Chapter One

Cameron, South Carolina –Present Day

"Thomas. . .Thomas."

The raspy whisper brought Mica Chadwick out of her chair to lean over the bed. Paying little attention to the names and comments mumbled by her aunt, she silently damned modern medicine for not being able to prevent heart attacks and their debilitating effects.

"Michaela, dear, you're here." Her aunt wheezed, then stopped. Mica held her own breath, waiting. She made a grab for the emergency button when her aunt's eyes popped open again and she coughed. A trembling hand blindly groped for Mica's own, and Mica squeezed it to reassure herself as well as her aunt.

"I have to leave soon, Michaela Marie." Her aunt more often used her full name than the shortened nickname Mica preferred. Mica smiled now at the sound of it.

"Aunt Theo." A gentle squeeze from her aunt's hand cut off her words.

"It's time. . .time for me to go."

Mica looked deep into clear blue eyes so like her own. She could see her aunt was lucid, but she didn't like what she heard.

"Auntie, no. You're going to get better, truly." Mica knew what the doctors said, but she told the lie, anyway. At eighty-nine, Aunt Theo's heart had worn out, and Doctor Jacobs didn't know how long she could last. "If you rest, and take your medicine--"

"I'm not going lying flat on my back, Michaela Marie. You know better than that. I signed papers last week at Dr. Jacobs’ office. I'll not have tubes and needles and whatnot making me look like a porcupine." Her aunt's voice, surprisingly strong, gave Mica new hope.

Just as quickly, she began to cough, and Mica supported her so she wouldn't choke. Blue-veined hands clutched Mica's arm until she knew she'd bruise. Still she held her aunt, cooing reassuring words close to her ear and smoothing her white hair with a trembling hand.

"Thomas needs you, Michaela Marie. Go to Sea Crest and be with him." Though her grip had not loosened, her aunt's voice faded to a croak.

"Sh. . .sh. . . don’t try to talk." Mica didn't know anyone named Thomas, but she refused to agitate her aunt by telling her that. She carefully laid her back upon the bed and pulled the covers over her frail form. Thinking she slept, Mica turned, but Aunt Theo's whispered plea stopped her.

"You're the only one who can save him, dear. And Thomas can make you happy."

"Aunt Theo. . ." Mica turned back, but noting the closed eyes and shallow breathing, she didn't continue her argument. Her gaze remained on the rise and fall of the coverlet to assure herself Aunt Theo remained with her. She had no idea to whom her aunt referred, not that it mattered. Mica did not need, or want, another man in her life.

She reached out to caress her aunt's gnarled and weather-wrinkled hand, noting a small amount of dirt under her nails. Mica would bet any amount of money her aunt had been working out in the garden again, in the heat of the day, and most probably without a hat.

Her aunt's warm hand tucked into her own formed a bridge to her memories. Mica closed her eyes and thought back to her childhood and the time spent with her aunt at Sea Crest, the old family home on Cameron Island. Even though it had been turned into a bed & breakfast inn years ago, Aunt Theo kept an apartment in one section, and Sea Crest remained a unique place to spend a summer. As an inquisitive and energetic kid, Mica learned to swim in the ocean, play hide-and-go-seek in the garden maze, and dress up in old, old clothes from the attic.

Aunt Theo's hand stirred beneath her own to scatter the daydreams.

She had recently planned time off to visit Sea Crest. Not only did she dearly love her feisty old aunt, but she needed time to come to grips with her life, her failed marriage, and her career as an attorney. Now her plans would be on hold, for Mica wondered if Aunt Theo would ever live at Sea Crest again. The very thought of her not puttering around the estate and telling stories about the "old days" saddened Mica immensely.

Mica stepped into the hall and called her mother, who promised she would be up first thing in the morning. When she returned to her aunt's room, panic clutched her chest to find the bed empty, the IV tube dangling uselessly to drip onto the floor. She rushed to the bed to buzz the nurse's station when she saw her aunt's small form in the chair by the window. Relief washed over her even as she started to scold her for leaving the bed.

