Megan's Mate

Chapter 8

She could hear her own heartbeat pounding, pounding, in counterpoint to the rain that pounded against the windows. She wondered whether Nathaniel could hear it, too, and if he did, whether he knew that she was afraid. His arms were so strong, his mouth was so sure each time it swooped down to claim hers again.

He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed no more than the mist that swirled outside the cottage.

She would make a mistake, she would do something foolish, she wouldn't be what either of them wanted. The doubts pinched at her like fingers as he swept her into his bedroom, where the light was dim and the air was sweet with wisteria.

She saw the spear of purple blooms in an old bottle on a scarred wooden chest, the undraped windows that were opened to welcome the moist breeze. And the bed, with its sturdy iron headboard and taut cotton spread.

He set her down beside it, so that she was all too aware of the weakness in her knees. But she kept her eyes on his and waited, terrified and aching, for him to make the first move.

“You're trembling again.” His voice was quiet, the fingers he lifted to stroke her cheek were soothing. Did she think he couldn't see all those fears in her eyes? She couldn't know that they stirred his own.

“I don't know what to do.” The moment the words were out, she closed her eyes. She'd done it already, she realized. The first mistake. Determined, she dragged his head down to hers for an aggressive kiss.

A fire kindled in his gut, flames leaping and licking at the ready fuel of his need. Muscles tensed in reaction, he fought back the urge to shove her back on the bed and take, take quickly, fiercely. He kept his hands easy, stroking her face, her shoulders, her back, until she quieted.

“Nathaniel.”

“Do you know what I want, Meg?”

“Yes— No.” She reached for him again, but he caught her hands, kissed them, fingertip by fingertip.

“I want to watch you relax. I want to watch you enjoy.” His eyes on hers, he lowered her hands to her sides. “I want to watch you fill up with me.” Slowly he began to take the pins from her hair, setting them on the table beside the bed. “I want to hear you say my name when I'm inside you.”

He combed his fingers through her hair, contenting himself with the silky texture. “I want you to let me do all the things I've been dreaming of since I first laid eyes on you. Let me show you.”

He kissed her first, his mouth soft, smooth, seductive. Endlessly patient, he parted hers with teasing nips and nibbles, with the persuasive caress of his tongue. Degree by torturous degree, he deepened the kiss, until her hands clutched weakly at his waist and her shudders gave way to pliancy.

Hie lingering taste of brandy, the faint and very male scrape of a day's beard against her cheek, the patter of rain and the drifting scent of flowers. All this whirled in her head like a drug, both potent and possessing.

His lips left hers to journey over her face, to trace the line of her jaw, to nuzzle at her ear, waiting, patiently waiting, until he felt her slip over to the next stage of surrender.

He stepped back, only an inch, and slipped the shirt up her torso, over her head, let it drop to the floor. His muscles coiled like a snake. She thought she saw the lightning flash of desire that darkened his eyes to soot. But he only skimmed a fingertip down her throat, to the aching tip of her breast.

Her breath caught; her head lolled back.

“You're so beautiful, Meg. So soft.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder while his hands gently molded, caressed, aroused. “So sweet.”

He was afraid his hands were too big, too rough. As a result, his touch was stunningly tender, humming over her heating skin. They slicked down her sides, leaving tremors in their wake as he eased the loose pants from her hips.

Then those fingertips moved over her, gliding over curves until her shaking breathing turned to unsteady moans.

He undressed, watching her heavy eyes flutter open, seeing the misty blue focus on him, the pupils dilate.

Now, she thought, and her heart stuttered madly in her throat. He would take her now, and ease this glorious ache he'd stirred to life inside her. Sweet and eager, her mouth lifted to his. He gathered her close, laid her on the bed as gently as he might have laid her in a pool of rose petals. She arched to him, accepting, braced for the torrent. He used only his lips, soft as the rain, savoring her flesh as though it were a banquet of the most delicate flavors. Then his hands, big and hard-palmed, skimmed, lingered, discovered.

Nothing could have prepared her. If she'd had a hundred lovers, none could have given more, or taken more. She was lost in a gently rocking sea of sensation, undone by patience, weakened by tenderness.

Her breathing slowed, deepened, even as her heart rate soared. She felt the brush of his hair on her breast before his mouth claimed it, heard his quiet, satisfied groan of pleasure as he suckled. Heard his sign as he circled and teased with his tongue.

She sank, fathoms deep, in warm, clear waters.

