Twelfth Sun. Mae Clair

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СКАЧАТЬ nearly deserted, a middle-aged couple and a lanky blond-haired man the only other occupants. The couple quietly conversed over pancakes and sausages while the man was content to nurse a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal.

      Cozy and quaint, the eatery sported round tables with barrel-back chairs, a massive stone hearth, and colored glass lanterns. Framed prints of whaling ships and storm-tossed seas graced the walls. She could almost smell the brine of lobster pots, feel the wind-driven crash of waves against unforgiving rock. She’d come to Shipwright Landing to find the answers that had driven Samuel Storm from his home over a century ago, and sent his ship on a last fateful voyage across the Atlantic.

      Reagan glanced at her watch. She’d dragged herself from bed hours before any civilized person should be up, for the sole purpose of meeting Elijah Cross. The marine archeologist was already ten minutes late–not a brilliant way to begin a working relationship. She’d learned through firsthand experience many of her uncle’s friends were as unreliable as they were eccentric. Foolishly, she had hoped Dr. Cross wouldn’t fall into the same category.

      Resigned to passing the time, she added hot water to her tea. From the corner of her eye she spied movement at the door of the cafe. A man stepped inside, shaking rain from his jacket. The door banged shut behind him, ensnaring her full attention. He wore a battered black fedora and worn jeans with scuffed dock shoes. There was something oddly familiar about him. He turned slightly and she caught his profile, realizing he was the man from room ten. Self-conscious, she looked away, hoping to sink through the floor. He spoke briefly with the hostess and then headed in her direction.

      She tensed. What were the odds of encountering him now when she was scheduled to meet Dr. Cross, a highly-respected and, no doubt critical, academic? How would it look to her uncle’s friend if he walked in on a conversation revolving around naked men and the color of her undergarments?

      Chagrined, she bowed her head over her teacup. Her hair spilled forward, concealing her face behind curtains of red-gold. With any luck he’d go away. With any luck, he’d leave her alone.

      “Hi.”

      Reagan raised her head fully convinced mischievous imps had tracked her to Shipwright Landing and were even now performing rituals of bad luck. “Hi.” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m expecting someone.”

      “Yeah, I know.” He grinned. “You’re Reagan Cassidy.”

      She blinked. She’d given the hostess her name only because she was expecting Dr. Cross and neither had any idea what the other looked like. She certainly hadn’t expected the woman to share her name with any longhaired Lothario who asked for it. “The hostess told you.”

      He nodded. Removing his hat by the crown, he dropped it on the table. “Some storm.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hooked it over the back of the nearest chair. “Good thing it’ll be over soon.”

      Reagan watched flabbergasted as he sat across from her and picked up a menu. “Excuse me.” Her voice rose sharply, edged like a knife. “I didn’t invite you to sit. I told you I’m expecting someone.”

      “Yeah, I know.” He flashed that same irritating grin. “I’m Elijah Cross.”

      She balked. She couldn’t possibly have heard right. The insanely gorgeous man seated across from her wasn’t even thirty years old. No way could he be a noted marine archeologist with an accredited PhD. A sinking sensation hit the pit of her stomach. “That’s impossible!”

      “Why?” He flipped open the menu. “Because I’m twenty-five, or because you saw me naked last night?”

      “Oh dear God.” She lowered her head. Heat spread rapidly across her cheeks. “This is never going to work.”

      “Your uncle will be disappointed.” Elijah righted his coffee mug and motioned for the waitress. “Not to mention a number of marine historians. Your uncle’s agreed to give the journal to the Maritime Museum in Charrington after he’s reviewed it. This might not work for you, but it’s got to for me. I have a host of academic and non-profit organizations counting on it.” He sent her a non-threatening glance. “I’m harmless. Really. Like the geeky kid you knew in school who always had his nose in a textbook.”

      She doubted that. For one thing he didn’t look remotely similar to the boys she and her popular friends had routinely avoided. The ones more interested in science, computers and math. This self-professed geek had the long, curling hair and electric blue eyes of a male model, the deliciously toned body of a track athlete. Why hadn’t her uncle told her he was so young? And so distressingly good-looking?

      “If the ‘Doctor’ tag on my name is bothering you, let’s just say I was in college when most kids were still busy being kids.” Elijah leaned back in his chair, entirely too relaxed. “The only time I use it is when I write or lecture. It’s pretentious, but it lends credibility, and at my age that’s a necessity. Most of my contemporaries are considerably older.”

      “Morning, folks.”

      The waitress arrived with Elijah’s coffee. With a bright smile, she asked if they were ready to order. Reagan mumbled a request for a whole-wheat bagel and mixed fruit, then retreated into a state of shock. Certainly her uncle wouldn’t expect her to work with this man after what happened last night. In the span of eight hours, her companion had gone from potential sex fiend to respected academic.

      “Excuse me.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “I need to use the rest room.”

      What she needed was time to think, gather her scattered wits and start acting like a professional businesswoman rather than an intimidated adolescent. In the bathroom she splashed warm water on her cheeks, trying to restore a hint of color to her pale complexion. She looked at herself critically in the mirror. The long hours of the past few days had taken a toll. Her green eyes were overly large beneath the loose waves of her red-gold hair, her face drawn and pinched, certainly not ideal for projecting poise and confidence.

      So what if she’d seen Mister PhD Marine Archeological Expert naked? It was a tantalizing memory, but they were both adults and sex had nothing to do with their roles in obtaining the log of the Twelfth Sun. Elijah Cross was far younger and sexier than she’d anticipated, but he was only twenty-five. As the more mature adult, she should have no problem setting boundaries for their relationship. She owed it to her uncle to make the best of the situation.

      He’d been there for her through many of the hurdles in her life, taking on the role of substitute father when she’d lost her own at fourteen. He’d cheered for her at softball games and dance squad, changed the flats on her bike, packed her and her mother off to the movies at least once a week, and encouraged her starry-eyed dreams of owning her own business. When the bank had insisted her fledgling interior design firm have a secure partner, it was her Uncle Gavin who stepped forward and took the risk. Six years later when the business became solvent, he signed his share over as a gift. She owed it to him to ride out the rough spots, even if it involved working with a flippant, stuck-on-himself egghead.

      An egghead who looked like an Adonis.

      It didn’t matter. She’d tough it out, get Dr. PhD to do his thing with the logbook, then chalk the whole thing up to a learning experience. Feeling better, she returned to the dining area. The waitress had already brought their food by the time she arrived.

      “Welcome back.” Elijah was busily slathering butter on a heaping stack of pancakes. “I was thinking of sending out a posse.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