When her aunt didn't respond, Mica moved closer to shake her awake. The poor dear sat tilted at an uncomfortable angle, but when Mica touched her shoulder to wake her, her hands dropped from her lap and her head lulled to the side. Mica knelt beside the chair.

"Great-great-aunt Theodora Josephine, wake up, do you hear me?" Frightened now, Mica scrambled across the bed and pushed the nurse's button then slid off to her aunt's side again. She sobbed as she searched for a pulse but couldn't discern a beat.

Nurses pushed her aside. Sharp commands to the orderly had him placing her beloved aunt none too gently back onto the bed. A nurse hovered to check for pulse and respiration, but when she shouted "code blue", Mica had seen enough.

"No." The soft-spoken word echoed across the bleak room.

"It's standard procedure, Miss."

Mica knew the nurse only followed hospital rules.

"No. She didn't want the needles." Her gaze caressed her aunt's beloved face, peaceful now in death. "It's too late, anyway. She’s already gone." Tears obscured her vision, and her fingers trembled against her lips as she tried unsuccessfully to muffle a sob.

The hospital staff moved aside to allow Mica her grief. There'd be papers to sign and reports to file. As an attorney, Mica was familiar with the Advanced Directive Statutes of South Carolina. She also knew there had been no court case to test the limits of living will declarations. The hospital would protect itself from liability, but none of that mattered at the moment.

"Here, Miss, she must have dropped this." She was vaguely aware of the orderly pressing a paper into her hand before he left the room. Mica's fist crunched the folded paper as she bent to place a farewell kiss on her aunt's wrinkled brow. She looked younger now. Perhaps Aunt Theo had been right when she said the time had come to leave.

Mica now realized her aunt would never have been happy in a hospital or nursing home. If Theodora Josephine Ashley couldn't be at Sea Crest, she didn't want to be anywhere. Mica smiled through her tears and said a silent prayer to God to take good care of this very special lady.

She brushed at her eyes, only then remembering the paper in her hand, crushed almost beyond repair. Carefully, she smoothed it flat against her chest as she moved towards the light. Her breath caught in surprise as she scanned the legal document.

"Oh, Aunt Theo, what have you done?"

***

Katie French, a lifelong friend, had stopped by Mica's Charleston apartment every day since Aunt Theo's funeral two weeks ago. For the first time, Mica felt up to speaking about her aunt's bequest. She still couldn't believe her own father had written the document and never said a word about it.

"It's so exciting, Mica! You own Sea Crest!" Katie, like one of those perpetual motion toys, paced back and forth from the breakfast bar to the couch. She had the energy and personality to run Sea Crest, not Mica. "Well, aren't you excited?" She asked, stopping just long enough to throw Mica a perturbed look, hands on hips, before she started pacing again.

"What do you suggest I do with a bed & breakfast so far up the coast from my law practice?" Mica questioned her. She had come to terms with her favorite aunt's death, but didn't know if she was ready to visit Sea Crest. The inn held too many memories.

"Is it true that Theo's family owned the whole island? How romantic!"

Mica grinned at her friend's enthusiasm. Katie had married her childhood sweetheart and had three adorable kids. She spent her days at the Country Club, or shopping, or doing volunteer work. She employed a housekeeper and a nanny, and she didn't worry about paying bills or struggling to make sense of her life. Mica sometimes envied her.

Instead, Mica had a routinely predictable and dull life. She had a responsible career. She had made a proper marriage to a family of strong social standing, even if her husband had proven to be anything but responsible. She always paid her bills on time, visited her parents as often as a good daughter should, and dressed in fashionable, conservative, suits.

As Katie chattered on about Sea Crest, Mica began to think, perhaps, the time had come for an adventure. She was tired of being reliable! She laughed to herself at the thought, for she and her father had already spent hours shifting cases to ensure she had the time off she requested. Any cases that couldn't be postponed had been given to a junior executive to handle in her absence. She rose from the couch and headed for her bedroom, confident Katie would follow.

