Неизвестно - Megan's mate

What do I have to do to get you to marry me, darling?

She giggled, blushed and waved a hand at him.

You're such a tease, Nate.

Who's teasing?

He rose, grabbed her fluttering hand and kissed it lavishly. She always smelted like a woman soft, lush, glorious. He winked and skimmed his lips up to nibble on her wrist.

You know I'm crazy about you, Coco.

Cordelia Calhoun McPike gave another delighted giggle, then patted his cheek.

About my cooking.

That, too.

He grinned when she slipped away to pour him coffee. She was a hell of a woman, he thought. Tall, stately, striking. It amazed him that some smart man hadn't scooped up the widow McPike long ago.

Who do I have to fight off this

week?

Now that The Retreat's open, I don't have time for romance.

She might have

sighed over it if she wasn't so pleased with her life. All her darling girls were married and happy, with babies of their own. She had grandnieces and grandnephews to spoil, nephews-in-law to coddle, and, most surprising of all, a full-fledged career as head chef for the St. James Towers Retreat. She offered Nathaniel the coffee and, be cause she caught him eyeing the pie, cut him another slice.

You read my mind.

Now she did sigh a little. There was nothing quite so comforting to Coco as watching a man enjoy her food. And he was some man. When Nathaniel Fury rolled back into town, people had noticed. Who could overlook tall, dark and handsome?

Certainly not Coco McPike. Particularly not when the combination came with smoky gray eyes, a cleft chin and wonderfully golden skin over sharp cheekbones not to mention considerable charm.

The black T-shirt and jeans he wore accented an athletic, rangy body broad shoulders, muscular arms, narrow hips.

Then there was that aura of mystery, a touch of the exotic. It went deeper than his looks, though the dark eyes and the waving mane of deep mahogany hair was exotic enough. It was a matter of presence, she supposed, the culmination of what he'd

done and what had touched him in all those years he traveled to foreign ports.

If she'd been twenty years younger... Well, she thought, patting her rich chestnut hair, maybe ten.

But she wasn't, so she had given Nathaniel the place in her heart of the son she'd never had. She was determined to find the right woman for him and see him settled happily. Like her beautiful girls.

Since she felt she had personally arranged the romances and resulting unions of all four of her nieces, she was confident she could do the same for Nathaniel.

I did your chart last night,

she said casually, and checked the fish stew she had simmering for tonight's menu.

Oh, yeah?

He scooped up more pie. God, the woman could cook.

You're entering a new phase of your life, Nate.

He'd seen too much of the world to totally dismiss astrology or any thing else. So he smiled at her.

I'd say you're on target there, Coco. Got myself a business, a house on land, retired my seabag.

No, this phase is more personal.

She wiggled her slim brows.

It has to do with

Venus.

He grinned at that.

So, are you going to marry me?

She wagged a finger at him.

You're going to say that to someone, quite seriously, before the summer's over. Actually, I saw you falling in love twice. I'm not quite sure what that means.

Her forehead wrinkled as she considered.

It didn't really seem as

if you'd have to choose, though there was quite a bit of interference. Perhaps even danger.

If a guy falls for two women, he's asking for trouble.

And Nathaniel was content,

at least for the moment, to have no females in his life. Women simply didn't come without expectations, and he planned to fulfill none but his own.

And since my

heart already belongs to you...

He got up to go to the stove and kiss her cheek.

The tornado blew in without warning. The kitchen door slammed open, and three shrieking whirlwinds spun through.

Aunt Coco! They're here!

Oh, my.

Coco pressed a hand to her speeding heart.

Alex, you took a year off

my life.

But she smiled, studying the dark-eyed boy beside him.

Can this be

Kevin? You've grown a foot! Don't you have a kiss for Aunt Coco?

Yes, ma'am.

He went forward dutifully, still unsure of his ground. He was enveloped against soft breasts, in soft scents. It eased his somewhat nervous stomach.

We're so glad you're here.

Coco's eyes teared up sentimentally.

Now the whole

family's in one place. Kevin, this is Mr. Fury. Nate, my grandnephew.

Nathaniel knew the story, how the scum Baxter Dumont had managed to get some

naive kid pregnant shortly before he married Suzanna. The boy was eyeing him now, nervous but contained. Nathaniel realized Kevin knew the story, as well or part of it.

Welcome to Bar Harbor.

He offered his hand, which Kevin took politely.

Nate runs the boat shop and stuff with my dad.

The novelty of saying

my dad

had yet to wear thin with Alex.

Kevin wants to see whales,

he told Nathaniel.

He

comes from Oklahoma, and they don't have any. They hardly have any water at all.

We've got some.

Kevin automatically defended his homeland.

And we've got

cowboys,

he added, one-upping Alex.

You don't have any of those.

Uh-huh.

This from Jenny.

I got a whole cowboy suit.

Girl,

Alex corrected.

It's a cowgirl, 'cause you're a girl.

It is not.

Is too.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Is not.

Well, I see everything's normal in here.

Suzanna entered, aiming a warning look at both of her children.

Hello, Nate. I didn't expect to see you here.

I got lucky.

