Going Overboard (26 page)

She knew where she was.

Vaguely, anyway.

Sighing, she decided it wasn't worth the effort to do anything but drift, sated and limp against the cool linen sheets.

A warm leg moved against hers and a hand covered her hip. With a supreme act of will she raised her head. “Are we still alive?”

“Just barely.”

“Daphne said the right man would turn me to putty,” she murmured. “I am now prepared to believe whatever she says.”

“That could be dangerous.” McKay traced a slow line over her hip.

“Probably. Next thing you know, I'll be wearing one of her leather miniskirts.”

McKay gave her a lazy grin. “Leather's okay by me.”

As moonlight poured around them, Carly realized she'd never before felt so honest and easy with a man.

It was pure delight.

The trick, she decided would be to keep everything simple and direct.

Starting now.

She feathered her fingers along his shoulder, studying

his face in the flow of silver through the window, wincing a little when his arm brushed her side.

“Hell,” he muttered. “Those stitches must be sore.”

She put one finger to his lips. “Don't tell anyone, but I've found a great analgesic.”

He didn't laugh. “I should have a look.”

“Later,” she whispered.

“No more gymnastics.”

Her brow arched. She ran one bare toe along his thigh. “If you ask nice, I'll give you five minutes to recuperate.”

“Like hell.”

She pulled him down against her. “In that case shut up, McKay.”

Suprisingly, he did.

The moon was gone. Through the window he saw the first hint of gray touch the sky. Turning, he felt a warm weight against his chest. At his waist and thighs, too, he discovered.

Carly was draped over him like a warm quilt, snoring very softly, both hands curved around his neck.

He smiled slowly. He'd known many women and shared nearly every kind of pleasure, but none of those steamy couplings had been half as intimate as lying motionless beneath Carly's warm body in the half-light before dawn.

How could something so chaste be so damnably arousing? he wondered. Even asleep, she was vibrant and utterly seductive.

Desire came in a heavy wave, and for long moments he savored the simple awareness of her skin against his. Then her leg shifted, cradling his hips, and she sprawled open to his full, heated erection. Even then she was completely oblivious.

He was sorely tempted to slip inside her while she slept and wake her in slow, breathless increments.

Cold logic prevailed.

She had to be sore, both from their lovemaking and from her wound and he knew the situation called for restraint. Reluctantly, he slid from bed and tugged the quilt around her, marveling yet again at how completely she had given herself to him in the moonlight.

Shower
, he thought.
Make it a cold one.

McKay returned from his shower to find Carly awake and oddly tense. Despite her silence, he sat beside her, tracing the smooth line of her back.

She didn't look at him. “We need to talk.”

“I thought that was supposed to be my line.”

She sat up, gathering the sheet to her chest. “It's not a line. It's a request.” She took a tight breath. “A seriously important request.” She drew another breath. “To a man I care about deeply.”

“Deeply,” he repeated. “Why does that sound so ominous?”

“Because it is.” She shivered as his fingers continued their smooth glide.

“Three. Four.”

“What are you
doing?”

“Counting your freckles. You've got two on your neck, another one above your shoulder blade. There's an amazing one just beneath your breast.” He moved her arm and stroked the faint tan smudge with his tongue. “Who knew?”

“Stop.” She shivered as he nuzzled his way expertly across her breast. “We've got to talk.”

“I'm all ears.” He trailed one finger along her waist. “Eight. Nine.”

“I can't concentrate when you do that.”

“No?” The thought filled him with primitive pleasure as his hands moved lazily down her spine. “How about when I do this?”

“No,” she said with a catch in her voice. “And stop repeating what I say.”

“Repeating?” Gravely, he traced the line of her hip. “Twelve. That one is shaped like a flower.”

She closed her eyes. “You're not listening.”

“I'm memorizing every word.”

“You should, because this is important.” She stared at the tangled sheets. “I'm not good with relationships, McKay. Not with making them, not with keeping them. You need to know that.”

“You've had a lot of relationships?”

“Enough.” Carly pulled the sheet tighter. “It's part of the way I was brought up. My mother came and went. She loved me and she loved my father, but she couldn't stay. Not ever. The work was always there, pulling her away, tugging her off to immortalize some mountain in Chile or temple ruins in Burma.”

He folded back the sheet, kissing her spine. “So?”

“So her work came first, that's what I'm trying to say. So does mine,” Carly whispered. “It's the way I am.”

McKay's hand stilled. That really was supposed to be
his
line. “You want to leave? Is that what you're saying, Carly?” He felt weightless, as if the slightest wind blowing through the window would drive them apart.

She took a long breath. “Not yet. But I will. Something basic is wrong inside me. Something important is missing, maybe because of all those years of moving, always waiting for my mother to settle down. When it didn't happen, I gave up on believing and belonging.” She turned away, staring tensely out the window at the sun-streaked sky. “Then everything fell into place. I'm just like her. I can't stay and I can't make a relationship work, but at least I know better than to drag other people into sharing my problem.”

“So that's just the way you are, always a loner.”

Carly nodded.

McKay wondered why he wasn't relieved. She had said the words first, sparing him the hard explanations and tearful questions.

Yes, he should have been relieved. For a professional, a soldier, it was the best possible situation.

But he wasn't relieved. He was confused and uneasy, rocked by regret.

So what?
he told himself. She couldn't stay, but neither could he. He had never wanted to stay before, so why should he start now? “It's your call,” he said. “I'm not holding you.”

Tears were shining on her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“You want to leave now?”

She shook her head.

“In an hour?”