She didn't know when those waters began to chum. The storm gathered so slowly, so subtly. It seemed one moment she was drifting, and the next floundering. She couldn't get her breath, no matter how deeply she gasped for air. Her mind, suddenly reeling, struggled for the surface, even as her body coiled and tensed.

“Nathaniel.” She grabbed at him, her fingers digging into his flesh. “I can't—”

But he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her gasps, savoring her moan, as the first dizzy climax racked her.

She reared against his hand, instinctively urging him on as hot red waves of pleasure swept her up. Her neat, rounded nails scored his shoulders before her hands, her body, even her mind, went limp.

“Megan. God.” She was so hot, so wet. He pressed his tips to her throat as he fought to level his own breathing. Pleasuring a woman had always pleasured him. But not tike this. Never tike this. He felt tike a king and a beggar all at once.

Her stunned response aroused him unbearably. All he could do was wallow in her, absorbing her shock waves, and his own, feeling each and every nerve in his body sizzle and spark.

He wanted to give her more. Had to give her more. Strapping down his own grinding needs, he slipped inside her, letting himself rock with the pleasure of her quick shudder, her broken sigh.

She was so small. He had to remind himself again and again that she was small, all delicate bones and fragile skin. That she was innocent, and nearly as untouched as a virgin. So while the blood pounded in his head, his heart, his loins, he took her gently, his hands fisted on the bedspread for fear he would touch her and bruise.

He felt her body contract, explode. And then she said his name. He pressed his lips to hers again, and followed her over.

The rain was still drumming. As she slowly swam back to reality, she heard its steady beat on the roof. She lay still, her hand tangled in Nathaniel's hair, her body glowing. She realized she had a smile on her face.

She began to hum.

Nathaniel stirred himself, pushed back lazily to lean on his elbow. “What are you doing?”

“Singing. Sort of.”

He grinned, studying her. “I like your looks, sugar.”

“I'm getting used to yours.” She traced the cleft in his chin with a fingertip. Her lashes lowered. “It was all right, wasn't it?”

“What?” He waited, wisely holding back a chuckle until she looked at him again. “Oh, that. Sure, it was okay for a start.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again with a little humming sound that wasn't at all musical. “You could be a little more... flattering.”

“You could be a little less stupid.” He kissed her frowning mouth. “Making love isn't a quiz, Meg. You don't get graded.”

“What I meant was... Never mind.”

“What you meant was...” He hauled her over until she was splayed on top of him. “On a scale of one to ten...”

“Cut it out, Nathaniel.” She laid her cheek on his chest. “I hate it when you make me feel ridiculous.”

“I don't.” Possessively he ran a hand down her back. “I love to make you feel ridiculous. I love to make you feel.”

He nearly followed that up with a very simple “I love you.” But she wouldn't have accepted it. He'd barely done so himself.

“You did.” She kept her head over his heart. “You made me feel things I never have before. I was afraid.”

Trouble clouded his eyes. “I don't want you to be afraid of me.”

“I was afraid of me,” she corrected. “Of us. Of letting this happen. I'm glad it did.” It was easier than she'd imagined to shift, to smile, to press her mouth to his. For a moment, she thought he tensed, but she dismissed that as foolish and kissed him again.

His system snapped to full alert. How could he want her again, so desperately, so quickly? be wondered. How could he resist those sweet, tantalizing lips?

“Keep that up,” he managed, “and it's going to happen again.”

The shiver of excitement was glorious. “Okay.” She shared her anticipation in the kiss, torturing his mouth, teasing his tongue. Amazed that there could be more, she gave a low sound of delight when he rolled, shoving her beneath him and crushing her mouth.

For a heady moment, he let those violent needs hold sway, trapping her beneath him, devouring her lips, her skin, dragging a hand through her tousled hair until her throat was exposed to his hungry teeth and tongue.

She moaned, writhed under him. Whimpered.

Rolling away, he lay on his back, cursing himself, while his heart pounded the blood through his veins.

Confused, shivering with needs freshly aroused but unmet, Megan laid a tentative hand on his arm. He jerked away.

“Don't.” The order came out harsh. “I need a minute.” Her eyes went dead. “I'm sorry. I did something wrong.”

“No, you didn't.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up. “I'm just not ready. Look, why don't I go down and rustle us up something to eat?”

He was only inches away. It might as well have been miles, and she felt the sharp sting of rejection. “No, that's all right.” Her voice was cool and calm again. “I really should get going. I need to pick up Kevin.”

“Kevin's fine.”

“Regardless.” She brushed at her hair, tried to smooth it. She wished desperately for something to wrap around her nakedness.

