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  She was still shuddering with small aftershocks when he finally stopped moving, his breathing labored. After several long minutes, he withdrew from her and lay down beside her, dragging her against his chest. Maggie listened to the heavy uneven thumping of his heart, aware that her own was still hammering against her ribs. She wanted to kiss him, but she was so sated and limp that she couldn’t even summon enough energy to do that.

  Jack’s hand traced a lazy pattern along the length of her arm. “Hey,” he said quietly, “you okay?”

  Maggie smiled and stretched, rubbing her bare foot against his ankle. “I’m not sure. Am I still alive?”

  Jack turned his head sharply to look at her. “Did I hurt you?”

  She laughed softly and pressed a kiss against his chest. “You almost killed me, but I promise you it was from pleasure.”

  Jack let out a long breath. “Yeah, well, the same goes here, babe.”

  Disengaging himself from her, he rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “Let me just clean up, and I’ll be right back.”

  Maggie watched him cross the room. The moonlight cast intriguing shadows over his body, but she could still see the curve of his spine, his firm butt and his long, muscled legs. He disappeared into the bathroom, and she heard the water running. He’d told her not to go anywhere, but that was her cue to leave. More than anything, she wanted to stay, but she didn’t want that kind of relationship with Jack. She didn’t want to risk falling in love with him. She needed to leave in order to protect herself.

  Scooting to the end of the bed, she hunted for her discarded panties, pulling them on quickly before snatching her dress from the floor and stepping into it. She was just feeling for the zipper when Jack returned. He stopped on the threshold and stared at her, and Maggie could sense his surprise.

  “What are you doing?”

  She glanced at him, and then looked quickly away. He seemed completely unfazed by the fact that he was still buck-naked, but she was all too aware of how mouthwatering he looked. If he touched her again, she’d be toast. She struggled with the zip, catching it in the fabric of the dress in her nervous haste. “I’m getting dressed.”

  “I can see that. The question is why?”

  Maggie bit her lip and yanked hard on the zipper. How could she explain that she needed to leave now, while she could still pretend that it was just about the sex? That if she stayed the night with him, she ran the risk of actually liking him. She didn’t want a reason to stay on Whidbey Island, not when she’d spent the past ten years telling herself she was better off living in Chicago.

  “I just think it’s better if I go back to the house,” she said quietly. “Tonight was great, but I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. “It’s way too late for that.” Putting a finger beneath her chin, he tipped her face up. “Hey, look at me.”

  Maggie reluctantly did, his nearness and blatant masculinity causing her pulse to start a frantic tattoo inside her chest. But at least when she was looking into his eyes, she could pretend she didn’t notice his amazing pecs and cobblestone abs, or his still semi-erect penis. All of that was tempting enough, but what she saw in his eyes was almost her undoing. His expression was both tender and frustrated, as if he struggled to keep his annoyance in check.

  “You don’t understand,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive.

  Jack tipped his head down to look directly into her eyes. “Then explain it to me, please, because I’m not getting it. Ten minutes ago, I was inside you. Deep inside you, and you liked it.”

  “Yes, I liked it,” she admitted, letting him see the truth in her eyes.

  “Then why are you running away? Stay here tonight. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I don’t have to be at the base until noon. We can stay in bed all morning. I’ll cook us breakfast.”

  He made it sound so tempting, and there was a part of Maggie that wanted to give in; to spend the night exploring his body and enjoying what he could do to her. She could handle the incredible sex—and it had been incredible—but staying in his bed for the entire night, and then sharing breakfast with him seemed too intimate. Too cozy. She didn’t want to get so emotionally involved with Jack Callahan that she couldn’t walk away when the time came for her to return to Chicago.

  “Thanks,” she finally said, averting her gaze, “but I need to be up early in the morning.”

  A total fib, but he didn’t have to know that.

  Jack blew out a hard breath of frustration and raked a hand over his short hair. “Damn it, Maggie, don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” She feigned ignorance.

  He turned feral eyes on her, and Maggie could see he was only just holding his temper in check. “Don’t shut me out and try to pretend this was just about sex. I know what you’re doing.”

  Maggie blanched, but he had to be bluffing. He couldn’t know her reasons for wanting to put some distance between them. Even now, with frustration radiating from every pore, he was so gorgeous and so supremely male that Maggie had to curl her fingers into her palms to keep from touching him.

  “I’m not—” she began, but he cut her off with one warning look.

  “We’ll play it your way,” he said, his voice low. “No strings, no commitments. I’ll give you as much or as little as you want, okay?” He spread his arms wide, and Maggie swallowed hard at the sight he made. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. When you need me—day or night—I’ll be waiting.”

  His words conjured up decadent images, and it was all Maggie could do not to plaster herself against all that heated muscle and beg him to take her back to bed. Suddenly, the thought of returning to the main house and her childhood bedroom, with only her old toys and stuffed animals to keep her company, seemed depressing.

  As if sensing her wavering decision, Jack leaned forward. “C’mon, Mags. I’ll light a fire in the fireplace. Have a glass of wine with me, and let’s see where the night takes us.”

