The Men of Thorne Island (15 page)

When she’d made a cursory inspection of the room, Sara returned to Nick. He stood next to the lantern, his arms folded, his gaze intent on her face.

“This is where it happened, Nick,” she said. “This is where the Krauses made wine for more than a hundred years.”

He screwed his face into a grimace. “In the same barrels?”

She laughed. “Probably. I don’t doubt that the wine in Aunt Millie’s cellar came from these very barrels. As long as you refill a barrel right after it’s emptied, dangerous microorganisms don’t have a chance to grow.”

“And if you don’t refill?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Then the barrels can get pretty nasty.”

“So, ah…Crawford…” He rubbed his chin while scrutinizing the kegs. “When those little pellets of yours hanging outside are full grown, you’re not considering putting their juice in these things, are you?”

She went to one of the smaller barrels and pulled out the wooden bung. When she smelled the interior, she jerked her head back. “Whew! I can’t use these barrels. I’ll have to order new ones when the time comes to harvest.”

“That’s a relief.”

She stepped back and regarded the barrels with the eye of an artist. “They would make charming planters for the front of the inn, though.”

“You refuse to give up on anything, don’t you, Crawford,” Nick said. “I’ll bet you always look for a new use for something that’s old and tired.”

She almost laughed out loud. “Funny you should say that, Bass, since that theory didn’t work on you at all.”

He scratched the back of his neck and conceded her point. “Chalk one up for the bean counter.”

Suddenly her teeth began to chatter. “One freezing bean counter, you mean. Let’s go back upstairs.”

He caught her arm as she walked by. “I can think of a couple of benefits to this cold temperature, Sara.”

She arched her eyebrows. “Oh, really? Name one.”

He pulled her to him and enclosed her in his arms. “You’ll like this one. It’s probably described in one of those homemaker magazines you’ve got in the bathroom. I call it natural heating. I believe they relied on it in the old days.”

Against her better judgment, she let him hold her. Surely she could allow herself to bask in his warmth and yet not fall victim to his questionable charms. Confident, she snuggled in closer. “The difference is, Bass,” she said, “the people you’re talking about must have actually
liked
each other.”

He reacted with a slight flinch, and then tightened his hold. “What do you mean? I like you.”

She smiled against his faded shirtfront, her lips against the little green alligator symbol.

He ran the palm of his hand down her hair. “And I figure that deep down you like me. You wouldn’t be trying so hard to change me if you didn’t.”

“I’m giving up on that quest, Bass. I’ve got a hard head, but you finally pounded some sense into it.”

He leaned back and placed a hand on each side of her face. Then he grinned with boyish mischief. “What? This little head? I wouldn’t think of pounding on this beautiful noggin. My mind’s too full of other, more interesting uses for this tangle of gold hair.” He combed through the strands with his fingers and returned his hand to her face.

“And this adorable nose.” He pressed his lips on the tip and moved to her earlobe. “And these ears…” He nipped playfully. His tongue twirled the small emerald stud of her earring. His breath was warm on her skin.

She made a weak attempt to pull away. “Don’t do this, Bass.”

His thumb roamed over her lips. “And these,” he said. “They were made for kissing.” He smiled at her. “They do talk a lot, but they were made for kissing, and lately I find myself lying awake at night just thinking about them.”

His mouth touched hers, gently, sweetly. He nibbled on her lower lip, traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue and covered the territory from corner to corner with teasing hints of what his lips were capable of doing. She rose on her toes to meet his subtle yet sexy demands, and the game became all too real.

When his mouth devoured hers, she answered with a passion as great as his own. She melted into the circle of his arms and opened her mouth to draw his tongue inside. He explored with hunger and greed. His breath came in harsh, ragged pants. Hers came out on a low, throaty groan.

His lips moved to her neck, leaving a trail of moist warmth to her collarbone. She arched her head back, an invitation for him to move to her chest. He pressed urgent kisses everywhere her skin was exposed. He parted the lapels of her blouse and his mouth sought the crest of one breast.

“Bass, why do we do this?” she rasped on a soft rush of air.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he mumbled against her skin. “Probably because it feels so good.”

His hands dropped to her waist, and he lifted her off her feet. Her back came in contact with one of the barrels, and he pressed her against it. She felt his erection straining against his shorts.

Swiftly he unbuttoned her shirt. His hand slid over her skin to cup her breast over her bra. Her nipple hardened instantly. His mouth fed on hers again, sucking, teasing, tantalizing until her bones felt as though they were melting.

