There was a suspenseful moment, though, before she began to laugh, to his profound relief-and laughed until tears glistened in her eyes like tiny jewels. At least, he hoped they were laughter's tears…
"Unprecedented?" she sputtered, wiping her eyes. "That's as bad as Serendipity/"
"Yes, I suppose it is." He caught a lifting breath and turned her neatly into the curve of one arm while every muscle and nerve in his body cramped in disappointed protest, then picked up the cooler and hiked it under the other arm. "I don't do my best work on an empty stomach. I'm afraid." He let his glance skim over her hair, the glossy strands so close to his cheek he could smell its elusive but familiar fragrance, and added lightly. "The sentiment's dead-on, though." And quickly, before she could respond, took his arm from her shoulders and caught up her hand instead. "Come-let me show you my private rock."
"If that's a variation on 'Come see my etchings.' I'd say you get honorable mention for originality, at least." Rhia muttered drily.
He chuckled, and after a moment began to sing lustily the line of a song that had been taunting him for the past twenty-four hours or so. "'Come let's be lovers…'"
"Simon and Garfunkel," he said when she looked at him curiously. "Come, come-you should know them, they're American. Very popular in the sixties-your mum's era, probably."
She was watching her feet, but he caught the wry tilt to her smile anyway. "During the sixties I think my 'mum' was more into John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderly."
"Ah," he said, "of course. Jazz saxophonists, both of them, right?"
"Right." He felt her head turn and her sharp green gaze touch his face. "Is there anything that wide-ranging education of yours didn't cover?"
"I doubt it," he said, striving for lightness but somehow unable to keep an edge of bitterness out of his voice.
What had it all been for, he wondered, that education of his? Had he been lied to and groomed all his life for…this? To become the one thing he despised above all others? A king?
What a joke that would be, he thought, if it were true.
They ate sitting on a flat rock that jutted out over the water, in the dappled, constantly moving shade of the giant weeping willows nearby. The meal Nik had prepared for them was simple-crusty bread drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with garlic and herbs, topped with a delicious mixture of ripe tomatoes, olives, eggplant, anchovies and capers; a variety of goat cheeses, and wine-rose, of course.
He cut a slice of the bread and showed her the proper way to anoint it with olive oil and toppings, then offered it to her with a reticence that bordered on shyness and seemed to her almost unbearably sweet. This was a new side of Nikolas Donovan, one the Lazlo Group's extensive dossier had evidently overlooked, and she didn't know what to do with the feelings it roused in her. Tender, nurturing feelings, alien to her nature. Or so she had always believed.
Was that why, instead of taking the piece of bread from him. she opened her mouth and let him feed her the first succulent bite, knowing what a seductive and dangerous thing it was? Or was she simply caught in the golden web of that magical afternoon, and unable-or unwilling-to claw her way out?
So she laughed self-consciously when bits of the vegetable topping escaped and fell onto her shirtfront. and the seasoned oil oozed onto her lips and down her chin. And when Nik flicked away the crumbs, she let herself wallow shamelessly in the pleasure of that casual touch. When his finger deftly caught the riverlet of oil. before she even thought about it, she licked it from his fingers.
His touch was like some sort of magic wand that turned her skin to shimmering fire in an instant. Something thumped in the bottom of her stomach, and her eyes opened wide and looked straight into his. And she wondered if the soft haze of confusion she saw there was only a reflection of what he saw in her eyes. She licked her lips and waited, tense and heavy with wanting, for him to kiss her again, and was bitterly disappointed when he leaned away from her instead, and picked up the loaf of bread, whittled off a slice and handed it to her with a smile, then cut another for himself.
And so they ate, sitting at angles across from each other, almost but not quite facing, almost but not quite touching, making little in the way of conversation beyond murmurs of pleasure and muttered requests to pass something or other. A pair of doves fluttered down and waddled shyly about on the fringes of the picnic, hoping for handouts which both Rhia and Nikolas readily provided. The sun came and went, burning hot on their faces sometimes, playing peekaboo with the waving branches of the willows on its slow descent into evening.
When she had eaten all she could hold, Rhia brushed off her hands, picked up her wineglass and gave herself up to the sheer pleasure of watching the man beside her…and wondered how and when it had come to this, that just the sight of him could make her ache with that terrible combination of joy and sadness.
He was sitting relaxed now. one leg outstretched, one arm propped on a drawn-up knee, lips curved in a little half smile as he tossed bits of bread crusts to the doves. As if he'd felt her eyes on him. he spoke for the first time in a while. "This was one of my favorite places when I was growing up. I'm sure you've guessed. Still is, I suppose."
"I never would've guessed that," Rhia said drily, not letting him hear a trace of softness in her voice.
He gave a short, gentle laugh that reminded her of the chuckling sound of the river. "I always felt good here, you see-didn't seem to matter what I was doing or who I was with-fishing with Phillipe, canoeing with a bunch of his friends, or…"
"Necking with a girl?"
"Once or twice." He flicked her a glance, then shrugged. "First time I've been here with a woman, though."
"Oh, my," Rhia murmured, "should I be honored?"
"Oh, definitely," he said, and his smile grew in a slow and sensual way. "After all, I've brought you to my special place."
She studied him for a long, simmering moment before asking, with solemn curiosity. "Why did you, Nikolas?"
His forehead crinkled in that puzzled little frown that told her he was about to tease her again, which she was beginning to realize was his way of easing back when things threatened to become too intense.
"I'm not quite sure, actually. I suppose there's something primitive involved-caveman-ish, you know? Some sort of male imperative where I show you, the female of my choice…" he trailed a finger lightly down her bare thigh as his eyes drifted over her face "…that I am capable of providing you with a safe, secure and lovely place in which to consummate-what?" She was laughing and shaking her head.
What else could she do?
His eyes slipped downward to study the movement of his finger on her thigh, as if fascinated by the goose bumps its stroking had raised there. When they lifted again to hers there was a softness in them, like the sky before it rains. "We are going to be lovers," he said softly. "I know it, and so do you."
She turned her head quickly to hide the tears that had sprung unexpectedly to her eyes. Her throat ached.
"The idea doesn't appear to make you happy. Why is that, Rhee?"
She swallowed…shook her head, tried to laugh. Then, instead of answering him. heard herself say in a husky Cajun accent. "I had a place like this when I was growing up. A place where I always felt good, no matter what I was doing or who I was with."
He didn't speak, and his hand lay quiet on her thigh, waiting…as if he knew there was more to what she was telling him than reminiscence.
Chapter 7
My cousins-well, they were my mama's cousins, actually-had this place down in the bayous." He wondered if she even realized she'd lapsed into the cadences of her childhood. "We used to go down there and visit, now and again…sit and fish, play music, eat…just generally have fun, you know? We Cajuns are good at havin' fun." She flashed him a smile, and the wave of tenderness that rose inside him when he saw the pain in it stunned him to utter silence.