Читать книгу Midnight Rhythms - Karen Van Der Zee - Страница 8

SAM froze as she stared at the man. He was tall and tanned and well-built. Very short black hair damply hugged his well-formed skull and his dark eyes looked at her with surprise, but only for a moment. An amused half-smile curved his mouth.

“I didn’t know you were home,” he said, putting the whiskey bottle on the counter. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Sam couldn’t talk. Here he was, a stranger in her house, huge, naked apart from a towel, and he hadn’t meant to frighten her. What had he expected? A hug? She swallowed with difficulty, aware he was still observing her. Who was this man? This very good-looking man—she couldn’t help noticing, tired as she was. He had strong, angular features that were not quite regular, a square jaw, a nose just a bit crooked. Dark, compelling eyes. A very masculine face. All of him was definitely very masculine—the broad chest, the muscular legs and arms, nicely tanned, all radiating a disturbing virility. She was aware of it even through the fog of her fatigue. Gina would be happy to know all her female hormones were still alive and kicking.

“Didn’t you get my messages?” he asked, taking a drink from his glass. Feet planted squarely on the floor, he looked as if he owned the place. “I called several times yesterday and today and left messages on the machine.” His voice held a vague note of reproof, which she did not appreciate.

“No, I didn’t,” she said tightly. She hadn’t checked the answering machine, which was in Andrew’s office and out of sight. She’d been too busy and too tired and too preoccupied. Actually, she’d plain forgotten. Not having had an answering machine in her apartment, she was not in the habit of checking one.

“You must be Samantha,” he stated.

He knew her name. “And you must be David,” she said promptly, and watched his eyebrows shoot up.

“I thought you didn’t get the messages I left you?”

“I didn’t.” She took a step back. He was looming over her.

“But you know my name.”

Oh, no. This could not be true. She swallowed a little laugh. “I was just guessing,” she said, trying to sound casual. David. His name was David!

“Just guessing?” he repeated. “Out of thousands of possibilities, you come up with David? Why?”

Because you reminded me of Michelangelo’s David standing there naked by the pool.

She wasn’t about to tell him that. Instead, she shrugged and managed a cool look. “Yes. Sometimes I do that. Guess, I mean. People look like their names sometimes. You look like a David.”

“Ah,” he said. “Well, good. I wouldn’t like to look like a Flip or a Bucky.”

His tone was dry, and she caught a glimmer of humor in his eyes. She wondered if it had been there all along and he was laughing at her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest, wishing she didn’t feel so puny with her five foot three inches and one hundred and eight pounds. “So who are you and what are you doing here in my house?” Oddly, she felt no fear. This big man emanated strength, but she registered no threat to her physical safety. “I could call the police, you know,” she added bravely.

He was not impressed by her threat. He quirked an eyebrow, his expression indicating that the very idea of his being mistrusted was rather amusing.

“This is not your house,” he said calmly, taking another leisurely drink. “This is Susan and Andrew McMillan’s house and I am David McMillan, Andrew’s cousin.”

Yes, Your Majesty, she was tempted to say.

“Oh,” she said instead, sounding not very bright. She squared her shoulders. “But I am house-sitting for them and what right do you have to come barging in here disturbing my privacy?”

“It was not my intention to do any barging and disturbing,” he said soberly. “That’s why I made all these calls, none of which you returned. However, I do need a place to stay for the next few months and I did have a key and—”

“What?” Sam’s heart crashed into her shoes. “You’re going to move into the house?” A surge of adrenaline momentarily revived her. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “No way! You are not moving in here!” So brave she sounded. As if she could prevent him from doing anything he might want to do—this man with his perfect physique and well-trained muscles.

He tossed back the rest of his drink and smiled benignly. “Oh, yes, I am, Samantha Bennett.”

