near her. Humiliation vied with embarrassment and she was that attention-seeking thirteen-year old again. ‘Suit yourself.’ She huffed silently. Now she even sounded like a thirteen-year-old, all wounded pride and disgruntlement. She’d always acted differently around him. Why hadn’t that changed?
To her chagrin, after all these years she was still allowing him to affect her. Helpless to stop all those teenage emotions exploding into her mind like big red paint splotches on a blank wall. As if time had wound backwards. As if he’d never left.
Disgusted with herself, she was already turning away when he touched her shoulder. A feather-light touch, barely there. So gentle. So sensual. She imagined suddenly, and with devastating clarity, how it might feel if her shoulder were bare and it were his lips rather than his hand. Heat blossomed where his palm rested and she jerked to a startled stop.
‘But since we’ve a few matters to discuss …’ he began in a neutral tone that belied the fact that his fingers sculpted over her shoulder were pressing ever so slightly into her flesh or that his thumb was creating tiny circles of friction on the back of her neck ‘.breakfast might be a good place to start.’
And for a few unguarded seconds she found herself relaxing into the sensations he was creating. The fresh scent of the soap he’d used to wash his hands. The shimmer of heat down her back from his body—No. She pulled away. ‘All right.’ Spoken coolly as she swung to face him. His hand slipped off her shoulder and she almost sighed at the loss. ‘How do you like your eggs?’
‘You’re going to cook?’
He looked so surprised, she had to grin. ‘I do know how these days.’ And she had every intention of being up and dressed and prepared before he arrived.
He nodded without a glimmer of humour. ‘Shall we say oh six hundred?’
‘Make it seven.’ She needed time to acquaint herself with the kitchen.
‘Seven, then. I’ll rescue the rest of your gear then take a look at the boat. Do you have anything I can use for repairs?’
‘Try on the deck by the door. Under the tarp.’
He nodded. ‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight. And be careful.’
‘I’m always careful.’
She watched him turn and walk away. Was he? What about Janine Baker? a little voice whispered. Janine had left town too and Lissa had never heard, nor asked, what had happened to her or her baby.
She was still watching when he turned back. ‘And the eggs.? I like them hard.’
‘That makes it easy, so do I.’
She had the distinct feeling neither of them were talking about eggs.
As soon as she heard the front door close she headed for a better view of the river. And Blake. She found it in the master bedroom. With the living-room lighting spilling onto the rain-swept patio, she watched him stride swiftly down the path. Past the pool. Along the jetty. A tall, impressive masculine figure, an image no less powerful than when he’d been standing outside her door as a possible intruder. And no less unsettling.
When he’d disappeared onto the deck, she turned and gazed at the room. The light from the hallway slanted onto the rumpled king-sized bed, the upper sheet twisted and hanging off one side. The imprint of his head on the pillow had her stomach fluttering with the kind of nervous excitement he’d always instilled in her whenever she’d thought of him.
She crushed a hand against her middle and ordered herself to settle down. He’d been sleeping in here. Or trying to. What had made him up and leave such comfort and seek out the houseboat in the middle of the night? Bad dreams? Or physical pain—she’d seen it behind his eyes, hard and brittle as if he’d been fighting it a while.
Or was he missing a special woman that he’d left behind in some foreign country?
She looked about for some hint. His open bag lay on the floor against a wall, clothes neatly stacked inside. A pile of sail-boat brochures were stacked on the dresser along with his passport and some loose change. She was so tempted to look at his passport and see where he’d been, but she couldn’t bring herself to invade his privacy.
Instead, hardly aware of what she was doing, she moved to the bed and picked up his pillow, closed her eyes and breathed in. It smelled of sunshine with a subtle whiff of masculine scent that she’d come into close proximity with earlier. It had been a long time, but she remembered that smell. Blake. A moan started low in her stomach and rose up her throat—
‘Everything okay here?’
Oh, God. Her heart jumped into her mouth. Oh, no. Her knees almost buckled from under her and her eyes snapped open though she’d rather they’d stayed shut. Then she could have imagined herself invisible instead of seeing Blake standing in the doorway, one arm on the doorjamb, head cocked to one side. His dark figure blocked the light from the hall. She had no idea what his expression was, or what he must be thinking, but it couldn’t be good.
‘Yep. Everything’s fine.’ Forcing a smile, she stepped away from the bed. ‘I … ah … wanted to check the boat was still afloat.’ She laughed; too bright, too high. ‘Silly, I know …’ But you already have that opinion about me. ‘I’m … just grabbing an extra pillow on the way if that’s okay. Was there something you wanted?’
And how dumb was she, how reckless, standing next to his bed in the semi-darkness in her mini nightgown and asking that question? Not that he noticed … or did he? He wore a bemused expression and she pressed her lips together before she got herself into even more trouble.
‘My phone.’ He turned on the light, regarded her a moment longer then switched his attention to the empty night stand and frowned. ‘You haven’t seen it, have you? I’m sure I left it here somewhere.’
She shook her head. ‘Perhaps you knocked it onto the floor.’
‘Or perhaps you did,’ he pointed out. Faintly accusing.
Anxious to move this beyond-embarrassing situation right along and leave, she dropped the pillow on the bed and sank gratefully to her knees to hide her flaming cheeks.
‘Is it there?’
‘Um …’
‘Do you need a hand?’
Oh, yes, please. The impact of those somewhat ambiguous words spoken in that low sexy drawl invoked an image she was better off not thinking about. ‘Ah …’ Her fingers closed over smooth plastic. ‘Found it.’
Blake heard her muffled reply as he watched her silk-draped bottom wriggle backwards. She had it all right: the perfect backside. He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything so. spectacular.
The last time he’d seen her she’d been a skinny thirteen and a blusher. Still was apparently. Her curtain of auburn hair obscured her face but he knew without a doubt that her cheeks matched it. She could be telling him the truth about the pillow and the boat but he seriously doubted it.
She was attracted to him.
Jared’s
