Summer in Eclipse Bay

Chapter 8

Another summer storm was headed toward Eclipse Bay. Not a yippy little terrier of a storm like the one that had scampered through town last night and left everything damp. This one promised to be a real monster. It prowled and paced, sucking up energy from the sea while it waited for the cover of darkness.

Octavia stopped at the far end of the short stretch of beach and stood looking out over the quietly seething water. The tide was out. The brooding sensation was back.

A couple of days ago she had convinced herself that leaving Eclipse Bay at the end of the season was the right thing to do. Now she was not so certain. The strange feeling that she could not depart until she had accomplished whatever it was that she had come here to do had descended on her again.

Was her imagination going into high gear? Or was she already coming up with excuses to delay the day she walked away from Eclipse Bay and Nick and Carson Harte?

A shiver went through her. This was not good. This was risky rationalization and she did not do risky stuff. According to Claudia, the tendency to play it safe and not take chances was a major failing. She could still hear her aunt's words ringing in her head.

You know what I want you to do after I'm gone? I want you to go out and raise a little hell. Live it up. Take some chances. Life is too damned short as it is. You want to get to my age and have nothing interesting to look back on?

Okay, so she'd taken a mini-chance last night and what did she have to show for it? She'd cooked dinner for Nick Harte. Big deal. She'd kicked him out of the cottage before she'd even discovered whether or not he was sufficiently interested in having mad, passionate sex with her to bother to give her The Talk.

Playing it safe.

She had set out to walk off the restlessness after getting home from the gallery, but the exercise wasn't working as therapy. It was tempting to blame her mood on the advancing storm, but she knew there were other factors at work. One of them was the memory of the tension she had witnessed between Nick and Jeremy earlier that day.

Why was she allowing the thinly veiled hostility that had shimmered between those two get to her? It wasn't her problem if they had issues. She had her own issues. She had a business to sell. That sort of enterprise required planning and care. And then there was the move away from Eclipse Bay to engineer. For starters, she had to make arrangements to ship all of the stuff she had brought here. What on earth had made her bring so many of her personal treasures to the cottage? She should have left them at her apartment in Portland.

But the apartment in the city had always had a temporary feel. She had not been tempted to try to settle in there. It was her cottage here in Eclipse Bay that she had tried to turn into a home.

Lots of issues.'

Nick Harte.

Yes, indeed. Nick Harte was a big issue.

What was it about him that drew her? He was not her type. She had more in common with Jeremy Seaton, when you got right down to it.

This was getting her nowhere. Brooding was a waste of time and energy and it never, in her experience, resulted in good outcomes. The negative feelings simply fed on themselves and got heavier and more bleak.

It was time to get a grip. Take charge. Act responsibly.

She turned and started determinedly back along the beach.

She had almost reached the bottom of the cliff path when the overwhelming, primordial knowledge that she was not alone jangled her senses.

She looked up quickly and caught her breath when she saw Nick standing at the top of the bluff. The ominous early twilight generated by the oncoming storm etched him in mystery. His dark hair was ruffled by the growling wind. His black windbreaker was open, revealing the black pullover and jeans he wore underneath. Top bad there wasn't a photographer around, she thought. This shot would have been perfect for the back cover photo on one of his books.

For a timeless moment it was as if she'd been frozen by some powerful force, unable to move, barely able to breathe. But an acute awareness arced through her, raising the small hairs on the back of her arms. She ought to be getting used to the sensation, she thought. Nick Harte had this effect on her a lot.

With an effort, she forced herself to move through the oddly charged atmosphere and started up the cliff path. She climbed carefully, conscious of how the wind was whipping her long, white skirt around her legs.

"Looks like the weather people missed the call on this storm," Nick said when she reached the top. He glanced toward the looming chaos that threatened on the horizon. "Going to be a lot stronger than they predicted."

"Yes." She held her hair out of her face. "What are you doing here, Nick?"

"I brought dinner." His tone was casual to the point of careless, but his eyes were anything but casual. A dangerous energy crackled there in the blue depths. "Unless you've got other plans?"

She'd had some plans, she thought. But none of them sounded nearly as interesting as dinner with Nick. Or as reckless.

