Читать книгу Stranded With Her Ex - Jill Sorenson - Страница 11

As Daniela came down the stairs, the aroma of sautéed vegetables and the sizzle of oil assailed her senses, along with the faint, sweet fragrance of sticky rice.

She was hungry, she realized with surprise. Really hungry.

Jason was in the kitchen, doing his magic. The top half of his black hair, which was even longer than Sean’s, was caught up in a Samurai ponytail. Despite the chill, his upper body was clad in a thin white T-shirt. The muscles in his arms flexed as he moved the sauté pan, and the edge of a tattoo flashed from beneath one short sleeve.

He was very nice to look at, but her eyes slipped by him almost immediately, resting instead on Sean. Her ex-husband stood in the back of the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a beer bottle in his hand.

Men. Hot water wasn’t a necessity, but they always had beer.

Under the harsh fluorescent light, he appeared older than the last time she’d seen him, a little wearier and a lot more weathered. His hair was still the same thick golden-brown, his eyes the same shade of dark honey and his skin as tanned as ever, but his demeanor had changed. When his gaze met hers, it was shuttered. He was hiding something from her, and he’d never done that before.

Daniela became aware that a hush had fallen over the room. On the other side of a wall partition, but in full view of the kitchen, Taryn and Elizabeth were seated at the dinner table, laptops open. After a brief pause, they resumed tapping at the keys.

Brent Masterson stood by the front window, hands in his pants pockets, as still and quiet as a shadow. He gave her a wry smile, acknowledging the awkward moment rather than pretending it wasn’t there.

She drew in a deep, calming breath. “What can I do to help?”

“You can set the table,” Jason said. He pointed with the spatula, indicating the cabinet behind Sean. “Plates are up there.”

The kitchen was small, and she had to get very close to Sean in order to take the plates down. He flattened his back against the side of the refrigerator, but her elbow still almost touched his chest as she opened the cabinet door. The dark green sweater he was wearing looked familiar—she’d given it to him for Christmas, at least five years ago. Like him, it appeared a little worse for the wear. Used hard and work-roughened.

Not that it mattered, on his body. Even threadbare, wash-faded fabric suited his rangy, well-muscled frame.

Swallowing drily, she looked up into the cabinet. A stack of colorful ceramic plates sat on the top shelf.

“Do you need me to get them?” he asked.

“I can reach,” she said, standing on tiptoe. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body and smell his skin. If she lived to be a hundred years old, she would never forget his scent, warm and musky and deliciously masculine.

Sean.

She took down the stack of sturdy, mismatched plates, aware of his proximity and his watchful eyes.

Her red long-sleeved thermal was a utilitarian item, sturdy and comfortable, but it fit snugly, outlining her breasts. She’d always had trouble finding clothes that weren’t too tight across the chest. Under Sean’s gaze, the fabric seemed to shrink further, making her feel overwarm and underdressed.

It wasn’t as if he was ogling her. It was just that she couldn’t help but think of the many times he’d lifted her against any convenient flat surface, including the kitchen countertops, in their apartment.

Heat rose to her cheeks. The memories seemed foreign to her, as if those intimacies belonged to someone else. The person she’d become didn’t respond like that, tearing a man’s clothes off as soon as he walked through the door.

The woman she was now didn’t respond at all.

“Silverware?” she murmured, avoiding eye contact.

“In the top drawer,” Jason said. “Just forks will do.”

Nodding, she counted out six forks and placed them on top of the stack. Adding a handful of napkins, she carried the bundle to the table, trying not to let her arm brush against Sean’s midsection as she walked out of the kitchen.

Elizabeth and Taryn put their laptops away, helping Daniela set the table.

After Jason brought out the food, there was a minor commotion as everyone gathered around the table. When Sean took the seat opposite Daniela, she found herself staring at him. She dropped her gaze to the forest-green knit across his chest, her heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety.

The sweater was seven years old, now that she thought about it. She’d given it to him on Christmas Eve, the same night he’d proposed. He’d hidden the ring in a lingerie box with a ridiculously sexy red teddy.

It was a joke, because he knew she hated gifts like that. She hadn’t seen the ring at first. Annoyed by his poor taste, giving her trashy underwear on Christmas, after she’d bought him an expensive sweater, she’d almost thrown the box at him.

