Charmed By You ((Destiny Bay Romances-The Islanders 5)) (11 page)

“That’s my brother, Danny,” Lizzie said in answer to
Heather’s question. “All he does all day is play music.”

“He’s very good at it,” Heather said, impressed by his expertise.

Lizzie shrugged. “My father says he should get good at something that makes money. Music is for free.” She sighed. “But I love to hear him. So does my mother.”

Heather could understand that. The lovely melody coming from the house carried something in it that was
almost magical. An evening listening to Danny play his
guitar would be an evening well spent.

Lizzie motioned toward the edge of the lanai. “Just put my stuff there. I’ll take it in. My mother is sick and we aren’t supposed to let anyone in the house.”

As she spoke, the door opened and Mitch stood before them. “Hi there, Lizzie,” he said with easy familiarity, and Heather watched as the child flew up the steps and into his arms.

“Doctor, is my mother going to be okay?” she asked
anxiously as Mitch swung her up and gave her a bear hug.

“Sure,” he answered reassuringly. “I gave her some medicine for her cough, and you and Danny are going to make sure she doesn’t get out of bed to do any work. Isn’t that right?”

Lizzie nodded happily. “Look at this nice lady,” she said suddenly, twisting around. “Her name is Heather.”

Mitch’s eyes met Heather’s over Lizzie’s head. “I know
this nice lady.” His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “In fact, she just happens to be
my
nice lady.”

“Yours?” Lizzie was as delighted as Heather was out
raged.

“Mine,” Mitch said firmly, holding Heather’s gaze without a waver. “You run in and take care of your mother. I’m going to take my lady home with me.”

Chapter Five

Lizzie did as she was told, waving good-bye to Heather
before disappearing into the house. Mitch came down the steps slowly, watching Heather’s expression.

“You shouldn’t lie to children,” she said. He seemed to think he could box her into positions and play with her reactions. The trouble was, her heart had leapt when
he’d called her his own. He was making jokes that carved
wounds into her soul.

“I never lie.” His eyes were hooded and she backed
away, afraid he’d try to put an arm around her shoulders.
His air of cold assurance frightened her. Warily, they began to walk down the road toward the Jeep.

“That must mean we really are going back,” she said.
“Are you finished with all your calls?”

He nodded. “For the moment. I’ll have to return later
today. There’s a broken leg I set last week that I want to check on down at Leia Bay.”

She climbed up into the unwieldy vehicle alongside him and watched as he started the engine and drove it out onto what passed for a highway. His hands were
brown and strong on the wheel. She thought of how they
had felt on her naked skin the night before, so smooth and warm. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to look away.

“This isn’t the way we came,” she said, noticing sud
denly. The road was in better condition and the land
more hilly. They were moving down the coast rather than
north to Ragonai village.

“Very perceptive of you,” was his only answer.

Another one of his seductive plans, no doubt. She
was beginning to feel that her day was a minefield full
of hazards to be avoided at every step. She turned to face
him. “I thought you said you never lied.”

His eyes were unsmiling as he glanced toward her. “I
never do.”

“Then why did you tell Lizzie you were taking me
home?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

They turned off the highway onto a bumpy road. In
another moment Mitch pulled to a stop near the edge of
a cliff overlooking the blue-green sea. The shell of a
newly built house stood back from the escarpment, its
biscuit-colored walls gleaming freshly in the sunlight.

“This,” Mitch announced as he swung down from the
Jeep, “is home.”

Heather descended more slowly and followed him to
the house. “This is yours?”

“Yes.” He spoke gruffly and pushed his hand through his dark hair as though he felt uncomfortable. “What do
you think of it?”

“I... it looks so raw here, doesn’t it?” She didn’t
know what to say. Why was he asking for her opinion?

“Of course it’s raw,” he responded curtly. “New houses
always look raw.” He took a rough hold on her arm and led her to the front door. “Come inside and see how you
like it once you’ve had a better look.”

It was a nice house, long and low, ranch-style, and
curved in a U-shape around what would soon be a lovely
courtyard. Plaster dust and splintered wood littered the floor, and the mahogany doors had not yet been varnished. Huge picture windows boasted real glass and let in the streaming sunlight as well as affording a magnificent view of a white sand beach below.

“Well?” he said impatiently.

What did he want from her? She remembered how he’d hated the house she’d picked in Flagstaff. It had been a beauty, but she could admit now it had given off a certain sterile coldness. Mitch’s house would never do that. Even in its unfinished state, she could sense the warmth that would fill it. Mitch could be hard, as he was proving now, but usually warmth was one of his main attributes, whatever else he might lack.

“Very nice,” she told him simply. “Beautiful view. Stunning, really. And I’m sure you’ll be happy here once you’ve furnished it.”

He wanted more than that; she read disappointment
in his dark eyes. “We have the tile down in the kitchen,”
he told her, drawing her forward. “Dede picked out the pattern.”

Heather stiffened, staring down at the gold patterned floor. The color was right; so was the design. That Dede was a wonder. “Is she going to do all your interior decorating for you?” Heather asked evenly. Why not? The woman had told him where to live. Now she could tell him how to live there as well.

When Mitch didn’t answer, she looked up. He was staring at her, as if trying to find something in her that eluded him. “What is it?” she asked defensively. “Just exactly what do you want from me, Mitch?”

Slowly he shook his head. A slight bemused smile curled his lips, but it failed to mask the haunted look in
his eyes. “Nothing, I guess,” he said softly. “Nothing
you can give.”

She frowned, wanting to reach out to him, wanting to ask what she could do to erase the hurt in his eyes, but she didn’t dare. “When are you moving in?” she
asked instead.

