Captivated (22 page)

Nash began to weave a pretty fantasy. And brought himself up short.

What the hell was he thinking of?

Her, he thought grimly. He was always thinking of her.

Maybe the best thing to do would be to take a little vacation, a quick trip to anywhere to shake her out of his system.

If he could.

The niggling doubt lay in his gut like a stone.

How did he know, even before he began, that he wouldn’t be able to shake her out?

Because it wasn’t infatuation, he admitted slowly. It wasn’t even close to infatuation. It was the big four-letter word. He wasn’t in lust. He’d taken the big leap. He was in love.

She’d made him fall in love with her.

That thought had him sitting straight up. She’d made him. She was a witch. Why hadn’t it ever occurred to him that she could cast her spells, snap her fingers, and have him groveling at her feet?

Part of him rejected the notion as absurd. But another part, the part that had grown out of fear and self-doubt,
plucked at the idea. The longer he considered it, the darker his thoughts became.

In the morning, he told himself, he was going to face off with a witch. When he was done, he’d clear the decks, and Nash Kirkland would be exactly where he wanted to be.

In control.

It felt odd not going in to open the shop Monday morning. It also felt necessary, not just for her weary body, but also for her mind. A call to Mindy eased Morgana’s conscience. Mindy would pick up the slack and open the shop at noon.

It didn’t bother her too much to take a day off. But she would have preferred to steal a day when she felt better. Now she walked downstairs wrapped in her robe, feeling light-headed and queasy, with the restless night weighing heavily on her.

The die had been cast. Matters had been taken out of her hands. With a weary sigh, Morgana wandered into the kitchen to brew some tea. It had never really been in her hands. The awkward thing about power, she mused, was that you could never let yourself become so used to wielding it that you forgot there were bigger, more vital powers than your own.

Pressing a gentle hand to her stomach, she walked to the window while the kettle heated. She wondered if she sensed a storm in the air, or if it was merely her own unsettled thoughts. Luna curled in and out of her legs for a moment, then sensed her mistress’s mood and padded off.

She hadn’t chosen to be in love. She certainly hadn’t chosen to have this avalanche of emotion barrel down on her and sweep her away. To have her life changed. It was nothing less than that now.

There was always a choice, of course. And she had made hers.

It wouldn’t be easy. The most important things rarely were.

Heavy-limbed, she turned to the stove to make the tea. It had barely had time to cool in her cup before she heard the front door open.

“Morgana!”

Resigned, Morgana poured two more cups just as her cousins came into the kitchen. “There.” Anastasia shot Sebastian a look as she hurried to Morgana. “I told you she wasn’t feeling well.”

Morgana kissed her cheek. “I’m fine.”

“I said you were fine,” Sebastian put in, digging a cookie out of the jar on the counter. “Just grumpy. You were sending out signals loud enough and cranky enough to drag me out of bed.”

“Sorry.” She offered him a cup. “I guess I didn’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not well,” Ana insisted. Before she could probe deeper, Morgana stepped away.

“I had a restless night, and I’m paying for it this morning.”

Sebastian sipped his tea. He’d already taken in the pale cheeks and shadowed eyes. And he was getting a flicker of something else, something Morgana was working hard to block. Patient, and always willing to match his will against hers, he settled back.

“Trouble in paradise,” he said, just dryly enough to make her eyes flash.

“I can handle my own problems, thanks.”

“Don’t tease her, Sebastian.” Anastasia set a warning hand on his shoulder. “Have you argued with Nash, Morgana?”

“No.” She sat. She was too tired not to. “No,” she said again. “But it is Nash who worries me. I learned a few things about him yesterday. About his family.”

Because she trusted them as much as she loved them, Morgana told them everything, from the call from
Leeanne to the moment beneath the cypress. What had happened after that, because it belonged only to her and to Nash, she kept to herself.

“Poor little boy,” Anastasia murmured. “How awful to feel unwanted and unloved.”

“And unable to love,” Morgana added. “Who could blame him for being afraid to trust his feelings?”

“You do.”

Her gaze shot up to meet Sebastian’s. It was no use cursing him for being so perceptive. Or so right. “Not really blame. It hurts, and it saddens, but I don’t blame him for it. I’m just not sure how to love someone who
can’t, or won’t, love me back.”