"You cooked dinner?" she asked, buying herself a little time to analyze the situation before she did something really, really risky like invite him into her cottage.

His mouth curved in a rakish grin that showed some teeth.

"Now, why would I sweat over a hot stove all afternoon when I've acquired a brother-in-law who owns and operates a restaurant?"

She found herself smiling in spite of the invisible lightning in the air. "Good question."

"I brought a picnic basket that is stuffed to the hilt with some of Rafe's finest delicacies. Interested?"

Live it up. Take some chances. Life is too damn short…

She breathed deep, inhaling the intoxicating vapors of the oncoming storm. "Are you kidding? If Rafe did the cooking, I'm more than interested. I'm enthralled."

"You know, I always knew that guy would turn out to be useful someday, even if he is a Madison."

"Where's Carson?"

"At Dreamscape."

"Handy built-in baby-sitting setup you've got there."

"I figure I'm doing Rafe and Hannah a favor by giving them a little hands-on practice."

She tilted her head a little. "Do they need practice?"

"Yeah. They're expecting. But don't say anything, okay? They're still in the process of notifying everyone in the family."

"A baby." A sweet, vicarious joy rushed through her. "That's wonderful. How exciting. When?"

"Uh, you'll have to ask Hannah. I forgot to check the date."

"How could you forget to ask when the baby is due?"

"I forgot, okay? So sue me."

"Men."

"Hey, I brought dinner. I think that's pushing the envelope of the SG thing far enough, don't you?"

"SG thing?"

"Sensitive Guy."

She arranged the contents of the picnic basket on the glass-topped dining room table while Nick built a fire. Rafe had outdone himself, she thought. There was an array of appetizing dishes including a beautiful vegetable pate, curried potato salad studded with fresh green peas, cold asparagus spears dressed in hollandaise sauce, little savory pastries filled with shrimp, and cold soba noodles steeped in a ginger-flavored marinade. There were also homemade pickles, Greek olives, and crusty bread from the Incandescent Body. A bottle of pinot noir bearing the label of an exclusive Oregon vintner rounded out the menu. Dessert consisted of tiny raspberry tarts.

"Oh, my," she murmured appreciatively. "This is lovely. Absolutely spectacular. And to think that I was going to fix a plain green salad for dinner. Rafe is amazing."

"Enough about Rafe," Nick said. He struck a match and held it to the kindling. "Let's talk about me."

"What about you?"

"I want full credit for selecting the wine."

"Well, I suppose I can give you that." She glanced at the label. "It's a very nice wine."

"Thanks." He uncoiled to his feet, crossed the room, and took the bottle from her. "I'll have you know that I went through almost every bottle of red in Rafe's cellar looking for it."

"A dirty job, but someone had to do it, right?"

"Damn right."

He carried the pinot noir into the kitchen, found the corkscrew, and went to work with a few deft, economical movements.

A moment later he poured wine into two glasses. He handed one of the glasses to her and raised his own in a small salute.

"To Hannah and Rafe and the baby," he said.

She smiled and touched her glass to his. "And to the end of the Harte-Madison feud. May you all live long and happy lives."

He paused, the glass partway to his mouth, and slowly lowered it. "You sound like you're saying goodbye."

"I am, in a way." She took a sip of the wine. "I've been in a strange place for the past few months-"

"Yeah, Eclipse Bay is a little weird, isn't it?"

"-but I think I've treaded water long enough."

"You're entitled to tread water for a while after you lose someone you love, you know."

"I know. But Aunt Claudia would have been the first to tell me to get on with my life." She did not want to pursue that topic, she thought. She turned away and opened a cupboard to select some of the green glass dishes she stored inside. "Mind if I ask what that scene at the gallery was about today?"

"Any chance I can get away with asking, 'What scene?'"

"No." She looked at him over her shoulder as she took the plates out of the cupboard. "But I suppose you could tell me to mind my own business."

He leaned back against the tiled counter and contemplated the bloodred wine in his glass for a moment. She knew that whatever he was going to tell her, it was not going to be the whole truth and nothing but.

