“Oh, sorry.”
“And may thy martinis in the afterlife be shaken, and not stirred. Blessed be.” From the corner of his eye he saw her smile. “Okay, then?”
“Yes.”
Reluctantly he let go of her hand. “Then it’s time I start the pouring.” He knew it would be an aerobic task, so he unzipped his sweatshirt and pulled it off, sighing in relief as cool air penetrated his sweat-dampened T-shirt.
“Too warm?”
He caught her quick glance of appraisal, even though she immediately looked away again. “I didn’t realize it would be such a physical job.” So she was aware of him in that way, too.
He’d file the information away for later. Now was not the time to be getting romantic notions. “Could you please hang on to this for me?” He held the sweatshirt toward her.
“Be happy to.” She folded the sweatshirt over her arm.
“You might want to stand back.” Facing away from the water, he picked up the urn. “Some of the ashes will probably blow toward you.”
“Then I’ll walk along ahead of you and pick up anything that might be a tripping hazard, like pieces of driftwood.”
“Brilliant.” He hadn’t thought of that. He’d be concentrating on pouring ashes, and not watching for obstacles in his path. Tripping could have unfortunate consequences for everyone, including the deceased. “Then let’s get started.” He started to tip the urn.
“Wait.”
“Wait?” He paused in midtip.
“We should sing as we go along. And I know just the song. ‘Amazing Grace. ’”
“You’re right again, lass. Geraldine loved that song, especially played on the pipes. If I’d been thinking, I would have brought along a portable player of some kind.”
“But we can sing.”
“Aye.”
Luna positioned herself about three steps in front of his planned path. “We’ll start on three. One, two, three.” She began to sing. Off-key.
Colin joined in with gusto in hopes that his voice would coax hers into some sort of compliance. But no. She sang with greater enthusiasm, to be sure, but not greater tunefulness.
Ah, well. It was the thought that counted. Pouring ashes and singing along with Luna’s tone-deaf rendition of “Amazing Grace,” he realized that Geraldine would have loved this scene. She wouldn’t have cared whether the tune was performed well. She would have been delighted that it was performed at all, and with love, at that.
Gauging how much to pour as they moved down the beach took most of his concentration, but he was aware of Luna clearing his path of debris. Miraculously, everything came out even—the length of beach, the amount of ashes, and the last words of the song.
The sun had not set, but it hung low on the horizon and had begun to turn a rich shade of gold. A pair of gulls wheeled overhead, their cries mingling with the soft lap of the waves moving steadily up the beach.
Colin emptied the urn and set it on the sand with a sigh of accomplishment. He’d done it. No, they had done it. The ceremony wouldn’t have been as perfectly imperfect without Luna.
She stood close beside him because they’d run out of beach. Tipping her face upward to gaze at him, she smiled with obvious pleasure and satisfaction. Her face reflected the radiance of the sun, and Colin couldn’t imagine anyone looking more beautiful than she did at this moment.
“Thank you,” he murmured. And then, because it seemed like the right thing to do, he leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.
He’d probably expected, on some level, that she’d kiss him back. She didn’t. How embarrassing was that? Yet she’d shown interest in him, or maybe he’d been mistaken, leaped to conclusions. He felt like an ass.
Pulling away, he felt heat spreading from his neck up to his cheeks. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She looked dazed. “Don’t apologize. I liked it.”
“You liked it?”
“Yes.” She reached up and touched her mouth with her fingertips. “I was hoping it might last a little longer.”
“But… you weren’t kissing me back.”
It was her turn to blush. “I suppose not, but you see, I don’t have much… That is, I’m not very… ”
He stared at her in confusion. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was completely inexperienced. Yet she’d been on her own for years, and she appeared to be in her mid-twenties. Sexuality was celebrated in the Were culture, and although choosing a mate for life might be delayed, sexual satisfaction was not.
Her blush deepened and she lowered her gaze. “Never mind. I’m sure you’re famished after all that effort. We should eat.” She turned and started back up to their driftwood bench.
“Wait a minute.” He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “What’s going on here, Luna?”
She glanced back at him. “Something that shouldn’t be going on. You have a lovely mouth, and I was curious, but kissing someone I hope to do business with isn’t a very bright idea, especially when I’m no good at it.”
“How can you be no good at it? Haven’t you ever… ” He saw the answer in her eyes. “But I don’t understand. You’re beautiful.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“Surely you’ve had Weres who were interested in you.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never encouraged that kind of thing. I never… trusted anyone enough.”
Although he still had trouble imagining that she was virginal at this stage in her life, his gut told him that no one could fake the kind of reaction she’d had to his kiss. “Does that mean that you trusted me a little, since you allowed me to kiss you?” He would hardly call it a kiss, but she might think it was, given her apparent innocence.
“I suppose I would tend to trust someone Geraldine trusted, but that doesn’t mean we should be kissing.” She gently pulled away from his grasp. “Come along, Colin. If you’re not starving, I am.”
Fascinated by this unexpected revelation, he followed her back to their temporary picnic site. He was still attracted to her, and she was attracted to him, although she might not realize how much if she’d never allowed herself to feel passion.
The last time he’d been with a virgin, he’d been a fumbling fool, only somewhat more knowledgeable than the female Were he’d had sex with. They’d made a hash of it. But that had been more than fifteen years ago.
He couldn’t imagine that someone as full of life as Luna clearly was could be happy embracing celibacy. Judging from her response to him, her virginal state was a source of embarrassment to her.
If she’d allow him to, he could help her over that hurdle. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he believed it was the gentlemanly thing to do.
