Captivated

  Nash cut himself off, wishing he had something more satisfying to kick than the side of the sofa.

  It was perfectly normal to want a woman. Hell, it was even enjoyable to imagine what it would be like to tangle up the sheets with her. But the way his mind kept veering toward Morgana at all hours of the day and night, making his work suffer in the process, was close to becoming an obsession.

  It was time to get it under control.

  Not that he’d lost control, he reminded himself. He’d been a saint. Even when she’d answered the door wearing those faded, raggedy cutoffs—a personal weakness of his—he’d slapped back his baser instincts. It was a bit lowering to admit that his reasoning had had less to do with altruism than with self-preservation. A personal entanglement with her would mess up the professional one. In any case, a woman who could knock him sideways with a single kiss was best treated with caution.

  He had a feeling that that kind of punch would be a lot more lethal than DeeDee’s deadly aim.

  But he wanted to call her, to hear her voice, to ask if he could see her for just an hour or two.

  Damn it, he was not lonely. Or at least he hadn’t been until he’d shut off his machine and his tired brain to go for a walk on the beach. All those people he’d seen—the families, the couples, those tight little groups of belonging. And he’d been alone, watching the sun slide down into the water, longing for something he was sure he didn’t really want. Something he certainly wouldn’t know what to do with if he had it.

  Some people weren’t made to have families. That much Nash knew from firsthand experience. He’d decided long ago to avoid the mistake, and save some nameless, faceless child from being saddled with a lousy father.

  But standing alone and watching those families had made him restless, had made the house he’d come home to seem too big and much too empty. It made him wish he’d had Morgana with him, so that they could have strolled along, hand in hand, by the water. Or sat on an old, bleached log, his arm tucked around her shoulders, as they watched the first stars come out.

  On an oath, he yanked up the phone and punched out her number. His lips curved when he heard her voice, but the smile faded the moment he realized it was a recording, informing him that she was unavailable.

  He thought about leaving a message, but hung up instead. What was he supposed to say? he asked himself. I just wanted to talk to you. I need to see you. I can’t get you out of my mind.

  Shaking his head, he paced the room again. Grim, beautiful masks from Oceania stared down at him from their place on the wall. In low cases, keen-edged knives with ornate handles glinted in the lamplight. To relieve some tension, Nash scooped up a voodoo doll and jammed a pin through its heart.

  “See how you like it, bub.”

  He tossed it aside, jammed his hands in his pockets and decided it was time to get out of the house. What the hell, he’d go to the movies.

  * * *

  “It’s your turn to buy the tickets,” Morgana told Sebastian patiently. “Mine to spring for popcorn, and Ana’s to choose the movie.”

  Sebastian scowled as they walked down Cannery Row. “I bought the tickets last time.”

  “No. You didn’t.”

  Anastasia smiled when Sebastian appealed to her, but shook her head. “I bought them last time,” she confirmed. “You’re just trying to weasel out again.”

  “Weasel?” Insulted, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “What a disgusting word. And I distinctly remember—”

  “What you want to remember,” Anastasia finished for him, tucking her arm through his. “Give it up, Cousin. I’m not passing on my turn.”

  He muttered something but started walking again, Morgana on one arm, Anastasia on the other. He really wanted to catch the new Schwarzenegger flick, and he was very much afraid that Ana was going to opt for the fluffy romantic comedy in theater two. Not that he minded romance, but he’d heard that Arnold had outdone himself this time, saving the entire planet from a group of evil, shape-shifting extraterrestrials.

  “Don’t sulk,” Morgana said lightly. “You get to pick next time.”

  She liked the arrangement very much. Whenever the mood or their schedules allowed, the three cousins would take in a movie. Years of bickering, seething tempers and ruined evenings had resulted in the current system. It wasn’t without its flaws, but it usually prevented a heated argument at the ticket booth.

  “And no fair trying to influence,” Anastasia added when she felt Sebastian pushing at her mind. “I’ve already decided.”

  “Just trying to keep you from wasting my money.” Resigned, Sebastian glanced down at the smattering of people forming in line. His spirits lifted when he spotted the man who was strolling up from the opposite direction. “Well, well,” he said. “Isn’t this cozy?”

  Morgana had already seen Nash, and wasn’t sure whether she was annoyed or pleased. She’d managed to keep everything on an even keel during their meetings. No mean trick, she decided, considering the sexual sparks that crackled through the air whenever they got within two feet of each other.

  She could handle it, she reminded herself, and offered Nash a smile. “Busman’s holiday?”

  His gloomy mood vanished. She looked like a dark angel, her hair flowing around her shoulders, the short red dress clinging to each curve. “More or less. I always like falling into someone else’s movie when I’m struggling with one of my own.” Though it took an effort to tear his eyes from Morgana’s, he glanced at Sebastian and Anastasia. “Hi.”