"Jeremy and I go back a ways. We alternated between being buddies and friendly rivals in the old days here in Eclipse Bay. Competed a little with our cars and-"

"Getting dates with fast women?" she finished lightly.

"Fast women, sad to say, were always pretty scarce around Eclipse Bay."

"Too bad. Go on, what happened with you and Jeremy?"

"We had some adventures. Got into some trouble. Raised a little hell. We stayed in touch in college and we both wound up working in Portland. He took a position as an instructor at a college there and I dutifully tried to fulfill my filial obligations at Harte Investments. And then-"

Then, what?"

He shrugged and drank some more wine. "Then he got married. I got married, too. Things changed."

"You lost track of each other?"

"Life happens, you know?"

"Sounds to me like the two of you did more than just drift apart." She carried the plates past him into the living room. "Today I got the impression that there's some serious tension between you two. Did something happen to cause it?"

"Yesterday's news." He prowled after her and settled into a chair near the window. His expression made it clear that he was about to change the topic. "How are things going with the Children's Art Show project?"

Well, it wasn't as though she had any right to push him for answers to questions she'd had no business asking in the first place, she thought.

She gave him her brightest smile and sank down onto the arm of the sofa. The embroidered hem of her long white skirt drifted around her ankles. Swinging one foot lightly, she took a fortifying sip of wine.

"Very well," she said, lowering her glass. "I'm quite pleased. I think I'm going to have nearly a hundred entries. Not bad for a small town like this."

"No." He stole a glance at her gently swinging ankle. "Not bad."

The casual thing worked right up until the full fury of the storm struck land. She was washing the last of the dishes when the lights flickered twice and went out.

The sudden onslaught of darkness paralyzed her briefly. Her hands stilled in the soapy water. "Oh, damn."

"Take it easy," Nick said from somewhere nearby. "We lose power all the time around here during big storms. Don't suppose you have an emergency generator?"

"No."

"Flashlight?"

She cleared her throat. "Well, yes, as it happens, I do have a flashlight. A nice, big red one with a special high-intensity bulb and an easy-grip handle that I bought last winter after a major storm. It is a model of cutting-edge, modern technology. So powerful that it can be used to signal for help if one happens to be lost at sea or on a mountain."

"I sense a but coming."

"But I forgot to buy some batteries for it."

He laughed softly in the darkness and came to stand directly behind her. "Spoken like a real city girl. Don't worry about it, I've got a flashlight in the car."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

He put out his hands and gripped the tiled counter edge on either side of her body. In the shadows she was intensely aware of the heat of his body so close to hers. There was suddenly so much electricity being generated both outside and inside the cottage that she was amazed the lights did not come back on. Probably ought to get her hands out of the dishwater, she thought. A woman could have a major household accident in a situation like this.

Nick put his lips very close to her ear. "I was a Boy Scout. You know what that means?"

"Something to do with being thrifty and neat?"

"Wrong." He grazed her earlobe with his teeth.

"Something to do with getting to wear a cute uniform?"

"Try again." He touched his mouth to her throat.

"Something to do with always keeping spare batteries on hand?"

"You're getting closer. Much closer." He kissed her throat. "Something to do with always being prepared."

"Oh, yeah." She yanked her hands out of the sudsy water and grabbed a dishtowel. "I've heard about the always being prepared thing."

He tightened the cage of his body around her so that her backside was nestled snugly into his thighs. She realized at once that he was aroused. Her senses registered that information and responded with a shot of adrenaline. Her pulse raced. There was a faint trembling in her fingertips. Not fear, she thought. Excitement.

"I take the motto seriously." He brushed his lips along the curve of her throat just below her earlobe. "And not just when it comes to things like flashlight batteries."

She was abruptly grateful for the inky shadows of the kitchen. At least he could not see the flush of heat that was surely setting fire to her cheeks.

"You taste good," he whispered. "Better than those little raspberry things we had for dessert."

There was a new, rougher edge in his voice and she was the cause. All that was female in her rejoiced. Outside, the wind howled. Here in the dark kitchen, power flowed.

He kissed her throat again, his mouth gliding up along the underside of her jaw. She reveled in the intense pleasure and the heady rush of anticipation.

