Moriah's Mutiny. Elizabeth Bevarly

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      “What did you do?” Austen tried not to laugh but found it nearly impossible.

      “I countered with a Donald,” she told him, slapping a hand over her mouth to hold in the giggles she felt erupting. “Then we all went out and got Goofy,” she added through her chuckles. “Get it? Mickey? Donald? Goofy? Isn’t that hilarious?”

      “Hilarious,” Austen agreed, though his own mirth wasn’t so much a result of the joke as it was from watching Moriah.

      “I read that on a greeting card,” she said when she’d regained control of herself. “I love telling that story now. It used to be no fun at all.”

      Austen shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m not sure I want to know where you shop for greeting cards.”

      “What? Why not?”

      He sighed. “Never mind, Moriah. You want to dance?”

      Immediately her eyes cleared of their wariness and she answered enthusiastically, “Oh, yes. I love to dance.”

      “Earlier this evening you told me you didn’t know how to dance,” he reminded her, referring to the talk they’d had as they were walking to Sparky’s, a talk in which Moriah had tried once again to convince him that she was every bit as humorless as she claimed. He eased out of his chair now, pulling Moriah gently behind him.

      “I did?” she asked as she stood up and straightened the neckline of her shirt. “Why would I have said that? I don’t understand.”

      “There’s a lot about you I don’t understand,” Austen mumbled under his breath, then added silently, But it’s going to be a pleasure figuring you out.

      As they neared the dance floor, the duo performing onstage began a slow acoustic rendition of a relatively unknown Jimmy Buffett song. It was one of Austen’s favorites, and he pulled Moriah close, wanting to savor the tune and the woman who made the moment ideal. Swaying rhythmically to the gentle strains of the guitar and softly uttered words of the very romantic song, Austen tucked Moriah’s head under his chin, closed his eyes and sighed with complete contentment.

      Moriah felt utterly at peace in Austen’s arms, marveling at how easily and naturally the two of them were getting along. She usually wasn’t very open to strangers, especially those of the masculine persuasion. And Austen was extremely masculine in his persuasion. Almost as if to illustrate that thought, her fingers pressed into the strong flesh on his back and waist, loving the firm muscles she encountered. In response to her exploration, Austen pulled her closer, and she gasped as her body was thrust once again into intimate contact with his. Instead of pushing away, though, Moriah found herself snuggling even closer to him, drawn by his warmth and strength, attracted by whatever it is that draws a woman so irrevocably to a man. She inhaled deeply the fragrance that surrounded him, something wonderfully elusive and utterly reminiscent of the sea.

      Austen was so unlike other men she knew, so far removed from the dry, overly academic professors and the insecure, pseudo-intellectual students with whom she came into daily contact. Moriah only dated occasionally, and then never anyone outside her social or academic circles, which basically were one and the same. She shared common interests with men of her acquaintance, and she generally had a good time when she went out, but never had a man excited her the way Austen had within moments of meeting him. He was handsome in a rebellious, carefree sort of way, completely confident and self-assured. He was clever and interesting, and along with Dorian had told her some of the most wonderful stories about the Caribbean she’d ever heard. He made her laugh, and feel oh so good. Was it any wonder then that she found herself liking Austen, liking him a lot?

      As one slow song faded into another, Austen continued to hug Moriah’s warm, softly curving body more expressively against his, unwilling to put an end to their intimacy just yet. Dancing with Moriah was the only socially acceptable way he could think of to be this close to her, but he realized unequivocally that even this closeness wasn’t enough. It shocked him how good she made him feel so soon after meeting her, but it was more than the sexual yearning she aroused in him. Hell, just about every night he met a woman he wanted to take to bed. With Moriah, though, the attraction was more complex, more puzzling. He figured that if he plied her with a few more drinks, he could probably talk her into anything. She seemed more than willing right now. But for some reason, sleeping with her tonight was the last thing he wanted to do. She wasn’t meant for one-night stands, and he knew a one-night stand wouldn’t even come close to satisfying what he wanted with her.

      For the first time that he could ever remember, Austen wanted to get to know a woman, wanted to delve into her soul and discover everything he could. He wished fervently that he didn’t have so much work looming before him. Tomorrow afternoon he would have to leave St. Thomas, and he wouldn’t be back for almost a month. By that time Moriah would be long gone, back to Philadelphia and the stuffy, stifling world of anthropology, and he’d never have the chance to further explore these curiously tumultuous sensations that had been speeding through his body ever since he’d laid eyes on her.

      He suddenly ceased the slow movement of their bodies that had passed for dancing and pushed her at arm’s length. Searching her face earnestly, focusing his amber eyes on her dark gray ones, he asked quickly, “Moriah, how long will you be staying on St. Thomas?”

      The quickness of his movements and the intensity in his voice surprised her, and her eyes widened with confusion and concern. “Until tomorrow,” she told him.

      He shook his head slowly as if he didn’t understand. “But you said your family is coming down tomorrow. How can you be leaving?”

      “They are coming,” she assured him. “But we’re not staying here. We’re going island-hopping for the next two weeks, all over the place. It was my sisters’ idea.” And now I have another reason to resent them, she thought. Their decision to charter a boat and leave St. Thomas meant she wasn’t going to be able to meander down this new avenue her life had stumbled upon.

      Austen’s thoughts suddenly became urgent. He didn’t know why, but somehow he had to see her again. “What islands?” he pressed. “Maybe we could meet up on one of them. I’ll be traveling, too, for the next four weeks.”

      Moriah thought for a moment. It would be fabulous to meet up with Austen at some point during the cruise, especially since she knew her sisters would have more than their share of invitations from men. It was always the same. Morgana, Mathilda and Marissa would dazzle everyone who happened to meet the group of sisters, and Moriah would be unwittingly pushed into the background. It wasn’t that she was particularly unattractive, uninteresting or inept. It was just that the three elder Mallorys were, in a word, spectacular. Moriah, by comparison, was pretty, nice and well-bred. And most men, given the choice, would choose dazzling over decent any day.

      Yet somehow Moriah sensed that Austen would be different. He wasn’t shallow and superficial like the men her sisters generally dated, and she felt he wouldn’t be impressed by the fame and fortune and flutter that surrounded them. Austen liked her; she could feel it. And even the looming specters of her sisters would fail to turn his head. She hoped.

      “I…I’m not sure,” she replied honestly. “My sister has our itinerary, and to tell you the truth, I had very little to do with the planning.” That was a laugh, she thought. She’d never had any amount of input into the preparation of their vacations. Her sisters always chose the destinations and activities, always organized every detail, even decided what they’d order for dinner at the restaurants they selected. They never bothered to consult Moriah. Why should they? Every Mallory knew that little Mo was far too inexperienced to make suggestions of such magnitude. СКАЧАТЬ