Читать книгу You Had Me At Goodbye - Jane Blackwood - Страница 6

Lawrence made his way downstairs the next morning, bleary-eyed and unshowered, to the sound of someone humming cheerfully on the front porch. Good God, he thought, tough and perky. He stuck his head out the door, and she immediately smiled, stunning him for a moment before he remembered to at least try to frown.

“How is your search going for other accommodations?” he asked.

She put on a big show of frowning. “Not good. How’s your search going?”

He gave her a level stare before slowly closing the door, fighting a grin until he was out of sight. She wasn’t going to budge, and he couldn’t bring himself to throw her out. If she had thrown a hissy fit or even if she had cried, it would have been easier to demand that she leave. Hysterics were the best way to irritate him. This girl, this Kat person was, he had to admit, entertaining. As he had predicted, she was also distracting. Just knowing she was in the house seething about his existence had been enough diversion to keep him from focusing on his writing.

Last night he’d tried, God knew he’d tried, to type something remotely interesting, never mind the riveting moneymaker his publisher was looking for. All he could think of, though, was the way she’d pretended not to be scared when she’d run into him in the kitchen. Any sane woman would have run from the house screaming.

He stuck his head out the door again, thinking of making peace and that maybe if he were nice, she’d leave the house to him. “You want to join me for breakfast? There’s a diner down the street.”

Kat looked at her watch and frowned. “It’s almost eleven.”

“Is it? I was up nearly all night.”

She dropped her book and shifted in her wicker rocker so she faced him. She really was quite pretty, he realized, though definitely not his type. Most of the women he dated—in fact, all the women he dated—were tall, blonde, and busty. It was a sickness, a wonderful fixation.

“I didn’t realize I frightened you that much,” she said and smiled.

He couldn’t help but smile back. “You really do have to leave, you know. I’m a writer and I didn’t get any work done just knowing you were wandering about the house.”

“I’m two stories below you,” she pointed out. “I wasn’t wandering, and I don’t snore that loudly.”

“I don’t think you understand how vital it is that I’m alone.”

She gave him the strangest look, and he almost almost caved in right then and there. “I do understand,” she said evenly. “That’s why you need to go. I don’t just need to be alone; I need to be alone here. In this house. Alone. You can go write anywhere.”

Even though he knew she was right, he also knew he had inherited his father’s stubborn streak. The man would argue that the sky was purple until you believed it, too. Besides, he didn’t have the cash to go anywhere else. He didn’t even have a home of his own to go to, and he refused to stay with his brother and their three children.

“I’m sorry, Katherine. I’m not leaving.” Then he got what he thought was a brilliant idea, a sure way to get this tough nut to crack. “I’ve an idea,” he said overly casually and watched as her guard was immediately lifted. “If neither of us is willing to leave, I suggest we make the best of it and have ourselves a good time. A summer fling, so to speak.”

She looked up at him, her brows knitting just slightly. Then she turned back to her book, seemingly unconcerned. “Nice try, Larry. Though I must say your offer is tempting, now that you’ve shaven.”

My God, he thought, he might as well accept defeat. And he probably would have if he hadn’t been so bloody stubborn.

Kat watched the door close and stifled a laugh. This guy was an amateur, she thought, knowing she’d won that battle and that total victory was only a day or so away. Lawrence Kendall had met his match, she thought happily. It occurred to her she needed to know her enemy better if she was going to win this war of wills. Kat waited for Larry to leave for breakfast—it was noon before he made his way out the door—then grabbed her laptop, plunked herself down on the couch, plugged her computer into a phone jack, signed in to AOL, and then did a quick search on Amazon for Lawrence Kendall. There he was, or at least, there was Lawrence Kendall’s latest book: Visions of Solitude.

“That’s what I need,” she whispered. “Solitude.” He’d had five books published in all, and all were out of print but Visions of Solitude. She clicked on it and read some reviews, grimacing and beginning to feel a little bit sorry for Larry.

Then she decided to Google him.

Googling someone wasn’t really spying, Kat told herself as she typed in Lawrence Kendall, then pressed “search.”

She watched, amazed, as hit after hit came up…and hardly any had anything to do with his books. She clicked on one entry: “Playboy Kendall Runs Boat Aground.”

