Charmed By You ((Destiny Bay Romances-The Islanders 5)) (17 page)

“Not a thing,” she answered quickly. “I happen to be
a country music fan. But over and over and over is more
than I can stand of anything.”

Mele shrugged grandly. “I don’t even hear it any
more.”

“Possibly the first known case of benign deafness,”
Kevin murmured in Heather’s ear, but she was still caught
up in the problem of Danny.

“If you would just listen to the boy,” she tried again, but Mele cut her off.

“No! Absolutely not. I won’t even discuss it.”

Heather sighed. “Then I’m afraid we’re going to have Danny and his family and his village and possibly the
whole island angry with us by this time tomorrow night.”

“Possibly.” Mitch spoke at last. “But there might be another way to handle it.”

They all turned to look at him.

“Just what’s your idea?” Kevin asked lightly.

Mitch gave them each a half smile. “Let him play at Jake’s party Thursday night. That way he’ll have his job and the boys will have a chance to hear some other kind of music, but won’t have it shoved down their throats in their own bar.”

Suddenly Mele’s face was beaming with delight. “Mitch, you always save the day!” she cried, slapping her hands together. “Sure, that’s what we’ll do. Then I won’t have to find a room for him either. He can stay with the
Cerranos tomorrow night and the night of the party.” She
gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Great going, doctor
man.”

Heather smiled because everyone else was smiling, but she really wasn’t sure she knew what was going on. “Who’s Jake?” she asked innocently.

“Who’s Jake?” Mele roared. “Jake’s my husband. And don’t none of you forget it.” She rose, ready to bustle again. “I got to get back to work. You two tell her about Jake and the party.”

As Mele left, Heather looked at the two men expectantly and found that even Mitch had unbent enough to have a twinkle in his eyes. “Well?” she coaxed. “Tell me about Jake.”

“Jake is Mele’s husband, as she said,” Mitch answered slowly.

“Why did I have the distinct impression she was a widow?”

“Well...” For the first time Mitch and Kevin shared a smile. “Jake isn’t around anymore, and there are those who claim he’s dead. But Mele won’t believe it.”

Heather looked from one to the other. “Go on,” she urged. “Don’t leave me dangling.”

“Jake and Mele arrived here on Ragonai together, but
Jake got bored with running the Coconut Club. A crew of modern-day pirates came through and filled his ears with tales of buried treasure in some remote part of the Trust Territory.”

“I think it was Ulithi,” Kevin put in.

“Whatever, he took off with them. From time to time Mele received various reports of his whereabouts, but not of any treasure. Finally the reports stopped coming. And then stories about his death began to circulate.”

“But Mele won’t listen,” Kevin added. “She’s sure
he’s still alive, diving in some turquoise lagoon for Span
ish gold. And when he finds it, he’ll be back.”

Heather cocked her head, considering. “I think that’s kind of touching,” she said. “She’s a very faithful wife.” She smiled into her wineglass. “How long has it been since he left?”

“Sixteen years on Thursday,” Mitch told her dryly.

She looked up, aghast. “Sixteen years?”

He nodded. “That’s what the party is for. Every year
she celebrates his journey and gives a big party. Everyone
on the island is invited, and generally most of them turn up sometime during the night. Around three in the morn
ing they all march down to the beach to where his boat
shoved off and light a huge bonfire, burning all the loose
wood they can find.”

“That’s supposed to be a signal for Jake, a sort of
temporary lighthouse to show him the way home.” Kevin
grinned. “Then everyone stands around it and sings bawdy
songs, just the sort old Jake is said to have liked best.”

Heather laughed. “Creating a welcoming atmosphere?” she suggested. “Oh, I hate to laugh about it. Poor Mele.”

“Don’t you believe it,” Mitch growled softly. “From all reports, he was no pussycat to live with. His ghost is much more fun.”

Mele returned at that moment with plates piled high
with savory pancit. “They filled you in on my Jake? How
I miss that man. But maybe this year.” She shook her head. “Maybe this year he’ll come back.”

The story about Jake lightened the mood among them
and for the rest of the meal the talk was casual and
impersonal. To her own surprise, Heather found she liked
the pancit very much. “Philippino spaghetti,” Kevin called
it. They lingered over after-dinner coffee, then Heather excused herself.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she explained, throwing a furtive glance toward Mitch. “I want to make up for it tonight.”

She rose and started toward the hall, but suddenly Mitch was with her, his hand on her arm. “I’ll see you to your door,” he told her smoothly.

She stopped, confused. She hadn’t expected this. “Oh,
no Mitch. I think I’d better go by myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He began to lead her again. “If you try to make me stay, we’ll just end up creating a scene,” he warned her calmly.

She bit back a protest and walked a bit unsteadily as
they climbed the stairs together. The rooms weren’t locked
except with a bolt from inside.

“Here we are,” she said brightly as they reached her door. “Good night now.”

“Whether we have a good night or not is still to be seen,” he said softly, reaching to open the door for her. “May I come in?”

She stared up into his dark eyes. “No, Mitch. Please don’t.” She had to be firm.

She expected an argument and was surprised by the smile that curled his wide mouth. “What if I told you I wanted to see your drawings?” he asked teasingly. “It might actually be true.”

“My drawings?” She searched his gaze. “You mean you know about the pen-and-ink work I started doing today?”

“Of course I do.” He grinned. “It’s all over the island.
Three kids on a water buffalo were the first to tell me,
but after that at least five other people were eager to give
me the news.”

She shook her head in wonder. “But how did they know it was so important to me?”

He shrugged. “This is like a small town. Everyone looks out for everyone else. They could tell. And they care.”