He slipped an arm around Coco's shoulders.

Spent an hour with my

woman.

Flirting with Aunt Coco again?

But Suzanna noted that his gaze had already shifted. She remembered that look from the first time they'd met. The way the gray eyes measured, assessed. Automatically she put a hand on Megan's arm.

Megan

O'Riley, Nathaniel Fury, Holt's partner and Aunt Coco's latest conquest.

Nice to meet you.

She was tired, Megan realized. Had to be, if that clear, steady gaze put her back up. She dismissed him, a little too abruptly for politeness, and smiled at Coco.

You look wonderful.

Oh, and here I am in my apron. I didn't even freshen up.

Coco gave her a hard,

welcoming hug.

Let me fix you something. You must be worn-out after the flight.

Just a little.

We took the bags up, and I put Christian in the nursery.

While Suzanna herded the

children to the table and chatted, Nathaniel took a good long survey of Megan O'Riley.

Cool as an Atlantic breeze, he decided. A little frazzled and unnerved at the moment, he thought, but not willing to show it. The peach-toned skin and long, waving strawberry blond hair made an eye-catching combination.

Nathaniel usually preferred women who were dark and sultry, but there was something to be said for all that rose and gold. She had blue eyes, the color of a calm sea at dawn. Stubborn mouth, he mused, though it softened nicely when she smiled at her son.

A bit on the skinny side, he thought as he finished off his coffee. Needed some of

Coco's cooking to help her fill out. Or maybe she just looked skinny and prim because she wore such severely tailored jacket and slacks.

Well aware of his scrutiny, Megan forced herself to keep up her end of the conversation with Coco and the rest. She'd grown used to stares years before, when she was young, unmarried, and pregnant by another woman's husband.

She knew how some men reacted to her status as a single mother, how they assumed she was an easy mark. And she knew how to disabuse them of the notion.

She met Nathaniel's stare levelly, frostily. He didn't look away, as most would, but continued to watch her, unblinkingly, until her teeth clenched.

Good going, he thought. She might be skinny, but she had grit. He grinned, lifted his coffee mug in a silent toast, then turned to Coco.

I've got to go, got a tour to do.

Thanks for lunch, Coco.

Don't forget dinner. The whole family will be here. Eight o'clock.

He glanced back at Megan.

Wouldn't miss it.

See that you don't.

Coco looked at her watch, closed her eyes.

Where is that

man? He's late again.

The Dutchman?

Who else? I sent him to the butcher's two hours ago.

Nathaniel shrugged. His former shipmate, and The Towers' new assistant chef, ran on his own timetable.

If I see him down at the docks, I'll send him along.

Kiss me goodbye,

Jenny demanded, delighted when Nathaniel hauled her up.

You're the prettiest cowboy on the island, he whispered in her ear. Jenny shot a

smug look at her brother when her feet touched the floor again.

You let me know

when you're ready for a sail,

he said to Kevin.

Nice meeting you, Ms. O'Riley.

Nate's a sailor,

Jenny said importantly when Nathaniel strolled out.

He's been

everywhere and done everything.

Megan didn't doubt it for a minute.

So much had changed at The Towers, though the family rooms on the first two floors and the east wing were much the same. Trent St. James, with Megan's brother, Sloan, as architect, had concentrated most of the time and effort on the ten suites in the west wing, the new guest dining area and the west tower. All of that area comprised the hotel.

From the quick tour Megan was given, she could see that none of the time and effort that had gone into the construction and renovations had been wasted.

Sloan had designed with an appreciation for the original fortresslike structure, retaining the high-ceilinged rooms and circular stairs, ensuring that the many

fireplaces were working, preserving the mul-lioned windows and French doors that led out onto terraces, balconies, parapets.

The lobby was sumptuous, filled with antiques and designed with a multitude of cozy corners that invited guests to lounge on a rainy or wintry day. The spectacular views of bay or cliffs or sea or Suzanna's fabulous gardens were there to be enjoyed, or tempted guests to stroll out onto terraces and balconies.

When Amanda, as hotel manager, took over the tour, Megan was told that each suite was unique. The storage rooms of The Towers had been full of old furniture, mementos and art. What hadn't been sold prior to Trent's having invested the St.

James money in the transformation now graced the guest rooms.

Some suites were two levels, with an art deco staircase connecting the rooms, some had wainscoting or silk wallpaper. There was an Aubusson rug here, an old tapestry there. And all the rooms were infused with the legend of the Calhoun emeralds and the woman who had owned them.

The emeralds themselves, discovered after a difficult and dangerous search some said with the help of the spirits of Bianca Calhoun and Christian Bradford, the artist who had loved her resided now in a glass case in the lobby. Above the case was a portrait of Bianca, painted by Christian more than eighty years before.

They're gorgeous,

Megan whispered.

Stunning.

The tiers of grass green

emeralds and white diamonds almost pulsed with life.

Sometimes I'll just stop and look at them, Amanda admitted,

and remember all

we went through to find them. How Bianca tried to use them to escape with her children to Christian. It should make me sad, I suppose, but having them here, under her portrait, seems right.