Part 8 (1/2)

”The Tenth Muse. She lived here, in Mitilini.” His gaze, suddenly dreamy, swept down the stretch of beach. ”I like to think Nick's house is on the cliff where she hurled herself into the sea, desperate for Phaon's love.”

”An interesting thought.” Morgan looked up to where a portion of a gray stone wal was visible. ”And I suppose her spirit floats over the house searching for her love.” Somehow, she liked the idea and smiled. ”Lord knows, it's the perfect house for a poetic haunting.”

”Have you been inside?” Andrew asked her, his tone as dreamy as his eyes now.

”It's fantastic.”

”No, I'm getting a personal tour this afternoon.” Morgan kept her voice light as she swore silently in several languages.

”A personal tour?” Abruptly direct again, Andrew tilted his head, with brows lifted in speculation. ”You must have made quite an impression on Nick. But then,” he added with a nod, ”you would. He sets great store by beauty.”

Morgan gave him a noncommital smile. He could hardly know that it wasn't her looks or charm that had secured the invitation. ”Do you often write on the beach?

I can't keep away from it myself.” Morgan hesitated briefly, then plunged. ”I came down here a couple of nights ago and swam by moonlight.”

There was no shock or anxiety in his eyes at this information. Andrew grinned.

”I'm sorry I missed that. You'l find me al over this part of the island. Here, up on the cliffs, in the olive groves. I go where the mood strikes me.”

”I'm going to do some exploring myself.” She thought wistful y of a carefree hour in the inlets.

”I'm available if you'd like a guide.” His gaze skimmed over her face again, warm and friendly. ”By now, I know this part of the island as wel as a native. If you find you want company, you can usual y find me wandering around or in the cottage. It isn't far.”

”I'd like that.” A gleam of amus.e.m.e.nt lit her eyes. ”You don't happen to keep a goat, do you?” ”Ah-no.”

Laughing at his expression, Morgan, patted his hand. ”Don't try to understand,”

she advised. ”And now I'd better go change for my tour.” Andrew rose with her and captured her hand. ”I'l see you again.” It was a statement, not a question.

Morgan responded to the gentle pressure. ”I'm sure you wil ; the island's very smal .”

Andrew smiled as he released her hand. ”I'd rather cal it kismet.” He watched Morgan walk away before he settled back on his rock, facing the sea.

Nicholas Gregoras was very prompt. By five minutes past one, Morgan found herself being shoved out the door by an enthusiastic Liz. ”Have fun, darling, and don't hurry back. Nick, Morgan wil adore your house; al those winding pa.s.sages and the terrifying view of the sea. She's very courageous, aren't you, Morgan?” ”I'm practical y stalwart,” she muttered while Nick grinned.

”Wel , run along and have fun.” Liz shooed them out the door as if they were two reluctant children being sent to school.

”You should be warned,” Morgan stated as she slid into Nick's car, ”Liz considers you a suitable candidate for my hand. I think she's getting desperate picturing me as her unborn child's maiden aunt.”

”Aphrodite.” Nick settled beside her and took her hand. ”There isn't a male alive who could picture you as anyone's maiden aunt.”

Refusing to be charmed, Morgan removed her hand from his, then studied the view out the side window. ”I met your poet in residence this morning on the beach.”

”Andrew? He's a nice boy. How did you find him?”

”Not like a boy.” Turning back to Nick, Morgan frowned. ”He's a very charming man.”

Nick lifted a brow fractional y. ”Yes, I suppose he is. Somehow, I always think of him as a boy, though there's barely five years between us.” He moved his shoulders. ”He does have talent. Did you charm him?”

” 'Inspire' was his word,” she returned, annoyed.

Nick flashed her a quick grin. ”Natural y. One romantic should inspire another.”

”I'm not a romantic.” The conversation forced her to give him a great deal more of her attention than she had planned. ”I'm very practical.”

”Morgan, you're an insatiable romantic.” Her annoyance apparently amused him, because a smile continued to hover on his mouth. ”A woman who combs her hair on a moonlit beach, wears filmy white, and treasures a valueless memento thrives on romance.”

Uncomfortable with the description, Morgan spoke cool y. ”I also clip coupons and watch my cholesterol.” ”Admirable.”