Sadie could only gape, speechless, as he then turned his attention back to the contents of his pack. He wanted to hunt for Plum’s gold? With her? As in their traveling together, sharing a boat and meals?
And a campsite?
He pulled a bottle of wine from his pack, set it on the ground, then picked up the pot of tea she had set by the fire to keep warm. He sniffed the pot, made a face, and dumped the tea onto the ground.
Still unable to find her voice—not sure if it was from the shock of his stated intentions or from curiosity about what he was doing now—Sadie could only hug herself and watch.
He set the now empty pot on the grate over the fire, then rummaged around in his pack again, pulling out a corkscrew. He quickly opened the bottle of wine and poured nearly all of it into the pot.
Something bumped against her thigh, and Sadie flinched in surprise. She looked down to discover Faol standing beside her, her glove still in his mouth, his iridescent green eyes unblinking as he stared up at her. Sadie quickly moved away, putting several feet between them.
“He’ll not harm you, Mercedes,” Morgan said, drawing her attention again. He shot her another grin. “I’m thinking the beast has taken a liking to you.”
“And I’m thinking you think too much. You’re not hunting for Plum’s gold.” She waved to encompass her campsite. “You can’t just waltz in here and say you’re joining me. I’m not on an adventure. I’m building a park.”
“A park that will only happen if you find the gold, according to your boss. I can help.”
His grin broadened, and his already impressive chest puffed out a good six inches more.
“I’m a very good hunter.”
Sadie wanted to screech in frustration and maybe walk over and smack him on the side of the head. She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs instead. She was not sharing a campsite with him, not even for one night. She’d probably do something foolish, like throw herself on top of the man the moment he fell asleep.
“Hunting for gold is not like hunting for supper,” she explained patiently. “It’s tedious, frustrating work that depends on luck more often than skill.”
He wasn’t paying attention to her. His nose was buried in his pack again. This time, he pulled out a small silver tin, which he opened. He took a pinch of something out of it, which he tossed into the pot of now steaming wine.
“Morgan, you have to leave,” Sadie said, somewhat desperately. “You can’t come with me. And you sure as hell are not sharing my camp.”
It was Faol who answered, since Morgan was busy ignoring her, rummaging around in his pack again. The wolf, her glove still in his mouth, walked over to the back side of the fire, lay down as if settling in for the night, put his head on his paws, and closed his eyes.
Morgan pulled two tin cups from his pack.
Sadie spun on her heel and walked into the forest.
She stopped just beyond the light of the fire and let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the woods. Once she could see, she headed for the river.
They were both denser than dirt, bullying their way into her life, fraying her emotions, neither of them heeding her petition to leave her alone. Faol, apparently, had decided he liked the company of humans and was trying to worm his way into her affections. And Morgan was much too handsome and far too self-serving for her peace of mind.
That was probably why he had accepted the blind date with her in the first place.
Knowing her mother, Charlotte likely had mentioned Plum’s gold to Callum, and Callum likely had mentioned it to Morgan. So the man had dated her, kissed her senseless in hopes of worminghis way into her affections, and now he thought he could search beside her and claim his share of the gold so that she wouldn’t have enough left to fund the park he was so much against.
Sadie suddenly tripped and landed facedown in the moist dirt of the river bank. She turned into a sitting position and stared back at the dark green canoe lying keel-up on the gravel.
The boat hadn’t been there an hour ago.
Sadie crawled on her knees to the canoe for a closer look. It was an old boat, strongly built of cedar and canvas, at least twenty feet long. It was also heavy. It took all of her strength to turn the boat upright, exposing the canvas pack that had been stashed beneath it.
She immediately reached for the long, leather-sheathed sword lying beside the bag. She settled down on the gravel and rested her back against the canoe, then pulled the heavy sword across her lap. She undid the leather stays at the top and awkwardly slid the great weapon out of its sheath.
Moonlight glinted off the blade.
“Have a care, lass, not to slice open your hands.”
Sadie looked up to find Morgan standing not ten feet away, holding two steaming mugs.
He came over and sat down beside her, placing one of the mugs in her hand.
“You’re thinking a sword is a strange thing to be carrying around,” he said just before he took a sip from his own mug.
Sadie lifted her steaming cup to her nose, sniffed it, and involuntarily shuddered.
“Whew. What is this?”
“Mulled wine. Or the closest I can get to mulled wine. Drink, lass. It tastes better than it smells.”
Not wanting to hurt his feelings by refusing his gift—although she couldn’t imagine why she should care about his feelings—Sadie took a small, tentative sip. And, again, every muscle in her body uncontrollably shuddered.
Morgan chuckled and took another, heartier drink of his wine. Sadie absently fingered the blade of his sword. “It is a rather odd thing to be lugging around the woods. It’s very heavy. Why do you carry it?”
He stilled her fingers by covering her naked right hand with his own. “Because it is a very efficient weapon,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the palm of it softly.
Sadie sucked in her breath and held it.
He had just kissed her scars.
She didn’t know what to do. What to say. How to act.
So, without thinking, she took another drink of her wine.
Tears immediately came to her eyes, and her throat closed up in defense of the powerful taste. It was all she could do not to break into a fit of coughing.
The man beside her chuckled again and set down his mug so that he could take her right hand in both of his. Ignoring her tug to get free, he turned her hand palm-up and traced a finger lightly over her scars.
“Will you tell me about the fire?” he asked, his voice soft and low-timbered, sending a shiver down Sadie’s spine.
“No.”
“About your sister, then. And your da.”
“No.”
He laughed softly and let go of her hand. He lifted his sword off her lap, set it on the ground beside him, and reached over to take her mug of terrible wine and set it beside his sword. And then he grabbed her by the waist and picked her up. In the blink of an eye, Sadie found herself straddling his thighs, her eyes level with his.
She stopped breathing again.
“Then, if you’re not in the mood for conversation, what should we do with the rest of our evening, lass?”
With all the hormones in her body suddenly zinging around like sparks from a wildfire, Sadie pondered her options. She was all alone in the woods with a very handsome man, miles from nowhere with nothing to disturb them, and it might be nice to feel that tingling sensation deep in her chest again.
“I’m not asking you to solve the world’s problems,” he said through a grin, giving her a squeeze. “I’m only looking for suggestions on how to occupy our time.”
We could kiss until the cows come home,she thought.
She truly did love the taste of Morgan MacKeage. She liked the way he smelled, the way he felt, and the way he made all five of her senses come alive.