She ignored the jacket to glower at him. "What happened? How did the fight start?"
"Eugene Woods started it," Nick said. He glanced at Jeremy. "Isn't that right?"
"Definitely," Jeremy said. "Eugene Woods was the cause."
Rafe nodded. "Eugene Woods."
"You weren't even there when it happened, Rafe. How do you know?"
"You got a situation involving Mean Eugene and Dickhead Dwayne and you know who started it," Rafe explained.
"Just the way things are in Eclipse Bay," Nick said.
Jeremy opened his mouth to give his two cents' worth. She hushed him with a raised palm and turned back to Nick.
"What was the fight about?"
Nick shrugged. "Bar fight. They happen. Jeremy and I were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Suspicion gleamed in her eyes. She turned to Jeremy.
"Tavern brawls are sort of like whirlwinds and tornadoes," Jeremy said seriously. "Forces of nature. They erupt out of nowhere for no known cause."
She moved on to Rafe. "Do I get an answer from you?"
He held up both hands, palms out. Innocent as a lamb. "I wasn't there, remember?"
She looked at Nick again.
"Hey, it was your idea that I buy Jeremy a drink," he reminded her.
She planted her hands on her hips. The movement parted the edges of the windbreaker and stretched the tee shirt across her unconfined breasts. "So this whole thing is my fault? Is that what you're trying to say? Don't you dare blame this on me, Nick Harte."
Nick moved forward again to block his companions' view. "You can take me back to where I left my car."
"Wait a minute, I'm not finished here," she said.
"Yes," he said. "You are."
He put his arms around her shoulders, turned her smartly around, and shoehorned her into the front seat of her car before she could say another word.
He followed her back to her cottage and got out of the car to see her to her front door.
"There was no need to follow me home." She shoved her key into the lock.
"It's after midnight and this cottage is pretty isolated out here on the bluff."
"This is Eclipse Bay." She turned the key. "Probably has the lowest crime rate on the entire West Coast."
"It's still late. I'd have worried." But mostly he would have gone crazy alone in bed tonight, thinking about her. Maybe it was some kind of testosterone hangover, a residual effect of the brawl. Or maybe he was in worse shape than he had realized.
She got the door open, stepped inside, and switched on a lamp. Turning, she studied him from the opening. With the light behind her, it was impossible to read her expression. Her red hair formed a fiery aura around her face. She was doing the enigmatic Fairy Queen thing again. He wanted to put her down on a bed and bury himself so deep inside her that she would never be able to forget that she was as human as he was.
"Thank you," she said, ever so polite. "As you can see, I'm home, safe and sound. You may leave now."
He wanted her so badly he'd probably go out into the woods and howl at the moon if she forced him to leave tonight.
He reached out and gripped the door frame. "Invite me inside."
"Why should I do that?"
"How about because I've had a hard night and it was, as you have already noted, your fault."
"I told you not to blame that tavern brawl on me." She tipped her head a little. "By the way, you never told me how things went between you and Jeremy this evening. Were you able to work through some of your issues before the brawl erupted?"
"Oh, yeah, we definitely rebonded."
Her expression softened. "I'm so pleased."
He saw his opening and put one foot over the threshold. "Now can I come inside?"
"Nick-"
He leaned forward and shushed her with a slow, deep kiss, careful not to touch her. If he put his hands on her, he thought, he might not be able to take them off again. Not before morning, at least.
She did not retreat. He felt a little shudder go through her. Progress, he told himself. When he lifted his mouth he saw that her lips were soft and parted.
"You know what?" he said. "I am not in the mood to talk about my issues with Jeremy tonight."
"I understand." The tip of her tongue appeared at the corner of her mouth. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"You already asked me that earlier."
"Yes, I know, but you sound a little weird."
"Possibly because I am feeling a little weird." Also a little wired, he thought. As if he were running on high-voltage electrical current.
"Maybe you're having some sort of delayed reaction to the violence."
"Maybe."
She raised her hand. He thought she was going to touch his face, but at the last instant she hesitated, fingertips an inch from his jaw. "Did you take any blows to the head?"
"I can't remember." He caught the drifting fingertips in one hand and raised them to his lips. "Could be that I did and it gave me amnesia."
"Nick." Softer now. And there was a broken edge on his name.
He drew one of her fingertips into his mouth and bit gently. She drew in a sharp breath.
He took that as an invitation and glided over the threshold. She moved back to allow him inside. He closed the door behind himself and reached for her.
"Oh, Nick."
And then she was in his arms, clinging wildly, her lips against his throat.
"I was so worried when Hannah told me there had been a fight," she whispered urgently against his neck. "And then she said you were at the police station and that you'd called Rafe to come bail you out and I got mad. But I was still scared, too. It was awful."
"It's okay," he said into her mouth. "Everything is okay."
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"I will be soon."
He scooped her up and carried her toward the hall. There was enough light from the single lamp she had switched on a moment ago to guide him past the darkened bathroom into the shadow-drenched bedroom.
His first thought when he saw the bed was that it was surrounded with ghosts. Then he realized that he was looking at a lot of pale, gauzy draperies. The hangings spilled from a wrought-iron frame that arched overhead.
The hidden bower of the Fairy Queen, he thought.
He let Octavia slide slowly down the length of his body until she was on her feet once more and then he peeled off the tee shirt. He'd been right about the lack of a bra. Her elegantly curved breasts fit perfectly into the palms of his hands. He moved his thumbs lightly across her taut nipples. She closed her eyes. Another little tremor went through her. He felt his own body shudder in response.
He lowered his hands slowly down her sides, savoring the feel of warm, soft skin until he found the elasticized waistband of the long, flowing skirt. Sliding his palms beneath the band, he pushed the garment down over her hips.
And discovered that a bra was not the only item of underwear that she had neglected that evening.
He let the skirt drop to her ankles. Then he threaded his fingers through the triangle of curling hair. Damned if he would ever tell Eugene or any other man that Octavia was, indeed, a natural redhead.
"You're not wearing any panties," he said against her bare shoulder.
"I was in a hurry when I left the cottage tonight."
"I may go crazy here."
A smile played at the edges of her mouth. She started to unfasten his shirt. "Because I forgot to put on a pair of panties?"
"Doesn't take much to drive me over the edge when I'm this close to you."
"I'm glad."
She separated the edges of his shirt and flattened her palms against his chest. "I'm not feeling wholly sane myself at the moment."
He eased her backward, kissing her with every step, until she came up against the high bed. The ghostly bed curtains drifted gently behind her, guarding the interior of the secret bower.