with the coming storm.
The anniversary of Christina’s death made him feel unsettled and uneasy. He wanted to be left alone so he could bring back the sharp pain of missing her.
That pain brought her memory into clear focus and reminded him of all his vows and promises. All the promises he had never been able to keep while his wife was alive. He needed those memories to stay focused now.
“But she’ll be okay, won’t she? Sultana is healthy, you said.” Annie withdrew her hand but took a step closer.
Her voice brought him back to the moment with a thud. Nodding, he backed up a step to keep from touching the vibrant personal trainer.
Lately, every time Annie touched him, he burned—and he was surprised by his growing attraction to her. He didn’t want any part of the lustful urges.
Nick had tried desperately to keep his distance from Annie over the past few weeks, and had worked hard to manage his exercises by his own strength. But she was a personal trainer, and had kept her watchful eyes and sensual hands on his body as he exercised in his home gym.
He groaned silently at the very thought. His unruly desire for her was getting so bad, he had actually considered risking his mother’s wrath by hiring someone else in her place.
Though Annie was strictly his employee, on his mother’s frequent visits, the two women had become friends. Coconspirators against him, he supposed.
It was bad enough that his father was furious with him for quitting the business to come live on the island and devote himself to Christina’s project. Nick didn’t want to risk losing his mother’s support, too.
Family was all important. But as much as he loved his mother, she was a meddler.
Since his wife’s death two years ago, his mind was often distracted. That was only one of the several reasons he’d left his home in Alsaca and given up everything he’d ever worked to achieve. He’d come to honor Christina’s memory and wishes in the very place where she had died.
But his mother was unduly worried about his isolation and absentmindedness. And he knew she thought Annie could bring him back to the world of the living.
In his opinion, Annie was entirely too alive.
“Please come with me, Nick,” Annie said as she looked up at him with those spectacular emerald eyes, flashing in both vivid color and obvious heat.
He had never seen a woman with such vibrance and fire. It fascinated him how different from Christina she was. Of how different Annie was from any woman in his experience.
But he couldn’t let her touch him. Not while he was so vulnerable today. He had to find a way to push her away, make her leave him alone.
“All right. You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you,” he said in his most demanding voice.
She screwed up her wide, full mouth in a frown for a second. But then she swung around and took a couple of steps toward the house before turning back to make sure he was following.
He started out, but soon realized that he’d made a huge mistake. He should’ve taken the lead. That way he wouldn’t be stuck walking behind her and admiring the way she looked as she swung her hips in those sexy, too-short white shorts.
Even in the dull light of the prestorm sky, Annie was radiant and energetic enough to make him forget his vows of celibacy since his wife’s death. She made him think instead of how he would dearly love to run his fingers through that mass of fiery red curls. Or to place his lips against the adorable rusty freckles that spattered across her nose like paint spills.
Her energy snapped about her as if she were static electricity during a thunderstorm. He found himself nearly drooling at the thought of capturing her to him and tasting all that vividness.
Instead, he fisted his hands and stuck them in his pockets. Concentrating on what hurricane preparations might be left to attend to and on how ferocious the storm might actually become, he vowed to keep his growing lust a secret.
He’d always thought that sex was a sacred trust. One best shared only once in a lifetime and mostly for procreation. Fidelity and honor meant more than mere bodily urges. And he would not betray Christina’s memory by jumping the first woman that had turned him on since her death.
Annie stirred the stockpot on the range as she heard the first tinkling sounds of rain against the shuttered windows. Before he left for the mainland, the chef had given her instructions for keeping herself and Nick fed during the storm and its aftermath.
The freezer was stocked with things that could be defrosted and heated up on the outdoor barbeque grill after the storm. She was making a big pot of her mother’s Irish stew that could be reheated on a small propane gas stove during the storm if the island’s electricity went out.
Annie could hear Nick in the other parts of house as he rummaged around, locating kerosene lamps, flashlights and candles. She didn’t worry about his physical ability to move through the house anymore. Not like she had when she’d first come and he’d been so unsteady on his injured knee.
It had taken all her knowledge of anatomic kinesiology and experience with physical conditioning in people with limited mobility to help him reestablish the strength in his legs. And then, of course, there had been the whole problem of motivation. Every time she’d pushed him a little further than the time before, he’d blazed with anger and backed away from her, almost as if her touch had somehow burned him.
Lately, the tension in the air between them was thick enough to make her more nervous than she liked to admit.
“Would you care to join me in a cup of tea?”
The sound of his voice startled her and she dropped the spoon into the stew pot. “Darn. You surprised me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
He reached for a pair of tongs from the round carousel that held kitchen utensils. “Sorry.” Dipping the tongs in the stew, he retrieved the spoon, wiped it off with a towel and handed it back to her with a polite bow. “Here you are, mademoiselle. No harm done.”
“Pretty slick, Nick, and how very European of you. I didn’t realize you were so familiar with a kitchen. I just imagined you’d always had a chef and would barely be able to find the kitchen, let alone know where things were kept in one.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said with a frown. “I’ve been sneaking into the kitchen for most of my life. Ever since I found out that’s where the sweets are kept.”
Annie giggled, put the lid back on the pot and turned the heat down under it. “If you’re serious about making tea, I’d love some.”
“Certainly,” he said with a formal air. He began opening jars and putting fresh water into the tea kettle.
She stood aside to watch him work and waited, she supposed, for him to drop something or in some other way need her help. Which she knew would not make him happy.
Sure enough, her hovering angered him. “Sit down. This will take a few minutes.” The darn man intimidated her, but she couldn’t let him know that.
She did as he asked and sat at the narrow kitchen table, but the nervous energy spilled off her like rapids
