least. But then,
One thing she did know was that the man knew how to kiss. When their lips had touched, she'd felt as if every ounce of his attention was focused on her mouth, his firm lips tempting her, his tongue offering her a taste of his soul. And his body… all that hard muscle and warm sinew, as though he'd been carved from sun-warmed granite…
'He is a handsome young man,' Jenny called, 'even if his hair is a bit long.'
Meredith swallowed convulsively. 'Yes,' she said, her voice catching in her throat. 'Yes, he is. Do you think he needs a haircut?'
Jenny pondered the question for a moment, then smiled slyly. 'Naw. He looks mighty fine just the way he is.' With that, thankfully, Jenny went back to her crossword puzzle and left Meredith to her shopping… and her fantasies.
She silently chastised herself. This would have to stop! She couldn't walk around all moony-eyed over the man. Griffin had made it perfectly clear that he would do everything in his power to get back to his own time. For days, he'd refused to consider the other alternative.
But she couldn't put Early's words out of her head. If they were true, maybe Griffin had changed his mind. Could he be responding to the undeniable attraction between them?
As Meredith grabbed a bag of mini-marshmallows, she attempted to ignore the blooming optimism that flooded her heart. She would not allow herself a single instant of hope. There couldn't be a future for them… especially after he learned that she might be the one responsible for bringing him here in the first place.
So Tank had told Early, she mused, quickly forgetting her resolve. And Griffin had told Tank he was looking for work-before Meredith had told Griffin that Kelsey had told
Maybe she would do well to put the whole matter out of her mind. The fact was, as long as Griffin had hope, he would try to return. And as long as he stayed, she, too, would harbor a hope of her own. But for now, she'd have to keep her hope, and her fantasies, in check.
Ten minutes later, Meredith made her way to the tiny marina, a grocery bag clutched in each arm. As she walked down the dock, she caught sight of Griffin sitting in the cockpit of the twenty-five-foot sloop they'd rented. His attention was focused on a navigational chart he held out in front of him.
She stopped and slowly placed the bags on the dock, then straightened, her gaze coming to rest on Griffin. He was a devastatingly handsome man, there was no denying that fact. And Jenny hadn't been the only one on the island to notice. He'd elicited a number of appreciative stares, from sixteen-year-old schoolgirls to gray-haired grandmothers.
She watched as he brushed his wind-whipped hair back from his face, revealing a startlingly perfect profile. How could any woman help staring? His dark, brooding good looks were like a magnet to the eyes. She'd caught herself watching him so many times over the past few days, wondering whether she really knew him at all, or whether he was as he appeared-an enigma.
Even if he stayed, he'd never lack for feminine companionship. Merrie's heart twisted at the thought and all her self-confidence drained out of her body. How could she have thought she'd be able to hold his interest? She was a shy, boring history professor who had never been able to attract much more than a mild interest from the opposite sex.
'Too bookish' had been used to describe her on more than one occasion, and that came from men who spent just as much time with their books as she did! The descriptive 'cold fish' and the ever-popular 'painfully proper' had also been applied to her, according to Kelsey.
Meredith sighed. He was grateful for her help, and that was the limit of his feelings for her. She hadn't seen desire in his eyes, she'd seen gratitude. And all his talk about honor was simply a smoke screen so he wouldn't have to kiss her again!
He didn't find her sexually attractive in the least. She had waited for him each night, hoping that he'd need comfort and come to her. But when she awoke at dawn, she found the other side of her bed cold and empty. With a body as unremarkable as hers, was it any wonder he had thought she was a boy that first night?
'Merrie-girl!'
Meredith blinked hard, bringing her thoughts back to the present. She forced a smile and waved at Griffin, suddenly uneasy in his presence. Could he tell she'd been thinking of him?
He stood up in the cockpit. 'She is a fine little sloop. With this boat, I could sail across the Atlantic and back by myself!'
'We're going to Bath,' Meredith said, 'and no farther.'
He sent her a powerful smile and her knees grew weak. 'Ah, but Merrie, I would show you the world, if I could. Come on board, and we'll sail away this very moment.'
At his casual words, a tremble of uncontrolled regret shook her to the core. If only it were so simple. If only he wanted her. But no matter how far they sailed, nothing would change the fact that they were simply friends, two strangers who had been thrown together by fate.
'Come, Merrie, let's take a sail around the harbor. I need to practice.'
With a hesitant nod, she picked up the groceries and headed toward the boat. Griffin deftly leaped onto the dock and took both bags from her arms, then helped her into the cockpit.
'All right,' Merrie said. 'You're the captain.'
'And you'll make a fine first mate, Merrie-girl. Now, go forward and cast off that line for me.'
Meredith arched her eyebrow at his suddenly stern manner, then did as she was told. Today, they would sail for fun. But tomorrow, they would sail to Bath, and once again they would try to find a way for him to return to his own time.
And if they succeeded, Griffin would be gone from her life. Forever.
The salt breeze skimmed across the water, kicking up sprightly whitecaps on the blue surface of the wide Pamlico River. Mare's-tail clouds trailed across the azure sky, the colors a reflection of the sea below, where their white-sailed sloop sliced through the water.
Meredith sat in the cockpit and watched Griffin steer the boat before the brisk wind. They'd been on the water since sunrise, sailing across the Sound and up the Pamlico River. After their sail around the harbor the previous afternoon, Griffin had easily adjusted to the new technology of the sloop, instinctively knowing which lines controlled which functions. She was right-sailing hadn't changed much in the nearly three hundred years that stood between them. But then, Griffin had spent most of his life on the water.
They passed the time in idle conversation, Meredith relating stories of the breezy days she'd spent on her father's shrimp boat, wrapped in a blanket, her nose stuck in a history book; and the sunny days they'd spent in the harbor, her father teaching her to navigate the little sailboat he'd built for her. He'd been a man who loved the water and she had inherited his fascination with all things seaworthy. But like her father, she was wary of the weather, always keeping one eye on the horizon, ready for the worst.
She had hoped that talk of her life would encourage Griffin to speak of his own. She knew of his father and mother, but was still left to wonder just who Griffin Rourke really was.
Meredith sighed inwardly and stared up at the sky, watching a gull dip and sway on the wind. Though the day hadn't been conducive to enlightening conversation, at least it was perfect for sailing. Out on the Sound, she had bundled up against the wind. But once they reached the sheltered waters of the Pamlico River, the afternoon sun had warmed her. They ate a picnic lunch while still under sail near Pamlico Point, the place where the river emptied into the Sound.
It was nearly dinnertime when they made the turn into Bath Creek, a wide tributary more aptly compared to a river than a stream. The shallow draft of the sloop made navigating simple, but Meredith kept her eyes on the charts, anyway. The colonial town sat on the water's edge, much as it had in the early 1700s, when it served as the first port of entry and the seat of colonial government in North Carolina.
Griffin seemed suddenly still, staring beyond the bow of the boat at the small waterside town. The breeze fluttered in his hair, the only sign that he was a mortal man and not some marble likeness of an ancient sea god.
