Page 59 of Captivated
To clear his head, he walked to the window and breathed deeply of the cool air.
They’d made love—incredible love—in a meadow beside a stream.
No, that was impossible. Leaning on the sill, he gulped in air like water. The last thing he remembered clearly, they had been sitting under the tree in the side yard, talking about—
He jolted back. He’d told her everything. The whole ugly business about his family had come pouring outof him. Why the hell had he done that? Dragging a hand through his hair, he paced the room.
That damned phone call, he thought. But then he recalled abruptly that the phone call had stopped him from making an even bigger mistake.
It would have been worse if he’d told Morgana he loved her—a lot worse than telling her about his parentage and upbringing. At least now she wouldn’t get any ideas about where their relationship was headed.
In any case, it was done, and it couldn’t be taken back. He’d just have to live with the fact that it embarrassed the hell out of him.
But after that, after they had been sitting in the yard. Had he fallen asleep?
The dream. Or had it been a dream? It was so clear in his mind. He could almost smell the flowers. And he could certainly remember the way her body had flowed like water under his hands. More, much more, he could remember feeling as though everything he had done up to that point in his life had been leading to that moment. To the moment when he could lie on the grass with the woman he loved, and feel the peace of belonging.
Illusions. Just illusions, he assured himself as panic began to set in. He’d just fallen asleep under the tree. That was all.
But what the hell was he doing back in his room, in the middle of the night—alone?
She’d done it. Giving in to unsteady legs, he lowered to the bed. All of it. Then she’d left him.
She wasn’t getting away with it. He started to rise, then dropped down again.
He could remember the peace, the utter serenity, of waking with the sun on his face. Of walking through the grass and seeing her playing the harp and smiling at him.
And when he’d asked her why, she’d said...
She’d said she loved him.
Because his head was reeling, Nash clamped it between his hands. Maybe he’d imagined it. All of it. Morgana included. Maybe he was back in his condo in L. A., and he’d just awakened from the granddaddy of all dreams.
After all, he didn’t really believe in witches and spells. Gingerly he lowered one hand and closed it aroundthe stone that hung from a chain around his neck.
The hell he didn’t.
Morgana was real, and she loved him. The worst part was, he loved her right back.
He didn’t want to. It was crazy. But he was in love with her, so wildly in love that he couldn’t get through an hour without thinking about her. Without wishing for her. Without imagining that maybe, just maybe, it could work.
And that was the most irrational thought in the whole irrational business.
He needed to think it all through, step by step. Giving in to fatigue, he lay back to stare at the dark.
Infatuated. That was what he was. Infatuation was a long way from love. A long, safe way. She was, after all, a captivating woman. A man could live a long, happy life being infatuated by a captivating woman. He’d wake up every morning with a smile on his face, knowing she belonged to him.
Nash began to weave a pretty fantasy. And brought himself up short.
What the hell was he thinking of?
Her, he thought grimly. He was always thinking of her.
Maybe the best thing to do would be to take a little vacation, a quick trip to anywhere to shake her out of his system.
If he could.
The niggling doubt lay in his gut like a stone.