Katie plopped on the bed, stomach first, and propped her chin in her hands. She certainly didn't act like a twenty-nine year old mother of three. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"You've been badgering me to go to Sea Crest, so I am." Mica watched her friend's mouth drop open. "There. Are you happy, now?"

"Oh, Mica, that's wonderful! I know you'll love it. We had such fun there when we were kids."

"Katie, in case you haven't noticed, we're not kids anymore."

"Michaela Marie Chadwick, listen to me. If you just let your hair down, you will relax and have fun. You might even meet someone interesting up there." Katie forever worried about her being alone, though Mica was happier single than married to Richard.

"Yes, ma'am. I promise." She grinned as she gave her friend a hug.

***

A sense of peace stole over Mica the moment she dropped her bags inside the front entrance to Sea Crest. She smiled at the smell of lemons, which would forever remind her of Theodora Josephine Ashley, eccentric matron of Sea Crest.

Mica's great-great-aunt had maintained a home here even though she had a manager. She would often help with reservations, set menus with old time recipes, and greet guests. She had liked people, and wanted anyone who stayed at Sea Crest to feel at home.

A new manager greeted Mica, her nametag identifying her as Mrs. Anna Harris. "Ms. Chadwick, we were all so sorry to hear about Mrs. Ashley. We considered her more a dear friend than an employer."

"Thank you, Mrs. Harris."

"Oh, you just call me Anna. Here, let me take your bags. I expect you'll stay in your aunt's apartment. Well, it's yours now, isn't it?"

Mica nodded as she followed the woman down a short hall to the northern part of the house. She didn't question how the woman knew she had inherited Sea Crest. She was curious, however, about the nervousness in the woman's voice. Perhaps Anna thought Mica intended to take over and oust her from her position. Mica would certainly discredit that notion in a hurry. As much as she loved her aunt, she couldn't fathom giving up a law practice to run a bed & breakfast.

"Oh, my." She had forgotten how Sea Crest resisted change. The manor maintained the grandeur of more than a century ago. A short hall separated her aunt's apartment from the inn, and as they entered the high, oak-trimmed doorway, Mica felt drawn back in time. The sitting room, full of antiques, contained dark, wood furniture with brocade seats, heavy draperies, and even needlepoint pillows on the couch. A small kitchen stood to her left, one of the few concessions to modern times. Directly in front of her, spanning almost the entire north wall, tall windows embraced a set of French doors that overlooked the lovely gardens her aunt had cherished.

"I'll put your bags in here, Ms Chadwick."

Mica followed the woman into the bedroom. She noticed her aunt had re-papered the room in a yellow rose pattern. It certainly helped brighten the effect of the dark wood of the canopied bed, highboy and vanity that occupied the spacious room. Again floor to ceiling windows looked out over the garden and fountain.

"Thank you so much for making me feel welcome, Anna."

"Well, you are Mrs. Ashley's niece, after all, Ms. Chadwick." The woman gave her a warm smile.

"Please, call me Mica. We don't stand on formality here, do we?"

"I'll try, Ms. . .Mica, but you and Mrs. Ashley, well, you're old southern family, you know, and we do have our traditions to uphold."

"I understand. As long as you're here," Mica saw the smile fade from the woman's face and rushed to reassure her, "I fully intend for you to continue in your current position—you and all the staff. You may tell them as much. I wouldn't dream of changing anything about Sea Crest." Apparent relief brought the smile back to the woman's face.

"I know you're busy," Mica continued, "but would you have time to show me around? I haven't visited in awhile, and then I spent most of my time here with Aunt Theo. I want to familiarize myself with the rest of the inn."

"It would be my pleasure to show off Sea Crest to its new owner, but would the morning be soon enough? We have new guests arriving today."

"Of course. Tomorrow will be fine." Mica nodded agreement, and Anna left to prepare for the new arrivals.