She stared at him, feeling helpless rage. Her head began to throb. She was so tired. She had the sudden, frightening urge to burst out into tears, which she hadn’t done in years. Something was seriously wrong with her. First hallucinating, now crying. No, she hadn’t been hallucinating, after all. Seeing David McMillan standing starkers in the moonlight had not been the delusion of an overwrought mind. It had been plain reality. She rubbed her forehead, trying to erase the image from her mind. She was in no state to contemplate a naked male.

She was uncomfortably aware of his scrutiny, the dark eyes intent on her face. He moved toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Sit down,” he ordered. “You look as if you’re about to collapse.” He eased her into a chair at the kitchen table. She sagged down like a bag of potatoes, too tired to fight his order. A moment later he put a glass with a measure of whiskey in front of her and seated himself across from her at the table.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he said calmly. “I’m not a mass murderer or a rapist or a con artist—which is easy for me to say, I’m well aware, but we can try to contact Susan and Andrew by phone tomorrow so they can set your mind at ease.”

“We can call them now,” she said. He was taking control of the situation and she didn’t like it.

“We could, but it’s the dead of night in Turkey and I’m not sure they’d appreciate it. Now, drink up. It’ll calm your nerves.”

She gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Do you always order people around?”

Surprise flared in his dark eyes, as if he had never considered the issue. Then the left corner of his mouth lifted with faint amusement. “Yes,” he said. “Now, relax, woman, and have that drink.”

Sam gave up. She gazed down into the amber liquid and winced at the smell of it. “I can’t. It will make me sick. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.”

“You do have a bit of a hungry look about you,” he commented. “I’ll fix you a sandwich.” He came to his feet, all six-two or-three inches of brown muscled manhood towering over her. He was a man used to being in charge, that was clear. A man used to giving orders. And being obeyed.

She didn’t have the strength to oppose him, didn’t even have the strength to come to her feet and walk to her bedroom, so she sat there like a zombie and watched him deftly assemble a huge ham and cheese sandwich, adorned with lettuce and tomato.

“Milk?” he asked. “Tea, coffee?”

“Milk. If there is any.”

“There is. I brought some groceries with me when I came this afternoon.”

A good thing, too, Sam thought, because there wasn’t much in the house. She watched him take a carton of milk out of the refrigerator and pour her a glass. His hand was big and strong, like everything else about him.

It all seemed so ordinary, sitting here in a kitchen with another person who was fixing her something to eat. It wasn’t ordinary. She didn’t know this man and he was sharing this house with her. And here he was, wrapped only in a towel, and she herself with nothing on under her skimpy little robe.

Maybe all of this was a dumb dream and she would wake up and find it was morning and none of this had actually happened. If she told Gina about this nocturnal fantasy, her friend would tell her it was Sam’s feminine side trying to get through to her on a subconscious level. You need a man, she’d say. Well, Sam didn’t need a man. She needed a college degree and financial security, thank you.

“I didn’t hear you come home,” he said. “I didn’t see a car.” His voice was deep, resonating somewhere deep inside her, disturbing her in a way she didn’t want to be disturbed.

“I came home walking.” Between bites and sips she told him what had happened to the car, not caring he might think it was pretty stupid to run out of gas.

“You look exhausted,” he observed. “Like someone who hasn’t had a lot of fun lately.”

“I haven’t.” Well, it was the truth. “I work for my grandfather, and he’s getting old and temperamental and I worry about him.” Why was she saying this? It wasn’t her habit to say things like this to strangers.

“What do you do?”

She gave a low laugh. “That depends on who you ask. He’ll tell you I’m his little granddaughter helping him out at the office. He owns a furniture retail store.”

David gave her a considering look. “But you’re running the whole show?”

She nodded. “He pretends he doesn’t know it, but I’m sure he does. Business has been slowing down a lot over the last few years and I don’t know how long we can hold out, but…” She sighed. “It’s like he doesn’t want to see it.”