“Don't pull that door shut on me now.” He battled back fury, and a much more dangerous passion.

“I haven't shut any door. I thought—that is, I assumed you wanted me to stay. Since you don't, I'll—”

“Of course I want you to stay. Damn it, Megan.” He whirled on her, and wasn't surprised when she jerked back. “I need a bloody minute. I could eat you alive, I want you so much.”

In defense, she crossed an arm over her breasts. “I don't understand you.”

“Damn right you don't understand me. You'd run like hell if you did.” He fought for control, gained a slippery hold. “We'll be fine, Meg, if you wait until I pull myself together.”

“What are you talking about?”

Gripped by frustration, he grabbed her hand, pressed it against his, palm to palm. “I've got big hands, Megan. Got them from my father. I know the right way to use them—and the wrong way.”

There was a glint in his eyes, like the honed edge of a sword. It should have frightened her, but it only excited. “You're afraid of me,” she said quietly.

“Afraid you'll hurt me.”

“I won't hurt you.” He dropped his hand, left it fisted on the bed.

“No, you won't.” She lifted a hand to touch his cheek. His jaw was tight, urging her fingers to stroke and soothe. There was a power here, she realized, a power she'd been unaware of possessing. She wondered what they could make between them if she set it free.

“You want me.” Feeling reckless, she edged closer, until her mouth slid over his. “You want to touch me.” She lifted his fisted hand to her breast, her heart pounding like a drum as his fingers opened, cupped. “And for me to touch you.” Her hands stroked down his chest, felt the quiver of his stomach muscles. So much strength, she thought, so ruthlessly chained. What would it be bice if those links snapped free?

She wanted to know.

“Make love with me now, Nathaniel.” Eyes half-closed, she linked her arms around his neck, pressed her eager body to bis. “Show me how much you want me.”

He held himself in check, concentrating on the flavor of her mouth. It would be enough, he told himself, to make her float again.

But she had learned quickly. When he sought to soothe, she enticed. Where he tried to gentle, she enraged.

With an oath, he dragged her up until they were kneeling, body-to-body. And his mouth was wild.

She answered avidly each urgent demand, each desperate moan. His hands were everywhere, hard and possessive, taking more only when she cried out for it. There was no calm water to sink in now, but a violent tempest that spun them both over the bed in a tangle of hot flesh and raging needs.

He couldn't stop, no longer gave a damn about control. She was his, and by God, he would have all of her. With something like a snarl, he clamped her hands above her head and ravished her flesh.

She arched like a bow, twisted, and still he plundered, invading that hot, wet core with probing tongue until she was sobbing his name.

And more, still more, wrestling over the bed with her hands as rough and ready as his, her mouth as bold and ravenous.

He drove himself into her, hard and deep, hissing with triumph, eyes glazed and dark. His hands locked on hers as she rose to meet him.

She would remember the speed, and the wild freedom, of their mindless mating. And she would remember the heady flavor of power as they plunged recklessly off the edge together.

She must have slept. When she woke, she was sprawled on her stomach across the bed. The rain had stopped and night had fallen. When her mind cleared, she became aware of dozens of small aches, and a drugged sense of satisfaction.

She thought of rolling over, but it seemed like too much trouble. Instead, she stretched out her arms, searching the tumbled bed, knowing already that she was alone.

She heard the bird squawk slyly. “You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve?”

She was still chuckling when Nathaniel stepped back into the room. “What do you do, run old movies for him all day?”

“He's a Bogart fan. What can I tell you?” It amazed him that he felt awkward, holding a dinner tray white a naked woman lolled in his bed. “That’s a pretty good scar you've got there, sugar.”

She was much too content to be embarrassed when she saw where his eyes had focused. “I earned it. That's a pretty good dragon you've got.”

“I was eighteen, stupid, and more than a little buzzed on beer. But I guess I earned it, too.”

“Suits you. What have you got there?” “Thought you might be hungry.”

“I'm starving.” She braced herself on both elbows and smiled at him. “That smells terrific. I didn't know you cooked.”

“I don't. Dutch does. I cadge handouts from the kitchen, then nuke them.” “Nuke them?”

“Zap them in the microwave.” He set the tray down on the sea chest at the foot of the bed. “We've got some Cajun chicken, some wine.”

“Mmm...” She roused herself enough to lean over and peer at it. “Looks wonderful. But I really need to get Kevin.”