“Must be the wrong Kendall,” she said as she waited for the page to appear on her laptop. But no, there he was in all his glory, wearing a swimsuit and standing aboard what Kat would call a yacht, not a boat. “Whoa.” The “whoa” was not for the boat but for the man standing on the boat. Of course she knew he had a nice body—she’d seen it firsthand last night—but this glistening Greek god she was staring at was a pumped up version. Kat had never thought of herself as an ogler, but here she was practically drooling at the man she saw smiling rakishly at the camera. He was beautiful, all lean muscle and tanned skin, his hair wind-tousled, his eyes sparkling with humor. Kat glanced at the date: it had been taken five years before, and she could see how time had changed him. He was bigger, more filled out, more man—less carefree, Kat supposed. Once Kat was able to, she dragged her eyes off his body and took in the beautiful blonde draped around him. He had one hand casually resting on her tiny, tanned waist, and Kat frowned.

“Lawrence Kendall, one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, got in another spot of trouble over the weekend when his sixty-foot yacht, “My Pleasure,” ran aground on a small island near Crete.”

Kat clicked back to Google and selected another item. “Lawrence Kendall has been selected chairman of the London Society for Literacy.” It was a picture of Kendall wearing a tuxedo, standing next to a couple of elderly people. He looked stunning in formal wear, nearly as stunning as he had in his swimsuit.

Kat clicked to Google and selected item after item, most of which were newspaper articles of events where, inevitably, he had on his arm another beautiful blonde and he was described as one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors.

He was rich, she realized. Someone who went to events like those described in the articles was the kind of filthy rich she’d seen only on television. And he wanted her to leave? He could probably buy ten houses like this one. Boy, did he have another thing coming to him—and it sure as hell wasn’t a summer fling. Larry could afford to go anywhere; she could barely afford to buy herself the needed groceries for this summer hiatus.

Kat shut down her computer, more determined than ever to make Larry go away. She went out on the porch wishing Larry and his British charm would simply disappear. Roy was next door, sweeping his porch as he did every day. He looked up and nodded, and Kat could tell he didn’t recognize her immediately.

“Hey, Roy. It’s Kat, Lila’s niece.”

“You here for the summer?” he called over, propping his hand on the broom handle.

“You bet. ’Til Labor Day.”

He paused a minute as if he was going to ask her something, probably about Larry, but instead said, “Why don’t you come on over tonight at five.”

“Just as long as you don’t make me drink one of your martinis,” Kat said, wrinkling her nose. She’d tried to like martinis because they seemed sophisticated, but Kat was a simple girl, and she always stuck to cheap wine and beer.

“I’ll see you later then,” Roy said and disappeared into his bed and breakfast.

At five o’clock, Roy Baxter carefully measured the vodka and poured it into the shaker, then strained enough for two martini glasses. He dropped a single green olive into one and two olives and an onion into the other. Every time he made martinis, he thought of his wife, how she had enjoyed a good martini as much as he did. Each evening at six o’clock, she’d make them both a drink, then bring it to him out on their front porch facing the Atlantic and curl up in the big rocker without a word and take a sip. God, he loved to watch the way her mouth touched the delicate rim, the way her tongue would dart out, the relaxed sound she’d make when she tasted it. One drink each night, and man, did he enjoy that drink.

Twenty years after her death, he could still picture her sitting in the rocking chair next to him. She would tuck her bare feet under her and face him, never the sea, the glow of the late-day sun making her strawberry blond hair seem a soft, burnished gold. She had freckles and bright blue eyes, and he’d loved her to distraction and wondered how a small-town boy could have managed to make this beautiful woman fall in love with him. They would talk and laugh and sometimes argue and sometimes cry. It had been just the two of them for years, and that was not okay, not for Sara. And not for him either. By the time they figured out why Sara couldn’t get pregnant, her cancer was so advanced all they could talk about was how to say goodbye. She’d only been thirty-two. He couldn’t wrap his mind around that now, twenty years later, having lived all those years without her; she’d been so damned young.

Two years after she’d gone, he’d turned their house into a bed and breakfast because he couldn’t bear to sell it and he couldn’t bear to be alone all the time. Most people thought he rented out rooms because he had to financially, but Roy did it for the company. He couldn’t stand to be alone for long stretches of time, wandering around the rambling seaside cottage his great grandfather had built. He’d made good friends over the years, people who’d stayed at his place every summer for years. They’d sit out on the porch with him and talk or not. But they were warm bodies moving about his old place, and he liked it that way.