  “It’s nice to see you again.” Anastasia stepped into line. “It’s funny, the last time the three of us hit the movies, we saw your Play Dead.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “It was very good.”

  “She’d know,” Sebastian put in. “Ana watched the last thirty minutes with her eyes closed.”

  “The highest of compliments.” Nash shuffled his way down the line with them. “So, what’re you going to see?”

  Anastasia shot Sebastian a look as he pulled out his wallet. “The Schwarzenegger movie.”

  “Really?” Nash hadn’t a clue why Sebastian was chuckling, but he smiled at Morgana. “Me, too.”

  Nash figured his luck was in when he settled down in the theater beside Morgana. It hardly mattered that he’d already seen the movie at its Hollywood premiere. He’d probably have ended up choosing it anyway. It was a hell of a show, as he recalled. Fast paced, with plenty of humor to leaven the violence, along with a nicely twisted coil of suspense. And there was a particular scene that had had the celebrity audience on the edge of their seats. If his luck held, Morgana would be cuddled up against him by the second reel.

  As the lights dimmed, Morgana turned her head and smiled at him. Nash felt several of his brain cells melt and wished they still ran double features.

  In the normal scheme of things, Nash took the long step out of reality the moment a movie caught his imagination. There was nothing he liked better than diving into the action. It rarely mattered whether it was his first shot at a film or he was visiting an old friend for the twentieth time—he was always at home in a movie. But tonight he kept losing track of the adventure on the screen.

  He was much too aware of the woman beside him to click off reality.

  Theaters had their own smell. The oily, not unpleasant aroma of what the concessions jokingly called butter over the warm fragrance of popcorn, the sweet tang of candies, the syrupy scent of spilled soft drinks. However appealing it was—and it had always been appealing to Nash—he couldn’t get beyond the dreamy sexuality of Morgana’s perfume.

  The theater was cool, almost chilly. It had never made sense to him that the air-conditioning was so often turned toward frigid in a place where people would be sitting still for two hours. But the scent of Morgana’s skin was hot, arousingly hot, as if she were sitting in a strong beam of sunlight.

  She didn’t gasp or jolt or huddle against him, no matter how much mayhem the invaders or the hero wrought.
Instead, she kept her gaze fixed intently on the screen, nibbling occasionally from a dwindling container of popcorn.

  At one point she did hiss a breath through her teeth and grip the armrest between them. Gallantly Nash covered her hand with his. She didn’t look toward him, but she did turn her hand, palm up, and link her fingers with his.

  She couldn’t help it, Morgana thought. She wasn’t made of stone. What she was was a flesh-and-blood woman who found the man beside her outrageously attractive. And sweet, damn it. There was something undeniably sweet about sitting in a darkened theater holding hands.

  And what could it hurt?

  She was being careful when they were alone, making sure things didn’t move too quickly or in a direction not of her choosing. Not that she’d had to fight him off, Morgana reminded herself with a touch of resentment. He’d made no attempt to hold her, or kiss her again, or to seduce her in any way.

  Unless she counted the fact that he always seemed to be touching her in that careless and friendly manner. The manner that had her tossing restlessly in bed for several hours after he’d left her last.

  Her problem, she reminded herself, and tried to ignore the long, slow tug inside as Nash ran his thumb lazily up and down the side of her hand.

  The upside was, she enjoyed working with him, helping him with his research. Not only because he was an amusing companion with a mind and talent she respected, but also because it was giving her the opportunity to explain what she was in her own way.

  Of course, he didn’t believe a word of it.

  Not that it mattered, Morgana told herself, and lost track of the film as Nash’s forearm rubbed warmly over hers. He didn’t have to believe to incorporate her knowledge and write a good story. Yet it disappointed her, on some deep level. Having him believe, and accept, would have been so soothing.

  When the world was saved and the lights came up, she slipped her hand from Nash’s. Not that it hadn’t felt nice keeping it there, but Morgana wasn’t in the mood to risk any of Sebastian’s teasing comments.

  “Excellent choice, Ana,” Sebastian told her.

  “Say that again when my heart rate’s normal.”

  Her cousin slipped an arm over her shoulders as they shuffled up the aisle. “Scare you?”

  “Of course not.” She refused to admit it this time. “Seeing that incredible body stripped to the waist for the best part of two hours is enough to give any woman a rush.”

  They moved into the brightly lit, noisy lobby. “Pizza,” Sebastian decided. He glanced back at Nash. “You up for food?”

  “I’m always up for food.”

  “Great.” Sebastian pushed open the door and led them into the night. “You’re buying.”

