As Mac seated Miranda at the end of the long table, his hand brushed the top of her chair. A feathery touch from his fingers reached the back of her neck and sent tiny little butterflies fluttering in her stomach. He took his place beside her, unaware of what his soft touch had done to her. Miranda glanced sidelong at his chiseled profile. From this angle, Mac appeared uninjured. But he was also sexy as hell with his mask
. I wonder if he was ever told that?
William entered the room followed by a couple of servants in white and black suits. First, the soup was served--it was creamy corn chowder--then the appetizers, pastries stuffed with mushrooms and cheese. They enjoyed the delicacies in silence until the main course was served. Her plate contained vegetables, wild rice, and crab pate pasta. Miranda glanced sideways at his plate; he had steak balmorals.
“I hope my steak doesn’t bother you,” he said. “I know you are vegetarian.”
She raised her eyebrows. “No, your meal doesn’t bother me. Did you research that, too?”
“Rose was a vegetarian,” Mac said in calm voice. Then he took a bite of his steak and chewed.
Miranda took the first bite of her food, but she coughed, choking on a piece of asparaguses. Mac handed her a glass of water. “Did I say something that annoyed you?”
She breathed, chewing slower this time. After she swallowed her food, she turned toward Mac.
“Yes, you did,” Miranda said, raising her voice. “I am not Rose!” Emotion caught in her throat and made her mind spin.
Why is he tormenting me with these references?
Is it not enough that he’s discovered my visions…what more does he want? A pound of flesh?
“I just wanted to point out the similarities you shared,” he replied. “You said you wanted to know about Rose.”
Irritation burned like an ulcer in her stomach. She tossed her napkin on the table and met his gaze. “Thank you, the dinner was wonderful. Excuse me, please.” She was about to stand, but his strong hand clasped hers with a soft squeeze.
“Please, eat,” he said. “I didn’t mean to insult you.” The obvious concern and sincerity in his eyes kept her in her seat. She sighed, exasperated at her mixed emotions. Only Mac could make her feel guilty for being insulted over something so unusual.
She settled in her seat and nibbled on a piece of artichoke. “I just hate this whole reincarnation matter, Mac,” she said. “It’s like Miranda is being erased and Rose is taking over.”
He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with a soft smile. “Never. You are who you are, Miranda. What you have, no other has.”
“Which is?” She snorted.
“The loveliest eyes I have ever seen.”
“Rose had the same eyes,” she said icily.
Mac gave her a guarded smile “You and Rose are one. You are continuing her life and, at the same time, creating a new one with a different personality. If anything, you are making her better. Don’t you see what you have? You have experiences and feelings, and a previous life no other will ever have the opportunity to explore or remember.”
“And what do you have as Duncan—pain, pain and more pain? What Duncan and Rose have given us is misery, nothing more.” She stood, unable to hide her anger. It was more than just the topic that drove her crazy. It was how she felt when he kissed her, how he melted her defenses, how he made her feel alive again. For the first time, she felt how a woman should feel: sensitive, feminine, and desired. He had opened a door that would remain open, leaving her exposed and aware of what her body craved. “Excuse me, Mac,” she said, her voice wavering. She hated that she couldn’t control herself.
Miranda left the room, her steps slapping the white, marbled floor.
* * * *
Mac settled back in his chair and threw the fork to the end of the table; it clattered as it landed on the floor. Miranda was right—but what she hadn’t figured out was that this was their second chance. This was an opportunity to undo the damage and pain they’d brought each other. Mac believed for so long that all he wanted was revenge. Not anymore. Now, he wanted his lost love. He wanted a chance to find peace. He now believed
that
was what had brought them together again.
Wanting fresh air, he strolled to the French doors in the dining room and opened them wide. The soft breeze mingled with the sea scent as it wafted in; he breathed in and filled his lungs.
The book.
That book would ruin their lives; his and Miranda’s. He hadn’t had a vision of the future in a long time, and they were never good messages. They hinted at disturbing things to come, things that had always come true. Mac frowned as he remembered the vision that struck him earlier in his office. He’d seen Miranda hanging from the edge of ruins; he’d seen himself reaching for her and grabbing her hand. The terrifying look on her face, her fear of
him,
disturbed him gravely. He winced at the memory, and the tormented feel that struck him in the heart. She had screamed, “Please don’t let go, don’t kill me, I will…”
That short vision had left him breathless.