Nimble fingers found the front closure of her bra. It snapped free, and he worked a thumb and forefinger over her nipple, bringing it to an aching peak. God,
she wanted this man. She shouldn’t, but every nerve in her body cried out for the pleasures only he seemed able to provide.

He cupped one breast from below and rubbed his thumb over the puckered tip, gently, teasingly while he returned his mouth to her swollen lips. When he’d kissed her to a state of near-oblivion, his mouth moved to her ear again. “Sara,” he croaked, “we can’t go on like this. If I don’t make love to you soon, I’ll go crazy. But not here.”

She answered back on a throaty breath. “When? How?”

“Tonight. We’re going out.”

He kept a hand lightly on her arm and slowly backed away, letting her find her equilibrium again. “We’re going out?” she said. “You mean a date? You’re going to leave Thorne Island?”

“Well, no. We’re not leaving. We’ll have the date here.”

With trembling fingers, she fastened her bra and the buttons of her blouse. “Here? Dinner and a movie on the island?”

“There are all kinds of dates, Sara.”

“Okay.” She would have agreed to practically anything.

“Good. I’ll work it out. I’ll pick you up at your room at seven.” He reached for the lantern to lead their way back upstairs. Before going up, he leaned over and kissed her with a hunger that promised much more. He smiled at her when he drew away. “Is it okay if we use your car, though?”

W
INKIE ARRIVED
in the early afternoon with cans of white paint for Ryan and a thick Bosch-and-Lindstrom envelope of work for Sara. By two o’clock she was in her room staring at numbers and columns on her laptop. It was almost impossible to maintain the level of concentration necessary to keep earning the salary she needed to cover the small fortune she was spending on her inheritance.

If the sounds of progress at the Cozy Cove weren’t enough to distract her, there was the fact that she had accepted a
date
with Nick for tonight. She wanted to convince herself that she had no idea why on earth she’d accepted his invitation. But she knew precisely why she’d said yes. She could no longer deny the powerful chemistry between her and Bass. She certainly didn’t understand the attraction. In fact, it scared the hell out of her.

Sara chewed the end of her pencil and allowed her thoughts to wander back a couple of hours to those moments alone with Nick in the press house. If they’d stayed there any longer, they’d have ended up on the floor of the fermenting room. And now all she could think about was the chance to complete what they’d started.

“Get a grip, Crawford,” she said. “Even if you have one night of unforgettable passion, what will it
mean to your future? You can’t afford to indulge your fantasy of living on the island forever. You have to make a living. It will be a long time before the inn shows enough profit to pay back even a portion of what you’ve spent so far.”

And Nick Bass had no plans to leave the island. He’d practically cringed when she mentioned their date might mean a trip off Thorne. So where did that leave them? With entirely opposite goals, conflicting personalities and homes at opposite ends of a very large country.

“It’s for the best, Sara,” she said. “You wouldn’t be happy with Bass. You snipe at each other constantly. Just think how it would be if you lived side by side on these skimpy forty acres for a lifetime.” She sighed.
Yes, just think…

Her cell phone rang, scattering her thoughts, and she pressed the green connect button. “Hello.”

“Hi, Sara. It’s me.”

A voice from the real world. “Hi, Candy.”

“I’ve got some things to tell you.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

Sara made notes as Candy listed items of immediate concern at the firm. Yes, she would have Mickelson’s Tool and Die accounts ready on Thursday. Yes, she’d test a new software program designed for Warren Klingman’s chain of dry-cleaning establishments. Yes, yes, she’d do everything.

“Oh, and Sara, there’s one more thing.” An ominous tone had crept into Candy’s normally chirpy voice.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Bosch asked me this morning when you were coming back. He said your one-week vacation was
turning into a marathon. I think he really wants an answer.”

Of course he did. And he had a right to one. Sara gave Candy a date that left one week to complete all the projects on the island. She had to supervise the remaining renovations, place an ad in the Sandusky paper for a manager to run the inn in her absence, design a brochure to leave with Ohio travel agencies and order new linens for the guest rooms. She also had to find time to go over the details of the wine harvest with Ryan so he’d know how to proceed. How was she going to get everything done without help?

“Sara? Sara, are you there?”

Candy’s persistent voice brought Sara back to the present and gave her an idea. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out her credit card. “Yes, Candy, I’m here. Remember when you said you might like to come to Cleveland?”

“Yeah.”

“Write down my credit-card number and call my travel agent. Book yourself a round-trip ticket to Cleveland from Friday afternoon to Monday night. I’ll call you later with directions to the island.”

Sara jerked her ear away from the phone at Candy’s squeal. “You mean I’m coming there?”