She hadn’t had a raise in years; the money simply wasn’t there. With more and more big furniture super-stores opening in the area, there was no chance of survival. That was why she was getting her degree: paper qualifications to back up her working experience. She intended to find a job that would offer her good career possibilities and decent money. She had her son to plan for. Kevin was only ten now, but in another eight years he’d be off to college.

She sighed and took another bite of the sandwich. Kevin was spending the summer in Florida with her sister and brother-in-law who ran recreational and educational camps for kids all year around. He was having a wonderful time, and it gave Sam the opportunity to take extra classes at night and not worry about whether she was leaving him alone too much. Still, she missed him and looked forward to the end of summer when he’d be back. She’d have to find an apartment by then, too. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her forehead. She didn’t want to have to think about that now.

“Are you all right?” Concern in the man’s voice.

She glanced up at him, standing near her chair. “I’m fine…just tired.” Her plate was empty, the sandwich finished. She’d practically wolfed it down. “I’ve got to get some sleep, though.”

In order to do that she’d first have to get up from her chair. She wasn’t sure she could summon the strength; she felt as if she weighed a thousand pounds—inert, immovable. She had no choice but to try. Pushing her chair back, she came awkwardly to her feet, felt her body reeling, struggling for balance.

“Easy…” He moved forward, reached out a hand to steady her.

Devoid of energy, her body would not obey. It landed softly and neatly against his, like a rag doll.

She was dizzily conscious of his arm around her back, holding her. Felt her cheek against the warmth of his naked chest.

It felt very nice, very safe.

Safe. She let out a sigh. It had been a long time since she’d felt safe.

Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she smelled the warm, male scent of his skin, felt the chest hair tickling her cheek. This was a dream. Her mind was playing tricks with her again, but she didn’t care. Dreaming was safe.

He had a strong chest, a strong, hard body that was holding her so comfortably, as if she belonged there and she had no worries and all was well with her world. Ah, bliss.

Then she felt something else, something more than comfort. The pounding of her heart, or was it his? The warmth rushing through her body. And the heat of his, against her.

She froze as the realization of what was happening dawned on her, clearing her mind instantly. Fearful embarrassment rushed through her on a wave of adrenalin and she drew back, her legs trembling precariously.

“I’m sorry… I…”

He gave a crooked smile. His hands were on her upper arms, steadying her. “Don’t be. I like goodnight hugs.”

She’d noticed. She stared at him. “I…” She couldn’t even think of what she was trying to say.

“Come on, let me walk you to your room.”

She drew back some more. “No, no. I’m fine, really.” She turned quickly. “Goodnight,” she managed.

“Goodnight, Samantha.” Did she hear amusement in his voice? She wasn’t sure.

Am I nuts? she asked herself as she lay in bed. Should I just be going to sleep with that stranger roaming free in the house? A stranger she had unintentionally managed to get sexually excited. Sam groaned into her pillow. Did she believe what he’d said, that he was Andrew’s cousin?

Well, he did look like Andrew, actually. They both were dark and tall, both had that air of confidence and command. They could have been brothers instead of cousins. Which proved nothing about David’s purity of character and intentions. What was he doing here, anyway? She hadn’t even asked. What was the matter with her? Where was her brain?

She pulled the sheet up over her head. She didn’t care where it was. All she cared about now was some sleep. Deep, restorative sleep.

Birdsong awoke her the next morning. The room was full of sunshine. For a moment she lay basking in it like a lazy cat, then she leaped out of bed. The car! She needed to get gas. She was late!

The man! There was a strange man in the house. Her heart turned over as disturbing memories flashed through her mind. The scent of his skin, the feel of his hard body against her. She took a deep breath. She had no time to think about that now. She didn’t even want to think about it whether she had time or not.