Then she saw his eyes sparkle with humor, and she looked again, finding the diamond. With a smile, he got down on one knee and asked her to be his wife.

That night, she’d worn the ring and the teddy.

Daniela rubbed the empty place on her finger, blinking away the memories. Now the ring was hiding in a jewelry box at the back of her lingerie drawer. The teddy was in shreds, having been torn from her body by Sean on one of his homecomings. Blushing slightly, she lifted her gaze from the sweater to his shadowed jaw.

His scruffy, don’t-give-a-damn appearance only added to his appeal.

In contrast, Brent, to his right, seemed almost elegant. And then there was Jason. With his dark good looks and easy smile, he had an edgy style that was neither rugged nor refined.

All three men were handsome—and eligible—as far as Daniela knew. The table seemed to shrink in their presence, and she felt acutely self-conscious. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a meal with strangers.

Jason proposed a toast. “To new beginnings?”

“To new beginnings,” Brent agreed, lifting his own glass.

Sean’s expression was sardonic, but he went along with it, and Daniela followed suit, clinking her water bottle against Taryn’s. It didn’t escape her attention that a barren, inhospitable island was an ironic choice as a place to start over.

Jason served the lumpia fresh, rather than fried, and it was a build-your-own affair. The ingredients were placed in the center of the table, and everything looked delicious.

Daniela scooped up sautéed vegetables and shredded chicken, the filling for the moist, paper-thin wrappers. Rolling them up into neat little packages wasn’t easy, and no one but Jason was entirely successful. Although she was hungry, her frayed nerves wreaked havoc on her appetite, so she focused on chewing and swallowing, one small bite at a time.

“This is your first visit to the Farallones, Daniela?” Brent asked.

“Yes,” she said, glancing up from her plate. “How about you?”

“It’s my first time, too. And Elizabeth’s, I think?”

She nodded.

“That can’t have been the first time you’d seen a shark attack,” Daniela commented. “You were as cool as ice.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “I was scared witless, I assure you. But you’re right, I’ve filmed sharks feeding many times. The trick is to cultivate a courageous facade.” Arching a brow at Sean, he asked, “Or do you become inured to it, eventually?”

Sean shrugged. “It would be a mistake to get too comfortable out there.”

“Says the man whose pulse never climbs above seventy.”

Sean lifted a forkful of rice to his mouth, not bothering to dispute him.

“Well, you couldn’t pay me to watch a shark feeding,” Elizabeth said with a shudder. “If this island wasn’t home to so many species of birds, I wouldn’t have come at all.”

Brent gave her an odd look. “Really? I could have sworn I’d met you before, on a shark expedition. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to remember where and when.”

Jason perked up at this news. “Liz is secretly a shark groupie?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said, her tone frosty. “I hate sharks.”

“My mistake,” Brent murmured, but Daniela was left with the impression that he didn’t think it was.

The tension in the room was palpable. Elizabeth seemed uneasy in her surroundings, and reluctant to share personal information. Sean wasn’t thrilled with Daniela’s unexpected arrival. And Taryn picked at her food, looking depressed by the turn of events.

“I heard that the house is haunted,” Daniela said, changing the subject.

Unfortunately, her attempt to lighten the mood failed. No one said a word.

“Is there a local superstition?” she asked, pressing on.

Taryn stopped pretending to eat and set her fork down. Sean shot her a warning glare but she ignored it. “Some people think the house is inhabited by a lady in white. She was a light keeper’s wife, a pioneer woman who lived here a hundred years ago.”

“What’s her story?”

Her lips curved into a humorless smile. “Apparently, she threw herself off the cliffs. One night, she went to the lighthouse tower to check the lamps. Instead of refueling them, she walked to the edge and leaped to her death.”

A chill traveled down Daniela’s spine. “How do they know she jumped?”

“She washed up at Dead Man’s Beach, pockets full of stones.”

“Oh.” Now she knew why Sean hadn’t wanted her to hear the tale. He’d always been protective, and there was a time, not so long ago, that she’d contemplated a similar fate. “Why wasn’t she eaten by sharks, do you think?”

“It wasn’t shark season,” Jason said, matter-of-fact.

Daniela stared down at her plate, silent. She was curious about the skinned seal, but she hesitated to bring up a second unpleasant topic. Instead, she ate a few more bites and took sips of water, pretending to relax.