Page 52 of Captivated
“Oh, it gets better.” She pulled something else out of the bag and handed it to him. Nash frowned at the plastic video case. A grin flickered on his mouth.
“Adult movies?”
“Read the title.”
Amused, he turned the case over. And let out a whoop. “The Crawling Eye?” His grin flashed as he looked over at her.
“Approve?”
“Approve, hell—this is great! A classic. I haven’t seen it in years.”
“There’s more where that came from.” She upended the bag on the bed. Scattered among a handful of toiletries were three more tapes. Nash snatched them up like a kid grabbing for packages under the Christmas tree.
“An American Werewolf in London,Nightmare on Elm Street,Dracula. This is great.” Laughing, hescooped her against him. “What a woman. You want to spend the evening watching horror flicks?”
“With a few lengthy intermissions.”
This time he unzipped her dress with one quick motion. “Tell you what—let’s start the whole thing off with an overture.”
She laughed as they tumbled onto the bed. “I love a good overture.”
***
Nash couldn’t imagine a more perfect weekend. They watched movies—among other things—until dawn. Slept late, then had a lazy, and sloppy, breakfast in bed.
He couldn’t imagine a more perfect woman. Not only was she beautiful, smart and sexy, but she also appreciated the subtleties of a movie likeThe Crawling Eye.
He didn’t even mind the fact that she’d put him to work Sunday afternoon. Puttering around the yard, mowing, weeding, planting, took on a whole new meaning when he could look over and see her kneeling in the grass wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of his jeans hitched up at the waist with twine.
It made him wonder what it would be like, what it could be like, if she were always there. Within reach.
Nash lost track of the weeding he’d been assigned, and nuzzling the dog, who had trotted over to butt his head against his chest, he just watched Morgana.
She was humming. He didn’t recognize the tune, but it sounded exotic. Some witch’s song, he supposed.Handed down through time. She was magic. Even without the talents she’d inherited, she would be magic.
She’d tucked her hair up under his battered Dodgers cap. There wasn’t a touch of makeup on her face. His jeans bagged around her hips. Still, she looked erotic. Black lace or faded denim, her sensuality radiated like sunlight.
More, there was a purity to her face, a confidence, an awareness of self, that he found utterly irresistible.
He could imagine her kneeling there, in that very spot, a year from now. Ten years. And still setting off thatstirring in his blood.
My God. His hand slid bonelessly from the dog’s head. He was in love with her. Really in love. Totally caught in the big, scary L word.
And what the hell was he going to do about it?
In control? he thought, dazed. Able to back off anytime? What a crock.
He rose on unsteady legs. The clutching in his stomach was plain fear. And it was for both of them. She glanced over, tipping the cap down so that the brim shaded her eyes.
“Something wrong?”
“No. No, I... I was going to go in and get us something cold.”
He all but ran into the house, leaving Morgana staring after him.
Coward. Wimp. Idiot. All the way into the kitchen, he cursed himself. After filling a glass with water, he gulped it down. Maybe it was a touch of sun. A lack of sleep. An overactive libido.
Slowly he set the glass aside. Like hell. It was love.