  Maggie knew very well where the night would take them if she decided to stay, but after a moment, she nodded. “Okay, I’ll stay for a little bit,” she finally said, eyeing him. “But only if you put some clothes on.”

  “Deal.”

  Jack made no effort to hide his grin, and Maggie felt an answering smile curve her lips at his obvious pleasure. She couldn’t remember the last time a guy had been so anxious for her company, and she acknowledged that she liked the way it made her feel. She liked the way Jack made her feel, and that was what really scared her. The rational part of her brain told her to hightail it back to the main house and not let him pull her into his world. After all, she knew from experience that there was no place in that world for her.

  8

  JACK LISTENED AS Maggie slipped out of his bed at dawn the next morning, taking care not to disturb him. Knowing she wanted to leave without having to talk to him, he’d pretended to be asleep, but every cell in his body had been on high alert. He’d heard the soft rustle of her dress as she’d pulled it on, heard her barely muffled curse as she struggled with the zipper, and had been all too aware that she’d stood at the side of the bed and watched him for several long minutes, before she’d crept out of the cottage on bare feet.

  Only when he heard the outer door close did he open his eyes and scrub his hands over his face. Glancing at the bedside clock, he saw it was barely 4:30 a.m. He’d spent most of the night awake, too aware of the woman beside him to sleep. He’d persuaded her to stay, and they’d watched a movie and had shared a bottle of wine, before she’d begun to sag with fatigue, leaning against his shoulder on the deep sofa. She’d protested when he’d carried her into his room and removed her dress, but as soon as she’d slid beneath the sheets, she’d fallen into a deep sleep. And as much as he’d wanted to wake
her, he’d behaved like a gentleman. All night he’d listened to her soft breathing, felt her body heat seep into him and inhaled her delicate scent. It had taken all his restraint not to press himself against her, and wake her up with his mouth on her body.

  Just the memory of what they’d shared last night gave him a boner, and with a groan he sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He had almost seven hours before he needed to be at the air base, but there was no way he’d get any sleep between now and then. The only thing that was going to make the morning easier was a long, cold shower.

  He didn’t know what Maggie’s specific issues were, but he suspected that they went beyond her father, and guessed she’d been hurt pretty badly. He didn’t know how to convince her that she was safe with him, except to let her call all the shots. He’d only known her for a couple of days, but everything about her appealed to him, and he’d never had the kind of sex that he’d had with Maggie Copeland.

  Explosive.

  He shouldn’t be so surprised, but at thirty-three years old, he thought he was past the age where he could get a hard-on simply by looking at a woman. He suspected that he’d only touched the surface of Maggie’s capacity for passion. He’d slept with his share of women, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this need to get beneath a woman’s skin and discover what made her tick. He wanted to know all Maggie’s secrets, all her fantasies, all her dreams. But for now, at least, he’d give her the space she needed. He wouldn’t pursue her, but he would let her come to him when she was ready. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long.

  * * *

  MAGGIE HAD SPENT the morning on the mainland, in Bellingham, running errands and purchasing the supplies she’d need to get the darkroom operational again. She’d waited until noon to head back to Rocks Village, in order to avoid seeing Jack. She’d woken around dawn, completely disoriented, until she realized she was in Jack’s bed. She’d had to disentangle herself from his heavy limbs, and he’d shifted restlessly as she’d climbed off the bed, but he hadn’t woken.

  After she’d dressed, Maggie had taken a selfish moment to just watch him. He’d lain naked and tangled in the bed linens, one arm bent over his head and his other resting on his stomach. The sheets had slipped to just below his navel, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of his happy trail, but hiding his credentials from view. Not that she needed to see him to recall exactly what he had hidden beneath the sheets.

  She’d left in a hurry after that disturbing thought, in case her willpower deserted her. Now she turned her car down the private drive that led to the main house and saw Jack’s Land Rover was gone. Telling herself that she didn’t feel disappointed, Maggie gathered her bags and went into the house. But as she unpacked her purchases, her gaze continually drifted out the window and to the small cottage.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night and how he’d made love to her. He’d been so passionate, and yet tender, too. Even now, his touch seemed imprinted on her skin, and she only had to close her eyes to see his expression as he’d reached his release. She’d never encountered anyone quite like him before, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want a repeat performance. He’d said he would give her whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, but Maggie was rapidly reaching the conclusion that what she wanted was the one thing he couldn’t give her.

  Gathering up her supplies, she made her way to the darkroom. What had once been a pantry off the kitchen had been transformed into a fully operational darkroom, complete with enlarger, safe light and a long table for her trays of chemicals. With digital photography becoming the norm, darkrooms were decreasing in popularity, but Maggie preferred to develop her own photos, especially when she was working with black-and-white film.

  Now she opened the door and snapped on the light. The small room was amazingly clean, and Maggie knew her mother had kept it in good condition in the hopes that she would come home and want to stay. Despite the fact the room hadn’t been used in years, the familiar scent of processing chemicals still lingered in the air, making Maggie feel nostalgic.