“I talked to Suzanna.” He wondered if he could talk her into eating dinner just as she was, gloriously naked. “Unless she hears from you, Kevin's set to spend the night with them.”

“Oh. Well.”

“She says he's already knee-deep in video games with Alex and Jenny.” “And if I called, I'd spoil his party.”

“Pretty much.” He sat on the edge of the bed, ran a fingertip down her spine. “So, how about it? Sleep with me tonight?”

“I don't even have a toothbrush.”

“I can dig up an extra.” He broke off a piece of chicken, fed it to her. “Oh.” She swallowed, blew out a breath. “Spicy.”

“Yeah.” He leaned down to sample her lips, then lifted a glass of wine to them. “Better?”

“It's wonderful.”

He tipped the glass so that a few drops of wine spilled on her shoulder. “Oops. Better clean that up.” He did so with a lingering lick of his tongue. “What do I have to do to convince you to stay?”

She forgot the food and rolled into his arms. “You just did.”

In the morning, the mists had cleared. Nathaniel watched Megan pin up her hair in a beam of sunlight. It seemed only right that he move behind her and press his lips to the base of her neck.

He thought it was a sweetly ordinary, sweetly intimate gesture that could become a habit.

“I love the way you polish yourself up, sugar.”

“Polish myself up?” Her curious eyes met his in the glass. She had on the same tailored suit she'd worn the day before—not slightly wrinkled. Her makeup was sketchy at best, courtesy of the small emergency cosmetic kit she carried in her purse, and her hair was giving her trouble, as she'd lost half of her pins.

“Like you are now. Like some pretty little cupcake behind the bakery window.”

“Cupcake.” She nearly choked. “I'm certainly not a cupcake.”

“I've got a real sweet tooth.” To prove it, he nibbled his way to her ear.

“I've noticed.” She turned, but put her hands against his chest to hold him off. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, me too. I don't suppose I could talk you into coming with me.”

“To sight whales?” She cocked her head. “No more than I could talk you into sitting with me in my office all day, running figures.”

He winced. “Guess not. How about tonight?”

She yearned, wished, longed. “I have to think of Kevin. I can't spend my nights here with you while he spends them somewhere else.”

“I had that figured. I was thinking if you were to leave your terrace doors open...”

“You could come sneaking in?” she asked archly. “More or less.”

“Good thinking.” She laughed and drew away. “Now, are you going to drive me back to my car?”

“Looks that way.” He took her hand, holding it as they walked downstairs. “Megan...” He hated to bring it up when the sun was shining and his mood was light. “If you hear from Dumont, if he tries to see you or Kevin, if he calls, sends a damn smoke signal, does anything, I want you to tell me.”

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I doubt I will, after the dunking you gave him. But don't worry, Nathaniel, I can handle Baxter.”

“Off with his head,” Bird suggested, but Nathaniel didn't smile.

“It's not a matter of what you can handle.” He pushed the door open, stepped outside. “Maybe you don't figure that last night gives me the right to look out for you and your boy, but I do. I will. So we'll put it this way.” He opened the car door for her. “Either you promise me that you'll tell me, or I go after him now.”

She started to protest, but the image, absolutely vivid, of the look on Nathaniel's face when he'd rammed Baxter against the wall stopped her. “You would.”

“Bank on it.”

She tried to separate annoyance from the simple pleasure of being protected. And couldn't. “I want to say I appreciate the concern, but I'm not sure I do. I've been taking care of myself, and of Kevin, for a long time.”

“Things change.”

“Yes,” she said carefully, wondering what was behind those calm, unblinking gray eyes. “I'm more comfortable when they change slowly.”

“I'm doing my best to keep at your pace, Meg.” Whatever frustrations he had, he told himself, he could handle. “Just a simple yes or no on this'll do.”

It wasn't just herself, Megan thought. There was Kevin. And Nathaniel was offering them both a strong, protecting arm. Pride meant nothing when compared to the welfare of her son.

Not at all sure why she was amused, she turned to him once he'd settled into the driver's seat. “You have an uncanny knack for getting your own way. And when you do, you just accept it as inevitable.”

“It usually is.” He backed out of the drive and headed for Shipshape.

There was a small greeting party waiting for them. Holt and, to Megan's surprise, her brother, Sloan.

“I dropped the kids off at The Towers,” Holt told her, before she could ask. “They've got your dog, Nate.”

“Thanks.” She'd barely stepped from the car when Sloan grabbed her by the shoulders, stared hard into her eyes.

“Are you all right? Why the hell didn't you call me? Did he put his hands on you?”

