Page 23 of Captivated
As the lights dimmed, Morgana turned her head and smiled at him. Nash felt several of his brain cells melt and wished they still ran double features.
In the normal scheme of things, Nash took the long step out of reality the moment a movie caught his imagination. There was nothing he liked better than diving into the action. It rarely mattered whether it was his first shot at a film or he was visiting an old friend for the twentieth time—he was always at home in a movie. But tonight he kept losing track of the adventure on the screen.
He was much too aware of the woman beside him to click off reality.
Theaters had their own smell. The oily, not unpleasant aroma of what the concessions jokingly called butterover the warm fragrance of popcorn, the sweet tang of candies, the syrupy scent of spilled soft drinks. However appealing it was—and it had always been appealing to Nash—he couldn’t get beyond the dreamy sexuality of Morgana’s perfume.
The theater was cool, almost chilly. It had never made sense to him that the air-conditioning was so often turned toward frigid in a place where people would be sitting still for two hours. But the scent of Morgana’s skin was hot, arousingly hot, as if she were sitting in a strong beam of sunlight.
She didn’t gasp or jolt or huddle against him, no matter how much mayhem the invaders or the hero wrought. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed intently on the screen, nibbling occasionally from a dwindling container of popcorn.
At one point she did hiss a breath through her teeth and grip the armrest between them. Gallantly Nash covered her hand with his. She didn’t look toward him, but she did turn her hand, palm up, and link her fingerswith his.
She couldn’t help it, Morgana thought. She wasn’t made of stone. What she was was a flesh-and-blood woman who found the man beside her outrageously attractive. And sweet, damn it. There was something undeniably sweet about sitting in a darkened theater holding hands.
And what could it hurt?
She was being careful when they were alone, making sure things didn’t move too quickly or in a direction not of her choosing. Not that she’d had to fight him off, Morgana reminded herself with a touch of resentment. He’d made no attempt to hold her, or kiss her again, or to seduce her in any way.
Unless she counted the fact that he always seemed to be touching her in that careless and friendly manner. The manner that had her tossing restlessly in bed for several hours after he’d left her last.
Her problem, she reminded herself, and tried to ignore the long, slow tug inside as Nash ran his thumb lazily up and down the side of her hand.
The upside was, she enjoyed working with him, helping him with his research. Not only because he was an amusing companion with a mind and talent she respected, but also because it was giving her the opportunity toexplain what she was in her own way.
Of course, he didn’t believe a word of it.
Not that it mattered, Morgana told herself, and lost track of the film as Nash’s forearm rubbed warmly over hers. He didn’t have to believe to incorporate her knowledge and write a good story. Yet it disappointed her, on some deep level. Having him believe, and accept, would have been so soothing.
When the world was saved and the lights came up, she slipped her hand from Nash’s. Not that it hadn’t felt nice keeping it there, but Morgana wasn’t in the mood to risk any of Sebastian’s teasing comments.
“Excellent choice, Ana,” Sebastian told her.
“Say that again when my heart rate’s normal.”
Her cousin slipped an arm over her shoulders as they shuffled up the aisle. “Scare you?”
“Of course not.” She refused to admit it this time. “Seeing that incredible body stripped to the waist for thebest part of two hours is enough to give any woman a rush.”
They moved into the brightly lit, noisy lobby. “Pizza,” Sebastian decided. He glanced back at Nash. “You up for food?”
“I’m always up for food.”
“Great.” Sebastian pushed open the door and led them into the night. “You’re buying.”
They were quite a trio, Nash decided as the four of them devoured slices of pizza dripping with cheese. They argued about everything, from what kind of pizza to buy to which alien demise had been the most effective in the movie they’d just seen. He decided that Morgana and Sebastian enjoyed sniping at each other as much as they enjoyed the meal, with Anastasia slipping in and out of the role of referee.
It was obvious that the bond ran deep, for under the bickering and complaining was an inescapable stream of affection.
When Morgana said to Sebastian, “Don’t be such a jerk, love,” Nash sensed that she meant “jerk” and “love” in equal measure. Listening to it, Nash fought back the same little stab of envy he’d felt on the beach at sunset.
They were each only children, as he was. Yet they were not, as he was, alone.
Anastasia turned to him. Something flickered in her eyes for a moment that was so much like sympathy that he felt a wave of embarrassment. Then it was gone, and she was only a lovely woman with an easy smile.
“They don’t mean to be rude,” she said lightly. “They can’t help themselves.”
“Rude?” With her hair tucked around to spill over one shoulder, Morgana swirled her glass of heavy red wine. “It isn’t rude to point out Sebastian’s flaws. Not when they’re so obvious.” She slapped his hand away from the slice of pizza on her plate. “See that?” she asked Nash. “He’s always been greedy.”