He wasn’t a killer, and even if he did become one, he would surly never harm Miranda. But in the vision, she believed he would harm her—and all because of the damned book. He had to stop her before the book ruined their lives. Rubbing his face with his hands, and breathing deep, he decided he wasn’t going to tell her about the vision. If he did, she would panic and run for her life.
Now, and only now, Mac realized he couldn’t live without Miranda. He had found his first love again and he wouldn’t allow anything to take that away from him. He sighed. His chest felt heavy and dense. He was burnt out on being alone, without anybody to care for, without a future to look forward to. But why would she stay with a scarred monster like him?
He craved his relaxing music. He walked to the cabinet and turned on a melodic CD. The music began, a soft piano solo.
Mac closed his eyes and turned the lights off as he strolled to the deck. He sat on a white wooden chair facing the sparkling silver moonlight on the lake. A small frog jumped by in front of him, chasing another. He preferred dark, starless nights, but tonight was not one of them. It was beautiful, filled with sounds of the cool breeze, insects chirping, and the colors of tree shadows mixed with full moonlight.
* * * *
Blanket in hand, Miranda walked over the bridge to the other side of the lake. The deck near the pavilion called to her. It tempted her with thoughts of a floating bed beneath a naked sky.
She huffed in frustration, horny as hell. It wasn’t enough that Mac left her hanging with a burning desire that fired her senses. She hadn’t planned on the feelings that flowed toward him, the build-up of desire. Together, these emotions stirred her body. She never thought she could feel like this. For two years, her work had consumed her world. She’d left dating to those who weren’t wallowing in the insanity that played out in their heads.
For two years, the only sex I’d had was with myself. Energizer had made a killing
. Miranda had almost forgotten how it felt to be caressed, kissed, and cared for.
She had betrayed her mission; she was betraying herself.
Miranda cursed to herself. “Foolishness is all it was. Thinking you could use your good looks to charm the information out of him. Well, it wasn’t him that all but swooned, was it? Falling at his feet like some sex-starved old maid. Ridiculous!” But then she recalled his glorious touch and bewitching kisses. She moaned.
Mac still thought of her as Rose. God, when was she going to get rid of Rose? When would he start to think she was Miranda?
I want him to want me, not Rose.
She stopped in her steps. When did that thought sneak into her head?
She would need time to think about what to do next, and she needed to relax. Miranda continued toward the floating bed in the middle of the wooden deck. The white mattress was topped with fluffy pillows; she threw the blanket onto the mattress and sank into the soft, fluffy, and cool heaven. Soft music came from afar; she figured Mac must be playing it again. She already knew he was passionate about his Scottish music. Who could blame him? Those lilting melodies soothed the senses.
She glanced around her, noting how peaceful his garden was. She inhaled the cool breeze that swept across the gardens, thick with the perfume of flowers. The beach waves crashing on the edge of the rocks danced along with the music. An orchard of ancient pear trees was clearly visible in the lush, shadowed distance.
She lay back on the cool mattress and closed her eyes.
Peace. Melody. She hadn’t enjoyed that for a while. She needed to clear her thoughts of anything that might disturb her inner serenity. She didn’t want to think of anything except tranquility.
“May I intrude?”
She opened her eyes; his voice had an erotic softness to it. Miranda adjusted herself on her elbows and looked at Mac. “It’s your garden.” Her heart skipped a beat or two. He rested his arm along one of the wooden pillars that held the deck, and with the other, he held a plate. He studied her before gazing at the lake.
“I’ve upset you without meaning to,” he said. “This isn’t easy for me, Miranda, and I know it’s overwhelming and hard to deal with. I wanted to apologize for my actions, for taking the liberties I did—without your permission.”
Miranda rubbed her forehead. “It was partly my mistake, too,” she mumbled, her voice shaking. Her head was down, but she glanced at him warily from under her lashes.
