It had been, he decided, much too long since he’d been foolish. “Hold on, then.”
It tossed them up, a rush of power. It sucked them down into a blind, thundering world. The tumult of it was freedom, a cocky dare to fate. Wrapped around each other, they spun as the waves rolled over them.
Breathless, they surfaced, only to plunge in again. Her scream wasn’t one of fear, but a cry of victory as, latched around him, she was swept into the air again.
“You’ll drown us both!” he shouted, but his eyes were lit with wicked humor.
“I won’t. I can’t. Nothing but wonders today. Once more.” She locked her arms around his neck. “Let’s go under just once more.”
To her shrieking delight, he snatched her off her feet and dived into the cresting wave with her.
When they stumbled out, panting, their hands were linked.
“Your teeth are chattering.”
“I know. I loved it.” But she snuggled into the blanket he wrapped around them both. “I’ve never done anything like that. I guess you’ve done it dozens of times.”
“Not with the likes of you.”
It was, she thought, the perfect thing to say. She held the words to her for a moment even as she held him. Hard against her heart.
“What does leannan mean?”
“Hmm?” Her head was on his shoulder, her arms linked around his waist. Everything inside him was completely at peace.
“Leannan. You said that to me, I wondered what it means.”
His hand paused in midstroke on her hair. “It’s a casual term,” he said carefully. “A bit of an endearment, is all. ‘Sweetheart’ would be the closest.”
“I like it.”
He closed his eyes. “Allena, you ask for too little.”
And hope for everything, she thought. “You shouldn’t worry, Conal. I’m not. Now, before we both turn blue out here, I’ll make fresh tea, and you’ll build up the fire.” She kissed him. “Right after I pick up some of these shells.”
She wiggled away, leaving him holding the blanket and shaking his head. Most of the shells that littered the beach had been broken by the waves, but that didn’t appear to bother her. He left her to it and went into the studio to tug on his jeans.
She had a pile of shells when he came back, offering her his sweater and her pendant.
“I won’t wear it if it bothers you.”
“It’s yours.” Deliberately, as if challenging the fates, he slipped it around her neck. “Here, put this on before you freeze.”
She bundled into it, then crouched to put the shells into the blanket. “I love you, Conal, whether I’m wearing it or not. And since loving you makes me happy, it shouldn’t worry you.”
She rose. “Don’t spoil it,” she murmured. “Let’s just take today, then see about tomorrow.”
“All right.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “I’ll give you a promise after all.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Today will always be precious to me, and so will you.”
7
SHE dug out an ancient pair of Conal’s jeans, found a hunk of frayed rope, and went to work with scissors. As a fashion statement the chopped jeans, rough belt, and baggy sweater said Island Shipwreck, but they did the job.
As he insisted on making the tea this time around, she busied herself hanging the wash. And dreaming.
It could be just this way, she thought. Long, wonderful days together. Conal would work in his studio, and she’d tend the house, the gardens…and, oh, the children when they came along.
She would paint the shutters and the little back porch. She’d put an arbor in front, plant roses—the only roses she would have—so that they’d climb up and twine and ramble and it would be like walking through a fairy tale every time she went into the house.
And it would be her fairy tale, ever after.
They would need to add rooms, of course, for those children. A second floor, she imagined, with dormer windows. Another bath, a bigger kitchen, but nothing that would take away from the lovely cottage-by-the-sea feeling.
She’d make wonderful meals, keep the windows sparkling, sew curtains that would flutter in the breeze.
She stopped, pegging a sheet that flapped wetly. Her mother would be appalled. Household chores were something you hired other people to do because you had a career. You were a professional…something.
Of course, it was all just fantasy, she told herself as she moved down the clothesline. She had to make a living somehow. But she’d worry about that later. For now, she was going to enjoy the moment, the thrilling rush of being in love, the jittery ache of waiting to be loved in return.