Deep Waters

damn it?"
    Anger came to her rescue, diluting some of the hysteria. "The real question is, what do you want from me?"
    "I told you, I want you to move in with me."
    "Why?" The single word came out as a small shriek.
    "Why?" Elias's eyes were brilliant with an emotion that could not be clearly identified. The only thing certain about it was that it was very, very intense. "You have to ask me that?"
    "I don't think it's too much to expect a reasonable answer. Is it because we're good together in bed?"
    He looked startled, although whether from her question or her tone of voice, Charity did not know.
    "That's only one reason." Elias suddenly sounded cautious. "There are others."
    "We both like to cook?"
    "An interest in good cooking is something we have in common, isn't it? I thought women liked that in a relationship."
    "Are you implying that our relationship is based on sex and food?"
    "There's a lot more to it than sex and food."
    "Such as?" she challenged.
    "We both came to Whispering Waters Cove to reinvent ourselves. We both own small businesses on Crazy Otis Landing." A hunted look appeared in his eyes. "Hell, what's wrong with sex and food, anyway?"
    How could he be so blind, she wondered. Didn't he see what they really had between them? Didn't it matter? She smiled grimly. "Nothing is wrong with sex and food. But I was looking for a relationship with something more than just the basics in it. When you buy a car, you don't buy the stripped-down model. You usually get one with a few nice accessories. Leather upholstery, maybe. Or tinted windows."
    His eyes narrowed. "You're upset."
    "You noticed, did you?"
    "Is it because I asked you to move in with me?"
    "No, because you asked me for all the wrong reasons." She tried to step back out of his arms. She had to get free before she made a bigger mess of this situation than she already had.
    His hands clamped more fiercely around her, imprisoning her. "What the hell are the right reasons?"
    The panic exploded. "Love is the little accessory that I had in mind."
    Otis, perched on top of his cage, responded to her high, shrill words with a loud squawk of alarm. Out of the corner of her eye Charity saw him stretch his wings and fan the air. He lengthened his neck and lowered his head as if preparing for an attack.
    Elias's reaction was just as startling. He looked dumbfounded.
    "Love?" He sounded as if a bone had gotten caught in his throat. The single word came out hoarse, ragged, chewed to pieces.
    "Yes. Love." Charity took a deep breath. The panic seeped away as quickly as it had come. The claustrophobia vanished. Bringing the truth out into the open had cleansed the wound, but now it ached. A terrible silence descended. Elias stared at her as if she had metamorphosed into an alien creature from Saturn. Too bad the spaceships had never come to Whispering Waters Cove, Charity thought. At that moment there was nothing she would have welcomed more than a nice little getaway tour of the galaxy.
    She tried to shake off the misty despair that seemed intent on creeping in on the heels of the recently departed panic.
    It was over. She had gone too far, too fast. Elias was not ready for love. He might never be ready. The shield of Tal Kek Chara had become his prison.
    "Sorry." Charity steadied herself. "I got a little carried away there. Like I said, it's been a long day. I really should go home now." Elias released her slowly. "I'll get your jacket." He turned his back to her, walked across the room, and plucked her green jacket from a wall hook. Without a word he held it out to her.
    Charity was horrified to see that her fingers shook a little when she took the jacket from his hand. She pulled it on quickly, fumbling with the buttons. Then she hurried to the door, opened it, and stepped into her shoes.
    Elias eased a still-tensed Otis into his cage. The bird glowered accusingly at Charity.
    Elias shut the cage door. He crossed the room, put on his shoes, and picked up the flashlight that he kept in the hall. He followed Charity out onto the porch. Silently they went down the steps, through the shadowed garden, and out the gate. Charity huddled into her jacket, keenly aware of the chill wind off the cove waters. A storm was headed toward shore. It would strike before morning.
    "It's certainly been cold for August." Charity winced at the inanity, but she could not seem to help herself. It was as if some primitive communication instinct automatically generated a conversation