“He needs time,” Ana told her.

“I know. I’m trying to figure out how much time I can give him. I made a vow. Not to take more than he wanted to give.” Her voice thickened, and she swallowed to clear it. “I won’t break it.”

Her defenses slipped. Quick as a whip, Sebastian snatched her hand. He looked deep, and then his fingers went lax on hers. “My God, Morgana. You’re pregnant.”

Furious at the intrusion, and at her own wavering emotions for permitting it, she sprang to her feet. But even as she started to spew at him, she saw the concern and the worry in his eyes.

“Damn it, Sebastian. That’s an announcement a woman particularly likes to make for herself.”

“Sit down,” he ordered, and he would have carried her to a chair himself if Anastasia hadn’t waved him off.

“How long?” Ana demanded.

Morgana only sighed. “Since the spring equinox. I’ve only been sure for a few days.”

“Are you well?” Before Morgana could answer, Ana spread a hand over Morgana’s belly. “Let me.” With her eyes on Morgana’s, Anastasia searched. She felt the warm flesh beneath the robe, the throb of pulse, the flow of blood. And the life, not yet formed, sleeping. Her lips curved. “You’re fine,” she said. “Both of you.”

“Just a little sluggish this morning.” Morgana laid a hand over hers. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“I still say she should sit down, or lie down, until her color’s back.” Sebastian scowled at both of them. The idea of his cousin, his favorite sparring partner, being fragile and with child made him uneasy. With a light
laugh, Morgana bent over to kiss him.

“Are you going to fuss over me, Cousin?” Pleased, she kissed him again, then sat. “I hope so.”

“With the rest of the family in Ireland, it’s up to Ana and me to take care of you.”

Morgana murmured an absentminded thank-you as Ana refilled her cup. “And what makes you think I need to be taken care of?”

Sebastian shrugged the question away. “I’m the eldest here,” he reminded her. “And, as such, I want to know what Kirkland’s intentions are.”

Ana grinned over her cup. “Lord, Sebastian, how medieval. Do you intend to run him through for trifling with your cousin?”

“I don’t find this whole situation quite the hoot you do.” His eyes darkened when his cousins rolled theirs. “Let’s clear it up, shall we? Morgana, do you want to be pregnant?”

“I am pregnant.”

He pressed a hand on hers until she looked at him again. “You know very well what I mean.”

Of course she did. She let out another sigh. “I’ve only had a day or two to think of it, but I have thought of it, carefully. I realize that I can undo what’s been done. Without shame. I know the idea upsets you, Ana.”

Ana shook her head. “The choice has to be yours.”

“Yes, it does. I took precautions against conception. And fate chose to ignore them. I’ve searched my heart, and I believe I was meant to have the child. This child,” she said with a faint curve of the lips. “At this time, and with this man. However unsettled I feel, however afraid I am, I can’t shake that belief. So, yes, I want to be pregnant.”

Satisfied, Sebastian nodded. “And Nash? How does he feel about it?” He didn’t wait for her to speak. It only took a heartbeat for him to know. His voice thundered to the roof. “What in the name of Finn do you mean, you haven’t told him?”

Her glare was sharp enough to cut ten men off at the knees. “Keep out of my head, or I swear I’ll turn you into a slug.”

He merely lifted a brow. “Just answer the question.”

“I’ve only just come to be certain myself.” Tossing back her hair, she rose. “And, after yesterday, I couldn’t simply drop the news on him.”

“He has a right to know,” Ana said quietly.

“All right.” Her temper bubbled until she clenched her hands into fists. “I’m going to tell him. When I’m ready to tell him. Do you think I want to bind him this way?” It shocked her to feel a tear slip down her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently.

“That’s a choice he has to make for himself.” Sebastian had already decided that, if Nash chose incorrectly, he would take great pleasure in breaking several vital bones—the conventional way.

“Sebastian’s right, Morgana.” Concerned but firm, Ana rose again to wrap her arms around her cousin. “It’s his choice to make, as it was yours. He can’t make it if he doesn’t know the choice exists.”

“I know.” To comfort herself, Morgana laid her head on Ana’s shoulder. “I’ll go this morning and tell him.”

Sebastian rose to stroke a hand down Morgana’s hair. “We’ll be close.”