Mica unpacked her things and stored the bags under the bed before opening the doors to the patio and gardens. She bent to pinch dead leaves from a rosebush and realized the plants and flowers weren't in the best of health. Weeds choked out some of the verbena, and unwanted ivy tangled among the azaleas.

Her aunt had refused to hire a gardener, insisting she could take better care of her babies than anyone else. Because the gardens remained private and not readily accessible to the inn, it appeared no one had thought to do anything with them since her aunt's death. Mica made a mental note to remedy that situation.

She sank down on one of the stone benches which surrounded the fountain and stared at the granite Cupid standing in the center of a small pool. She cocked her head to the side and smiled. This Cupid had no little bow and arrows, as the original concept of Cupid should have.

She recalled a story her aunt used to tell. At the time, Mica had thought it so romantic. Generations ago, the owner of Sea Crest had fallen in love with a mysterious lady and had commissioned a statue of Cupid in Charleston. When delivered, the workmen accidentally tipped it over on the stones, snapping off the hand that held the bow and arrows. The man had been very angry, but the lady had told him she loved him truly and would not let him have the statue replaced with a new one. Mica could still hear her aunt's voice at the end of the story.

"The man then told his beloved it made no difference that Cupid had no bow and arrows, for his heart had already been captured by the most wonderful woman in the world, and his love would be hers throughout all time." Her aunt would sigh, then add, "Michaela Marie, someday you'll find just such a man, and Sea Crest will be safe in your hands."

Mica now frowned at Cupid. "You and my aunt must have crossed signals when it came to me. I sure haven’t met any man as handsome, endearing, and romantic as Aunt Theo always said were in her time."

Feeling foolish talking to a stone statue, Mica left the garden to wander through the rest of the inn. As a child visiting her aunt, Mica had loved to hear stories about Sea Crest. In the early 1800's, a plantation with acres of crops and flowering gardens covered the entire island. During the War Between the States, the manor housed soldiers, then the family turned it into a boarding house to make ends meet. Eventually, the land around the manor house was sold to pay taxes.

Over the years other beach houses were built, but the island still retained much of its primitive atmosphere. She couldn't recall when the house had been converted to a bed & breakfast, but it still stood above the rest of the homes in elegance.

She strolled down a short hallway that opened into the community living room where guests could enjoy television, a game of chess, or just relax. She smiled, for this room also reflected Aunt Theo's personality. Yellow washed the walls in cheery brightness. Floral pictures hung on any available wall space, and fragile porcelain bouquets sat atop the mantle. Like the rest of the inn, however, the room contained furnishings from the 1800's. Even the television and lights were somewhat disguised in period decoration.

Mica ran her hand over the banister’s natural wood as she passed the stairs. A small reception table sat in the shadow of the curved stairway. Although the regulations governing bed & breakfast inns stipulated a maximum of five guest bedrooms, the dining room she entered could easily seat fifty. The smooth, polished sideboard offered guests a buffet style breakfast. A huge chandelier had been converted to electricity, but lent the room a nostalgic air. After the turn of the twentieth century, the kitchen had been built onto the back of the house, whereas before it had been a separate structure.

Mica glanced out the back door to find a light rain falling, which would prevent her from walking on the beach. She shrugged. Long days and nights loomed before her to indulge in that delight, so she returned to her apartment to relax for the evening.

***

Mica jerked awake, her neck kinked from where her head had been cranked lopsided on the couch. The noisy static from the television indicated it was well past midnight. She rubbed her neck as she stood and picked up her plate and cup from the coffee table. What had awakened her? Usually if she fell asleep in front of the TV, she slept like the dead until morning.

Halfway to the kitchen, she froze. Loud male voices floated in through the open French doors. While Mica couldn't discern what they said, she could hear the anger. She grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and cautiously slid the screen door open and stepped onto the patio that flanked the garden.

