Hidden Hearts. Olivia Dade

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СКАЧАТЬ sure his left side faced the wall. And then he watched and waited as he tried his damnedest not to sweat.

      Clarence and Mary emerged from behind the carrel. But before they could see him lurking a few feet away, Angie strode from the front of the library over to Clarence, a huge grin on her face.

      She gathered the skinny man close and gave him a tight squeeze. “I hear congratulations are in order. And Grant says you’ll be holding your ceremony at Buccaneer Times, which seems the perfect spot.”

      Buccaneer Times? Well, that explains the pirate-ship wedding.

      “Aye. I suppose Grant also informed ye that he and Sam are two of me groomsmen.”

      “He did. Also that you’re scheduling him for a puffy-shirt-and-breeches fitting. As far as I’m concerned, the tighter the better.” Angie pulled back and beamed at him. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”

      Clarence’s crooked smile revealed braces. “I owe it all to ye, Angie. After perusin’ the volumes in yon smut room, I knew how to treat me pirate lady right. In the captain’s quarters, if ye know what I mean.”

      For just a moment, Mary buried her face in her hands. When she dropped them again, her smile had become a little pained.

      “I’ll consider that the room’s greatest legacy.” Angie tilted her head. “In fact, why don’t I set up a pirate erotica display for the month of your wedding? That way, you’ll have lots of books to bring on your honeymoon for inspiration.”

      Mary’s hands rose, but she appeared to will them downward before they met her face a second time.

      “Well, shiver me timbers. You’re a sailor’s delight. And if me bride finds the books”—Clarence waggled his brows—“enlightening, ye’ll be a sailor’s lady’s delight too.”

      Angie’s grin widened. “I certainly hope so. I’ll start working on the bibliography this week.”

      “Thank ye again, Angie. Well, I’d best be goin’.” Clarence gathered up his pirate hat and the eye patch he’d apparently removed while reading. “Time to put some shrimp on the barbie. Or maybe fry up fish and chips in the galley.”

      Barbie? Fish and chips? Had they suddenly swerved from Pirate Land and come ashore in Australia?

      Just then, Angie turned her head and caught Miles’s eye. “Sounds good. Before you head out, though, I think you may have a visitor.”

      She nodded toward Miles, and Mary looked his way for the first time.

      He didn’t see any judgment in her wide-set dark eyes. No disgust at his uneven beard and overlong hair. No disdain at his ill-fitting clothes.

      No recognition, either. Just curiosity and the natural warmth he’d anticipated.

      “I don’t know the landlubber.” Clarence gave him a crisp salute and ambled toward the library door. “So I’m guessing he’s yours, Miss Mary.”

      Oh, God. He needed to talk to her. Introduce himself. See how she’d react to the knowledge that he—of all people—was the man she’d been e-mailing for months.

      “May I help you, sir?” She offered him a welcoming smile, her professional demeanor impeccable and seemingly sincere.

      “I…” He faltered, unsure he could actually go through with it.

      With a friendly nod his way, Angie headed toward the front of the library, a huge ring of keys jingling in her hand. Mary’s attention, however, didn’t stray from him. She watched and waited with a patience he envied.

      He was coming out of his skin. No more. No more delaying the inevitable.

      “I’m Miles,” he told her, his voice strangled and rough. “I came to see you.”

      Her mouth fell open. In shock? In distress?

      Then Mary’s face lit with the biggest, most piercingly beautiful smile he’d ever seen. The bridge of her nose crinkled as she beamed at him, and so did the corners of her eyes.

      “Oh, my heavens!” She rushed toward him. “Miles! You’re here!”

      He held out his right hand, and she came to a halt a couple of feet away from him.

      Her smile faded. “Miles?”

      Slowly, inch by inch, he made himself move away from the wall. “I came to see you,” he repeated. “And I came so you could see me.”

      Then he turned so she could look at his left side. The too-tight jeans. The T-shirt that clung with unfortunate faithfulness to his transformed body.

      And most of all, his sleeve.

      Correction: his mostly empty sleeve. Pinned shut above his elbow so no one—not even Miles himself—could see the ragged remnants of his left arm.

      Her quiet gasp seemed to echo in his ears.

      “Here I am.” He forced a tight smile. “Well, most of me, anyway.”

      4

      Oh, thank goodness, Mary thought.

      She couldn’t wait any longer. Ignoring the tension that tightened every inch of Miles’s frame, she rushed forward and threw her arms around him. He inhaled sharply at the first touch of her body against his, an inadvertent echo of the sound she’d just made. Then he went very still. So still she could barely detect his breathing.

      But he felt solid against her. Strong and vital in a way that forced her to blink back tears.

      As she pressed against him, he stiffened even more. Then, slowly, he relaxed and allowed himself to be held. After a few seconds, his arm curved around her, and she squeezed close to his broad chest and rested her head on his shoulder.

      He smelled good. Like expensive soap, citrusy and spicy. Which seemed odd for a man whose choppy beard, overgrown hair, and ill-fitting clothes proclaimed him less than interested in appearances and pricy trappings.

      “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered, and his arm tightened around her.

      For months, she’d been convinced Miles was either wasting away from some sort of degenerative illness, cancer-stricken, or so severely hurt he couldn’t leave his house.

      Yes, she understood that an amputated arm wasn’t a minor injury. And yes, she ached for him and the pain he must have suffered. Heck, the pain he might still be suffering. But here he stood in front of her, vibrant and full of leashed energy. Alive and healthy, albeit missing most of his left arm. She’d take that over the alternatives she’d envisioned any day.

      “Is this…okay?” His cheek rested on her head, and his deep voice rumbled through her.

      That involuntary gasp had hurt him. She wished she could snatch it back. Swallow it before she saw him react to it, fresh misery clouding his hazel eyes. Too late now, though. All she could do was show him, by word and deed, that the anxiety vibrating through every inch of his frame had no cause. That she accepted and cared about СКАЧАТЬ