Tides of Love (Seaswept Seduction Series) (20 page)

Immaculate black canvas in a sea of dirty leather and sandy buck. Elle concentrated on those shoes as they moved through the crowd. She laughed during the appropriate pauses in conversation and nodded her head often, hearing absolutely nothing.

With covert glances, she peeked. Noah spoke to each man who stopped him with a slap on the back or a punch to the chest. He accepted the gestures of friendship, a calm facade hiding his bewilderment. She recognized his discomfiture as if it were her own.

"Elle, dear, what do you think?"

Startled, Elle glanced at the women surrounding her. She forced a smile. "That would be lovely, of course."

Heads bobbing, they agreed.

When the conversation lagged, Elle searched. Her fingers curled, nails digging into her skin. Meredith Scoggins stood next to Noah, her hand on his arm, her head lifted toward his. Blatant interest. A group of Meredith's friends circled, shifting Noah's cohorts to the outer circle.

A hulking, red-faced seaman tapped Meredith on the shoulder and she turned, giggling in delight. Noah's charcoal gaze immediately captured Elle's. He shoved his spectacles up, a scowl crossing his face.

What?
Elle shrugged with a passiveness she didn't feel.

Stop staring.

Me?
She patted her chest.

His gaze lowered then jerked to her face.
Yes. You.

I'm not staring.
Elle gestured to the oblivious, jabbering group of women.

He pursed his lips—an appealing pout, part-boy, part-man.

A wave of desire swept from the tips of her fingers to her knees. Elle glanced around, frantic. The women chatted and fluttered, never noticing the color in her cheeks.

Daniel Connery, in the most fortuitous action of his life, chose that moment to ask her to dance.

She raced into his arms.

* * *

"See the way she stares at him, Doc. All dopey-eyed." Stymie shifted a wad of tobacco from one side of his jaw to the other, his watery gaze focused on the dance area. "Loony woman still loves the professor better than Peter loved the Lord."

"Shut up, you old fool," Magnus said and stalked off.

Stymie scratched his head and spit. "Wonder what put him in a stew."

Henri Beaumont linked his fingers over his bulging stomach, recording the Leland's exit. Unfortunately Henri could not argue with the stinking fisherman's verdict.

For he had also recorded his daughter's impassioned display.
Mon Dieu.
She still looked at young Garrett like a lovesick pup. A blind pup. It made Henri realize he had been too lenient. By half. Waiting for his daughter to properly secure a promising future. Absurd to imagine a woman making a choice,
any
choice, and choosing well. Twice, he'd allowed her to go against his wishes. Against his better judgment. Evidently, a weakness of paternal love. University, for God's sake. What good had that done? His second mistake had involved allowing her to act as housemaid to a crotchety old woman.

What did Marielle-Claire think? That he would live forever? Provide for her
after
she came to her senses and moved back home? Didn't she realize she needed a man to guide her? Protect her? Didn't she realize
he,
Henri Beaumont, wanted grandsons?

Now this.
Merde.

He had prayed the boy would never show his face on Pilot Isle again. Though he would have gladly kissed young Garrett's feet if he had shown an inkling of interest in marrying Marielle-Claire. Unquestionably the most handsome member of his family. Intelligent. Successful. Upon hearing of the boy's return, Henri had made it his business to discover which of the circulating rumors were true. Discreet inquiries.

Henri watched young Garrett shrug free of a clutching female hand. A marine biologist. True. He taught biology at a well-respected institution in Chicago. Furthermore, he had completed research aboard a government fishing vessel
and
written essays for a scientific manual.

Tapping his fingers on his belly, Henri struggled to recall the description the investigator used. Ah, yes: a rising star in his field. A rising star would have suited Marielle-Claire very well indeed. Exceptionally bright his daughter. And she had never lacked beauty.

Henri followed Noah's progress through a sea of simpering pouts, fluttering eyelashes, and teasing smiles. Yes, young Garrett would have forced the hand. Henri's grandsons would have been assured of possessing intelligence
and
good looks.

In this instance, his daughter had been an excellent judge of character. She'd recognized the boy's value long before the others. Yearned for him when he was no more than an ashen, bespectacled lad.