She frowned as she held her breath to listen. The yellow circle of light waved back and forth as she searched the garden for intruders. The voices, though not as loud, were still disturbing in their intensity. Where on earth did they come from?

She tilted her head. Now, it sounded as though the voices came from the inn’s second floor. Mica's exasperation rose as she stomped back into her apartment. She would not allow anyone to disturb the other guests, and if they couldn't keep the noise down, she would escort them out the door immediately. The flashlight fell to the couch as she grabbed the wrapper that matched her silk pajamas, tying the belt as she walked briskly down the hall and up the stairs. She had no trouble finding her way since lights were kept on all night.

Mica softened her steps as she moved down the hall, listening all the while to the voices. The yelling became loudest when she reached a door at the opposite end of the hall from the stairway. She pushed aside any guilt for eavesdropping as she put her ear to the heavy wood. Strange, though the voices appeared to come from here, the key remained on her side of the door, which indicated no guests occupied the room.

Determined to stop the argument as the volume grew, Mica reached down to turn the key and open the door. A tingle shot up her arm, crossed her shoulders and settled in her chest to constrict her breathing. Sounds much like the surf at high tide pounded in her ears, and her vision blurred for an instant. She jerked her hand from the doorknob as the door swung open to reveal not a room but a long corridor.

Nervous at the thought of invading another person's privacy, but eager to end the commotion, Mica stepped through the door. Humid air surrounded her as a warm breeze swept down the hall. She thought perhaps this section had been shut off for repairs since apparently the air conditioner didn't work. The hallway appeared to have a design similar to the rest of the inn-- plush carpet tickled her bare feet and the hall contained dim lights of the same style. Most of the doors along the corridor were closed, and no light filtered beneath them.

Mica stepped through the first door she found ajar, expecting to confront the unruly people and ask them to keep it down, but she found the room empty. She forgot her reason for coming upstairs as the glamour of a bygone era wrapped her in warmth and welcome. Burnished oak furniture and book lined shelves filled the room.

The only illumination came from an antique oil lamp on the desk so she reached behind her for a light switch. Not immediately finding one, she moved across the room and turned up the lamp’s wick, frowning. Anna should’t use such a dangerous source of light in this corridor. Although lending an historical air to the room, if a lamp should tip over—Mica shuddered at the thought.

The books on the far wall captured her attention. When she moved to examine them, she released a soft, slow whistle. One of Aunt Theo's ancestors had spared no expense in recreating the past, she thought, as she pulled a heavy volume from the shelf. She caressed the leather-bound tome as she read the title, embossed on the rib in gold leaf.

In her surprise, she nearly dropped the book as she quickly glanced up at the other volumes. Law books—all of them —in mint condition even though the ribs stated they were South Carolina Law Statutes for 1840! She would definitely have to ask Anna Harris about this section of the inn.

***

The downstairs clock struck twelve as T. Logan Rutledge stood silent and undetected at the doorway to his study. It would appear his housekeeper's new fangled idea of carpet in the hallway served more purpose than ordinary comfort for his plantation home. The plush covering must have muffled his footsteps as he returned to his study.

Arguing with his stepbrother, Neil, clear out the front door, he had not been quiet as he stormed back upstairs. Now, he must deal with another intruder in his home. His anger still simmered, and he opened his mouth to castigate her, but for some reason the raven-haired beauty’s womanly curves softened his anger and turned his blood warm. For just an instant, he wondered if this could be another of Neil's tricks. No, his stepbrother had the habit of foreshadowing his hand, and Logan never had trouble reading his mind.

He heard a soft whistle then a gasp as the woman pulled a book from the shelf. Thinking she was another of his housekeeper's myriad assortment of cousins and nieces, he felt sure she gasped from the weight of the book, since most of the lower class could not read. Before he could reprimand her for wandering above stairs, she moved towards the desk light and he caught a glimpse of long, trim legs through the silk of her wrapper. Was he mistaken, or were those trousers she wore beneath the calf length jacket?