“I'm fine. Sloan, I'm fine.” Instinctively she cupped his face, kissed him. “I didn't call because I already had two white knights charging into battle. And he may have put his hands on me, but I put my fists on him. I think I split his lip.”

Sloan said something particularly foul about Du-mont and hugged Megan close. “I should have killed him when you first told me about him.”

“Stop it.” She pressed her cheek to his. “It's over. I want it put aside. Kevin's not to hear about it. Now come on, I'll drive you back to the house.”

“I've got some things to do.” He gave Nathaniel a steely stare over Megan's shoulder. “You go on up, Meg. I'll be along later.”

“All right, then.” She kissed him again. “Holt, thanks again for looking after Kevin.”

“No problem.” Holt tucked his tongue in his cheek when Nathaniel scooped Megan up for a long, lingering kiss. A glance at Sloan's narrowed eyes had him biting that tongue to keep from grinning.

“See you, sugar.”

Megan flushed, cleared her throat. “Yes.,.well. Bye.”

Nathaniel tucked his thumbs in his pocket, waited until she'd driven off before he turned to Sloan. “Guess you want to talk to me.”

“Damn right I want to talk to you.”

“You'll have to come up to the bridge. We've got a tour going out.”

“Want a referee?” Holt offered, and earned two deadly glances. “Too bad. I hate to miss it.”

Smoldering, Sloan followed Nathaniel up the gangplank, waited restlessly while he gave orders. Once they were on the bridge, Nathaniel glanced over the charts and dismissed the mate.

“If this is going to take longer than fifteen minutes, you're in for a ride.”

“I've got plenty of time.” Sloan stepped closer, braced his legs like a gunslinger at high noon. “What the hell were you doing with my sister?”

“I think you have that figured out,” Nathaniel said coolly.

Sloan bared his teeth. “If you think I'm going to stand back while you move in on her, you're dead wrong. I wasn't around when she got tangled up with Dumont, but I'm here now.”

“I'm not Dumont.” Nathaniel's own temper threatened to snap, a dry twig of control. “You want to take out what he did to her on me, that's fine. I've been looking to kick someone's ass ever since I caught that bastard tossing her around. So you want to take me on?” he said invitingly. “Do it.”

Though the invitation tempted some elemental male urge, Sloan pulled back. “What do you mean, he was tossing her around?”

“Just what I said. He had her up against the wall.” The rage swept back, almost drowning him. “I thought about killing him, but I didn't think she could handle it.”

Sloan breathed deep to steady himself. “So you threw him off the pier.”

“Well, I punched him a few times first, then I figured there was a chance he couldn't swim.”

Calmer, and grateful, Sloan nodded. “Holt had a few words with him when he dragged his sorry butt out. They've tangled before.” He'd missed his chance that time, as well, he thought, thoroughly disgusted. “I don't think Dumont'll come back, chance running into any of us again.” Sloan knew he should be glad of it, but he regretted, bitterly, not getting his own licks in.

“I appreciate you looking out for her,” he said stiffly. “But that doesn't get us past the rest. She'd have been upset, vulnerable. I don't like a man who takes advantage of that.”

“I gave her tea and dry clothes,” Nathaniel said between his teeth. “It would have stopped right there, if that was what she wanted. Staying with me was her choice.”

“I'm not going to see her hurt again. You might look at her and see an available woman, but she's my sister.”

“I'm in love with your sister.” Nathaniel snapped his head around when the bridge door opened.

“Ready to cast off, Captain.”

“Cast off.” He cursed under his breath as he stalked to the wheel.

Sloan stood back while he gave orders and piloted the boat into the bay. “You want to run that by me again?”

“Have you got a problem with plain English?” Nathaniel tossed back. “I'm in love with her. Damn it.”

“Well, now.” More than a little taken aback, Sloan sat on the bench closest to the helm.

He wanted to think that one through. After all, Megan had barely met the man. Then again, he remembered, he'd fallen for Amanda in little more time than it took her to snap his head off. If he'd been able to choose a man for his sister, it might have been someone very much like Nathaniel Fury.

“Have you told her that?” Sloan asked, his tone considerably less belligerent.

“Go to hell.”

“Haven't,” he decided, and braced his booted foot on his knee. “Does she feel the same way about you?”

“She will.” Nathaniel set his teeth. “She needs time to work it out, that's all.”

“Is that what she said?”

“That's what I say.” Nathaniel ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Look, O'Riley, either mind your own damn business or take a punch at me. I've had enough.”