He advanced toward her. “May I sit with you? I brought you a piece of chocolate whisky gateau.”
Miranda loved chocolate, and now she was hungry for both the dessert and him, definitely a dangerous combination. She nodded and tried to hide her delight at having him beside her; she moved to the side to allow him to sit next to her, while she remained lying on her elbows. In the moonlight, Mac was so tall and handsome.
That man would make any woman want to lick chocolate off him,
she thought, swallowing in anticipation. She turned her concentration to the line of oak trees as a balmy breeze swept past, making the flower tendrils dance and the blossoms nod.
Maybe if she thought about the beauty around her she could forget he was sitting beside her. He stretched out and now lay close to her on his elbows, feeling his weight on the mattress. A minute passed in silence, then his finger gently touched her open palm, tracing a nerve that shot directly to her brain, awakening a blistering desire. His finger moved back and forth along her lifeline of her palm. She looked up as his lashes lifted to reveal eyes as bright as fire trapped in blue glass. “What you’re doing is not fair, Mac,” she whispered. ‘What do you want from me?”
“I want you. What we have can’t be ignored.”
She sighed.
Oh, I want you, too—every nerve, every ounce of my feminine soul calls out for what you’re offering. But would it be enough?
“And what do we have, Mac?”
He turned to his side, facing her now. The deep, haunted look in his eyes quickened the pace of her heartbeats. The stark planes and angles of his face tensed; his eyes searched hers, mute, the rugged line of his mouth pressed shut, every inch of his big, solid frame infused with an indescribable loneliness.
Miranda couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was still holding the chocolate plate in his hand. Was he going to feed her the chocolate?
Oh, God, I hope not.
Her eyes turned back to his. She had sensed the hidden pain beneath his polished surface. For some reason, she knew what he was going through just by looking at him. She had the strange sensation of knowing exactly how he felt when they first met.
“Our love has survived more than two hundred years, and a lot of pain,” he answered. “All it wants is another chance at peace, at heaven.” His voice was firm, begging her to understand.
She closed her eyes, a stinging pain shooting between her ribs. “We don’t even know each other, Mac. This is insane.”
“We know each other better than any two people in this world.How much more do you want to know? Do you want to know more than what we already feel and know in our hearts? What we feel is the power of desire to belong to each other, and a force of agony if we don’t.”
“How do you know what I feel?”
“I sense the soft heart in your ribs, fluttering every time I touch you. The light trembles on your upper lip when you look at my lips, the way your pupils dilate when a naughty thought forms into your head. I see the pink color blossom on your checks from just a brush from my fingers. I felt your body clinging to mine when I held you, as if we had mastered that embrace every day of our lives.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “Our souls are meant to be together, Miranda.”
Her eyes widened. It was hard to breathe, as if the cool breeze that whispered around them ceased.
Miranda straightened and held her head between her hands. “How could you say that, Mac? You don’t even know who I am,” she whispered. Her head tilted so she could gaze fully into his face, but anger tinged her words. “And I don’t even know who you really are.”
He didn’t answer, but placed the plate on the mattress beside him.
Miranda leapt to her feet, about to flee, but Mac grabbed her by the hand. His sudden motion made her lose her balance and fall into his lap. He held her face in one hand and slid the other around her waist, his eyes pleading in silence for her to stay.
This man was hurting. And one long, searching look into his eyes was enough to transmute her anger at him into compassion. How could she stay angry when he looked so bleak, so obviously in need of tenderness? It dawned on her there might be some greater purpose behind her being on this island, a kind of destiny. She said nothing, but didn’t move.
The sadness in his eyes told her he was holding something back. He swallowed hard, his heart beating so fast she could feel its pulse against her arm.
“My name is Marcas Wardlaw,” he whispered softly. “I am the son of Alfred and Elisabeth Wardlaw.”
Mac let out a strangled sound, so unlike the assured man Miranda knew. Her first thought was that he’d released the weight on his soul by revealing this terrible secret. But then she caught the flash of fear in his sigh: even now, he feared the outcome of his confession. But, surprisingly, she wasn’t bothered by his words.