  They were quite a trio, Nash decided as the four of them devoured slices of pizza dripping with cheese. They argued about everything, from what kind of pizza to buy to which alien demise had been the most effective in the movie they’d just seen. He decided that Morgana and Sebastian enjoyed sniping at each other as much as they enjoyed the meal, with Anastasia slipping in and out of the role of referee.

  It was obvious that the bond ran deep, for under the bickering and complaining was an inescapable stream of affection.

  When Morgana said to Sebastian, “Don’t be such a jerk, love,” Nash sensed that she meant “jerk” and “love” in equal measure. Listening to it, Nash fought back the same little stab of envy he’d felt on the beach at sunset.

  They were each only children, as he was. Yet they were not, as he was, alone.

  Anastasia turned to him. Something flickered in her eyes for a moment that was so much like sympathy that he felt a wave of embarrassment. Then it was gone, and she was only a lovely woman with an easy smile.

  “They don’t mean to be rude,” she said lightly. “They can’t help themselves.”

  “Rude?” With her hair tucked around to spill over one shoulder, Morgana swirled her glass of heavy red wine. “It isn’t rude to point out Sebastian’s flaws. Not when they’re so obvious.” She slapped his hand away from the slice of pizza on her plate. “See that?” she asked Nash. “He’s always been greedy.”

  “Generous to a fault,” Sebastian said.

  “Conceited,” she said, grinning at her cousin while she took a healthy bite of pizza. “Bad-tempered.”

  “Lies.” Contenting himself with his wine, Sebastian leaned back in his chair. “I’m enviably even-tempered. It’s you who have always had the tantrums. Right, Ana?”

  “Well, actually, you both—”

  “She never grew out of it,” Sebastian interjected. “As a child, when she didn’t get her way, she’d wail like a banshee, or sulk in corners. Control was never her strong point.”

  “I hate to point this out,” Anastasia told him, “but at least half the time Morgana was driven to wails it was because you’d provoked her.”

  “Naturally.” Unrepentant, Sebastian shrugged. “It was so easy.” He winked at Morgana. “Still is.”

  “I should never have let you down from the ceiling all those years ago.”

  Nash paused over his drink. “Excuse me?”

  “A particularly nasty little prank,” Sebastian explained. It still annoyed him that his cousin had gotten the better of him.

  “Which you richly deserved.” Morgana was pouting over her wine. “I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you yet.”

  Anastasia was forced to agree. “It was lousy of you, Sebastian.”

  Outnumbered, Sebastian relented. He could even, with an effort, dredge up some humor along with the memory. “I was only eleven years old. Little boys are entitled to be lousy. Anyway, it wasn’t a real snake.”

  Morgana sniffed. “It looked real.”

  Chuckling, Sebastian leaned forward to tell Nash the tale. “We were all over at Aunt Bryna’s and Uncle Matthew’s for May Day. Admittedly, I was always looking for a way to get a rise out of the brat here, and I knew she was terrified of snakes.”

  “And it’s just like you to exploit one small phobia,” Morgana muttered.

  “The thing was, the kid was fearless—except for this one thing.” Sebastian’s eyes, tawny as a cat’s, glowed with humor. “So, seeing as boys will be boys, I plopped a rubber snake right in the center of her bed—while she was in it, of course.”

  Nash couldn’t suppress the grin, but he did manage to turn the laugh into a cough when he saw Morgana’s arch look. “It doesn’t seem so terrible.”

  “He made it hiss and wriggle,” Ana put in, biting down on her lip to keep it from curving.

  Sebastian sighed nostalgically. “I’d worked on that charm for weeks. Magic’s never been my strong point, so it was a pretty weak attempt, all in all. Still—” he leered at Morgana “—it worked.”

  Nash discovered he had absolutely no comment to make. It appeared he wasn’t sitting at a table with three sensible people after all.

  “So, after I got finished screaming, and saw through what was really a very pitiful spell, I sent Sebastian to the ceiling, let him hang there, upside down.” Her tone was smug and satisfied. “How long was it, darling?”

  “Two hideous hours.”

  She smiled. “You’d still be there if my mother hadn’t found you and made me bring you down.”

  “And for the rest of the summer,” Anastasia put in, “the two of you tried to outdo each other, and you both stayed in trouble.”

  Sebastian and Morgana grinned at each other. Then Morgana tilted her head and sent Nash a sidelong glance. She could all but hear the wheels turning. “Sure you won’t have a glass of wine?”

  “No, thanks, I’m driving.” They were putting him on, he realized. He flicked a smile at Morgana. Why should he mind? It made him part of the little group, and it gave him new angles for the story. “So, you, ah . . . played a lot of tricks on each other as kids?”

  “It’s difficult, when one has certain talents, to be content with ordinary games.”