She had a quick shower, dressed in a navy skirt and a white blouse, twisted her hair on top of her head, put some lipstick on, got her things together and rushed to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee greeted her, and she noticed David in shorts and T-shirt sitting on the deck reading the paper, looking as if he owned the place, looking as if he had all the time in the world. Well, maybe he had. He came to his feet when he caught sight of her, wishing her a good morning. He followed her into the kitchen.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes, and I apologize for the…er…Victorian virgin routine last night,” she added before she could think about it. She glanced away. “I really didn’t mean to…uh—”

“Neither did I,” he said smoothly. “Breakfast? I’ll do the honors.”

Cool as a cucumber, he was; she had to admire that. She shook her head. “I’ve got to run. I’m late.”

“You’re out of gas,” he reminded her.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I know.” She poured herself some coffee. “I’m going to take Susan’s car to get some gas, put it in mine, bring back hers, walk back to mine and leave.”

“Much too complicated,” he stated in a no-nonsense tone. “I’ll come with you. That’ll save you the hike back to your car.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Of course I don’t have to.” He put a piece of wholegrain bread in the toaster. “But I will.”

It would be a big help, of course, yet his take-charge attitude irritated her.

“Why?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you always so suspicious?”

She shrugged and sipped the coffee. It was wonderful, very strong and flavorful. “When it comes to men, yes.” Her words surprised her—she wasn’t normally so confrontational with strangers, yet this man had an odd effect on her equilibrium. And she felt defensive about her idiotic move of practically fainting in his arms last night and the embarrassing result.

“Sorry to hear that.” He reached for his cup. “Did you have a bad experience for which all men will pay for ever and ever?”

She stared at him, feeling an odd quiver of fear. Had he guessed? Could he tell?

She thought of Jason, who’d left her stranded with a newborn baby. They’d married right out of high school and Jason had wanted nothing more than for them to have a baby right away. Yet four months after Kevin was born he’d had enough of fatherhood, packed up and left. Three days later he’d died in a construction accident, leaving her a widow at nineteen with a tiny baby to care for. She couldn’t believe what had happened to her, to him. How could he have left her and the baby he’d said he wanted so much? He’d planned and saved, saying he made enough money as a construction worker for them to afford a baby; really, there was no need to wait until she’d finished college and had a job, too. It had taken a long time before she’d ever understood Jason’s true motivation for wanting a baby, and it hadn’t really had anything to do with fatherhood. It’d had everything to do with sabotaging her education because he’d felt threatened by her ambition. Not that he would have ever owned up to such a feeling of inadequacy.

Things had not been what they seemed. Jason had had a side to him she hadn’t known. It terrified her to realize how foolish and naïve she had been to allow herself to be manipulated by him, how little she had understood him, herself.

And here was David, asking if she’d had a bad experience as if he could see straight into her soul.

She took a sip of the hot coffee. “I’m just not terribly trusting,” she said, trying to sound casual about it. “That’s all.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, my motives for wanting to be helpful are based on the fact that I prefer peace over war. Since we’re going to be sharing this house and this kitchen, it appears to me that being able to get along is not a bad idea.” He smiled. “So, if you’ll find the keys to Susan’s car, we can get going and solve your little gas problem.”

Sometimes her imagination got in the way. It had been well-applied when Kevin was little and she’d spent hours telling him fantastic tales she’d just made up on the spot, wild stories and adventures he had loved hearing. Her active imagination was not necessarily a blessing now, but there it was. What if this guy wasn’t who he said he was? What if he was a sophisticated, clever con man? What if he took off in Susan’s car? What if he emptied out the house after she’d gone to work? She grew suddenly hot and cold with trepidation. She had taken on responsibility for her friend’s house and possessions. Shouldn’t she do something?

“Do you have some form of identification?” she heard herself ask. “I was so tired last night I couldn’t see straight.” He probably was not used to having his identity, or his command questioned, but if it made him angry then so be it.

His mouth quirked, or maybe she imagined it. Without comment he whipped a leather wallet out of his back pocket and produced a driver’s license.

David Colin McMillan, it said. And even on the picture he was drop-dead gorgeous. Nobody looked good on a driver’s license mugshot.