Sloan's smile spread slow and easy. “Crazy about her, aren't you?” Nathaniel merely grunted and started out to sea.

“What about Kevin?” Sloan studied Nathaniel's profile as he probed. “Some might have a problem taking on another man's son.”

“Kevin's Megan's son.” His eyes flashed to Sloan's, burned. “He'll be mine.”

Sloan waited a moment until he was sure. “So, you're going to take on the whole package.”

“That's right.” Nathaniel pulled out a cigar, lit it. “You got a problem with that?”

“Can't say as I do.” Sloan grinned and accepted the cigar Nathaniel belatedly offered him. “You might, though. My sister's a damn stubborn woman. But seeing as you're almost a member of the family, I'll be glad to offer any help.”

A smile finally twitched at Nathaniel's mouth. “Thanks, but I'd like to handle it on my own.”

“Suit yourself.” Sloan settled back to enjoy the ride.

“Are you sure you're all right?”

Megan had no more than stepped in the door of The Towers when she found herself surrounded by concern.

“I'm fine, really.” Her protests hadn't prevented the Calhouns from herding her into the family kitchen and plying her with tea and sympathy. “This has gotten blown out of proportion.”

“When somebody messes with one of us,” C.C. corrected, “they mess with all of us.”

She glanced outside, where the children were playing happily in the yard. “I appreciate it. Really. But I don't think there's anything more to worry about.”

“There won't be.” Colleen stepped into the room, her gaze scanning each face in turn. “What are you all doing in here, smothering the girl? Get out.”

“Aunt Colleen...” Coco began.

“Out, I said, all of you. You, go back to your kitchen and flirt with that big Dutchman you've got sneaking into your room at night.”

“Why, I—”

“Go. And you.” Now her cane gestured threateningly at Amanda. “You've got a hotel to run, don't you? Go weed some flowers,” she ordered Suzanna. “And you go tinker with an engine.” She flicked her gaze from C.C. to Lilah.

“Tougher with me, isn't it, Auntie?” Lilah said lazily. “Take a nap,” Colleen snapped.

“Got me,” Lilah said with a sigh. “Come on, ladies, we've been dismissed.”

Satisfied when the door swung shut behind them, Colleen sat heavily at the table. “Get me some of that tea,” she ordered Megan. “See that it's hot.”

Though she moved to obey, Megan wasn't cowed. “Do you always find rudeness works to your advantage, Miss Calhoun?”

“That, old age, and a hefty portfolio.” She took the tea Megan set in front of her, sipped, nodded grudgingly when she found it hot and strong. “Now then, sit down and listen to what I have to say. And don't prim your mouth at me, young lady.”

“I'm very fond of Coco,” Megan told her. “You embarrassed her.”

“Embarrassed her? Ha! She and that tattooed hulk have been mooning around after each other for days. Gave her a prod is what I did.” But she eyed Megan craftily. “Loyal when it’s deserved, are you?”

“I am.”

“And so am I. I made a few calls this morning, to some friends in Boston. Influential friends. Hush,” she ordered when Megan started to speak. “Detest politics myself, but it's often necessary to dance with the devil. Dumont should be being made aware, at this moment, that any contact with you, or your son, will fatally jeopardize his ambitions. He will not trouble you again.”

Megan pressed her lips together. She wanted her voice to be steady. No matter what she had said, how she had pretended, there had been an icy fear, like a cold ax balanced over her head, of what Baxter might do. In one stroke, Colleen had removed it.

“Why did you do it?”

“I loathe bullies. I particularly loathe bullies who interfere with the contentment of my family.”

“I'm not your family,” Megan said softly.

“Ha! Think again. You stuck your toe in Calhoun waters, girl. We're like quicksand. You're a Calhoun now, and you're stuck.”

Tears rushed into her eyes, blinding her. “Miss Calhoun—” Megan's words were cut off by the impatient rap of Colleen's cane. After a sniffle, Megan began again. “Aunt Colleen,” she corrected, understanding. “I'm very grateful.”

“So you should be.” Colleen coughed to clear her own husky voice. Then she raised it to a shout. “Come back in here, the lot of you! Stop listening at the door!”

It swung open, Coco leading the way. She walked to Colleen, bent, kissed the papery cheek.

“Stop all this nonsense.” She waved her grand-nieces away. “I want the girl to tell me how that strapping young man tossed that bully in the drink.”

Megan laughed, wiped her eyes. “He choked him first.”

“Ha!” Colleen rapped her cane in appreciation. “Don't spare the details.”