As alone as he felt, Roy never remarried. He just couldn’t find a way to fall in love with anyone the way he’d fallen in love with Sara. He wasn’t a maudlin man with pictures of his dead wife in every room. He had no real objections to remarrying—God knew the local single women had tried for years to get him down the aisle. He just wanted to love someone, if not in the same way as Sara, at least as much. It never happened, and he figured it never would. He was fifty-five years old and not quite the looker he’d once been. He was starting to get a little bit of a belly, and his hair wasn’t nearly as thick as it used to be. One long-ago girlfriend said he had Paul Newman eyes, so he supposed he wouldn’t break any mirrors.

Roy picked up the martinis and headed out to the porch to the only other man he’d ever met who valued the taste of a good martini as much as he did.

“Here you go, Lawrence.”

“Thank you, Roy. I need it.”

Roy chuckled. “Another great day at the keyboard, I take it?”

Lawrence gave him a short nod. “Not that, though I still haven’t written anything worth a damn. Apparently I’ve acquired a temporary roommate. Lila’s niece.”

“Ah, yes. I saw her on the porch today.”

“Anyway, my hopes for any solitude or privacy have flown out the window.” He took a sip of his martini, closing his eyes briefly to enjoy the moment.

“Tell her to leave.”

“I did. She won’t. Besides, Lila didn’t know I’d be here and promised the house to her. We’re at a stalemate at the moment.”

Roy nodded. “If she’s like her aunt, she’ll win.” They sat in companionable silence for a minute. “I wonder if Lila is coming here this summer.”

Lawrence, recalling the large portrait of Lila in the living room, gave Roy a shrewd look. “I don’t believe so. At least, nothing was mentioned. But you can see a whole lot of her any time you want,” he said, with obvious reference to the portrait.

“God, the picture. Still can’t believe they put it in the living room,” Roy said with a chuckle. “How long is—what’s the niece’s name again?”

“Katherine.”

Roy frowned briefly, then his expression cleared. “Kat. She’s come over every summer for a week or so since Lila and Carl married. She had a boyfriend.” He leaned over, glancing at the house next door. “Boring as hell.”

“Don’t tell me he didn’t appreciate your martinis,” Lawrence joked.

“He drank beer,” Roy said with disgust. “Budweiser.”

The screen door opened next door, and Roy hoped Kat hadn’t heard what he’d said. “Kat, why don’t you join us?”

She looked over at the pair of them and smiled, lifting up what appeared to be a bottle of wine and a tall glass filled with ice. “Be right over.”

Lawrence watched her bounce down the steps like a child, scuttle around a family walking by, and jog up to Roy’s porch. She was as graceful as a puppy and seemed to have as much energy. She was wearing a white short-sleeve blouse and tan capris; her feet were bare, and her toenails were painted bright red. Two of her toes had small rings on them, and for some reason, Lawrence’s gaze kept straying to those two rings.

“Hi, Roy. Glad to see you’re keeping up with tradition,” Kat said, motioning to the martinis. “I think I’ll stick with this, though.”

This was a bottle of wine, but it fizzed as she poured it into her glass, and the ice crackled.

“Fine vintage,” Lawrence said dryly, eyeing the pinkish “wine” that chugged out of the bottle.

“Arbor Mist. And I like it. It tastes like Kool Aid.”

“Fruit punch,” Roy supplied when he saw Lawrence’s confusion.

Katherine gave him a look that told him she didn’t care what he thought of her choice of wine and took a deep sip. He watched, slightly distracted by how long and smooth her neck looked as she drank. She looked prettier than she had earlier, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. She wore no makeup that he could see, and her short hair looked exactly the same as it had. Maybe it was the softening of the light, but for some reason, he found himself studying her and liking what he saw.

“Is your boyfriend coming to the island later?” Roy asked.

Katherine visibly stiffened and looked startled by the question, then shook her head and smiled. “Not this summer.”

There was something a little off about that smile, Lawrence thought.

“I hear you two are engaged. When’s the big date?”

