CAMERON ALEXANDER scooped the slender figure into his arms for the second time that day and placed her on the sofa. He had sworn to avoid her, to closet himself away until she left the island, but she’d found him.
He should awaken Mrs. Givens and leave the girl to her, but his resolve to keep away weakened as he feasted on the sight of her. His hands tingled with longing to bury themselves in the halo of her auburn hair with its highlights bleached by the sun. Golden lashes brushed her cheeks, hiding her sea-blue eyes, but the wide-eyed stare she had bestowed on him when he first gathered her off the beach remained etched in his mind.
He had seen no woman other than Mrs. Givens in over six years, but if he saw hundreds a day, the one before him would still captivate him. Fleetingly, he wished he’d met her years ago in the drawing room of a respectable London home, before his marriage, before his trouble. He’d believed he’d lost everything before he came to the island, but he hadn’t calculated losing someone he had yet to meet. He’d had no way to predict a storm would wash such a woman onto his beach.
Poised and elegant, even in distress, yet poignantly vulnerable, Celia Stevens called forth all his protective instincts. A groan escaped his lips. He yearned to safeguard her, yet the most prudent thing he could do was place as much distance between himself and the woman before him as possible.
Had the Devil sent this vision to torment him? Worse yet, had God Almighty sent her as punishment for his grievous sins, a sight to conjure up memories of the horror he had spent so many years trying to forget?
He could not break his exile to take her away. He must avoid her, so there would never be another disaster.
Another death.
But even as he pledged to stay away, he could not refrain from staring at his gift from the sea.
CELIA OPENED HER EYES and gazed at the strange, lamplit ceiling in confusion. A glass clinked, and she looked toward the sideboard where the handsome stranger stood, filling a snifter with brandy from a crystal decanter.
“Feeling better?” The soft glow from the lamp bathed Cameron’s face in golden light, and a concerned look replaced his earlier fierce expression.
She pulled herself up to a sitting position and curled into the corner of the sofa with her knees tucked beneath her, uncomfortably aware she wore only a thin cotton nightgown.
He handed her a snifter of brandy, folded his tall frame onto a chair beside her, raised his glass in a salute, and downed his drink in a great gulp. “Drink, Miss Stevens. The brandy will revive you, bring the color back to your cheeks.”
She sipped the smooth cognac, and a flash of heat seared down her throat. “I’ve never been this giddy. When my boat broke up at sea, I banged my head somehow.”
He leaned toward her and parted her hair with gentle fingers. “You have an angry knot there, but the skin isn’t broken. Your dizziness should soon pass.”
He smoothed her hair back with the palm of his hand in a gesture both comforting and disturbing.
“You never answered my question.” Her throat burned from the brandy, and her voice came out a whisper.
“What question?” The edge returned to his tone, and his strange-colored eyes drilled into hers.
“Will you take me to Key West—or at least to the mainland?”
A wariness touched his eyes, and he appeared to withdraw inward. “No, I cannot.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
As her strength returned, her anger grew. If he was the man of leisure he appeared, why couldn’t he take a few hours to sail her to the mainland?
“Captain Biggins brings supplies to the island.” He leaned back in his chair and rolled his glass between the palms of his strong, square hands. “He was here only a few days ago, but he will return in twelve weeks.”
Dizziness and brandy made concentration difficult. “What’s Captain Biggins got to do with me?”
Cameron refused to meet her eyes. “He will be happy to take you to Key West, and I will gladly pay your passage.”
“But twelve weeks—that’s three months! I can’t stay here that long. I have a business to run, my home to look after, friends who are worried about me.”
His mouth settled into a grim, intractable line. “You have no choice but to wait for Captain Biggins.”
A brandied fog enveloped her brain. “But I—”
“You are different from this afternoon when I carried you in from the beach.” His expression softened.
She was not too drunk to notice his change of subject.
“When you ordered me locked in my room?” She smiled to lessen the mockery of her words. He’d be more inclined to help if she didn’t antagonize him.
When he returned her smile, a strange fluttering developed beneath her ribs, and she swallowed a generous swig of brandy to hide her confusion.
“So I did. It appears Mrs. Givens ignored my instructions.” Her host looked at his glass as if surprised to find it empty, then gazed at her again, tenderness gleaming in his amber eyes. “You were so weak and battered, we feared you might not survive. You have a resilient spirit.”
His wide mouth curved upward in another smile, and warmth radiated from her forehead to her bare toes.
Cameron took her empty glass, refilled it, and handed it back. Her fingers brushed his when she took the glass, and his skin tingled with warmth where she touched him. He had reacted that way toward Clarissa at first, and disaster had followed. If he learned more about this Celia, he might find her less enchanting. “Was there anyone else with you when the storm destroyed your ship?”
She shook her head. “I usually sail alone. That’s when I do most of my thinking.”
He felt himself drowning in the whirlpools of blue that stared up at him, while she traced the rim of her snifter with a slender index finger tipped with a pale pink nail.
“And what do you think about?” he asked.
A rosy blush suffused her skin above the lace-trimmed collar of her gown, and a delicate blue vein pulsed at her throat. “Problem-solving, mostly.”
Like a sneak attack, a desire to protect her from all dilemmas surged through him. “What kind of problems?”
She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes in a determined squint. “Nothing that can’t be solved by returning home immediately.”
An illogical stab of jealousy pierced him. “Is there someone waiting for you?”
Her blush deepened. “My parents are dead, and I have no other family.”
“No one who misses you?”
Celia bit back her reply. Would she endanger herself by admitting no one would miss her if she didn’t return immediately? Her friends would think she was hiding out, ashamed to show her face until the scandal of running away from her wedding had died down. At first, her clients would believe she was on her honeymoon, as scheduled.
“There are those who’ll search for me if I don’t return home soon,” she lied.
“Where do you live?” Cameron’s golden gaze seemed to penetrate her deception.
She hesitated, but could think of no reason why her residence should be a secret. “Clearwater Beach.”
“Clearwater Beach?”
“It’s in the center of the state on the Gulf Coast.”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You’re a long way from home.”
“Judging