Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

toward the edge of the field. Assuming he came.
    She thought—she hoped—he would come. Otherwise, why bother making that cryptic announcement at the door? “ A message at the inn will find me when you are ready to talk. ”
    She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, smearing them even more. Ready to talk? Maybe. Ready to listen anyway. Anything was better than being cut off from her family by this awful not-knowing.
    She watched him emerge from the shadow of the woods like a surfer sliding from beneath a wave. He wasn’t a stranger anymore.
    That didn’t stop the drop in her stomach, the scrambling of her pulse.
    “You came,” she said foolishly as Conn approached over the sun-streaked furrows.
    No jacket today. No tie. The collar of his dress shirt—Dylan’s dress shirt—was unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. Fine, dark hair dusted his arms. Otherwise, he looked the same, same slightly hooked nose, same unsmiling mouth, same cool eyes.
    The color of rain, Lucy thought again and shivered with apprehension and desire.
    She wished suddenly, passionately, that she could turn the clock back, roll the world back to the way it had been twenty-four hours ago when he had first walked across the fields and into her life. Before she knew her brothers were lying to her. Before she was forced to a decision.
    His brows arched. “You asked me to come.”
    “ You can talk to me, ” he’d said.
    “Yeah.” She swallowed. She must have been out of her mind. “You said . . . Last night you said I had the right to choose.”
    Silence. A long, assessing, how-much-should-I-tell-her kind of silence, while her heart beat faster and her blood drummed in her ears.
    “I was mistaken,” he said at last.
    Disappointment flattened her mouth. She took a step closer. “I want to know what’s going on.”
    His cool, light eyes considered her face. “What did your brothers tell you?”
    “Dylan didn’t say anything. And Caleb . . .” Lucy bit her lip, a small pain to counter the ache at her heart.
    “Cal said what I don’t know can’t hurt me.”
    But it hurt already.
    “They treat you like the girl they left behind,” Conn said.
    She met his gaze, grateful for his understanding. “Pretty much.”
    “You are very young,” he observed.
    “Twenty-three.”
    “Almost a quarter century,” he said, gently mocking.
    She narrowed her eyes. She was tired of being shut out, frustrated at being dismissed, sick of being good and quiet and alone. “Old enough,” she said.
    His gaze met hers. The air charged between them. She felt a tingle like static electricity all along her skin, the shock of wetness between her thighs.
    “Are you indeed?” he murmured.
    She swallowed. “I didn’t mean . . . I don’t want . . .”
    But her lips wouldn’t release the lie. She did. Oh, she did. She felt a contraction deep inside, powerful as a fist. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself the freedom to feel. To take. And in this moment, Page 23
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    faced with the temptation of his firm, unsmiling mouth, the challenge of those cool gray eyes, she had trouble remembering why.
    His gaze dropped to her mouth. His nostrils flared. Her nipples beaded. She sensed the wildness in him, churning deep below the surface, and an answering hunger uncurled in her belly, whetted by loneliness and lust. She leaned in, drawn beyond caution, beyond reason, pulled irresistibly closer by the promise of his kiss.
    He bent his head and paused, his breath on her lips.
    She felt a spark, a current arcing between them. His lips touched hers, and her heart gave a startled jump and flew up behind her teeth. He coaxed her mouth open with his mouth, pressing his tongue inside. He tasted wild and salty as the sea. She surged to meet him, meeting his tongue eagerly with her own, sucking it deeper, twining her arms around his neck. She was starving for the taste of him, for the feel of his man’s hard body against her body, for the touch of skin on skin.
    She wanted . . . She rose on tiptoe, straining to get closer. She needed . . .
    He broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers. His breath was hot on her lips, his skin warm and damp. She wanted to burrow under his shirt to touch him, his flesh. His erection was long and thick, pressed against her.
    His fingertips brushed her cheek, her jaw, her throat. “Come away with me.”
    Yes.
    No.
    “Where?” A silly, breathless