Did
he
care? she wondered. Did he really want to see her drawings, or was it just an excuse to get into her room? But she had to let him in at this point. And, as she spread her work before him on the bed and watched
his expression as he studied them, she was glad she had. Whatever else might come between them, he’d always
been her best critic.

“Well?” she asked breathlessly when he took too long
before commenting. “What do you think?”

He looked up and nodded. “These are really good. You know, I think I like this medium much better than the pastels. You’ve caught hold of something here—I don’t know what you’d call it. A thread of humanity
perhaps, especially in the faces.” His smile was slow
and sure. “I’m impressed.”

She felt as if she were glowing all over. “I’m glad. I
felt so right doing them. It was as though a whole new path unexpectedly opened up for me.” She shivered with
excitement. “I’m really thrilled about it.”

He looked at her speculatively. “I’m glad.” After a
pause, he added slowly, “I always was proud of your
talent.”

She avoided his eyes. “Were you?” Why not tell the
whole truth for a change? “There were times when I
wasn’t sure of that.”

He sighed. “I know. There were times when I acted like a jerk. I had the rather immature idea that I was
fighting all those rich folks for your soul.” His laugh was
low and without humor. “I think I’ve gained a little
tolerance and insight since then.”

She looked at him quickly, then away again. What
could she say in response to such honesty? She put his statement into a safe place in her heart, intending to mull
it over at some future time. She began to collect her
papers again, wondering how she was going to ease him
gently out of the room. In her anxiety, she began talking
quickly, nervously. “I’m planning to go out to the beach
to sketch some shells tomorrow. Kevin took me up on the hill today. Maybe he’ll know a good beach...”

Suddenly she was in his arms and he was taking the papers from her firmly. After setting them on the little desk in the corner of the room, he looked down into her eyes, his own fierce with unnamed anger. “You’re not going anywhere with Kevin,” he ordered. “If you want to go to the beach, I’ll take you.”

“But you have to work.”

“Yes, I have to work. But I’ll always make time for you, Heather. Don’t you know that?”

No, she didn’t know that. What had he ever done in the past to prove it? As though he read the thoughts
rushing through her mind, he cupped her chin in his hand
and said, “I let what we had slip away once before. I let Trevor take my place in your life. I’m not going to make the same mistake with Kevin.” His mouth came down to claim hers, spreading fierce fire through her veins.

She responded almost automatically, her body taking
over while her mind tried to deal with what he’d said. What did he mean, he’d let Trevor take his place in her
life? Trevor was her cousin, her friend. Mitch had always
been so much more than that.

But she remembered how Trevor had escorted her to social functions, how Trevor had become her confidant
as Mitch seemed to fade from their relationship. Had Mitch
resented her dependence on her cousin? Apparently so.

“Mitch.” She tried to struggle out of his embrace, want
ing to discuss the light he’d just thrown upon their past, but his arms tightened around her firmly, refusing to let her go.

“No, Heather,” he said softly into the hollow behind
her ear, tickling the skin with his warm sweet breath and
rubbing his face against her like a large jungle cat. “I’m
not going to let you go. You might as well relax and
enjoy it.”

He began an assault upon her senses with his tongue and lips, moving across her neck in sensuous seduction.
At the same time his hands explored the curves of her
back, massaging gently, urging compliance with his de
sire.

“Mitch, don’t do this,” she managed to say, but he
paid no attention.

“You were made for this, Heather,” he insisted, quickly
taking her up into his arms and laying her across the
bed. “And I was made for it, too.”

He came down beside her, his fingers cupping her
breast through her thin cotton shift. “Don’t you see how
you fill my hand so exactly?” he murmured, smiling down at her. “Haven’t you ever noticed that our bodies
fit together like parts of a puzzle? Without you, I’m only
a fragment. With you, I’m whole.”

How could she maintain her resolve against a state
ment like that? Her heart was swelling with love for him,
and she had to fight hard to keep from reaching up to
pull him down on top of her.

“We’ve done too much of this sort of thing already,
Mitch,” she told him shakily. “You really should go.”

The palm of his hand began a slow massage of her breast. “That’s just the missionary lady talking,” he mur
mured, leaning down to nip at her earlobe. “The real
woman, hidden below the high collar and starched cloth,
is saying something very different.”

His hand was stoking a fire she knew she wouldn’t be able to control. When he bent over her, taking his
palm from her breast and searching for her nipple through
the cloth with his teeth, she couldn’t hold back the in
voluntary movement of her hips, nor could she quiet the
moan in her throat.

“You see?” he teased softly, his hot breath stimulating
the nerve endings along the slope of her breast. “That’s
the real woman talking.”

“You’re right,” she agreed breathlessly, “but the so-called real woman has no conscience, no control. The
real Heather does.”

“Does she?” His hand traveled lower, caressing the
curve of her stomach, reaching for the swell of her thighs.
His fingers began to pull up her dress, slowly raising the
hem. “We’ll see if we can convince her to put those
bothersome items away for a while.”

He was pulling up her dress, and she began to panic. She put a hand down to stop him, but his mouth covered
hers, distracting her, sending her senses spinning once
again.

His body was so large, so warm, so exotically com
pelling. She wanted him to hold her in his arms all night
long, to never let go. But she knew, if he did that, she
would promise to stay, and that would be a disaster.

She had to make him stop. He couldn’t always win this way. If she gave in now, he’d never respect any
commitment she made.

“Mitch, stop,” she insisted, trying to pull away. “I
really do want you to stop.”

He’d pulled her hem up beyond her hips and now his hand slid down to take possession of what he’d unveiled.
As she felt the warmth of his touch sweep in, she stiff
ened, trying to fend him off.