He shrugged. Suddenly he seemed to lose interest in
the house and everything about it. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly. “I had Mele pack us a picnic lunch. There’s a
nice little place along the cliff where we can eat.”

She followed him, drowning in a wave of helpless
misery. He’d been expecting something from her that
she hadn’t delivered. If only she knew what it was.

He pulled the wicker basket and blanket from the back
of the Jeep and led her to the place he’d chosen for their picnic. Set back from the cliff, it overlooked a stream
that flowed past before plummeting down in a waterfall
toward the lagoon. The sound of gentle water mixed with the roar of surf on the nearby reef. Heather helped spread
the blanket, then sat down while he unpacked their feast.

“I told Mele we needed peanut butter sandwiches and carrot sticks to make you feel at home,” he said without
the hint of a smile, “but all she had on hand was dried
fish and hot pickled radishes.”

“Oh.” Heather cleared her throat, fighting back the
statement that she really wasn’t very hungry. She would
eat whatever he had with him, she decided firmly. At
least she would try to.

“Don’t worry.” He eyed her narrowly. “I made her
dig a little further. She managed to come up with some cold fried chicken and a fresh fruit salad that will blow
you away.”

“Good.” She tried to give him a mock glare, but she
could tell it had become a furtive glance instead. “For a minute there I thought you were trying to scare me off.”

“Oh, no.” He caught hold of her hand and looked into her eyes, holding her a prisoner of his cloudy gaze. “Heather, I’m
trying to make you stay. Can’t you see that?”

Did he really want her to stay? She tried to read the
answer in his face, but found only more questions. She
pulled her hand away, and he returned his attention to serving the food. Maybe he really did want her to stay.
But why?

She loved him. She wanted more than anything to be
with him, to make him love her back. It was tempting
to think he might be ready to try again. But whenever
she came close to hoping, something happened to remind
her that it was impossible.

The chicken was delicious, but she was wary of the salad at first. “Just what are the fruits in this?” she asked,
picking through it with her fork.

He moved closer on the blanket and pointed out each
variety. “The dark orange squares are papaya,” he told
her, studying her plate. “You know pineapple when you see it, don’t you? And these white meaty balls are lichee
nuts. Very sweet. This is passion fruit and this”—-he speared a piece with his own fork—“is mango. Open up,” he ordered, holding it just in front of her lips. “I
guarantee you’ll love it.”

She opened her mouth obediently, and he popped the
morsel in, watching intently to see her reaction. She
wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t love it, exactly. It
tasted lush and strange to her. But she was determined not to disappoint him again. As she chewed, she began
to realize it really wasn’t half bad.

“It’s good.” She nodded and was rewarded by a flash
ing grin on his handsome face.

“Of course it’s good. Didn’t I say so?”

But she saw
the satisfaction in his eyes.

He was close enough so that she could feel the heat
of his body, hear his breathing, catch the warm male
scent of him in the breeze. She tried to avoid looking at him, but she could sense every movement he made. She
held her breath as he reached out to take a lock of her
hair in his fingers and tug on it gently. “I do like your hair like this,” he told her. “It makes you look freer,
more open.”

She had to be very careful not to give him the wrong idea. “Looks can be deceiving,” she reminded him, tak
ing another bite and chewing with determination.

“Right,” he answered dryly. “Just consider what happened to the missionary lady last night.” He dropped her hair and brushed it back away from her face, then let his
hand fall slowly along the line of her ear, caressing lightly.

She steeled herself not to show any reaction to his
touch. “Even a missionary lady is allowed to make a mistake once in a while,” she said, resolutely avoiding
his eyes as she speared another morsel of fruit.

“Last night was no mistake.” His fingers made their
way down the curve of her neck to trace a gentle line along her collarbone. “Last night was a reminder of what once was possible. A hint of heaven
.”

She choked on the papaya, and he had to whack her
on the back. Her heart was pounding. Why was he doing
this? His touch started wild fires spreading across her
skin. His voice caressed her with an almost tactile qual
ity. And then he said their lovemaking had reminded him
of heaven. He’d never said such things in the old days. What was he trying to do to her?

“I really do like this salad,” she said because she couldn’t think of anything else, “It’s so...tropical.”

“Mmm-hmm.” His hand was at the nape of her neck,
and he was playing with her hair. “Just like everything else on this island.”

Right, and that was what was wrong with it. She forced down another piece of pineapple and waved her fork toward the newly built house, anything to get his mind off what he was doing to her body. “I guess you’re planning to stay for a while, aren’t you?” she asked without thinking.

His hand stilled, lying warm and heavy on the top of her spine.
“Yes,” he said shortly. “I find this island suits me just right.”

Yes, it would. And it could never suit her. Her heart sank. Any dreams
that might still inhabit her heart might as well sail into the wind where they belonged.

“You picked a beautiful setting.”

For some reason this remark seemed to bother him. His mouth hardened and he drew away from her completely. “Finish eating and we’ll take a walk along the cliff,” he said quietly.

As she cleaned her plate, she had to admit the exotic fruit tasted better and better to her wary palate. They
packed away the remaining food and implements and left
them in the basket on the blanket while beginning their walk along the cliff above the shoreline.

“Storm coming,” Mitch murmured, nodding toward the
horizon.

Heather saw black clouds rolling toward them, send
ing a curtain of dark rain down to pummel the surface
of the sea. A strange sense of desolation surged over her
at the sight. It was almost as though they were on a small
craft, tossed by an uncaring sea, vulnerable to the whims
of nature.