced up, a secretive smile softening her lips. “I’ll be your hostess, but what I want you to try and remember is that we are
not
a couple.”

Releasing her shoulders, he took a step backward. “You don’t have to worry about that, because one thing I do have is an excellent memory.”

“Now that we’ve settled that, let’s finish up here. My teeth are beginning to chatter again.”

They finished their shopping, and Logan suggested she wait outside in the Jeep while he paid for their purchases. She gave him a whispered thanks and made her way out of the supermarket and into the warmth of the summer sun. The contrast was startling as she reveled in the heat penetrating her chilled flesh.

Logan emerged through the automatic sliding doors, pushing a cart brimming with their purchases. Within minutes, he filled the cargo area and the backseats with a dozen paper sacks. He returned the cart to an area in the parking lot where others were lined up in neat rows.

Caryn watched his return as he walked toward the Jeep, her gaze measuring him behind the dark lenses of her
sunglasses. His purposeful stride indicated confidence. He’d admitted to being spoiled, yet it hadn’t overshadowed what she had come to recognize as his generous nature. She knew he had come to Marble Island to hide out and to work. However, he was willing to take time out to entertain his college friends while she wanted to covet every minute of her time on the island for her own purpose.

She smiled with his approach. The month she would spend with Logan Prescott would be good for her. Unknowingly he would teach her to share and help her to relax.

He swung himself up and behind the wheel with a minimum of motion, taking his sunglasses off the dashboard. “Is there anyplace else you’d like to stop before we go home?”

“I’d like to stop at that vegetable stand we passed on the way.”

He slipped the key in the ignition and turned on the engine. “Your wish is my command.”

She smiled at his profile. “I didn’t know you were into granting wishes.”

“Only one per day,” he teased, flashing a wide grin.

Caryn affected a pout. “If I would’ve known that, then I’d really have thought of something good.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

She nodded, holding on to the roll bar as he swerved quickly to avoid hitting another Jeep Wrangler filled with at least a half-dozen adolescent boys and girls coming at them at more than forty miles an hour.

“Buttheads! I hope they survive the summer,” Logan mumbled under his breath.

“They’re just kids, Logan.”

“They’re fools.”

She chuckled. “I can see you’re not used to dealing with teenagers.”

“And I suppose you like them?”

“In fact I do. That’s why I decided to teach seven through twelve. They’re not quite adults, but I find it easier to reason with them than the ones in the lower grades. I try
not to interact with them as if they’re children, because they aren’t. They are exactly what they are—young adults.”

“Don’t the boys try to hit on you?”

“Not usually.”

He gave her a quick glance. “I take it there was an exception?”

“Once.”

“What happened, Caryn?”

Closing her eyes, she relived the terror she experienced whenever she saw the boy watching her when she stepped out of her house or glanced over her shoulder.

“A student stalked me for about two months.”

A frown furrowed Logan’s smooth forehead. “What did your husband do to protect you?”

“He couldn’t protect me because we were separated at the time.”

“You were still his wife, which meant he should’ve protected you.”

“I finally went to the police, and they handled it.”

“He stopped?”

She nodded. “His parents transferred him to another school.”

“And that ended it?”

“I have to assume his father being warden of a state prison had something to do with it.” She smiled when Logan whistled under his breath. “Why did your friend call you Raven?” she questioned, quickly changing the topic of conversation.

“I was captain of Yale’s rowing team, and everyone said I resembled a bird flying across the water. Given my race and my coloring, the name was quite fitting.”

That explained his developed upper body, she mused. “So, you’re a Yale man. Somehow I had you pegged as a Howard or Morehouse brother.”

“Before graduating high school, I applied to Howard, Yale, Morehouse, and Harvard. They all accepted me, but I decided on Yale because my father was a Yale man and
his father before him. Every American Prescott man has been a Yale man except for one.”

“What happened to break the tradition?”

“The Civil War. Johnston Edicott Prescott went to William and Mary instead. What college did you go to?”

“Vanderbilt.”

“Very nice. What was your major?”

“Literature. And yours?”

“Architecture.”

“Why architecture?”

“My father is an architect.”

She remembered him saying he worked for his father. “Did you become an architect because you wanted to, or did your father insist on it?”

“My father never insisted I do anything I didn’t want to do. It wasn’t until years later, that I understood why I always got a rush when Dad unrolled his blueprints. The first time I completed a set of plans, my hands shook so hard, I had a problem signing them. My father stood at my side, nodding his head slowly, while his eyes filled with tears. The emotion of seeing your final creation on paper is inexplicable.”

“Do you experience the same emotion after seeing the actual structure completed?”

He was silent for a moment, shaking his head. “The feelings are not the same. It’s like writing a symphony, then having someone else play what you’ve created. You sit back, detached, and hold your breath, while listening for mistakes. Once I saw the first house I designed constructed, I became very critical, telling myself I should’ve done this or that.”

“Are you good, Logan?”

He heard the velvet softness of her voice; he turned, and took a quick glance at her profile. “I was. Some of my designs have won awards.”

Her eyebrows shifted. “Was?”

“I haven’t personally designed anything in years. I’m now what is called an urban planner.”

“Do you like it better?”

He shrugged a broad shoulder. “It’s satisfying.”

Caryn exhaled audibly. He was satisfied with his work, while she wasn’t certain whether she would continue classroom teaching. The notion of returning to college to enroll in courses for school administration had nagged at her for more than a year, but her indecisiveness would not permit to give up the classroom. Not yet.

“Have you ever met your birth mother?”

Logan registered the soft hesitancy in her question. It was as if she didn’t want to pry, but needed to know what others had openly expressed once they realized he did not share the same physical characteristics as his adopted parents.