Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

season. And the last of those had left on Labor Day.
    She rubbed sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans. He must have come on the ferry, she reasoned. Or by boat. She was uncomfortably aware how quiet the school was now that all the children had gone home.
    When he saw her notice him, he stepped from the shadow of the trees. She had to press her knees together so she wouldn’t run away.
    Yeah, because freezing like a frightened rabbit was a much better option.
    He was big, taller than Dylan, broader than Caleb, and a little younger. Or older. She squinted. It was hard to tell. Despite his impressive stillness and well-cut black hair, there was a wildness to him that charged the air like a storm. Strong, wide forehead, long, bold nose, firm, unsmiling mouth, oh, my. His eyes were the color of rain.
    Something stirred in Lucy, something that had been closed off and quiet for years. Something that should stay quiet. Her throat tightened. The blood drummed in her ears like the sea.
    Maybe she should have run after all.
    Too late.
    He strode across the field, crunching through the dry furrows, somehow avoiding the stakes and strings that tripped up most adults. Her heart beat in her throat.
    She cleared it. “Can I help you?”
    Her voice sounded husky, sexy, almost unrecognizable to her own ears.
    The man’s cool, light gaze washed over her. She felt it ripple along her nerves and stir something deep in her belly.
    “That remains to be seen,” he said.
    Lucy bit her tongue. She would not take offense. She wasn’t going to take anything he offered.
    “The inn’s along there. First road to the right.” She pointed. “The harbor’s back that way.”
    Go away, she thought at him. Leave me alone.
    The man’s strong black brows climbed. “And why should I care where this inn is, or the harbor?”
    His voice was deep and oddly inflected, too deliberate for a local, too precise to be called an accent.
    “Because you’re obviously not from around here. I thought you might be lost. Or looking for somebody.
    Something.” She felt heat crawl in her cheeks again. Why didn’t he go?
    “I am,” he said, still regarding her down his long, aquiline nose.
    Like he was used to women who blushed and babbled in his presence. Probably they did. He was definitely a hunk. A well-dressed hunk with chilly eyes.
    Lucy hunched her shoulders, doing her best turtle impression to avoid notice. Not easy when you were six feet tall and the daughter of the town drunk, but she had practice.
    “You are what?” she asked reluctantly.
    He took a step closer. “Looking for someone.”
    Oh. Oh, boy.
    Another slow step brought him within arm’s reach. Her gaze jerked up to meet his eyes. Amazing eyes, like molten silver. Not cold at all. His heated gaze poured over her, filling her, warming her, melting her . .
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    Oh, God.
    Air clogged her lungs. She broke eye contact, focusing instead on the hard line of his mouth, the stubble lurking beneath his close shave, the column of his throat rising from his tight white collar.
    Even with her gaze averted, she could feel his eyes on her, disturbing her shallow composure like a stick poked into a tide pool, stirring up sand. Her head was clouded. Her senses swam.
    He was too near. Too big. Even his clothes seemed made for a smaller man. Fabric clung to the rounded muscle of his upper arms and smoothed over his wide shoulders like a lover’s hand. She imagined sliding her palms through his open jacket, slipping her fingers between the straining buttons of his shirt to touch rough hair and hot skin.
    Wrong, insisted a small, clear corner of her brain. Wrong clothes, wrong man, wrong reaction. This was the island, where the working man’s uniform was flannel plaid over a white T-shirt. He was a stranger. He didn’t belong here.
    And she could never belong anywhere else.
    She dragged in air, holding her breath the way she had taught herself when she was a child, forcing everything inside her back into its proper place. She could smell him, hot male, cool cotton, and something deeper, wilder, like the briny notes of the sea. When had he come so close? She never let anyone so close.
    His gaze probed her like the rays of the sun, heavy and warm, seeking out all the shadowed places, all the secret corners of her soul. She felt naked. Exposed. If she met those eyes, she was lost.
    She gulped and fixed her gaze on