to sail her to the mainland?
“Captain Biggins brings supplies to the island.” He leaned back in his chair and rolled his glass between the palms of his strong, square hands. “He was here only a few days ago, but he will return in twelve weeks.”
Dizziness and brandy made concentration difficult. “What’s Captain Biggins got to do with me?”
Cameron refused to meet her eyes. “He will be happy to take you to Key West, and I will gladly pay your passage.”
“But twelve weeks—that’s three months! I can’t stay here that long. I have a business to run, my home to look after, friends who are worried about me.”
His mouth settled into a grim, intractable line. “You have no choice but to wait for Captain Biggins.”
A brandied fog enveloped her brain. “But I—”
“You are different from this afternoon when I carried you in from the beach.” His expression softened.
She was not too drunk to notice his change of subject.
“When you ordered me locked in my room?” She smiled to lessen the mockery of her words. He’d be more inclined to help if she didn’t antagonize him.
When he returned her smile, a strange fluttering developed beneath her ribs, and she swallowed a generous swig of brandy to hide her confusion.
“So I did. It appears Mrs. Givens ignored my instructions.” Her host looked at his glass as if surprised to find it empty, then gazed at her again, tenderness gleaming in his amber eyes. “You were so weak and battered, we feared you might not survive. You have a resilient spirit.”
His wide mouth curved upward in another smile, and warmth radiated from her forehead to her bare toes.
Cameron took her empty glass, refilled it, and handed it back. Her fingers brushed his when she took the glass, and his skin tingled with warmth where she touched him. He had reacted that way toward Clarissa at first, and disaster had followed. If he learned more about this Celia, he might find her less enchanting. “Was there anyone else with you when the storm destroyed your ship?”
She shook her head. “I usually sail alone. That’s when I do most of my thinking.”
He felt himself drowning in the whirlpools of blue that stared up at him, while she traced the rim of her snifter with a slender index finger tipped with a pale pink nail.
“And what do you think about?” he asked.
A rosy blush suffused her skin above the lace-trimmed collar of her gown, and a delicate blue vein pulsed at her throat. “Problem-solving, mostly.”
Like a sneak attack, a desire to protect her from all dilemmas surged through him. “What kind of problems?”
She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes in a determined squint. “Nothing that can’t be solved by returning home immediately.”
An illogical stab of jealousy pierced him. “Is there someone waiting for you?”
Her blush deepened. “My parents are dead, and I have no other family.”
“No one who misses you?”
Celia bit back her reply. Would she endanger herself by admitting no one would miss her if she didn’t return immediately? Her friends would think she was hiding out, ashamed to show her face until the scandal of running away from her wedding had died down. At first, her clients would believe she was on her honeymoon, as scheduled.
“There are those who’ll search for me if I don’t return home soon,” she lied.
“Where do you live?” Cameron’s golden gaze seemed to penetrate her deception.
She hesitated, but could think of no reason why her residence should be a secret. “Clearwater Beach.”
“Clearwater Beach?”
“It’s in the center of the state on the Gulf Coast.”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You’re a long way from home.”
“Judging from your accent, so are you.”
His eyes glittered with irony. Or was it madness? He was like no one she had ever met.
Marooned with a madman jumped unbidden into her mind.
It sounded like the title of a B-horror flick. She giggled as hysteria closed in. To calm herself, she chugged the remaining brandy in her glass.
He must have seen her distress, because he set down his glass. “You must be exhausted. You should be in bed.”
That statement seemed reasonable enough. Except for his refusal to take her to the mainland, he didn’t act crazy. If she hadn’t drunk so much brandy, she could think straight. God, what was happening to her? And why hadn’t she kept a clear head to deal with it?
Before she could protest, Cameron swept her off the sofa and into his arms. The hard warmth of his body pressed through the thin fabric of her gown, and involuntarily her arms reached up to twine around his neck.
Who was crazy now?
Her dizziness returned, probably a combination of the knock on her head with too much brandy. She didn’t resist when he tucked her head into the hollow of his throat where his pulse pounded and carried her into the hallway and up the stairs.
Brandy coursed like fire through her veins. In a state close to dreaming, nearer to drunkenness, she nestled deeper into Cameron’s embrace. Before she drifted into unconsciousness, a scene from Gone with the Wind flashed through her mind of Rhett carrying Scarlett up a wide stairway.
Home, she reminded herself, she had to get home.
“I’ll worry about that tomorrow.” Her voice slurred, and the last thing she remembered was giggling at her own cleverness.
AS HE CARRIED HER UP THE stairs, Cameron sensed her breath against his throat and the softness of her body in his arms. She smelled of Mrs. Givens’s frangipani soap and sunshine and an intoxicating fragrance uniquely her own. He brushed his face against her hair, clasping her to him with one arm and opening her door with the other.
Before placing her on the bed, he folded the coverlet at the foot, reluctant to draw it over her and hide the sight before him. He knelt beside the bed, drank in the details of her unconscious figure, and resisted the urge to trace a finger over her high cheekbone, down the slender column of her throat, and across her delicate shoulder.
She would stay until the supply boat arrived. Even if friends or family came searching for her, they’d not find her among the Ten Thousand Islands of Florida’s southeast coast. He’d barely found the place himself the first time, even with detailed maps and the competent guidance of Captain Biggins.
Twelve weeks would give him time to convince her to keep his secrets. And for him to learn if he could trust her.
She moaned slightly in her sleep, and he drew back, fearful of waking her.
When