“So, where’s your car?” she asked, aware her body was tense. It wasn’t easy questioning this big, intimidating man now that she was in full control of her faculties. “I didn’t see one in the drive when I came home last night.”

“Don’t have one.”

She handed him back his license. “You don’t have a car? How did you get here?”

“I was dropped off.” He put the license back in his wallet and fished the toast out of the toaster.

“But what are you going to do without a car?”

“I’ll be using Susan’s until I get myself one.”

She didn’t like the sound of this. How could he not have a car? Who in this day and age could get around without a car unless they lived in a big city? This was the boon-docks. It was miles and miles from town. No buses, no trains, no public transportation of any sort.

Maybe he didn’t have a car because he had just been released from prison. Or had escaped. Just because he was Andrew’s cousin it didn’t mean he wasn’t a criminal. What a nightmare.

Oh, please, a more rational part of her said, get a grip.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Relax, Sam.” There was no escaping the humor in his voice and it annoyed her.

“I am relaxed,” she said tightly.

“Right. Like a violin string. I don’t have a car because I’ve just returned from living overseas for three years.”

Good story, she thought. Just substitute jail for overseas and there you go.

Oh, stop it! she said to herself.

“I want to talk to Susan before we leave,” she said, trying to sound assertive. “Just a moment, please.” She went into Andrew’s office, found the number they’d left her, and dialed. Somewhere in Turkey the phone rang and rang. No one answered. She replaced the receiver with a bang, frustrated and angry. Now what was she supposed to do?

Oh, to hell with it, she muttered to herself, taking Susan’s car keys from the desk drawer. She found David in the kitchen making a sandwich out of two pieces of toast with cheese. “Let’s go,” she said, the smell of toast making her feel suddenly ravenously hungry.

“Here,” he said, handing her the toast sandwich. “You can eat it in the car.”

She took the proffered food. “Thank you.” She marched out of the kitchen into the garage with him right behind her. She tossed him the keys. “You can drive.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “Did you talk to Susan?”

“No. No one answered the phone. I thought they were in a hotel. Don’t these desk people pick up the phone when it rings?”

“Not necessarily, no,” he said dryly.

He opened the door for her, like a true gentleman, and she disposed of her book bag on the back seat and slid into the passenger seat. She took a big bite from the toast. The cheese was melting and it tasted delicious. Sharp cheddar, she noted. She liked strong flavors—and apparently he did, too, because he must have bought the cheese.

“Why the book bag?” he asked as he sat down, pushed the remote control to open the garage doors and started the engine. “If I may ask.”

With her mouth full of food, it took a moment before she could answer. “I’m going to night school. I don’t have time to come home after work, so I bring my stuff.”

He eased the car out of the garage and down the drive, the door closing behind them automatically. “What are you studying?”

“Business administration.”

He nodded. “Very practical, very marketable,” he commented, his voice level.

She didn’t know why his comment put her on the defensive. He was echoing her own opinion, so why did she feel this way? What was wrong with being practical? With learning skills that were marketable?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Not that it was where she’d dreamed of being, long ago, when she was younger and freer. She’d wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, always. Instead she’d ended up in her grandfather’s furniture business.

Because of Jason.

No, because she’d allowed herself to be manipulated by Jason. A treacherous mixture of anger and regret sneaked up on her. She pushed the feeling aside impatiently and took another bite of the sandwich. It was nice of David to have made her this. Last night he had fed her, too. You do have a bit of a hungry look about you, he’d said. Well, next to his huge frame she didn’t amount to much, and it might be getting less. Her skirts had been a bit loose lately.

She had finished eating by the time they passed by her car, sitting forlornly by the road. It was a ghastly shade of green and was hard to miss. She’d bought it second-hand some years ago and in spite of its lurid color it had done her excellent service, for which she thanked the gods.