Captivated, he watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. Odd, but he could never recall seeing such a statement in contradictions. Here stood a beautiful woman, but with hair as short as a man's and wearing trousers. Still, she was a fetching piece, and he thought perhaps he'd take advantage of her presence.

"Excuse me?" He said, coughing discreetly.

The woman screeched at his simple words and whirled to face him, the book clasped against her bosom. Logan's breath caught when she came full into his view, her blue eyes wide and her dark brows lifted in an expression of surprise.

She stood before him wrapped in peach silk, her black hair swirling about her face, and her eyes huge. With the light now behind her, he could see most of the rest of her slim figure beneath the thin covering she wore. What he saw enticed him to gamble that she had not been sent by his conniving stepbrother, but had ventured from below stairs to visit the master of Indigo Bay.

He stepped further into the room and poured himself a brandy from the glass decanter behind his desk. She didn't say a word. When he gestured to her with the glass, she shook her head and clutched his law book closer to her breasts. He gave a hearty sigh.

"Are you another of Mattie's cousins, or a niece, perhaps?"

"Mattie?" She managed to squeak out the one word.

"Ah-ha, so you are. I thought as much. Most times, though, her relatives are too timid to show themselves above stairs. You are different." He downed the last of the brandy, set his glass back on the cart, and walked over to stand in front of her.

She was tall for a female, for she tilted her head only slightly to look him in the eye. She smelled of fresh air and sunshine, and his fingers itched to touch her sun-kissed skin. Never had a woman so quickly captivated him. Under normal circumstances, he kept a very tight rein on his emotions, but she drew him closer with her sky-blue eyes and pouting lips.

Were her lips as soft and hot as they appeared? His mind rushed headlong over a waterfall of emotions, and he had yet to know her name, much less kiss her.

And he did want to kiss her—more than once. Why shouldn't he? After all, why else had she come to his study dressed so seductively if she were not some promiscuous Miss out for an adventure?

"I will relieve you of your burden." He gently removed the book from her clasp. "In the future, please do not take the liberty of removing these books unless you're dusting the room. They're far too precious to me, and besides, they have no pictures to glance upon."

"Law books?"

Ah, they were making progress, for she uttered two words that time, and apparently was smarter than most for she could read. He reached past her to put the book back on the shelf, and his chest came into contact with hers. Instant fire scorched him even as he heard her suck in her breath.

She stared at him, her sooty lashes blinking rapidly as though she was trying to clear her vision. The heat of her already burned into him, and he felt the urgent need to kiss her pink lips that even now trembled so close to his. He lowered his head toward hers.

Mica's heart refused to slow down as the stranger moved close to her. Even though she knew he meant to kiss her, she felt more curious than threatened. Tall and dark, he wore a white shirt with billowing sleeves and snug black breeches that disappeared into the tops of knee high black boots. She noticed he had his dark hair clubbed back, though bits curled around his angular face. Mica caught a hint of humor in his gaze, along with something far more dangerous.

Instinct shouted this was his domain, and she tried to regain her composure and come up with a reason for being in his room. However, her composure slipped drastically when he took the book from her and replaced it on the shelf.

And touched her in doing so.

Mica gasped when their bodies came into contact. The hard muscle beneath the soft linen of his shirt caused her breasts to ache in reaction to his touch. Heat branded her, and her heart thudded a dangerous beat. She knew she should ask him to back up because he was a virtual stranger. Handsome, but still unknown.

Nothing could have prepared her for the seductive power of his brown eyes-- dark, penetrating eyes capable of reading her most intimate thoughts. Tiny worry lines crinkled at their corners, and she felt an unbidden desire to touch him and soothe the frown from his face. His gaze captured hers, black brows rose in question.

Yes, her mind screamed, regardless of the question. Overwhelmed by the pure sexuality of the man, she didn’t move a fraction as he lowered his lips to hers. Just before his eyes closed, she caught a glimpse of passion in their dark depths.

