Heart Of The Storm. Mary Burton

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      He recoiled his hand. Whoever had hit her had marked her with more than bruises.

      “It’s all right,” he said. “I saved you. Remember? Your ship, the Anna St. Claire, sank.”

      She dragged a shaking hand through her hair and straightened her slumped shoulders. “I remember the cold water.” Her husky voice was barely a whisper.

      “Aye, it was cold. Your skin was like ice when I carried you here.” He swept his arm over the room. “This place…it’s the lightkeeper’s cottage. You’re in my room. I’m the lightkeeper.”

      Flushed cheeks made her blue eyes all the more vivid. She conjured images in his mind of sirens and sea nymphs destined to tempt sailors into dangerous, uncharted waters. The memory of her soft flesh pressed against him this morning still hammered his senses. His arousal hardened against his sloppily buttoned breeches.

      There was a hard knock at his door. “Benjamin!”

      Double damn. Ben moved to the door and blocked it with his body. “Just a minute.”

      Rachel glanced down at her sheet-clad body. “I’m naked.”

      “Your clothes were soaked, draining the heat from your body. You’d developed hypothermia. I took your dress off so you’d be warm. Even with the fire and blankets you were still so cold. That’s why I stripped and got into bed with you. For the body heat alone.”

      She studied him, clearly not trusting him.

      “Look, your clothes are still in a cold heap on the floor along with my clothes. I nearly tripped over them just a moment ago.”

      “Benjamin David Mitchell,” Ida said just outside his door. “Your cousin and I are coming in, now!” The doorknob turned.

      “Just a minute!” he shouted. He leaned against the door.

      Rachel’s gaze darted like a caged animal’s. “Who is that shouting?”

      “That’s my aunt and her daughter, my cousin. They’re good women. Nosy, but good.”

      The door opened a crack. He shoved it closed.

      “We don’t mean to disturb, Ben, but we heard a scream,” Callie said.

      Ben shrugged. “There’s no keeping them out.”

      Rachel jerked the edges of the sheet around her. “I need clothes!”

      “Do you have that Phoebe from Corolla in there?” Ida said. “She’s had her eye on you for months. Lord knows, the woman is known for her dramatics.”

      “Phoebe is on the mainland, Mama,” Callie said. “I bet it’s Sara Plank he’s got in there.”

      His aunt and cousin were discussing the intimate details of his life. The day was getting better and better.

      Ben shoved out another breath. “There’s no avoiding Ida and Callie.” He stepped back from the door and opened it.

      Ida and Callie burst through the door as Rachel turned her face slightly so that her hair hid her bruise.

      She was ashamed of the bruise. The realization dug in his gut.

      Ida’s silver hair caught the morning light as she stood in stunned silence, a basket of muffins clutched in her hands. Callie’s brown eyes, like her mother’s, looked surprised as she studied Rachel.

      Each woman wore a simple gray wool dress. Ida was the shorter of the two. Callie’s body was trim and supple whereas childbirth and the years had left Ida’s plump.

      “I know every woman on the banks and I’ve never seen her before,” Ida said.

      Normally, Ida would have offered him one of her muffins the instant she saw him. He never ate enough for her task. This time, she held on to her basket with a white-knuckled grip.

      “Your timing is bad,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended.

      “Don’t you growl at me, Ben Mitchell,” Ida said. “What are you about?”

      “This isn’t what you think,” he said, softening his tone.

      Ida’s and Callie’s gazes darted between him and Rachel. Their tight-lipped expressions challenged him.

      Ida’s grip on the basket was firm. “We understand a man alone has…well, needs, but bringing a woman here isn’t discreet, Benjamin.”

      Ben prayed for patience. The last thing he wanted to do was to discuss his needs with his aunt. “You’ve got it wrong, Ida.”

      “What would the people in the village say?” Callie countered.

      “I could give a tinker’s damn what they think,” he snapped.

      Ida wiped a wisp of gray hair off her face. “Language, Benjamin. And you’re still the winter man in the Service’s eyes. They’d not have offered you the position in the first place if not for the admiral’s kind words. And they’ll surely withdraw their offer if they get the breath of scandal.”

      His lips flattened. “I’ve weathered scandal before.”

      Ida’s eyes softened a fraction. “That was a long time ago.”

      A year wasn’t a long time ago.

      Aware of Rachel’s presence, he halted the direction of this conversation. In the best of times, he didn’t like discussing his past.

      He heaved a sigh. “Rachel, this is my aunt, Ida, and my cousin Callie.” It annoyed him that his aunt had the power to make him feel like an errant schoolboy. Damn it all, he’d done nothing wrong. “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Rachel Davis. She’s from the shipwreck.”

      “From last night?” Callie said. “Oh, my. Dear, you were on the Anna St. Claire?”

      Rachel faced them. “Yes.”

      Ida frowned as she got her first look at Rachel’s bruised eye. “Benjamin how did that woman get that bruise on her eye?”

      “From the wreck,” he said quickly. “She stumbled into a door.”

      He glanced at Rachel. She stood tall and proud. Intelligence sparked in her blue eyes. Judging by the bruise’s color, it was several days old. She’d gotten it before she’d boarded the vessel.

      Ida wasn’t buying Ben’s story. “The tales I’ve heard report that the shipwreck was a freighter. What would a woman like you be doing on a freighter?”

      Rachel leaned heavily against the wall. “I was traveling south.”

      Ben wanted to know more, but for now would let the questions alone. She looked ready to collapse. As much as he wanted to scoop her up and tuck her into bed, he didn’t want her screaming again. “Her destination is none of our business.”

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