actually not that strange,” she answered seriously, which cemented his decision. Anything was better than ten thousand drunken choruses of “Just Like a Woman.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” he asked, not that he was going to let her back out now. She was promising him an escape from more late-night skinny-dipping and the now-permanent ridge in his back where the deck chair slats had eaten into it.
She shook her head, her hair falling again, and this time he didn’t look at all. “I’m sure. I draw a lot out here, so if all you want to do is sit by the beach and stare into the sun, it’s not going to bother me at all.”
“You draw?” he asked curiously.
“Not well,” she answered, pulling her sunglasses back over her eyes, but not before he saw the uncertainty flicker in them.
“Still, it’s something,” he said, trying to reassure her. She looked as if she needed reassurance.
“What do you do?”
“I’m an accountant.”
“Exciting,” she murmured.
Daniel managed a half smile. “Don’t lie.”
She looked at him, black lenses hiding her eyes. “Actually, it suits you.”
“Most people say that as an insult.”
“No, you’re very quiet and thorough and intense. I think those would be good qualities for an accountant to have.”
She sounded completely serious. “Still, boring is boring.”
“Ha. Not likely,” she said so skeptically that he had to look at her twice.
“What do you do?” he asked, thinking that if she thought accounting was exciting, her job must be a complete snoozer.
“Art appraisal.”
Not a snoozer, not even close. “Now see, that’s exciting.”
“Yeah,” she agreed happily. “It usually is. We discovered a lost Picasso last year.”
“Now that’s much better than accounting.”
“But you love it, don’t you?”
Daniel didn’t try to lie. Truthfully, he did love his job. The world needed accountants, like they needed scientists and garbage collectors. “I’m not designed to do anything else. There’s a balance to accounting. Very exacting, very precise. No room for error. At the end of the day, you know exactly where you stand.”
She smiled then, and he noticed that she had a nice smile. A full lower lip, and even white teeth that hinted at years in braces.
“Why do your brothers want you at the Hamptons?” she asked.
“To have fun.”
Catherine laughed. She had a nice laugh, too. Almost hesitant until she got into it and then the sound made him smile and want to laugh along with her, but he didn’t. “I shouldn’t laugh,” she said, putting a hand over her mouth.
“No, really, I think you should.”
“So you’re going to have a miserable time and prove them wrong, aren’t you?”
“It hasn’t been bad,” he answered honestly. Since he’d met her, he had liked sitting with her, talking, under no obligation to be funny, or witty, or charming, or any of those other sterling character traits that Daniel had long forgotten.
“I won’t say anything to your brothers,” she whispered.
“Thank you.”
“So, do you do anything besides accounting?”
Daniel hesitated, because he didn’t tell many people about the bar. There were expectations of a bar owner, more of the fun-loving, pleasure-seeking crap, and Daniel usually kept his mouth shut. But Catherine would understand. He knew it. She was the type of person who invited confidences, the type of person who didn’t demand or judge, and it had been so long since he’d had an ordinary conversation. He was surprised that he remembered how. “I’m part owner in a bar.”
The sunglasses came off again, and he wished she would leave them off; her eyes were strangely compelling. So completely content. “I’ve never met a bar owner before. You don’t seem the type.”
This time Daniel did laugh. “It’s my brother. He’s the type.”
“Ah. Your family must be close.”
“Family distance is highly underrated.”
She smiled at him. “Spoken by someone who is close to his family.”
“When they’re not playing therapist.”
“Do you want lunch?” she asked, and Daniel checked his watch. He’d talked with her for nearly two hours, and never noticed.
“I shouldn’t impose.”
“Puh-lease. You’re my houseguest now. What sort of hostess would I be if I didn’t feed you?”
“You have something beyond snack foods and beer?”
She raised her brows. “That bad?”
“Hmm, it’s not, but I’m thinking your food is probably better.”
Daniel pulled on his T-shirt and followed her through the French doors to the interior of the house. Once inside, he heaved a blissful sigh. Now this was a beach house. There was no television, no stereo, only a couch overlooking the windows, two dainty sticks of wood, which Daniel termed “female chairs,” a wall of rare books and what he guessed was really good art on the wall.
“This is a great place.”
“It’s my grandfather’s. I freeload often.”
“I bet he doesn’t mind.”
“Nah.”
She opened the refrigerator and stared inside. “Eggs, salad, tuna and some berries.”
“Very sensible.”
“I have cupcakes and chips in the pantry.”
“I won’t judge. I swear.”
“Thank you. Actually, I shouldn’t have them,” she said, skimming her hands down over her hips. It wasn’t a seductive move, but a self-conscious one. Daniel’s gaze automatically slipped lower, following her hands, and he felt something stir inside him.
A momentary flicker of heat.
Daniel looked away, and Catherine never noticed.
After lunch was over, Daniel grabbed a paperback thriller and sat out on the beach