  Setting her bags down on the nearest table, she walked the length of the room, taking in the equipment and supplies that she had left there ten years earlier. On an overhead shelf sat several cameras, two that her mother had given her, and one that she had purchased with her hard-earned babysitting money at the age of fifteen. By the time she was eighteen, she’d been able to afford something a little better. But she had left these cameras behind when she’d moved to Chicago. Seeing them now brought back memories of how she used to bike around the island, looking for the perfect photo op.

  She paused in front of a set of drawers used to store her finished photos. Had her mother cleaned those out, as well, or were her youthful photos still there? Opening the first drawer, she pulled out a dozen packets of small note cards, carefully packaged in cellophane and sealed with a colorful sticker that read The Wonders of Whidbey by Maggie Copeland. Each packet contained eight different cards, each of which bore a different photo taken on Whidbey Island. They included a stunning sunset over Puget Sound, the Deception Pass bridge shrouded in mist and a group of harbor seals sunning themselves on a beach. She smiled in reminiscence, recalling her enthusiasm. Flipping through the photos, she had to admit they weren’t half-bad.

  Closing the drawer, she opened the next one and withdrew a sheaf of old photos. Her heart clenched as she saw the first picture, of Phillip Woodman. He was sitting on a large driftwood log, staring moodily out over the ocean, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. In the next photo, he was laughing into the camera, having been cajoled out of his gloomy mood by Maggie. She remembered the day as if it was only yesterday.

  Looking at the photo, Maggie didn’t feel the heart-wrenching pain that she normally felt whenever she thought of Phillip. Her heart still ached, but it was more like a bruise that only hurt when poked. She wondered what Phillip was doing now, all these years later. Did he ever think of her? Did he—and his wife—still live on Whidbey Island? She’d never asked, and in the ten years since she’d left, nobody had ever volunteered the information.

  With a sigh, she was about to replace the photos when one particular image caught her attention. Pulling the photo out of the stack, she tipped it toward the light, peering closely at it. She’d taken the picture when she’d been about fifteen years old. She and Eric had ridden their bikes to Cornet Bay, a tiny fishing village on the northern end of the island, bordered on either side by Deception State Park. She remembered how they had bought fried fish sandwiches at the local diner, and had walked out to the end of one of the piers. From there, one could see the majestic span of the Deception Pass bridge and watch the boats navigate the channel beneath.

  Maggie had been dangling her feet in the water and fiddling with her camera when a charter boat had returned from a day at sea. Behind the boat, the sky had been orange, and a young man had stood on the bow as they steered toward the docks, ready to jump down and secure the lines. As the boat had neared the docks, he’d nodded toward Maggie. On impulse, she had snapped several pictures.

  Now she stared at the photo, unwilling to believe the young man could be Jack Callahan. Swiftly, she turned to the tall supply cabinet and opened it, rummaging through the items until she found what she was looking for—a magnifying glass. Holding the photo beneath the light, she studied the picture again through the lens.

  The quality wasn’t great and the photo was the tiniest bit out of focus, but Maggie just about stopped breathing as she scrutinized the young man. He wore a pair of jeans and a blue sweatshirt, and he was younger and leaner than the Jack Callahan she knew, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders or that careless grin. There was no doubt in Maggie’s mind that she was looking at an image of Jack Callahan from thirteen years earlier. She didn’t know his exact age, but guessed he would have been around nineteen or twenty at the time.


  The realization that their paths had once crossed astounded her. Not only had their paths crossed, but she had also actually taken his picture! If she believed in destiny—which, thank goodness she didn’t—she’d probably be a little freaked out right now. She recalled again the night they’d met, and her own vague sense of familiarity. Had she subconsciously recognized him from all those years ago?

  The boat itself was big, almost fifty feet in length, and she could just make out the image of an older man in the pilot house. There were a dozen people standing on the open deck behind the cabin, mostly families with young kids.

  Jack had said that he’d spent time on Whidbey Island as a kid, but she’d just assumed he’d come out here on vacation when he was really young, like twelve. She’d never have guessed that he worked on a charter boat, as the picture implied. Despite having grown up on the island, Maggie had only ever been out on a charter boat once, at the invitation of a friend, to see the killer whales. She’d been about sixteen, and it had been one of the most thrilling days of her life, watching them breach and frolic in the frigid waters.

  “I’ll be damned,” she muttered, and slid the photo into the back pocket of her jeans.

  For the next several hours, she occupied herself with setting up the darkroom and developing the film she had taken from that first night at Deception Pass. Her photos of the orca had come out surprisingly good, and Maggie had a deep sense of satisfaction as she clipped the wet photos to a drying wire and examined the results. The work was enjoyable and engrossing, but Maggie was aware that Jack Callahan was always at the back of her thoughts, waiting.

  Just like he’d said he would be.

  By the time she finally left the darkroom, the sun was sinking behind the trees, and long shadows were creeping over the property. It was just past six o’clock, and although Maggie told herself she wasn’t checking up on him, she couldn’t prevent herself from looking toward the cottage. The Land Rover was conspicuously absent, and Maggie tried to tell herself she didn’t care. After all, it wasn’t as if she was planning to knock on his door.