Nathan's Child - By Anne McAllister Page 0,6

Nathan with a level blue gaze. “Fine. Go hop your freighter or thumb your way around the world, if that’s what you want. It will be hard and long, but it’s your choice.”

So Nathan owed Dominic. And showing his wife-to-be a good time and giving her a little confidence had seemed a small chore.

It hadn’t been a chore at all.

Carin had been eager to listen to his tales of far-off lands and to ask questions about all his experiences. Very few people, Nathan had discovered, listened as well as she did. He had thoroughly enjoyed basking in her worshipful gaze.

Every day they had gone swimming and snorkeling and sailing. And while they did, he had told her about his family—not only about Dominic, but about their youngest brother, Rhys, and their parents, their mother who had died when they were young, and their father who had been everything to them ever since.

“She taught us to care,” he said. “He taught us to be tough.”

And Carin had listened intently, taking it all in, nodding and watching him with those gorgeous blue eyes. He told her about the house on the beach out on Long Island where they’d grown up and about the holidays they’d spent here on Pelican Cay when he was a child.

“Dominic has a place in New York,” he’d explained. “But only because the offices are there. He isn’t as much of a city boy as you might think.”

“I don’t think he’s a boy at all.”

Well, no, he wasn’t. But Carin wasn’t a girl, either. She was a woman.

And Nathan knew it. The more time he spent with her, the greater his awareness of her had grown. His eyes traced the lines of her body. They lingered on her curves. At night it hadn’t seemed to matter how much exercise he got during the day, he couldn’t settle down, he couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about her.

She’s Dominic’s fiancée, he’d reminded himself over and over. And he tried to think about her with his brother, tried to imagine her in bed with Dominic. But his mind left out Dominic. It only saw Carin. He had fantasies about Carin in bed. And he and not Dominic had been the man in bed with her.

He should have taken off then. Should have started running and never looked back.

He hadn’t. He’d stayed. Of course he had stepped up his commentary about Dominic, telling her how his brother had defended his desire to take photos.

But then she’d asked to see them. And when he’d shown them to her, she’d been enchanted, eager to see more, eager to learn about what he looked for in shooting photographs.

And that was when he’d discovered she was an artist.

She’d been shy about admitting it. But when he’d shown her plenty of bad photos he’d taken, she’d relented and allowed him to see her paintings and sketches. They were lively, cheerful, bright, almost primitive paintings and detailed, very realistic sketches. He’d expected something amateurish. Instead she was enormously talented, and he’d told her so.

“What does Dominic think about your work?” he’d asked.

“He wouldn’t be interested,” she’d said with a shrug. “He only thinks about business.”

If he only thought about business when his eager, beautiful, talented fiancée was around, Dominic had rocks in his head.

Nathan hadn’t been able to think about anything else.

In fact, whenever he’d thought about the perfect woman for him, Carin was it.

Not that he had said so. He hadn’t wanted to make her uncomfortable. Besides, there was no point. Nothing would happen, Nathan had assured himself, because he wouldn’t let it.

And possibly nothing would have—if it hadn’t been for that storm.

The day before Dominic and his father were to arrive, Nathan and Carin had gone for a walk after dinner along the pink sand beach. When they’d reached the rocks that jutted out into the sea, he’d held out a hand to help her up, and somehow he’d never let go.

He’d liked holding it, enjoyed running his thumb along the soft smooth flesh, relished the gentle grip she held on his fingers, as if she didn’t want to let go, either. It felt right holding her hand. And when they climbed down the other side, their fingers stayed laced together as if by mutual consent. Their hands had known what they were still unable to admit.

When they got back, Nathan remembered telling himself, he would let her go.

The storm had come up quickly, and they were soaked by the time they got back to the