This was why she had tried to keep her distance, she remembered. This was precisely the reason she had been so careful these past few weeks, why she had worked so hard to find so many excuses to decline his invitations. She had known it would be like this: dangerous and unpredictable and very high risk.

And also incredibly exhilarating and intoxicating.

He must have felt her body's response because he shifted again, pressing closer still until she could feel him, hard and muscled, along the full length of her own much softer frame. The contrast thrilled her senses. The mysteries of yin and yang in action.

There was no room to move now inside the cage he had made for her. He had enclosed her in a seductive snare she had no desire to escape.

An urgent, drawing sensation traveled up the insides of her legs and pooled in her lower body. She dropped the dishtowel and clutched at the counter edge for support. Her head tipped back against his shoulder. She savored the strength and power in him and told herself that she would not give in to the almost overwhelming urge to purr.

"I don't think we're going to need that flashlight for a while," he whispered. "We can do this in the dark."

He let go of the counter and put his hands on her at last. His fingers closed around her, spinning her toward him. He pulled her fiercely into his arms. His mouth closed over hers with the inevitability of the steel door of a bank vault slamming shut.

The wild chaos of the storm outside was suddenly swirling here in her tiny kitchen. One glorious rush after another swept through her, leaving her trembling with need and anticipation. She wanted him, she thought. She needed this night with Nick. She owed this to herself.

She almost laughed aloud. Was she good at rationalizing, or what?

"Going to let me in on the joke?" he asked into her hair.

"Trust me, this is no joke."

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him with all of the searing, pent-up hunger and desire that had been making her so restless these past few weeks.

He picked her up and carried her into the living room. The glowing embers of the fire cast an enchanted golden light on the scene. Her head spun a little and her feet left the earth. The next thing she knew, she was lying flat on her back on the rug in front of the hearth.

He followed her down onto the floor, sprawling across her, anchoring her beneath him with one heavy leg flung across hers, his weight pushing her into the thick wool. She pushed her hands up under his pullover until she touched bare skin.

He undid the long row of buttons that closed her white linen blouse and then he unfastened the next set, the ones that sealed her long, white skirt.

"This is like opening a birthday present," he said when he reached her waist. "I've got this nearly overpowering urge to just rip into it."

"I know just how you feel," she said, struggling to free him of his sweater.

He laughed a little and sat up briefly beside her. Crossing his arms at his waist, he grasped the hem of the garment and hauled it off over his head in a single fluid movement.

"Much better." She smiled appreciatively at the sight of his firelit shoulders. "Much, much better."

Deeply intrigued by the ripple of skin over muscle, she reached out one hand and threaded her fingers through the crisp hair that covered his chest. He sucked in his breath and groaned.

He went back to work, unfastening buttons one by one until he reached the hem of her skirt.

"Best present I've had in a long, long time." He put one hand on her bare skin just above the band of her white lace panties. He flexed his fingers gently. "Definitely worth the wait."

The touch of his big, warm palm on her midsection sent shock waves through her. She stirred, feeling sinuous and incredibly sexy beneath his touch.

He leaned over her to take her mouth again. His fingers moved, sliding up her rib cage to rest just beneath her breasts. By the time the kiss had ended she was no longer wearing her bra.

He moved his lips to one nipple and tugged. She gasped and sank her nails into the contoured muscles of his back.

Time became meaningless. The wild night flowed around them, closing them off from the outside world. She was vaguely aware of the winds raging outside the cottage, but here in this intimate, magical place there was another reality, a world where every move brought new wonders and new discoveries.

When Nick found the tight, throbbing nub that was the epicenter of the small storm taking place inside her, he stroked lightly with fingers he had dampened in her own dew. At the same time he slid two more fingers just inside and probed gently.

Without warning, the gathering energy that had created such a delicious tension exploded. She barely had time to cry out in surprise before she tumbled headlong into a bottomless pool.

When she eventually surfaced, she was breathless and joyous with the pure pleasure of it all.

Nick looked bemused by her reaction. His mouth curved slightly. "You okay?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, indeed, I am very okay." She drew her fingertips slowly down his chest and belly until she could cup his heavy erection. "Never better. Yourself?"

