a room, and all evening he would watch her with those sizzling, sexy eyes that held too many secrets for her comfort.
Was it all just for show? Catherine didn’t want to believe it was, but at home the byplay between them was limited to polite, if not awkward conversation. He’d told her that he liked and respected her. Was it possible that he could someday feel something more where she was concerned? For she feared that she was beginning to feel something much deeper for him.
She arrived home on Saturday, two grocery bags in tow, determined to try her hand at an Italian dish she’d seen in the gourmet cooking magazine to which she subscribed. When she opened the door from the garage, however, her eardrums were assaulted by Bob Seger’s gritty voice. Stephen was apparently already home, even though it was barely four o’clock and he usually worked until six, even at weekends.
She followed the music until she found him. He was in a back room that he’d had converted to a weight room. Assorted sizes of dumbbells and free weights lined the walls. Stephen reclined on the slim bench, stripped to the waist in a pair of nylon shorts and pumping some serious iron. He didn’t see her, so Catherine allowed herself a moment of pure ogling, and the hunger she felt had nothing to do with the fact she had skipped lunch.
So this was where he got the biceps she’d admired, not to mention the delts and pecs that did his tailored shirts proud. Oh, she would suffer some incredibly detailed fantasies in the future—and she did mean suffer—but it was worth it to be able to openly watch her handsome husband.
He stopped his reps and sat up, blotting the perspiration from his face with a towel he’d draped over the end of the bench. And then he saw her. He stood, switched off the blaring rock and faced her.
“Something I can help you with?”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She motioned toward the bench. “Are you finished?”
“For now.”
“They say that working out is a good way to relieve tension,” she said, when he just continued to stare at her.
He stalked forward until he stood just in front of her, more than six feet of sweaty and seemingly angry male.
“I can think of better ways to relieve this kind of tension, Catherine.”
He stepped around her and then he was gone.
Catherine burned dinner, but it didn’t matter. Stephen had gone out shortly after their confrontation in the weight room. It was nearly midnight when Degas whined and she heard Stephen’s muffled footsteps on the stairs. Again, she wondered where he’d been and whom he’d been with.
Catherine stumbled into the kitchen early the next morning, her system in need of some serious caffeine before she tackled the job of cleaning up the mess she’d made the night before. She’d been in no mood to scrub pots and pans after her disastrous dinner.
To her surprise, Stephen was already seated in the nook, dressed in casual tan pants and a cotton navy crewneck, munching on a slice of toast.
“You’re up early today.”
“I’ve decided to take La Libertad out for one last sail before dry-docking her for the winter.”
“Hmm.” She glanced toward the window and the patch of blue visible through it. “Should be a good day for it,”
Sipping his coffee, he nodded. “If the weather forecast is to be believed it’s going to be sunny and unseasonably warm.”
She’d hoped for an invitation, but wasn’t terribly surprised when one didn’t come. If the man found it difficult to spend time with her in a six-thousand-square-foot house, surely a thirty-eight-foot sailboat would be sheer torture.
“Well, have a good time.”
She turned and walked to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee, and then nearly scalded her hand when he asked, “Is it going to take you long to get ready?”
“You want me to go with you?”
“I want you…to go.” He hesitated just long enough between the words to shroud his exact meaning.
“Stephen—”
He interrupted, his tone sounding sincere when he said, “I want to spend the day with you, Catherine. Just the two of us.”
“I’d like that, too.”
“I figured we’d swing by a deli first, have a picnic lunch packed. We can make an entire day of it, if that suits you.”
An entire day aboard his sailboat, miles from shore, with no chaperones. Nothing good could come from it, her practical mind warned. Yet she found herself smiling with excitement, her blood humming with anticipation.
“It suits me.”
Chapter Eight
LAKE MICHIGAN proved a gentle hostess, her waters a calm and vibrant blue that reminded Catherine of satin. The sun warmed her face and allowed her to remain comfortable in the sweater and jeans she’d worn. And the breeze co-operated as well. It ruffled the sails and tugged the boat out to where the tall buildings on the shoreline looked so small they could be covered with one’s thumb.
“Are you enjoying your sail?”
With her face turned to the sun, eyes closed, she smiled. “Very much. Thank you for asking me.”
“I almost didn’t.”
She opened her eyes and turned to look at him, but said nothing.
“I remember what happened the last time we were aboard La Libertad.”
She’d been sure he was going to mention the night at the movie theater, when needs and desires had beckoned…threatened to overtake them. His reference to that summer evening perplexed her.
“I don’t understand. Nothing happened.”
“Something happened. And it wasn’t the first time. I’ve been attracted to you for a long time, even when I didn’t want to be.”
“When I was engaged to Derek?”
“Before that.”
She sat upright. “But you never said a word.”
“What was I going to say? I thought it would pass, especially after you became involved with my cousin. I thought I was just attracted to the pretty packaging. You’re a very beautiful woman.”
And so he had told her, on more than one occasion. Derek had told her that as well, which made the compliment seem hollow, almost an insult.
“I’d like to think I’m more than that.”
“You are. That’s what makes you so dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” She laughed, sure he was joking, but his gaze remained intense, his mouth a taut line. “I’m not dangerous, Stephen. What you see is what you get.”
