THE TIME dinner was over, they’d gone through Annie’s bottle of wine. She’d offered him whiskey, but Rourke already felt the effects of the wine and he wanted to keep his wits about him.
It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to drag her off to the comfortable bed tucked into the corner near the hearth. They both knew what they wanted, but for some reason, Annie had chosen to prolong his agony.
After finishing the dishes, she’d grabbed a book and curled up in the overstuffed chair near the fire, an oil lamp providing scant light to read by. Rourke was left to pace the cabin, peering out the window of the kitchen door and wondering why she was delaying the inevitable.
Every twenty seconds, a beam from the lighthouse swept across the sky, illuminating the wind-driven rain and the bent trees. “The rain is turning to sleet,” he murmured.
She glanced up from her book. “Hmm. It’s gotten colder.”
“Are you cold? I can put more wood on the fire.”
“There comes a point when it doesn’t do any good. The fire can’t keep up with the dropping temperatures.”
“What do you do then?”
“Crawl beneath the covers and pull them up over my head.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Was she suggesting it was time to go to bed? And was she inviting him to crawl in beside her?
Annie seemed completely unconcerned about the weather. Rourke wanted to know the details of the storm, how long it would last, how much rain they’d get, whether the waves were breaking over the Canso Causeway yet. If he were at his uncle’s place, he’d turn on the Weather Network and all his questions would be answered. “You said you had a radio?”
She nodded.
“I think I’m going to see if I can find a weather report.”
Annie shook her head. “The batteries are dead,” she said. “I forgot to get some new ones.”
“I have batteries. I bought them at the hardware store earlier.”
She sighed. “I’m not sure where it is,” Annie said. “It’s just an old transistor.”
“Don’t you think it might be good to know what’s going on out there?”
“Listening to the radio isn’t going to make the storm go away,” she said. “When it’s done, it’s done. It will stop raining and the wind will stop blowing and everything will get back to normal. If you want to know what the storm is doing, then you should go outside and see for yourself.”
“You’re crazy,” he said.
Annie closed the book and got to her feet. “Come on. I’ll show you. I do it all the time.”
She slipped her bare feet into a pair of wellies, then pulled her slicker off the hook near the door. “It’s freezing out there. Put that cap on. And don’t forget your gloves.”
“We don’t need to go outside,” he insisted.
“I want to see how high the storm surge is.” Annie picked up a lantern from the table near the door, lit it, then stepped outside. Rourke frowned. There was absolutely no telling her what to do. For some odd reason, he found that one of her most endearing qualities.
Rourke quickly pulled on his jacket. He found her waiting for him on the porch. Annie held out her hand and they stepped into the midst of the storm.
The strong wind made it hard to stand upright, but they both leaned into it. Sleet stung his cheeks and he could barely see a few feet in front of him, even with the flickering lantern. But he knew, without a doubt, that he’d never forget this experience.
Kit danced around their feet, then ran off into the darkness, barking. He could smell the sea in the air and could hear the crash of the waves on the rocks. It seemed that every sense in his body had become sharply attuned.
They stopped near the shore and stared out at the horizon. With each pass of the light, they could see the angry water, the spray of the waves and the flood of water reaching farther onto the shore. The house was set at least thirty feet higher than the sea and safe from the worst surge.
“You’re right,” he shouted.
She looked over at him. He could see that she was mouthing a word, then realized it was impossible to hear each other in the roar of the storm. Instead, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. His lips came down on hers, cold and damp. But as she opened to his kiss, a wonderful warmth flooded through his bloodstream. The wind buffeted them, threatening to knock them off their feet, but he held tight to her as the kiss intensified.
When he finally drew back, he could barely see her face. He reached down and ran his thumb over her cold cheek, cupping her face in his hands. “I think we should go inside,” he shouted.
“Come with me,” she replied. Annie grabbed his hand and drew him deeper into the storm. They ran toward the lighthouse, the beam of light guiding the way. When they reached the door, she pulled a key from her jacket pocket and unlocked it. They stumbled inside, Kit scampering in, too, and shut the door behind them.
A moment later, Rourke heard a switch flip and the interior was flooded in light. He stared at the spacious room, a circular iron stair dominating the center. Like most of the lighthouses on Cape Breton, this was a pyramidal-shaped tower that narrowed as it got taller. Annie walked over to a small painted table and set the lantern down. She grabbed her cell phone, holding it up to him as she unplugged it. “Charged,” she said.
The room was quite cozy, with antique furniture scattered around the perimeter. “Bathroom is through that door,” she said. “If you want to take a hot shower, you have to turn on the water heater and wait about an hour.”
“I don’t need a shower,” he said. “At least not now.”
Rourke wandered over to the table and examined the old radio sitting on top of it. He flipped it on and found it turned to a station playing Celtic music. The strains of fiddle and mandolin echoed upward.
The wind howled outside and the old wooden structure creaked with each gust. “I’m going to go up and watch the storm,” she said. Rourke watched as she climbed the stairs. Her skin was flawless, pale, marked only by a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Her auburn hair curled gently around her face and shoulders. And that body. Had no one here ever noticed how beautiful she was?
Everything about her was made for a man’s touch. Most of the women in New York City worked out two hours a day to get a body like Annie’s. She was lithe and fit, not from spending time in a gym, but because she lived a simple life.
She needed so little to be happy—a roof over her head, a warm fire, a good book. And she needed him, at least for the night. He closed his eyes and wondered at the fates that brought him here.
Had he followed his original plan, he’d be back on the mainland by now, headed toward the border and Bangor, Maine. He’d intended to stop there for the night, but now, he’d be spending the night in Annie’s bed.
It felt right. Though they didn’t really know each other in the traditional sense, there was a