He grinned slowly, a sexy, anticipatory smile that sent little sparkling shards of excitement through her.

"Going to be okay real soon," he promised.

He settled heavily between her thighs. In the firelight his face was tight and hard with the effort he was exerting to maintain his control. He used one hand to guide himself carefully into her.

He was larger than she had anticipated. In spite of the unbearable sense of urgency and readiness, she was startled by the tight, full feeling.

"Nick."

He paused midway.

"Don't you dare stop now." She grabbed his head in both hands, spearing her fingers into his hair, and lifted herself against him.

He plunged the rest of the way, filling her completely. When they were locked together he levered himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. His expression was one of desire and passion and other forces too strange and wondrous for her to label with words. But she knew the power of those driving, elemental waves of raw energy. She knew them in her heart and soul because they were sweeping through her, too.

Nick began to move, gliding cautiously at first. But when she tightened her legs around his waist, he made a hoarse, husky sound and drove himself into her in a series of fierce, swift thrusts that seemed beyond his control.

She felt the intensity of his climax in every muscle of his body, heard it in his guttural shout of satisfaction.

When he collapsed on top of her she could barely breathe. She stroked his back from shoulder to hip. He was slick with perspiration. He was giving off so much heat you'd have thought that he was in the grip of a raging fever.

All in all, she thought, it was a wonderful way to go.

A cold draft woke her sometime later. She realized it was coming from the front door. Nick was leaving.

The shock of it brought her wide awake. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the chenille throw around herself.

"Nick?"

"Right here." He closed the door. "I just brought the flashlight in from the car. I'll leave it here on the hall table."

"Oh. Thanks." Maybe she'd been a bit hasty in assuming that he was running out on her already.

"No problem." He glanced at his watch. "It's after midnight. I'd better be going."

He was leaving. Couldn't wait to be on his way. Outrage and pain knifed through her. Well? What had she expected? This was Nick Harte, after all. He wasn't exactly famous for hanging around until breakfast. It wasn't as if she hadn't known exactly what she was getting into when she went into his arms earlier.

But it still hurt far more than it should. This was why she preferred to avoid risks, she thought. There were good, solid reasons for not opening yourself up to this kind of pain.

Nick crossed the small space that separated them and kissed her lightly.

"Carson and I will stop in at the gallery when we come into town to pick up the mail."

He turned without waiting for a response, slung his jacket over his shoulder, and went back toward the door.

"That would be nice," she mumbled.

He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Is there a problem here?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked evenly.

"Such as?"

"The Talk."

A terrible stillness came over him.

"You know about The Talk?" he asked carefully.

She was beginning to wish that she had kept her mouth shut. Maybe she would have had the sense to do just that if she hadn't been jolted out of her very pleasant dreams to find him already dressed and headed for the door.

"Everyone knows about The Talk," she said crossly.

"Is that so?" He sounded irritated. "You shouldn't believe every bit of gossip you hear about me."

"You mean it's not true about The Talk?"

He opened the door, letting in another gust of wet air. "I've got no intention of discussing the details of my private life at this particular moment."

"Why not?" Her chin came up. "None of my business?"

"No," he said grimly. "It isn't. But just so we're clear on this subject, I'd like to point out that we've already had The Talk."

"Is that so?" she asked in icy accents. "I don't recall it."

"Then you've got a short-term memory problem, lady."

"Don't you dare try to wriggle out of this." She strode forward, clutching the chenille throw to her throat, and came to a halt directly in front of him. She jabbed a forefinger against his chest. "You did not give me The Talk. I wouldn't have forgotten something like that."

"No," he agreed coolly. "I didn't deliver it. You did."

That stopped her cold.

She stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't you remember?" He moved out onto the shadowy porch. "You made it clear that you're a free spirit and that you'll be leaving at the end of the summer. Sounded to me like you weren't looking for anything other than a short-term affair."

"Hang on here, I never said anything of the kind. You're putting words in my mouth."

"Trust me." He flicked on a little penlight and started down the front steps. "I know The Talk when I hear it."

She was too dumbfounded to speak for a moment. By the time she had recovered, he was in the car, driving away into the night.

She abruptly realized that her bare feet were very cold.