  “Whatever we played,” Sebastian said to Morgana, “y
ou cheated.”

  “Of course I did.” Unoffended, she passed him the rest of her pizza. “I like to win. It’s getting late.” She rose to kiss each of her cousins on the cheek. “Why don’t you give me a ride home, Nash?”

  “Sure.” It was exactly what he’d had in mind.

  “Be careful, Kirkland,” Sebastian said lazily. “She likes to play with fire.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” He took Morgana’s hand and led her away.

  Anastasia gave a little sigh and propped her chin on her hand. “With all the sparks popping back and forth between the two of them, I’m surprised we didn’t have a blaze right here at the table.”

  “There’ll be flames soon enough.” Sebastian’s eyes darkened, going fixed and nearly opaque. “Whether she likes it or not.”

  Instantly concerned, Ana put a hand on his. “She’ll be all right?”

  He wasn’t seeing as clearly as he would have liked. It was always more difficult with family, and particularly with Morgana. “She’ll have a few bumps and bruises.” And he was sorry for it. Then his eyes cleared and the easy smile was back in place. “She’ll get through it, Ana. As she said, Morgana likes to win.”

  * * *

  Morgana wasn’t thinking of battles or victories, but of how cool and silky the air felt blowing against her cheeks. With her head back, she stared up at a black sky haunted by a half-moon and dazzled by stars.

  It was easy to enjoy. The fast, open car on the curving road, the shadowy moonlight, and the sea-flavored air. And it was easy to enjoy him, this man who drove with a natural, confident flair, who played the radio too loud, who smelled of the night and all its secrets.

  Turning her head, she studied his profile. Oh, she would have enjoyed running her fingers over that angular face, testing the shape of the bones, brushing a touch over that clever mouth, perhaps feeling the slight roughness of his chin. She would have enjoyed it very much.

  So why did she hesitate? Though she’d never been promiscuous or seen every attractive man as a potential lover, she recognized the deeper desire to be his. And she had seen that it was to happen before much longer in any case.

  That was her answer, Morgana realized. She would always rebel against being destiny’s puppet.

  But surely if she chose him for herself, if she kept the power in her own hands, it was not the same as being led by fate. She was, after all, her own mistress.

  “Why did you go into town tonight?” she asked him.

  “I was restless. Tired of myself.”

  She understood the feeling. It didn’t spring up in her often, but when it did it was unbearable. “The script is going well?”

  “Pretty well. I should have a treatment to send to my agent in a few days.” He glanced toward her, then immediately wished he hadn’t. She looked so beautiful, so alluring, with the wind in her hair and the moonlight sprinkling over her skin, that he didn’t want to look away again. It wasn’t a wise way to operate a moving vehicle. “You’ve been a lot of help.”

  “Does that mean you’re through with me?”

  “No. Morgana, I—” He stopped and swore, catching himself a moment after he passed her driveway. He backed up and turned in, but left the motor running. For a moment he sat brooding in silence, looking at the house, where only a single window glowed gold and the rest were black as pitch.

  If she asked him in, he would go with her, would have to go. Something was happening tonight. Something had been happening since the moment he’d turned and looked into her eyes. It gave him the unsettling feeling that he was walking through someone else’s script and the ending had yet to be written.

  “You are restless,” she murmured. “Out of character for you.” On impulse, she reached over and switched off the ignition. The absence of the engine’s purr had the silence roaring in his head. Their bodies brushed, and the promise of more sizzled hot in his gut. “Do you know what I like to do when I’m restless?”

  Her voice had lowered, and it seemed liquid enough now to slide over his skin like mulled wine. He turned to see those vivid blue eyes glowing with moonlight. And his hands were already reaching for her.

  “What?”

  She eased away, slipping from his hands like a ghost. After opening her door, she walked slowly around to his side, leaned down until their lips nearly touched. “I take a walk.” With her eyes still on his, she straightened and offered a hand. “Come with me. I’ll show you a magic place.”

  He could have refused. But he knew if there was a man who wouldn’t have stepped from the car and taken that offered hand, he had yet to be born.

  They crossed the lawn, walking away from the house where the single light glowed, and entered the mystic shadows and whispering silence of the cyprus grove. Moonlight flickered down, casting eerie silhouettes of the twisted branches on the soft forest floor. The faintest of breezes hummed through the leaves and made him think of the harp she kept in her drawing room.

  Her hand was warm and firm in his as she moved forward, not with hurry, but with purpose.

  “I like the night.” She took a deep breath of it. “The scent and the flavor of night. Sometimes I’ll wake in the dark, and come to walk here.”

  He could hear water on rock, a steady heartbeat of sound. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, his own heart was thudding relentlessly in his chest.