Неизвестно - Megan's mate

I'm not susceptible to flattery.

She'd wanted to sound firm and dismissive, not breathless.

Just stating a fact.

He leaned down until his mouth was a whisper from hers.

If

you don't want me to kiss you, you'd better tell me not to.

She would have. Absolutely. If she'd been able to speak. But then his mouth was on hers, warm and firm and every bit as clever as his hands. She would tell herself later that her lips had parted with shock, to protest. But it was a lie.

They opened greedily, with a surge of hunger that went deep, that echoed on a groan that a woman might make who had her first sampling of rich cream after years of thin water.

Her body refused to go rigid in denial, instead humming like a harp string freshly plucked. Her hands dived into his hair and urged him to take the kiss deeper.

He'd expected a cool response, or at least a hesitant one. Perhaps he'd seen a flash of passion in her eyes, deep down, like the heat and rumble in the core of a volcano that seems dormant from the surface.

But nothing had prepared him for this blast of fire.

His mind went blank, then filled with woman. The scent and feel and taste of her, the sound of the moan that caught in her throat when he nipped on her full lower lip. He dragged her closer, craving more, and had the dizzying delight of feeling every slim curve and line of Megan pressed against his body.

The scent of the ocean through the window had him imagining taking her on some deserted beach, while the surf pounded and the gulls screamed.

She felt herself sinking, and gripped him for balance. There was too much, much too much, rioting through her system. It would take a great deal more than the little bands around her wrist to level her now.

It would take control, willpower, and, most of all... remembering.

She drew back, would have stumbled if his arms hadn't stayed clamped around her.

No.

He couldn't get his breath. He told himself he would analyze later why one kiss had knocked him flat, like a two-fisted punch.

You'll have to be more specific. No to what?

To this. To any of this.

Panic kicked in and had her struggling away.

I wasn't

thinking.

Me, neither. It's a good sign you're doing it right, if you stop thinking when you're kissing.

I don't want you to kiss me.

He slipped his hands into his pockets. Safer there, he decided, since the lady was thinking again.

Sugar, you were doing more than your share.

There was little use in hotly denying the obvious truth. She fell back on cool logic.

You're an attractive man, and I responded in a natural manner.

He had to grin.

Darling, if kissing like that's in your nature, I'm going to die happy.

I don't intend for it to happen again.

You know what they say about the road to hell and intentions, don't you?

She was

tensed up again. He could see it in the set of her shoulders. He imagined her experience with Dumont had left plenty of scars.

Relax, Meg,

he said, more

kindly.

I'm not going to jump you. You want to take it slow, we'll take it slow.

The fact that his tone was so reasonable raised her hackles.

We're not going to take

it any way at all.

Better, he decided. He didn't mind riling her. In fact, he was looking forward to doing it. Often.

I'm going to have to say you're wrong. A man and woman set off a fire like that,

they're going to keep coming back to the heat.

She was very much afraid he was right. Even now, part of her yearned to fan that blaze again.

I'm not interested in fires or in heat. I'm certainly not interested in an affair with a man I barely know.

So, we'll get to know each other better before we have one, Nate responded, in an

irritatingly reasonable tone.

Megan clamped her teeth together.

I'm not interested in an affair, period. I know that must be a blow to your ego, but you'll just have to deal with it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get the children.

He stepped politely out of her way, waited until she'd reached the glass door leading onto the upper deck.

Meg?

It was only partly eg. that pushed him to speak. The rest was pure determination.

The first time I make love with you, you won't think about him. You won't even remember his name.

Her eyes sliced at him, twin ice-edged swords. She abandoned dignity and slammed the door.

Chapter 4

The woman'll be the death of me.

Dutch took a bottle of Jamaican rum from his hidey-hole in the back of the pantry.

Mark my words, boy.

Nathaniel kicked back in the kitchen chair, sated and relaxed after the meal he'd enjoyed in the Calhoun dining room. The hotel kitchen was spotless, now that the dinner rush was over. And Coco, Nathaniel knew, was occupied with family.

Otherwise, Dutch wouldn't have risked the rum.

You're not thinking of jumping ship, are you, mate?

Dutch snorted at the idea. As if he had to take French leave because he couldn't handle a fussy, snooty-nosed female.

I'm sticking.

After one wary glance toward

the door, he poured them both a healthy portion of rum.

But I'm warning you, boy,

sooner or later that woman's going to get her comeuppance.

And she's going to get it from yours truly.

He stabbed a thick thumb at his wide

chest.

Nathaniel downed a swig of rum, hissing through his teeth as it hit. Smooth as silk it wasn't.

Where's that bottle of Cruzan I got you?

Used it in a cake. This is plenty good enough for drinking.

If you don't want a stomach lining,

Nathaniel said under his breath.

So, what's the

problem with Coco now?

Well, if it's not one thing, it's two.

Dutch scowled at the kitchen phone when it rang. Room service, he thought with a sneer. Never had any damn room service aboard one of his ships.

Yeah, what?