“Yes. I can really use your help. And I’ll want you to make one stop on your way here.”

“No problem. This is so exciting.”

“Okay. See you Friday. Bye.”

Sara leaned back in her chair and smiled. With her date still ahead of her, she couldn’t begin to relax, but at least her work schedule had been addressed.

T
HE MINUTES
on Sara’s travel alarm ticked slowly toward seven o’clock. She’d showered, applied a min
imal amount of makeup and brushed her hair into semiobedient waves. Deciding what to wear was more difficult. What does one wear on a date that has no apparent destination? She finally stepped into her best pair of sandals and slipped a gauzy flowered skirt over her hips. A white elastic top matched the splashes of gardenias in the print, and a short-sleeved green overblouse picked up the color of the leaves. It was the best she could do.

She stood in front of her mirror and filled her lungs with the fresh air coming through her window. It promised to be a beautiful evening, but even so, a severe case of nerves fluttered like a hundred moths in the pit of her stomach.

At twenty-nine Sara was no naive schoolgirl suffering through her first crush. She knew exactly where tonight’s date would lead, and instead of feeling any reservation, she was filled with a heady anticipation that made her body warm instantly. In a few hours she would be locked in the most passionate way with Nick Bass—sexy, handsome, challenging Nick Bass. When Sara left Thorne Island next week, she would take more than blisters on her fingers and a depleted checking account. A lot more. She would take the memory of Nick and tonight.

“Sara, you ready?”

His voice rumbled low and mellow through her door, and she felt its power in every nerve ending. She opened the door to face the man who would make tonight magical. He wore navy chinos and a white knit shirt with navy pinstripes—the first shirt she’d seen on him that didn’t look as though it had been worn three times a week for the past six years. And
in his hand was a small bouquet of wildflowers. Sara was overwhelmed, and the date had hardly begun.

N
ICK RESISTED
the temptation to toss the pitiful collection of flowers over the second-story railing and hope Sara hadn’t seen them. Nick Romano wasn’t a flower picker. The scraggly bunch of blossoms he’d gathered an hour before paled next to Sara. But it was too late. From the smile on her face when she reached for them, you’d have thought he’d brought her orchids.

“These are lovely,” she said, placing the flowers in a glass of water on her nightstand.

Nick started at Sara’s hair and let his eyes roam slowly down her slim body to the delicate white sandals and pink toenails. It was hard to remember they were going
out.
He clenched his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her right there and then. How did she manage to create the illusion of wide-eyed innocence in the body of a fully grown, tempting woman?

His tongue felt thick. “You look sensational,” he finally said.

“Thanks. You do, too.”

He glanced down at his shirt. “My dad sent me this for my birthday. It’s not really my taste, but maybe after I wear it a couple of hundred times, I’ll have it broken into the Bass lifestyle.”

“What a bright future that shirt has to look forward to,” she said. “By the way, if I’m not being too nosy…”

“You? Nosy?”

She gave him a smirk. “Can I ask what your mother sent you? Ryan told me the long package was from her.”

“You can ask, but I haven’t opened it yet.”

“How can you not open a present?”

“Easy.
I’m
not nosy.” He pretended to duck. “But since you are, I’ll let you open it later.”

“Bass, you’re impossible.” She rummaged through her purse until she found her car keys. “Do we really need these?”

He smiled. “Considering I’ve lived here six years without them, probably not.” He took them from her, anyway. “But a guy needs his fantasies.”

“Then we are driving somewhere?”

“Yes, we are.”

She walked by him, a faint scent of flowers lingering in her wake. It smelled like something from his childhood. Hyacinths? Violets? Hell, he didn’t know, but if he ever smelled it again, he’d recognize it as his favorite flower.

Once in the car, he navigated the narrow gravel pathway that curved around to the other side of the island. He cut the engine when the path ended at the wide stretch of beach where he’d retreated to the day before. It was his favorite spot on the island. Knee-high waving grass, stately paper birches and a few renegade pines protected this area from rough weather. He walked around to help Sara out of the car and removed a wicker basket he’d left in the back seat.

“It’s nice here,” she said, walking away from him to the shore. The wind lifted her hair from her shoulders, revealing her slender white neck. Her skirt billowed out from her legs, and Nick caught a glimpse of smooth, suntanned calves. He’d seen her legs lots of times, of course, but never seductively peeking out from a confection of wind-rippled silk.

He swallowed hard. “I like it. It’s restful.” As if he felt like resting!

She walked back and watched him spread a plaid blanket on the ground. “What’s in the basket?” she asked.

