It's wonderful, everything Sloan said it would be. Amanda tells me all ten suites are booked.
It's been a wonderful first season.
She beamed at Trent.
Hardly more than a year
ago, I was in despair, so afraid my girls would lose their home. Though the cards told me differently. Did I ever tell you that I foresaw Trent in the tarot? I really must do a spread for you, dear, and see what your future holds.
Well...
Perhaps I can just look at your palm.
Megan let go with a sigh of relief when Max came back with a tray and distracted Coco.
Not interested in the future?
Nathaniel murmured.
Megan glanced over, surprised that he had moved beside her without her being aware of it.
I'm more interested in the present, one step at a time.
A cynic.
He took her hand and, though it went rigid in his, turned it palm up.
I
met an old woman on the west coast of Ireland. Molly Duggin was her name. She said I had the sight.
His smoky eyes stayed level with hers for a long moment before they shifted to her open palm. Megan felt something skitter down her spine.
A stubborn hand. Self-sufficient, for all its elegance.
He traced a finger over it. Now there was more than a skitter. There was a jolt.
I don't believe in palmistry.
You don't have to. Shy,
he said quietly.
I wondered about that. The passions are there, but repressed.
His thumb glided gently over her palm's mound of Venus.
Or
channeled. You'd prefer to say channeled. Goal-oriented, practical. You'd rather make decisions with your head, no matter what your heart tells you.
His eyes lifted
to hers again.
How close am I?
Much too close, she thought, but drew her hand coolly from his.
An interesting
parlor game, Mr. Fury.
His eyes laughed at her as he tucked his thumbs in his pockets.
Isn't it?
By noon the next day, Megan had run out of busy-work. She hadn't the heart to refuse Kevin's plea to be allowed to spend the day with the Bradfords, though his departure had left her very much to her own devices.
She simply wasn't used to free time.
One trip to the hotel lobby had aborted her i.e. of convincing Amanda to let her study the books and files. Amanda, she was told by a cheerful desk clerk, was in the west tower, handling a small problem.
Coco wasn't an option, either. Megan had halted just outside the door of the kitchen when she heard the crash of pots and raised voices inside.
Since Lilah had gone back to work as a naturalist in the park, and C.C. was at her automotive shop in town, Megan was left on herown.
In a house as enormous as The Towers, she felt like the last living soul on the island.
She could read, she mused, or sit in the sun on one of the terraces and contemplate the view. She could wander down to the first floor of the family area and check out the progress of the renovations. And harass Sloan and Trent, she thought with a sigh, as they tried to get some work done.
She didn't consider disturbing Max in his studio, knowing he was working on his book. As she'd already spent an hour in the nursery playing with the babies, she felt another visit was out.
She wandered her room, smoothed down the already smooth coverlet on the marvelous four-poster. The rest of her things had arrived that morning, and in her perhaps too-efficient way, she'd already unpacked. Her clothes were neatly hung in the rosewood armoire or folded in the Chippendale bureau. Framed photos of her family smiled from the gateleg table under the window.
Her shoes were aligned, her jewelry was tucked away and her books were stored on the shelf.
And if she didn't find something to do, she would go mad.
With this in mind, she picked up her briefcase, checked the contents one last time
and headed outside, to the car Sloan had left at her disposal.
The sedan ran like a top, courtesy of C.C.'s mechanical skills. Megan drove down the winding road toward the village.
She enjoyed the bright blue water of the bay, and the colorful throngs of tourists strolling up and down the sloped streets. But the glistening wares in the shop windows didn't tempt her to stop and do any strolling of her own.