exultant. Or rhapsodic. Or—”
“You look fine.” Justin’s tone bordered on surliness.
She caught a tantalizing glimpse of something pained, almost stricken, in his eyes. Then he donned his hat, tilting it forward as an effective veil.
She flitted around the hut, gathering a towel and a wicker basket. “I thought I’d go down to the beach and dig some clams for supper. I’m weary to death of this dusty old hut.” She started for the door.
“No!”
His yell startled her so badly, she dropped the basket.
She felt her jaw drop as he threw his body across the door. “You can’t go out there! I absolutely forbid it.”
Chapter 6
Like you, Claire, my friend has been blessed with the ability of keeping a cool head under fire.…
J ustin knew he was behaving like a madman, but he was helpless to stop. The same impish demon who had driven him to return to the hut at midday had taken his little pitchfork and twisted it deep into Justin’s heart.
He had opened the door, expecting to find the bedraggled waif he had carried to the pallet after Penfeld had awakened him that morning. But the fairies had come while he was in the fields, leaving in her place one of their own—an ethereal vision of womanhood. Her loveliness pained him, opened up a raw chasm of hunger in his heart and in his arms. He wanted to cover her shy smile with his lips, to ease her back down on the pallet and beg her to adore him with both her woman’s body and her child’s heart.
She had tried to tell him she was grown, but he had refused to heed her warning. Until he had heard the teasing whisper of flax against her thighs and traced the exquisite cling of the fabric across her full breasts, it had beenless painful to pretend she was just a funny little moppet, a minor annoyance to his well-ordered existence.
But when he walked through that door, his neat existence had crumbled like sand before an irresistible tide, and he had ended up flung across the doorway like a pagan sacrifice.
“You can’t go out there,” he repeated. “I won’t have it.”
Emily’s brow folded in a stormy frown. Justin knew he had made a mistake. Forbidding Emily anything was like tossing a haunch of beef to a starving lioness.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the dirt floor. “I beg your pardon.”
“I’m sorry, but I simply cannot allow it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe. There are too many—uh—um—”
“Tigers? Cobras? Bears?” she offered.
Bears?
He wanted to reply that there were too many other men out there. Maori warriors, undeniably handsome even by English standards. Virile Polynesians whose bronze muscles gleamed with sweat and whose bones never ached, not even after long, hot hours in the sun. Strutting young heroes in the first flush of manhood with not a gray hair among them. Justin searched his mind frantically.
“Cannibals!” he almost shouted. “Too many cannibals. I’m disappointed in you, Emily. How could you have forgotten?”
“And you think they might want to gobble me up?” She swept her tongue across her pearly little teeth.
Justin wadded his hat into a ball. His body was strumming like a piano wire strung to reckless limits. God, she was luscious. She was in far more danger of being gobbled up in here than out there.
“They might,” he replied, refusing to commit himself.
“How odd. I distinctly remember Trini telling me the surrounding tribes were all friendly to whites. He saidthey even fought side by side in the recent land wars against the hostile natives.”
Luscious and gifted with a good memory, Justin thought. A lethal combination. “There are still hostile Maori to the east of us in Rotorua who have been known to send out marauding parties.” Her lower lip inched out, and Justin groaned. “I’m simply asking you not to go out alone. I’ll come back and take you out later.” Much later. Preferably after it was pitch dark and there was no one to ogle her but him.
She
“You look fine.” Justin’s tone bordered on surliness.
She caught a tantalizing glimpse of something pained, almost stricken, in his eyes. Then he donned his hat, tilting it forward as an effective veil.
She flitted around the hut, gathering a towel and a wicker basket. “I thought I’d go down to the beach and dig some clams for supper. I’m weary to death of this dusty old hut.” She started for the door.
“No!”
His yell startled her so badly, she dropped the basket.
She felt her jaw drop as he threw his body across the door. “You can’t go out there! I absolutely forbid it.”
Chapter 6
Like you, Claire, my friend has been blessed with the ability of keeping a cool head under fire.…
J ustin knew he was behaving like a madman, but he was helpless to stop. The same impish demon who had driven him to return to the hut at midday had taken his little pitchfork and twisted it deep into Justin’s heart.
He had opened the door, expecting to find the bedraggled waif he had carried to the pallet after Penfeld had awakened him that morning. But the fairies had come while he was in the fields, leaving in her place one of their own—an ethereal vision of womanhood. Her loveliness pained him, opened up a raw chasm of hunger in his heart and in his arms. He wanted to cover her shy smile with his lips, to ease her back down on the pallet and beg her to adore him with both her woman’s body and her child’s heart.
She had tried to tell him she was grown, but he had refused to heed her warning. Until he had heard the teasing whisper of flax against her thighs and traced the exquisite cling of the fabric across her full breasts, it had beenless painful to pretend she was just a funny little moppet, a minor annoyance to his well-ordered existence.
But when he walked through that door, his neat existence had crumbled like sand before an irresistible tide, and he had ended up flung across the doorway like a pagan sacrifice.
“You can’t go out there,” he repeated. “I won’t have it.”
Emily’s brow folded in a stormy frown. Justin knew he had made a mistake. Forbidding Emily anything was like tossing a haunch of beef to a starving lioness.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the dirt floor. “I beg your pardon.”
“I’m sorry, but I simply cannot allow it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe. There are too many—uh—um—”
“Tigers? Cobras? Bears?” she offered.
Bears?
He wanted to reply that there were too many other men out there. Maori warriors, undeniably handsome even by English standards. Virile Polynesians whose bronze muscles gleamed with sweat and whose bones never ached, not even after long, hot hours in the sun. Strutting young heroes in the first flush of manhood with not a gray hair among them. Justin searched his mind frantically.
“Cannibals!” he almost shouted. “Too many cannibals. I’m disappointed in you, Emily. How could you have forgotten?”
“And you think they might want to gobble me up?” She swept her tongue across her pearly little teeth.
Justin wadded his hat into a ball. His body was strumming like a piano wire strung to reckless limits. God, she was luscious. She was in far more danger of being gobbled up in here than out there.
“They might,” he replied, refusing to commit himself.
“How odd. I distinctly remember Trini telling me the surrounding tribes were all friendly to whites. He saidthey even fought side by side in the recent land wars against the hostile natives.”
Luscious and gifted with a good memory, Justin thought. A lethal combination. “There are still hostile Maori to the east of us in Rotorua who have been known to send out marauding parties.” Her lower lip inched out, and Justin groaned. “I’m simply asking you not to go out alone. I’ll come back and take you out later.” Much later. Preferably after it was pitch dark and there was no one to ogle her but him.
She
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