done, Luke. Tomorrow, at the breakfast table, you’d better concentrate on eating your cereal and minding your own business. So a waitress has gorgeous eyes. So what?
Gorgeous eyes, obvious intelligence and a fiery temper. As well as a healthy dose of independence.
And who in the world did she remind him of?
CHAPTER THREE
AT 3:00 a.m. Luke woke to the black silence of his bedroom punctuated by the pounding of his heart in his ears. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, breathing hard. He’d had his usual nightmare about Teal Lake, the one where his dad had him slammed against a wall and was brandishing a broken beer bottle in his fist. His mother, as always in these dreams, was nowhere to be seen.
She’d left when he was five.
Stow it, Luke told himself. It’s only a dream. And you’re thirty-three, not five. But his heartbeat was still thumping like a drum, and he knew from experience that it was useless to try and go back to sleep right away. Getting up, he pulled the drapes open and gazed out over the lake, where a half-moon traced a glittering path from horizon to shore. Teal Lake was a tenth the size of this lake; but the moon had been equally beautiful on Teal Lake, and equally indifferent.
With an exclamation of disgust, Luke picked up a financial magazine from the mahogany coffee table and buried himself in an analyst’s prediction of the future of OPEC. At four he went back to bed, sleeping in snatches and finally getting up at five-thirty. He decided to go for a run along the lakeshore. Anything was better than being cooped up in this room until the dining room opened.
The breeze was pleasantly cool, the morning sky a pale, innocent blue. Birds chirped in the willows; he startled two deer on the golf course. Far out on the lake he could hear the low growl of boats: fishermen catching pickerel and goldeye, for which the lake was famous. He must have some for dinner tonight; the goldeye in particular was considered a delicacy. He’d have to ask Katrin her opinion, he thought sardonically. Sure. Good luck.
Pushing himself, Luke jogged for nearly an hour, sweat soaking his hair and gluing his T-shirt to his chest. He started to slow down when he reached the wharf that was just inside the resort’s high cedar fences. He should take time for some stretches, he thought, watching absently as a small daysailer came into sight through the trees. The sail was scarlet against the blue water, luffing as the sole crew member smartly brought the boat around the end of the wharf.
It was a woman, her long blond hair blowing free in the breeze. She was wearing shorts and a brief top, white sneakers on her feet. With smooth expertise she docked the daysailer, throwing a line over the cleat on the wharf and tightening it before leaping ashore.
It couldn’t be.
It was.
His mouth suddenly dry, Luke loped the last few yards toward the wharf. The woman had her back to him as she finished mooring the boat, her spine a long curve, her hair gleaming in the sun. Stepping onto the gently swaying wooden planks, he said, “Good morning, Katrin.”
She gave an exaggerated start. Then she tied a couple of untidy half hitches, dropped the rest of the rope and stood up, turning to face him. She pushed her dark glasses up into her hair; her eyes, a glacial blue this morning, fastened themselves on his face. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re a pro,” he said easily. “You handled the boat beautifully—is it yours?”
“My question came first.”
He swiped at his forehead with the back of one hand, and said with a winning smile, “I’m trying to work off last night’s pork tenderloin. Not to mention the orange mousse.”
As though she couldn’t help herself, her gaze skidded down his chest, its pelt of dark hair visible through his wet top, to the flatness of his belly. She took a sudden step back. Luke grabbed at her arm. “Watch it, you don’t want to fall in.”
Her skin was warm from the sun. She shook her elbow free, patches of color in her cheeks. “I’ve got to go,” she muttered. “I’ll be late for work.”
His glance flickered down her body. Her breasts pushed against her thin green top, the faint shadow of her cleavage visible at the scooped neck; her legs were slim and lightly tanned. It wasn’t an opportune moment to remember Guy’s question…you hiding anything else under that uniform? Luke now knew what she’d been hiding. Trying to gather his wits, he repeated, “Do you own the boat?”
“Yes,” she snapped, “I bought it with my investments.”
Ignoring this, Luke said tritely, “Nice lines.” The same, of course, could apply to her. “Do you do much sailing?”
“Whenever I can.” She lifted her chin. “It gets me away from the dining room. In more ways than one. Keeps my sanity, in other words.”
“There are a great many other jobs that would suit you better.”
“You’re repeating yourself.”
“You’re not getting it.”
“Life isn’t quite as simple as you seem to think it is. Sir.”
If anyone knew life wasn’t simple, it was himself. Holding tight to his temper, Luke said more moderately, “I’m sorry, I’m being tactless. I’d hate to see you stuck here year after year when there are wider horizons, that’s all.”
“Fine. I get the message.”
“I’m also sorry about Guy,” Luke went on. “He’s a grade-A jerk who shouldn’t go near a bottle of booze.”
“I can look after types like him.”
“So I noticed.”
“The brandy was an accident.”
“And the sail on your boat’s purple.”
For a brief moment laughter glinted in her eyes. He’d already decided she had beautiful eyes. Now add the rest of her, he thought. Although beautiful was a much overused word that didn’t really encompass her grace, femininity and unconscious pride; the luster of her skin, the smooth flow of her muscles; the sexual pull she was exerting on him without—he was almost sure of this—in any way intending or wanting to.
But wasn’t this all irrelevant? He met lots of beautiful women, so many that he should be immune to outward appearances by now; and the only reason his heart was thumping in his chest was that he’d been running for the better part of sixty minutes. Nothing to do with Katrin. He said abruptly, “I don’t even know your full name.”
“You don’t need to.”
Smiling broadly, Luke held out his hand. “Luke MacRae.”
Katrin looked down at his hand, her own firmly at her sides. The wind blew a strand of hair across her face. “I already told you, staff and guests don’t fraternize. I could get in real trouble if someone sees us talking like this.”
“Then it’s too bad there isn’t a bottle of brandy close by.”
Again wayward laughter briefly warmed her blue irises; and was as swiftly