“That your car?” he inquired, as if there were much doubt. It was the only unattended vehicle they had passed.

She nodded.

“Interesting color,” he stated.

She gave him a suspicious look and caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. “All I care about is that it’s reliable and doesn’t break down on me every other week.”

“Very practical, aren’t you?”

“Something wrong with that?” she asked with a touch of hauteur, feeling the little defensive devil stirring in her again. She tried not to give it space.

“Certainly not.” He looked straight ahead at the road. “Where’s the gas station?”

“Take a right at the next intersection, then three miles down.”

She couldn’t help looking at his hands as they handled the steering wheel with competence. No rings. He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, and she wondered if he was married, or had been married, and if he had kids, and why he was staying at the McMillans’ house. Didn’t he have a place to call home? The thoughts came automatically, and she was annoyed with herself for giving them room. She didn’t care about the answers. She didn’t even care why he was staying at the house, only that he was staying there. Because she didn’t want him there. It was disturbing her peace and reeked of trouble.

She had no time for trouble.

She had no time for anything except studying and passing her tests.

“So, what did you do overseas?” she asked, for something to say. Actually, if she were honest, she was a tiny bit curious about it.

“Built a bridge.” He was a civil engineer, he told her, working mostly on foreign contracts, building roads and dams and bridges. He’d just returned from Bolivia, where he’d worked on a construction project building a bridge across one of the tributaries of the Amazon. Before that he’d been to places she wasn’t sure she could find on a map.

It was easy to see him in some exotic, tropical place, bare-chested, with a hard hat on his head, directing a crew of construction workers.

They’d arrived at the gas station and David leaped out of the car before she’d even opened her door.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, and strode away before she could object. She sat back and shrugged. Okay, let him, she thought. She watched him come out of door with a container, watched him fill it from one of the pumps, having first slid a credit card through the payment machine.

“How much was it?” she asked when he got back in the car.

He waved his hand. “Forget it.”

“No,” she said tightly. “I will not.”

He flashed her a probing look and fished the receipt from the breast pocket of his T-shirt. “Here you go.”

She glanced at it, got the money from her purse and handed it to him. “Thank you for helping me out.”

“You’re welcome,” he said soberly.

There was something about him that was beginning to annoy her. She had this suspicious feeling that he was laughing at her, that for some reason he found her amusing.

Back at her ugly green car, he emptied the container of gas into her tank. She thanked him again for his help, and with a sigh of relief she took off down the road, alone again, oh, bliss, and not even late.

Now, if only he didn’t steal Susan’s car and the contents of the house…

David watched her drive off. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen a woman looking that tired and vulnerable and so in need of a warm hug. He grinned. Well, he’d given her one, even if it had unintentionally turned out to be more than a hug of the brotherly variety. The instant physical reaction he had experienced at the feel of her body in his arms had surprised even him. He wasn’t exactly eighteen anymore.

She had gorgeous big, expressive eyes and a wonderful mass of naturally curly chestnut hair that tempted touching and stroking. She stirred up his protective instincts, but clearly that wasn’t all.

He sat in the car without moving for a while, surprised by his feelings. Good feelings, healthy feelings. Feelings he hadn’t felt for a long time, and a deep longing suddenly filled his heart.

Then fear rushed in.

He rubbed his face as if to clear his mind and turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred into life. He drove back to the house and went to work, writing an article on managing engineering projects in developing countries, where time was a stretchable commodity, skilled labor was difficult to find and cultural differences imposed unexpected problems. Working for three years in the jungle without losing your mind was no small feat, and he certainly had learned a lot—about himself as well as the job.

Come to think of it, he was tired, too.

Mostly, though, he was tired of being alone.

When Sam arrived home that night after class, she was afraid to look in the direction of the pool in case she saw David in all his unclad glory standing in the moonlight.

She looked anyway; she just couldn’t help herself.

Nothing. Nobody. She let out a sigh, struggled out of the car with her book bag and purse and trekked to the back door and into the house.