Henri exited the tent and headed for poor Leland, who stood with his back to the festivities. Henri wished he were home drinking a glass of Bordeaux instead of standing outside a homespun tent, sand lodged beneath his fingernails, sweat adhering his tailored shirt to his skin.
Mon Dieu,
how he hated the ocean. If not for his business interests, he would move inland as far as he could get.

Tonight's performance showed that young Garrett didn't want Marielle-Claire, would never want her. Oh, Henri didn't doubt the boy lusted after her; she probably threw herself at him. If Henri had devised a way to force the issue of marriage, involving the woman his investigator had located would have been unnecessary. Regrettably, the situation grew dire and required him to utilize the information he possessed.

Strange, but Henri found it hard to believe the boy had a married lover. He did not object; celibacy was reserved for feeble men and unmarried women.

His daughter, for example.

His fingers clenched over his paisley waistcoat. He would be damned before he let her make a mistake that would ruin her future.

* * *

As Daniel laughed and spun her through a wide turn, she returned his laughter. He liked her, she supposed. She also recognized....

Elle chewed on her lip, trying to remember the word Christa had mentioned to her.
Horny.
Daniel was horny.

But what did that matter? He was safe. He made her feel attractive without consequence. If he held her a little closer than she liked, it wasn't close enough to cause the church committee members to titter behind their hands. Moreover, he didn't make her heart miss even a beat. Hence, carelessly confident, she flirted.

Until she caught sight of Noah leading Meredith into the circle of dancers. The girl giggled and simpered, seeming to shimmy in her satin slippers.

Truly, she found it hard to record one man's movements while locked in another's arms, but she managed. Noah bestowed a slow, sweeping smile upon his dance partner, his fingers splayed across her back. Elle observed and pondered and felt sick inside.

"Daniel, can we stop for a moment? I need a breath of air."

"Sure, Ellie." Cupping her elbow, he escorted her outside the tent.

The night was pitch-black, the crescent moon's glow dulled by a layer of fog. The wind kicked at her skirt as she searched for a source of light. Saffron flames from one of the campfires, a ray of moonlight, anything. Worrying her lip between her teeth, she began to think she might have made a mistake asking a horny man to walk alone with her.

"Um, Daniel—"

"Excuse me, I'm afraid there's a problem with the flowers."

Elle turned, stumbling over a burrow in the sand. "Flowers?"

"Come along, flower girl." Noah grasped her wrist and yanked her behind him, contradicting his absurd pretext by dragging her away from the tent and any flowers to be found. When they neared the dunes, he halted and flung her hand away. "Elle, do you have any idea how long that man has been confined to a ship? With no women in sight."

"Six months, I believe he told me. I know, I know"—she dipped her toes into the sand—"he's very horny."

Noah's head whipped around.
"What?"

Elle shook sand from her foot. "He's horny. Christabel told me it's the same as being lonely, except a special way a man is lonely. She said this feeling makes men confused."

"Dear God," Noah said beneath his breath.

"Well, does it?"

He dropped to the dune with a resigned sigh. "Yes."

Elle plopped beside him, crossed her arms behind her head, and rolled flat. Noah sighed again, but after a moment he followed.

For some time, they lay gazing into a sky absent of stars, listening to the warble of locusts and the wash of the ocean, the sand cool and solid beneath them. The moment seemed perfect, frozen in time. She feared a movement, a sound, a breath, would shatter it. The completeness flooding her heart was a delusion. Surely, it was a delusion.

"Shut your eyes," he whispered, close to her ear. "Listen. There's so much."

She did as he asked, opened her mind to the enchantment of a peaceful night, the allure of the sea. She wanted to witness the world through him. "I hear a bird."

"An oystercatcher. She's sounding an alarm because someone is nearing her nest."

Elle waited, more sounds coming together. "Scraping. The hull of a skiff against the sand as it shoves off. A crackle. Driftwood burning on one of the campfires."

"Good." She recognized the smile in his voice.

"I can hear... breaths slipping from your lips."

Sand shifted as he turned toward her, shifted again as he lay back. Finally, he said, "I can hear yours, too."