She was able to smile with a trace of her usual verve. “Not too close.”

*  *  *

Nash rolled over in bed and muttered into his pillow. Dreams. He was having so many dreams. They were flitting in and out of his head like movie scenes.

Morgana. Always Morgana, smiling at him, beckoning to him, promising him the incredible, and the wonderful. Making him feel whole and strong and hopeful.

His grandmother, her eyes bright with anger, whacking him with her ubiquitous wooden spoon, telling him over and over again that he was worthless.

Riding a bright red bike down a suburban sidewalk, the wind in his hair and the sound of flipping, flapping baseball cards thrumming in the spokes.

Leeanne, standing close, too close, with her hand out, reminding him that they were blood. That he owed her, owed her, owed her.

Morgana, laughing that wild, wicked laugh, her hair billowing back like a cloud while she streaked over the dark waters of the bay on her broomstick.

Himself, plunged into a steaming cauldron with his grandmother stirring the stew with that damned spoon. And Morgana’s voice—his mother’s voice?—cackling like one of the Weird Sisters from Shakespeare.

“Double, double, toil and trouble.”

He sat up with a jolt, breathing fast and blinking against the streaming sunlight. He lifted shaking hands to his face and rubbed hard.

Great. Just dandy. In addition to everything else, he was losing his mind.

Had she done that to him, as well? he wondered. Had she insinuated herself into his mind to make him think what she wanted him to think? Well, she wasn’t going to get away with it.

Nash stumbled out of bed and tripped over his own shoes. Swearing, he kicked them aside and headed blindly for the shower. As soon as he’d pulled himself together, he and the Gorgeous Witch of the West were going to have a little chat.

*  *  *

While Nash was holding his head under the shower, Morgana pulled up in his driveway. She’d come alone. When she’d refused to let Luna accompany her, the cat had stalked off, tail twitching in indignation. Sighing, Morgana promised herself she’d make it up to her. Maybe she’d run by Fisherman’s Wharf and pick up a seafood feast to soften the cat’s heart.

In the meantime, she had her own heart to worry about.

Tilting down the rearview mirror, she took a careful study of her face. With a sound of disgust, she leaned back. What had made her think she could cover the signs of strain and worry with simple cosmetics?

She pressed her lips together and looked toward his house. She wasn’t going to let him see her like this. She wasn’t going to go to him with this kind of news when she appeared vulnerable and needy.

He had enough people pulling his strings.

She remembered that she’d once thought he was a completely carefree man. Perhaps, for long periods of time, he was. He’d certainly made himself believe so. If Nash was entitled to his front, then so was she.

After taking a long, soothing breath, Morgana crooned a quiet chant. The shadows vanished from under her eyes, the color crept back into her cheeks. As she stepped out of the car, all signs of a restless night had been
erased. If her heart was beating too quickly, she would deal with it. But she would not let him see that she was miserably in love and terrified.

There was an easy smile on her face as she rapped on his door. A slick, sweaty fist was lodged in her gut.

Cursing, Nash jammed one leg then the other into jeans. “Just a damn minute,” he mumbled as he yanked them up. He stalked down the steps barefoot and bare chested, all but growling at the thought of a visitor before coffee. “What?” he demanded as he flung open the door. Then he stopped dead, staring.

She looked as fresh and beautiful as the morning. As sultry and sexy as midnight. Nash wondered how it was that the damp still clinging to his skin didn’t turn to steam.

“Hi.” She leaned in to brush his lips with hers. “Did I get you out of the shower?”

“Just about.” Off balance, he slicked his fingers through his dripping hair. “Why aren’t you at the shop?”

“I’m taking the day off.” She sauntered in, willing herself to keep her voice natural and her muscles relaxed. “Did you sleep well?”

“You should know.” At the mild surprise in her eyes, his temper strained. “What did you do to me, Morgana?”

“Do to you? I did nothing to you.” She made the effort to smile again. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re in dire need of coffee. Why don’t I fix some?”

He grabbed her arm before she could turn toward the kitchen. “I’ll fix it myself.”

She measured the anger in his eyes and nodded slowly. “All right. Would you rather I came back later?”

“No. We’ll settle this now.” When he strode down the hallway, Morgana squeezed her eyes tight.