Music greeted her, rippling and dancing joyfully through the air. Wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, David sat at the dining room table pounding away at a laptop with impressive speed. The table was strewn with papers and blueprints. His concentration was so intensive it took him a full minute before he noticed her. He grinned at her as his focus cleared.

“Ah, you’ve returned from the world of commerce and academia. How are you?”

“Exhausted.”

He leaped to his feet with an explosion of energy that took her off guard. “How about a swim?” he asked. “And a glass of wine to wind down?”

A swim. A glass of wine. It sounded heavenly. It was a balmy night. It would feel good. She imagined herself in the pool with David, sipping wine, her body floating in the warm water, the sky full of stars above, and her heart began to gallop. Her imagination was running wild again. It was crazy. She didn’t even like the man. He was looming over her, and she didn’t like that either. She took a step back.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve got things to do.” Laundry, for one. More useful than gazing at the moon.

“You’re a very busy person,” he observed.

“Yes, I am.”

He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gave her a searching look. “What do you normally do in your free time?” he asked conversationally.

“I don’t have any.”

“Never?”

“Not lately, anyway.” Not since she’d taken the extra summer courses. “I work, go to classes, study, take care of the house.” Fortunately housework didn’t require much time; Susan had insisted her regular cleaning lady keep coming at least once a week, and the yard was taken care of by a gardener. She never saw either of these people because she was never at home during the day. “If there’s time left, I sleep,” she added. “Or at least I try.”

His left eyebrow arched up. “No frivolity at all? No romance, no fun?”

“I haven’t got time.” Romance? she added silently. Are you kidding? “And now, if you’ll excuse me?” She trekked down the hall to her bedroom, changed into shorts and T-shirt and headed to the laundry room. The dryer held clothes she’d done two days earlier and hadn’t yet taken out. She dumped them on the folding table and found David behind her as she picked up a pair of cotton panties to fold them. He was leaning against the door, a glass of white wine in each hand.

“Have one of these while you’re doing that,” he said easily.

The last thing she needed was for him to stand there watching her fold her underwear, her practical, serviceable cotton panties. He’d been here barely twenty-four hours and he was getting on her nerves already. She suppressed the urge to tell him to get lost.

What she’d really like was a drink to help her relax. And he was offering her one. Oh, what the heck, why not? She dropped the panties back on the pile, accepted the glass from him and took a sip. “Thank you,” she said politely, caving in to civility. She tried not to see how good he looked wearing just jeans and a T-shirt-lean, muscular, fit. Of course she saw anyway.

“I’ve been trying to contact Susan and Andrew today,” he said, “but it seems they’ve disappeared in the Turkish hinterland. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

She frowned. “Why were you trying to contact them?” After all, he wasn’t the one worried about the situation.

“So they can reassure you about my presence here, tell you I’m an upstanding citizen and not an escaped convict or whatever you might have imagined,” he said levelly. Again the humor in his voice. As if the very idea of someone finding him suspicious was exceedingly comical.

She took another sip of the wine. “I see. Well, I do like to hear from them.” She picked up a towel and folded it, hoping he’d go away, but he seemed perfectly content lounging against the doorpost, drinking his wine in a leisurely way.

She concentrated on folding the towels, trying not to look at him. She wished he weren’t so damned good-looking. It was having a disturbing effect on her equilibrium. She had enough problems in her life; she didn’t need a man to add to them. And certainly not a take-charge type like this one.

“So, what have you been doing all day?” she asked casually. Not that she cared, of course.

“Had a good long run this morning, made some phone calls, did some reading, some writing.”

“Sounds pretty strenuous,” she said evenly.

“It was very restorative, actually.”

Restorative? He didn’t look like anyone in need of restoration.

“More wine?” he asked, reaching for her empty glass, and before she even thought about it she had agreed, and he left to go to the kitchen to get it. She was an idiot. She’d never get rid of him this way.