“A little date-christening gift from your Aunt Millie,” he said, removing a bottle of wine.

“Ah. White Thorne chardonnay.”

He took two crystal goblets and a corkscrew from the basket. When he’d opened the bottle, he filled Sara’s glass and handed it to her. Then he filled his own.

“What should we toast?” she asked.

He thought for a moment, then raised his glass. “How about continuing my fantasy?” he said. “To a nearly deserted island and the two people who were lucky enough to find it.”

She clinked her glass softly against his. “Funny. I was just thinking of that as
my
fantasy.”

He leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. “I suppose it’s okay if we share it.” He took more things from the basket. “I’ve got crackers and a cheese spread, I guess. I’m not sure.”

“Aha. I thought I heard Winkie’s boat before we left.”

“Yeah, and pretty soon I’ll have him delivering pizzas.”

She laughed and started to sit down, but he stopped her. “Wait, I haven’t shown you our biggest tourist attraction.”

“You mean besides Brody’s hat?”

“Yeah, but this one’s not as revered.”

He took her to a slight dip in the land, a sandy spot surrounded by reeds and cattails. There, embedded in
the ground was a bronze plaque with printing on it. Unfortunately time, wind and water had eroded many of the words.

She bent down to read it. He’d known she would. She loved old stuff. “What is it?” she asked. “I can make out the words
Commodore Oliver Perry.
”

“Right. Have you seen the tall monument to him? The one on South Bass Island?”

“Sure. You can’t miss it.”

“Well, here is his other monument, slightly less impressive. It’s dedicated to Perry’s role in the 1812 Battle of Lake Erie. He had a lookout here where his men watched for the British advancing from the eastern half of the lake and southern Canada.”

She rubbed her fingers over the lettering. “I can see it now. The date and part of the message.” She looked up at Nick and gave him a sly grin. “What I can’t understand is why this plaque is still here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would have thought you guys would have dug this up on Digging Day.”

He chuckled. “We did. A couple of times. We’ve turned this old thing upside down and sideways. The fortune’s not buried here.”

He took her elbow, helping her to stand. “So about that fortune, Bass,” she said, “do you think there’s a chance it really exists?”

He hid a little smile behind his hand as he led her to the blanket. “Wouldn’t it be something if it did?”

He knew she had a hundred questions, but he tipped her glass toward her mouth. “Drink up, sweetheart. Dinner should be ready back at the Cozy Cove in about a half hour.”

T
HEY ARRIVED
at the inn just after dark. Nick parked the Volkswagen and followed Sara inside. She noted
that the pocket doors separating the lobby from the dining room were shut tight. She hadn’t noticed that when they’d left.

Nick bolted around her and ripped down a sign that had been taped to one of the doors. “Guess we don’t need this any longer.”

The words
Sara Keep Out
made her smile.

“Well, we’re here, so we might as well eat.” Nick slid back the door and Sara stepped into the dining room, only it didn’t look like the same room where she’d served fried chicken. Tacked along the walls were strings of old-fashioned Christmas bulbs.

Sara clasped her hands over her mouth to hold in a gasp of pure delight. “Where on earth did you find those?” She next saw wire reindeer, each one outlined in flickering white lights. “And those?” Two-tiered topiaries lit with the same lights stood in each corner of the room. “And those?”

Nick rocked back on his heels and grinned. “So you like the decor? Actually it appears that Mrs. Kraus was a fanatic about Christmas. I found all this stuff in the attic a while back. I never figured I’d have a use for it.”

Sara walked slowly around the room, stopping, touching. “It’s wonderful. Like a fairyland. How did you know I love Christmas lights?”

He answered with a meaningful grin that made a verbal response unnecessary.

“That obvious, huh?”

Now she admired the dining-room table. “And the dishes. They’re beautiful.” Both place settings consisted of five pieces of bone china. Each piece was
different from the others, but each one displayed painstakingly hand-painted floral decorations. “Mrs. Kraus, also?”

“She must have been a collector.”

Sara waited until Nick came up behind her and pulled out her chair. As she sat down, she said, “You know something, Nick? This is going to have to be one terrific meal to measure up to the ambiance.”

“No problem.” He uncorked another bottle of wine that had been left chilling in a silver ice bucket and filled both their glasses. “I intend to show you that I have talents you’ve never even dreamed of.”

A flush of heat crept into Sara’s face.
You’re wrong there, Bass. I’ve dreamed of them many times.
“I’m already impressed, Nick. I would be even if tonight’s meal was hot dogs and beans.”