A wisp of wind carried his scent. She drew the fragrance in and held it close, tucked it in the secret place where she tucked all her memories of Noah. Her love for him.

"Tell me about university, Elle."

Her arms stiffened beneath her head. "What's there to tell?"

"Did you ever consider going back?"

A hundred times. A thousand. "Once or twice."

He paused, seemed to deliberate. "Lack of funds stopped you?"

She laughed. "Oh, Noah, only a person with a surplus of funds would ask such a question."

"If the problem is purely financial, I could help."

"You offer from a sense of duty. The same sense of duty you curse for getting you into every pickle involving me." She blinked, startled by the haze of fog enclosing them and the clear notion she had of his thoughts. "I know leaving Pilot Isle would be easier if you believe my future is wrapped in a nice, tidy package. Check an obligation off your list and move to the next."

"Dammit, you twist everything until I'm not sure what I mean. Someone once offered me what I offer you. I didn't want to, but I took it."

She turned to her side, propping her chin on her hand. "Who?"

"It was a long time ago. Doesn't matter now. I paid the loan back. By any means possible." He rolled his head toward her, a fierce light in his eyes. "Elle, I wouldn't expect—"

She pressed her finger to his lips, ignoring the way their skin melded. "You're the first person to understand an education meant something to me besides the chance to leave Pilot Isle, and for that, I thank you. Sometimes, I think, people have to fight their own battles.
Need
to. I let you fight mine before, and it shot a gaping hole in my judgment." She considered a moment, then nodded. "I'd like to take the next step, whatever that may be."

His expression grew pensive; his gaze darkened. Beneath her finger, she felt his lips parting, his tongue—

Leaping to her feet, she followed the edge of the dune, her gait awkward in the ankle-deep sand. She lifted her fingers to her lips, her hand shaking so badly she couldn't hold it steady before her face.

"If you follow this path"—settling in beside her, Noah gestured to a break in the dune—"it runs through a forest of loblolly pine, to the southern edge of the island. I noticed some artificial light coming from the lumber wharf when I was collecting plankton samples last week. Loggerhead turtles will be attracted to the light come late July. Take Rory to see them deposit their eggs. You can't miss the flipper bites in the sand. Just look for a broad V-shaped impression."

She watched him jerk his shirttail from his trousers and swab his spectacle lenses. "You can show him, Noah."

"I'll be gone by then," he said without looking up.

"I don't understand. If you love this"—she gestured to their surroundings—"why chose to live in Chicago? If you love your family, how can you stand to be apart from them?"

He jammed his spectacles in place and climbed the dune, his attention centered on the sea. A layer of gray mist enclosed him, giving him a ghostly appearance. "I have responsibilities. A calling I'm dedicated to, one I treasure. My profession demands most of my time and my strength. I've gotten used to making sacrifices."

Lifting her skirt, she climbed after him. "Will leaving be a sacrifice?"

He waited so long, she thought he wasn't going to reply. "Maybe," he finally said.

"Stay, then," she whispered, shocked to hear the plea come from her mouth.
Stay, and I'll rip up Savannah's application, I'll run my school and.
...

She shook her head, confusion robbing her of breath. For the first time, she did what Noah had been begging her to do her entire life. She listened to her
mind,
not her heart. One desire shone bright and clear.
I want to finish university.
She did not want to destroy the scholarship application. Not even for the sensitive, passionate, intelligent man standing next to her.

Not even for him.

Intent on telling him, she turned. Before she could, he had her chin between his fingers. Regret and torment darkened his eyes. "I can't stay, Elle. Please don't—promise me you won't ask again."

With a nod of finality, she promised.

"Thank you, flower girl." He trailed the back of his hand along her cheek. His smoldering gaze followed.

"Flower girl?" The words came out in a hoarse whisper.

His knuckle skimmed her jaw. "The other night. The scent of honeysuckle on your skin." His lips parted. "I haven't been able to erase the scent, or you, from my mind." He leaned in, his lids drooping low.

A jolt of awareness shook her. Heart and soul, every inch of her readied for his touch.
I love you. I won't ever kiss you again and not tell myself, tell you if you'll listen. You can fool yourself, Noah Garrett, into believing it's simply passion we share, but I know better.