Chapter 5
Thoroughly put out with herself, Luna concentrated on organizing their food. She still had Colin’s sweatshirt, and she draped it carefully over a branch of the giant driftwood. Then she began randomly pulling out the food that Janet had packed for them.
Using every available flat place on the wood, she laid out plates, napkins, forks, and wrapped sandwiches. All the while she silently cursed her gigantic stupidity. Her stupidity was so big it would reach to the moon and back, with stupidity left over.
Apparently cotton was stuffed in her skull where her brains were supposed to be. Otherwise she had no explanation for why she’d stood there like a complete idiot and let Colin kiss her. Even a clueless virgin could guess what he’d had in mind when he’d leaned toward her with that soft expression in his dreamy blue eyes.
But had she ducked away? No, she had not! She’d let it happen, and then had been so amazed at the gentle contact with his mouth that she’d reacted like… Well, she hadn’t reacted at all, had she? When he’d pressed forward, she could have pressed back and pretended to know what she was doing. She’d seen it a million times in movies.
“I think we should finish up the martinis,” Colin said as he came up beside her. “Would you like some more?”
“No, thank you.” Getting drunk would put the finishing touch on her imbecilic image. Instead of dazzling him with her business savvy, she’d paraded her lack of sexual experience in front of him.
From what she’d observed, males tended to fixate on that kind of information. Instead of thinking of her as a competent person in charge of a business venture, he’d think of her as a virgin waiting for Prince Charming to show up.
Way to go, Luna!
“Mind if I have one of those sandwiches?” He crouched beside her, his martini in one hand.
The tantalizing scent of him stalled her thought process for a second. Then she realized she was blocking access to the food she’d piled on the driftwood.
She stood, careful not to bump into him, and moved away. “Please, help yourself. As you can see, everything’s there. There’s a container of potato salad still in the basket, and a spoon.” She should have fixed him a plate, but her hands were shaking so much that she might have dumped his meal in the sand.
Worst of all, no matter how foolish she’d been, she wanted him to kiss her again. His warmth called to her, blotting out her usually excellent sense of self-preservation. His kiss was so very different from her first one, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the velvet press of his lips, the sweet scent of his breath, the careful restraint she sensed in that light, butterfly touch.
Setting his glass in the sand, he loaded a plate, stood, and offered it to her. “Take this one. I can fix another for myself.”
“You take that, please. You’re the guest. I’ll fix one for myself.”
“All right, if you say so.” Carrying his food and martini, he returned to the level spot on the driftwood where he’d sat originally.
Luna grabbed a plate, plopped a sandwich on it, and ignored the potato salad. All the food would taste like sawdust, anyway, as she contemplated her self-imposed downfall. Reclaiming her spot on the driftwood, she unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite.
“This plan you have to turn Whittier House into an inn. Have you mentioned it to the rest of the staff?”
She finished chewing her bite of sandwich and swallowed before answering, which gave her time to develop extreme paranoia about why he was asking. “Everyone knows except Hector.”
“And what do they think of it?”
She gazed at him and could sense nothing but a sincere desire to explore the subject. Maybe she hadn’t ruined her chances, after all, which would be a miracle. “They liked the idea, but I would expect you to interview each of them about it. That’s only right.”
“An inn would be more work than providing for one eccentric older woman.”
Luna nodded. “We’ve talked about that. There would be more work, but Dulcie and Sybil would make tips over and above their normal salary, and Janet could hire some help in the kitchen, which would give her more time to create signature dishes.” And watch her flat-screen TV, but Luna wasn’t going to mention that.
“Mm.” Colin took a mouthful of potato salad. When he’d eaten that, he laid down his fork. “I can see how Janet would be a draw. This food is very good, and it’s only picnic fare.”
“Janet takes pride in her work.” Luna warmed to her subject. She happened to think the staff at Whittier House was top-notch. “It doesn’t matter to her if she’s fixing a sandwich or a seven-course dinner; she always makes everything special.”
“I admire that.” He dug his fork into the potato salad again and paused. “Why haven’t you told Hector about your plan?”
“I’m afraid he would hate it. He loves the seclusion of this island. Creating an inn for Weres would change that. And… ” She hesitated to say the rest, but surely Colin would pick up on it eventually, if he hadn’t already. “I don’t think Hector likes me very much.”
“He’s wary of you.”
She blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“He thinks you’re hiding something.”
A shiver of alarm traveled up her spine. “Does he?”
“That’s what he told me this afternoon. Is he right?”
She could deny it, but if they had even the slightest chance of being business partners, telling flat-out lies wasn’t a great idea. “Is there any of the martini mix left in the shaker?”
The corners of his mouth tilted up. “A wee bit.”
She picked up her glass from the sand and held it out. “Fill me up, Scottie.”
Colin groaned. “Do you have any idea how long my countrymen have had to deal with jokes about Star Trek Scottie?”
“A long time?”
“It’s been an eternity.”
“Then I promise never to make another beam me up joke in your presence, Your… How am I supposed to refer to you, anyway?”
“I told you.” He emptied the martini shaker into her glass. “Colin is fine.”
“Yes, but if we’re going to capitalize on your Scottish heritage and the obvious Scottish ambiance of Whittier House, then I will be billing this place as the exclusive vacation spot owned by His Supreme High Lairdness, or something to that effect.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “That’s not quite correct.”
“Then what is correct?”
“Colin MacDowell, Laird of Glenbarra.”
“That’s it? No more flourishes?” She liked this change of subject, which directed the conversation away from her secrets and put the focus on Colin.
“You could add The Most Honored in front of my name, although I shudder every time I hear that. Too stuffy.”
“But it would suggest elegance, which is what I’d be going for.”