On Wings Of Love

“Good evening.”

“Good evening. Oh!” Katy’s eyes flew wide as she noticed the tray.

“I saw no sense in your going out tonight just to get something to eat,” he said gruffly. “So I fixed you a tray.”

“Well!” She looked at the tray and then up at him again. “My goodness, you shouldn’t have done that. I mean, it’s really very kind of you, but totally unnecessary. Oh, Lord, that does smell good!” She sighed, inhaling the savory aromas.

Thomas gave her a smug smile. He was a damn fine cook, if he did say so himself. “Tastes as good as it smells. Now you can stay in and get a good night’s sleep, instead of wandering around the island in the dark.”

Her eyes narrowed, instantly challenging his sensible suggestion. All right, command, but still sensible, Thomas insisted, holding out the tray

“I’m sure the food is delicious,” she said, taking the tray. “I may still go out, however.”

“It’s raining and the roads are narrow two-lanes, with few street signs,” he said, frowning.

“I think I can find my way around. After all, I do live in a large city,” she returned with a hint of coolness that irked the devil out of him.

“Well, whatever you choose to do, enjoy the meal,” Thomas said. He turned on his heel and strode back downstairs.

“Mr. Logan?” Her soft voice stopped him on the landing.

“Yes?”

thank you.”

He heard her door close. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled, feeling pushed and pulled by the change in that silken voice.

The telephone was ringing again. No more guests, he thought irritably. But it was the airport. He had an eleven o’clock charter in the morning.

Thomas jotted down the client’s name, then just stood there, staring, unseeing, out the kitchen window. His mind had already winged back to the woman upstairs. He’d seen those violet eyes flash, seen the twist of mouth that bespoke fire and temper. She looked as cool as a glass of ice water, but that mouth would never kiss a man coolly. She’d put her entire self into every hot, passionate kiss, scatter a man’s senses to the wind, wrap his heart around those slender fingers...

With a snort of self-disgust, Thomas hauled himself back to reality. What the hell was he thinking? This morning he didn’t even know she existed, and here he stood dithering about kisses and passion and wrapped-up, hearts.

“It’s been too long, Logan,” he muttered. Maybe he ought to clean the kitchen. At least put the food away. But he didn’t feel like cleaning kitchens. What he felt like was...

Making another sound of disgust, he decided to sit on the porch a while and let the cool evening air chill the many little fevers inside him.

Katy jerked awake with a soft cry. She had been dreaming, that recurring nightmare that tormented her sleep. She exhaled a long, tremulous breath. Thank goodness it wasn’t one of her really bad dreams. Sometimes she awoke screaming.

Sitting up, she drew the drapes and peered out at the new day. It was only four-thirty, but daylight, soft and misty, streamed in through the windows. The air had a tang to it that was almost a taste on her tongue.

She stretched, yawning, and touched her eyelids. They didn’t feel red or swollen, or even gritty. She hadn’t cried anymore last night. She hadn’t gone out, either, just enjoyed her delicious meal and went to bed to read a paperback romance. They were her weakness, tales of beautiful love and dreams and happy-ever-afters. She wasn’t sure any of it was true, but some secret part of herself wanted to believe it was possible.

Unbidden, her thoughts leaped to the memory of Thomas’s blue eyes glinting at her when she had opposed his will. Preposterous, of course. Who was Thomas Logan to decide if she should or should not go out?

Thomas. She liked his name, the soft, clipped sound of it. He was certainly full of himself, she reflected, swinging her feet to the floor. And so good to look at that just picturing his face pleased every part of her lissome body.

Reminding herself that California was full of good-looking men, Katy tumbled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

To her annoyance, she brought a nagging sense of guilt with her. Bossy or not, Thomas had been nice to her last night and she’d been a bit, well, ungracious.

“Not too smart, Katy,” she muttered, slathering cleanser on her face. “After all, you’re spending several weeks with the man as host, you can at least be friendly.”

Friendly, yes, but that’s all, she warned herself, rinsing off the cream. If you can’t think of him as just your host, consider the man an intriguing new acquaintance.

Satisfied with her pragmatic solution, she dried her face and patted on an oatmeal mask. Then she walked back to her room, snuggled under the comforter once more and finished her book.

At six o’clock she stepped into the hallway again and listened for a moment. Noises from the kitchen, and then the aroma of hot coffee wafted up the stairs, a siren song she couldn’t resist.

After a quick shower, she dressed in jeans and a yellow linen shirt, and swirled her hair atop her head. Contrarily, the open window drew her and she scampered onto the window seat. The sunlight was stronger now, and shadows pooled under tall fir trees. A streak of blue caught her eye as a tiny bird landed on the lawn and began a diligent search for insects.

Splendor in the grass, Katy thought with humor. Suddenly eager, for the first time in months, to experience whatever the day would bring, she ran downstairs to the kitchen.

Except for the calico cat sleeping on the windowsill, the house appeared to be empty. She glanced at the table, set with a pink cloth and white china. Coffee steamed in a pot. Pecan muffins rested on the sideboard. The fragrance of bacon made her mouth water. Where was he?

Outside, she bet, enjoying the glorious morning. And here he came, strolling through the yard carrying a basket of freshly picked strawberries. A fragile sense of well-being stole over her. Katy let out her breath, unaware that she’d been holding it, as he walked in and let the screen door slam behind him.

Seeing her, he stopped, eyes crinkling, a smile tugging at his fine mouth as he looked over her formfitting attire.

Their greetings collided. Deciding she had some fence-mending to do, Katy laughed and said, “Those strawberries look wonderful. I don’t know when I’ve last had them right from the patch. Mr. Logan—”

“Thomas, please.”

“Thomas. I want to thank you again for the tray last night. It truly was a godsend, I didn’t really feel like going out,” she confessed. “I realize I may have been a little ungracious about that.” She paused, shifting under his keen gaze.

“Why was that?” He motioned her to sit down at the table.

Obliging him, she replied, “I suppose it’s because I don’t enjoy being ordered around. You were just a trifle bossy, Mr.... Thomas.” Why was it so hard to say his name? Because it implied an intimacy she didn’t want? And did want?

“Sorry about that,” he said, looking not in the least sorry about that. “Force of habit, I suppose.”

“Oh? Your women like to be bossed around, do they?” she asked, then could have bitten her tongue.

“Sometimes.” He grinned at the berries he began rinsing. “When it’s by me.”

She nibbled back a smile—he was impossible!

Unfolding her napkin, she inquired, “Am I your only guest?”

“Thus far. An older couple are coming in this weekend. Friends of my folks, so I couldn’t say no.”

“Oh.” Intrigued, she asked, “Did you want to say no?”

Apparently her question caught him by surprise; Thomas glanced at her, then slowly shook his head as if perplexed.

“I suppose guests can be a bother at times,” she mused.

“At times.” His quick glance was accompanied by a grin this time. “Present company excepted. Help yourself.” Dumping the berries into a ceramic colander, he set it on a plate then on the table. “I’ll just reheat these muffins and we can eat. Did you sleep well?”