“It's not a joke, McKay,” she said stiffly.

“No, it isn't.” He studied her face, pale in the golden dawn. “Nor is this.” He pulled her down gently. Catching her wrists, he sank inside her before she could speak, before words or explanations could damage this recklessly beautiful thing that was happening to them again.

Panting, she rose against him, pulling him deeper, her eyes bottomless. “Just so you know,” she whispered. “Just so we both know.”

The words slid into his name, then caught on a moan as he drove them both over the edge, where words and questions were forgotten.

S
omething was creaking.

Her head, Carly decided.

She opened her eyes carefully and found sunlight spilling through yellow curtains while a sea wind riffled her hair. She stretched lazily remembering every second of the magic shared with her hard-eyed lover the night before. But she had always believed in guarding her privacy keeping men at a distance because work always came first. Since she'd left Paradise Cay she hadn't even
thought
about working.

One more example of just how far her life had slid out of control since she'd met McKay. For Carly the realization was terrifying.

She sat up slowly the movement stirring muscles well used in the long hours of night.

A sound came from the doorway. Carly turned—and her heart lurched.

He stood with one arm braced on the door frame, dressed to kill in jeans riding low at his lean waist. “Morning, sunshine.”

She felt a stab of pure lust at the sight of his chiseled abs. Having a body like that ought to be illegal, she decided.

“You look good in my sheets,” he said huskily. “You're going to look even better out of them.”

Heat flared into her face. With one short sentence, he
had tangled her senses, turned her inside out. She looked away, fighting for calm.

“A problem?”

“No.”

His voice fell, suddenly serious. “Feeling boxed in?”

“No.” She dropped the sheet and shrugged into her robe.

“It doesn't take a genius to see that something's bothering you.”

Carly studied his face, shadowed against the morning sun. She ached to know all the personal details hidden beneath his controlled mask.

The reason was all too clear: Despite her careful defenses, she was already halfway in love with him.

Terrified by the realization, she leaped to the offense. “What's bothering me is questions you refuse to answer. Like why you wear a gun. And what kind of threat is involved here?”

“For now you need to drop the questions, Carly.”

“I can't. No sane woman would.” She jerked angrily at her belt, knowing the questions were simply an excuse to pull away from commitment.

“Put them on hold. I'll help you finish your photo shoot and I'll stay close. In return you're going to have to
trust
me.”

His face was grave and she knew his request wasn't made lightly. She hesitated hating her indecision. “At least tell me what you've got planned.”

“We stay right here until the cruise ship returns. No one knows we're here—not Nigel Brandon, not Inspector St. John or any of his men.”

It made good sense. Carly nodded slowly. “Then we'll take this one day at a time.”

“That's the plan.” He pulled her gently to her feet. “Why don't you go do whatever beautiful women do in the morning while I talk to Duncan and make breakfast.” He slid a hibiscus bloom into her hair. “I'm one hell of a

cook, you know. The trick is not to overmix the pancake batter, and to make sure the griddle is very hot.”

“Show-off.”

“Someone's got to make you eat. After that I want Duncan to look at your stitches.” He crossed to his canvas duffel bag and pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Meanwhile, keep this within reach. If you need me, press this button and talk.”

“But—”

He put the instrument into her hand, then leaned closer for a slow, searching kiss. “Or we could forget about breakfast entirely,” he murmured.

Carly was determined to recover some measure of control, and she hoped a little distance would help. Clutching the walkie-talkie against her chest, she shrugged. “Go talk to Duncan while I shower. I'll meet you at the main house in an hour.”

“I'm not sure I can wait an hour.” His eyes were very dark.

“On the other hand, delay makes the final event more… potent.”

McKay kissed her cheek. “If my event becomes any more potent,” he said, “I won't be able to walk.”

“Are you expecting visitors?” Standing near the front windows of the main house, McKay watched a truck lumber up the gravel drive. “Someone in a big gray delivery van, for example.”

Frowning, the Scotsman moved to the doorway. “No one scheduled. I'll see who it is.”

McKay fingered a switch on his walkie-talkie. “Carly, are you there?”

“I'm here,” she answered. “Is something wrong?”

There was a sudden edge of fear in her voice, but McKay knew fear could be good if it kept a person from being reckless. “There's a delivery truck outside on the drive. Can you see it?”

He heard the faint rustle of fabric. “I do now. The shower was running and I didn't hear him drive up.”

“No problem. Just stay out of sight until he leaves.”

He heard her swallow. “Of course. But… will you keep the line open until then?”

Just in case.
The phrase drifted unsaid.

“Will do. And don't worry, I'm right over at the main house.”

Duncan returned a few minutes later, pocketing his cell phone. “He's gone. It was a clay delivery for my wife's pottery company. I checked with the store in town, and they confirmed the driver was theirs. He's gone now.” Outside they heard the distant backfire of a truck.

“Coast is clear, Carly. I'll come get you.”

“Not yet. I need to primp a little. I want to surprise you. Daphne loaned me some clothes.”

McKay had a sudden image of Carly in a skintight miniskirt. “White leather, by any chance?”

“You're getting warm, McKay.”

“You have no idea how warm.”

“Give me twenty minutes.”

He was still staring down the hill when he broke the connection. “One more down.”

Duncan looked up from the kettle he was filling with water. “Anything you can talk about?”

“Afraid not.”

“I expected that was the case. You're welcome to stay as long as you like, since my wife and daughters are away. For their safety, I couldn't have gotten involved otherwise.”

“Neither Izzy nor I would have expected it. He remembered that your wife buys supplies off island this time of year.”