Nathaniel grinned into his rum. Tact and diplomacy weren't Dutch's strong points.

He imagined that if Coco heard the man growl at guests that way, she'd faint. Or pop Dutch over the head with a skillet.

I guess you think we've got nothing better to do downhere?

he snarled into the

phone.

You'll getit when it's ready.

He hung up and snagged a plate.

Ordering

champagne and fancy cake this time of night. Newlyweds. Ha! Haven't seen hide nor hair of the two in number three all week.

Where's your romance, Dutch?

I leave that to you, lover boy.

His ham-size fists delicately cut into the chocolate gateau.

Seen the way you was eyeing that redhead.

Strawberry blonde,

Nathaniel corrected.

More gold than red.

Bravely he took

another sip of rum.

She's a looker, isn't she?

Never seen you go for one that wasn't.

With an artist's flair, Dutch ladled vanilla sauce on the side of the twin slices of cake and garnished them with raspberries.

Got a kid, doesn't she?

Yeah.

Nathaniel studied the cake and decided he could probably force down a

small piece.

Kevin. Dark hair, tall for his age.

A smile curved his lips. Damned if

the boy hadn't gotten to him.

Big, curious eyes.

Seen him.

Dutch had a weakness for kids that he tried to hide.

Okay-looking boy.

Comes around with those other two noisy brats, looking for handouts.

Which, Nathaniel knew, Dutch dispensed with gxeat pleasure behind the mask of a scowl.

Got herself in trouble pretty young.

Nathaniel frowned at that. It was a phrase, too often used to his way of thinking, that indicated the woman was solely responsible for the pregnancy.

It takes two, Dutch.

And the bastard was stringing her along.

I know. I know. I heard about it. Not much gets past me.

it wasn't hard to finesse

information out of Coco if he pushed the right buttons. Though he'd never admit it, that was something he looked forward to doing daily. He buzzed for a waiter, taking delight in holding his thumb down until the kitchen door swung open.

Make

up a tray for number three,

Dutch ordered.

Two gat-o's, bottle of house champagne, two flutes, and don't forget the damn napkins.

That done, he tossed back his own rum.

Guess you'll be wanting a piece of this now.

Wouldn't turn it down.

Never known you to turn down food or a female.

Dutch cut a slice a great deal

larger than those he'd cut for the newlyweds and shoved the plate in front of Nathaniel.

I don't get any raspberries?

Eat what's in front of you. How come you ain't out there flirting with that skinny girl?

I'm working on it,

Nathaniel said with a mouthful of cake.

They're in the dining

room, all of them. Family meeting.

He rose, poured himself coffee, dumped the rest of his rum in it.

They found some old book. And she's not skinny.

He had

firsthand knowledge, now that he'd had Megan in his arms.

She's delicate.

Yeah, right.

He thought of Coco, those long, sturdy lines as fine as any well-crafted sloops. And snorted again.

All females are delicate until they get a ring through your nose.

No one would have called the women in the dining room delicate not with a typical Calhoun argument in full swing.

I say we burn it.

C.C. folded her arms across her chest and glared.

After

everything we learned about Fergus from Bianca's journal, I don't know why we'd consider keeping his lousy account book around.

We can't burn it,

Amanda fired back.

It's part of our history.

Bad vibes.

Lilah narrowed her eyes at the book, now sitting in the center of the table.

Really bad vibes.

That may be.

Max shook his head.

But I can't go along with burning a book. Any kind of book.

It's not exactly literature,

C.C. mumbled.

Treat

patted his wife's stiff shoulder.

We can always put it back where it came from or give Sloan's suggestion some consideration.

I think a room designed for artifacts, mementos Sloan glanced at Amanda

the pieces of history that go with The Towers, would add something. Not only to the hotel, but for the family.

I don't know.

Suzanna pressed her lips together and tried to be objective.

I feel

odd about displaying Fergus's things with Bianca's, or Aunt Colleen's, Uncle Sean's and Ethan's.

He might have been a creep, but he's still a piece of the whole.

Holt toyed with the

last of his coffee.

I'm going with Sloan on this one.

That, of course, enticed a small riot of agreements, disagreements, alternate suggestions. Megan could only sit back and watch in amazement.

She hadn't wanted to be there at all. Not at a family meeting. But she'd been summarily outvoted. The Calhouns could unite when they chose.

As the argument swirled around her, she glanced at the object in question. When Amanda left it in her office, she'd eventually given in to temptation. After cleaning off the leather, she'd flipped through pages, idly totaling up columns, clucking her tongue at the occasional mistake in arithmetic. Of course, she'd scanned a few of the marginal notations, as well, and had found Fergus Calhoun a cold, ambitious and self-absorbed man.

But then, a simple account ledger hardly seemed worth this much trouble.

Particularly when the last few pages of the books were merely numbers without any rhyme or reason.

She was reminding herself

it

wasn't her place to comment when she was put directly on the spot.

What do you think, Megan, dear?

Coco's unexpected question had Megan blinking.