His kiss dissolved any defenses she may have constructed, and she groaned as his arms circled her to pull her closer. She couldn't remember ever being kissed this way. His lips, firm and warm, touched her with gentle persuasion, yet she could sense the underlying passion. His mouth traveled from her lips to her ear, where he nibbled on her lobe before sucking gently.

She vaguely recalled a novel where the author wrote the heroine felt devoured. She had laughed at the time, but now understood, as his lips scorched a path back to her mouth to communicate his desire once more.

Her body melted into a puddle of heat. She ached with pleasure so intense it hurt. Her fingers curled into his shirtfront as her legs threatened to turn to jelly. She could feel his heart beat against her breasts, pounding in answer to her own erratic beat.

"What is your name, midnight minx?" His husky whisper reached her through a haze.

"Mica." She moaned as he rained kisses against her closed eyes.

"Mica? That's too masculine a name for one so delicate. Is there more?" Each word was punctuated with butterfly kisses along her brow and nose.

"Michaela Marie." His kisses were driving her crazy, otherwise she would never have told him her middle name.

"Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman." His kiss stopped any reply she would have made, the heat from his lips traveling through her to turn her blood to fire. She stood on tiptoe to get closer.

"Come to bed with me," he whispered, pulling her tighter against him. His suggestion brought Mica to her senses, astounded that the man's sensuality had carried her away.

"No!" She pushed away from him, and his arms dropped to his sides, but he remained close enough to block her escape. He no longer touched her, but Mica could feel his heat and passion as though he did.

"I don't think. . .I really shouldn't be here." It was all she could think of in way of explanation.

"I know that, sweet thing, for this is Indigo Bay, and I know all who belong here." His full lips lifted in a sensuous smile. "But that is of no consequence, for tonight, if you will allow it, you will be my guest."

He executed a bow, and Mica felt the urge to curtsy as a lady would when a gentleman asked for a dance. It only deepened her chagrin to glance down and realize she was not wearing a dress, but silk pajamas. She needed to get out of here before she lost the rest of her dignity and begged him for something she had thought she no longer needed. She glanced around for an excuse, her gaze settling on the drink decanters he had reached for earlier.

"May I have a glass of. . .water, please?" She gave him what she hoped was an enticing smile.

"Water? I have sherry and brandy, but no water." He now seemed in no hurry to continue his seduction, and that made Mica more nervous. When he moved towards the table, all fluid grace and seduction, Mica knew she was in trouble.

Except for his kisses, which she couldn't blame entirely on him, he appeared to have the integrity of a gentleman. She used that to her advantage and allowed her southern drawl to slip into her words, aware of its effect on men. "I really would like water, please. Sherry and brandy will make me wilt right on the spot, I assure you."

He gave her a sideways glance, and she fluttered her lashes. "Well, if you insist on water, I'll have to fetch it, for all the help are beyond hearing in their beds at this hour." He stopped to whisper close to her ear. "As we shall be, just as soon as I return."

Mica sagged against the desk and gave him a weak smile before he turned and walked out of the room. In the next instant, she sprinted to the library door. When a quick glance assured her he was nowhere in sight, she raced down the hall to the door through which she had come.

In her haste, it slammed behind her, but she didn't care as she twisted the key in the lock. Heart pounding and knees weak, she rested her head against the wood's cool surface. What in the world had come over her to make her act the way she had? And with a perfect stranger no less! She could only blame it on his overwhelming sensuality. She’d never met a man with such seductive power.

As she made her way down the stairs to her rooms, she recalled just how perfect he had been. He had a lean, muscular body, silky hair and laughing eyes. The best part had been his searing kisses—hot, sweet and more than adequate to send even the most sensible woman into ecstasy.

She fell into bed exhausted, but determined to find out tomorrow exactly what kind of rooms Sea Crest’s second floor contained. More importantly, she wanted the name of the stranger who not only inhabited those rooms but also had managed to breach all the defenses she had so carefully constructed since her divorce.