And, of course, the inevitable happened.

The wine loosened her tongue, as it always did. Just two small glasses was all it took. Fifteen minutes later she found herself sitting at the kitchen table, telling him about her horrible day and her cranky grandfather who lived in the Stone Age when it came to running a business, and that she was worried about him and the future of the store, and that she’d been friends with Susan since high school, and how she’d cried for days when her dog had died when she was twelve, and that she needed to find an apartment by the end of August because Kevin had to start school again, and all kinds of other boring things he couldn’t possibly be interested in.

She stopped talking, embarrassed suddenly. What had possessed her to tell all this to this man? It was that sexy voice of his, a voice that beckoned, tempted: Come here, let me hold you, I’ll make you safe. As if she lived in the Dark Ages and needed protection. Like the Prince coming to rescue Cinderella from her dreary lot.

The wine…it was the wine making her say things, think things, making her all maudlin. Good thing she hadn’t started telling him about Jason leaving her and her parents drowning, or she’d be sitting here now bawling her eyes out.

“Kevin?” he asked.

She swallowed. “My son. He’s at summer camp right now, in Florida.”

“You have a kid,” he said, as if trying out the sound of it. “Imagine that. How old is he?”

“Ten.”

His eyes widened, his brows arched. “Ten? Good Lord…” A quizzical expression darkened his face.

She could imagine what he was thinking. She looked young for her age and could easily pass for twenty-four or-five instead of twenty-nine. She really couldn’t blame people for wondering about her having a ten-year-old son, yet it irritated her. She looked straight at him. “And just for your information, no, I wasn’t an unwed mother, and I didn’t ‘have to’ get married.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said dryly. “I’m not sure I could have lived under the same roof as you—you being a loose woman with all those sinful secrets in your past and all.”

She glowered at him and he laughed.

She came to her feet. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she said, and moved to the door.

“And I’m going to have a swim.” He rotated his shoulders as if they felt tight. “It’s a great night. Sure you don’t want to join me?”

“Yes—no, thank you.”

She lay in bed thinking about him swimming in the pool. Would he be wearing swimming trunks?

She turned her face in the pillow and groaned. “You are so pathetic,” she told herself out loud. “You’re acting like a teenager obsessed with nudity and sex. Get a grip on yourself, will you?”

Well, it had been an awfully long time since she’d been in the arms of a man. And under the right circumstances, and with the right man, that was really a very nice place to be. Last night her tired brain had played tricks with her and she’d been momentarily deluded. She should just forget about it.

“Oh, go to sleep,” she muttered into the pillow.

So she did.

And she dreamed.

She was swimming in the pool with David and they had no clothes on. It felt wonderful and quite all right because they’d known each other for a long time and he was so familiar to her. And then they were in bed together and he was holding her, just holding her.

Heart pounding, David watched her lying on the ground, her clothes muddy, a dry leaf caught in her pale hair. She made no sound, no movement. He could not help her, he could do nothing but watch her, powerless, while birds chirped cheerfully in the trees and a sweet summer breeze whispered through the lush greenery. He stood there, paralyzed, until pure panic hit him and he was awake, drenched in sweat, his heart racing in terror.

He sat up in bed, turned on the bedside lamp and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, please, not again,” he muttered. “Not again.”

After some time he got to his feet, pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and went into the kitchen and poured himself a measure of Scotch. He carried it out onto the deck and drank it slowly, standing at the railing. He stared up at the stars, concentrated on his breathing and tried to empty his mind, to think of nothing—a meditation technique someone had taught him when he’d found himself in the derelict little hospital on that godforsaken island in the China Sea. Giggling little nurses, cats in the hallway. And then that funny little Buddhist monk.

And then, to his own surprise and relief, he found himself smiling.

The night air was pleasantly cool. Crickets and other insects cheeped and buzzed, vibrating the air. For a long time, he simply stood there.