The strangest thing happened then. Lawrence, who hardly knew this woman, found himself disappointed in a profound way that she was unattainable. He hadn’t even thought of attaining her, at least not on any conscious level. The idea of a fling had been a challenge, not a recognition of any attraction. And yet here he was feeling bothered that she was taken, that he would never find out what it would be like to pursue her. It was as if a large red X had been painted over her.

She glanced down at her glass. “We actually won’t be getting married.”

Lawrence watched her as she stared at her bubbling wine, aware she was trying to hold it together and horribly afraid she would break down and cry in front of them. Instead, she smiled that strange smile and said, “It was a mutual thing. I think we dated too long and lost interest in each other.” Lawrence studied her expression but found no hidden sadness, nothing to indicate she was suffering over the loss, and he was slightly amazed at how good an actress she was.

“He drank Budweiser,” Roy said, as if that explained everything. Katherine laughed.

“And I drink strawberry wine. We were a perfect match for a while there.”

She sounded much too chipper. Clearly, she was here to lick her wounds. The desperate need for solitude suddenly made perfect sense to Lawrence. Poor girl probably wanted to wail and moan into her pillow without any fear that she’d be overheard.

“If you’d like, I could let you have the house for, say, two days,” Lawrence said, feeling overly generous.

“Two days? Gee, Larry, why this generous change of heart?”

She glared at him, and Lawrence had a sinking feeling he was about to lose another battle. “I thought you needed to lick your wounds. The broken engagement and all,” he said, suddenly uncertain.

“No wounds to lick,” Kat said with more confidence than she felt. She’d be damned if she admitted to Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor that she’d come to the island for the sole purpose of licking her wounds. “I just need a vacation.”

“And what sort of work are you vacationing from?” Larry asked, and Kat could tell he was just being polite.

“I own…owned a housecleaning service. Taylor Maids,” Kat said, wondering what God had against her to send her this man who was managing to sprinkle salt on her open cuts.

“You’ve retired?” Larry asked.

“If you must know, I got sued. One of my clients had a show dog, a little thing that looked more like a mop than a real dog, and it ran out into the street and got hit by a truck. I suppose I was to blame because I’m the one who opened the damn door.”

“You killed her dog?”

She looked at him deadpan. “Frankly, given the dog’s owner, I think it may have been suicide.”

Larry let out a bark of laughter. Kat still couldn’t bring herself to laugh about it, especially since that single moment had meant the end of Taylor Maids. She’d spent the last four years building her business, focusing on high end clients, only to lose everything when her most powerful client sued her. She’d made the mistake of building her customer base in a single large upscale development. The dog owner was president of the homeowner’s association, so overnight, Kat lost eighty percent of her customer base. She’d had to lay off her two employees, which had broken her heart.

A week later, Brian finished her heart off by stepping on it.

“That’s such a sad story I’ve half a mind to let you have the house for the summer.”

“Really?” Kat asked hopefully, but with a large dose of skepticism.

“Unfortunately, the other half of my mind is in charge,” Larry said, grinning.

“Ha ha,” Kat said grumpily, pouring a little bit more wine into her glass. Then, partly to irritate him, she offered the bottle to Lawrence. “Try some. As long as you don’t think of it as wine, you’ll be fine. Drink right out of the bottle. It’ll help you to know how the other half lives.”

“Other half?” he asked, looking to Roy to see if he knew what she was talking about.

“I Googled you,” she said, and she could tell he was momentarily confused. “The Internet. Most eligible bachelor running yachts aground, attending charity balls with Barbies.”

“My God, that’s all online?”

Kat took a sip. “You bet. Fascinating stuff.”

After looking at Roy in mock horror, he took the bottle grimly. “Shouldn’t this be in a paper bag for the full effect?”

“I’m not trying to make you look homeless, just like a real person.”

“Do real people drink straight out of the bottle?” he asked Roy, and Kat knew he was simply indulging her and having a bit of fun.

“I’m not a real person,” Roy said dryly.

Lawrence upended the bottle and chugalugged it, making bubbles roll around the bottle. “Not bad,” he said, grimacing only slightly.

Kat looked at her now half-empty bottle and frowned. “You’re a quick study,” she said.

“I aim to please.” He looked at Kat, and even though she’d later swear it was an innocent look, innocent words, she felt the biggest rush of lust she’d felt in…well, ever.

She was going to have to make sure she got rid of him, and soon.